Valentine's Day is my wife's birthday. When we met I wasn't looking for a submissive but I ended up with one anyway.  Our relationship is complicated in that she's not in the lifestyle. In fact she didn't know anything about it until we met.  She is a personal trainer.  If you've ever wondered what having a service sub is like here's a few things she does for me.  She does all the shopping and cooking for me.  It's almost embarrassing to tell my family and friends that I eat most of my meals in bed. My drinks are magically refilled and with ice. She does all the cleaning. She does all the gardening. She takes care of the pool and Jacuzzi. She's available whenever I want sex. She loves to walk behind me. There's so much more. When I changed her password on an account she had before it used to be Surrender. She is kind, giving and funny. I didn't ask for any of this. It's how our relationship has evolved. For this I cherish her.  Happy birthday my darling and Happy Valentine's Day!   

The Particular Ache of an Empty House I have been thinking about doors lately. The specific quality of a door that opens onto something waiting for you, the difference between entering a space that is simply empty and entering one that has been prepared, held in a certain state of readiness by someone whose entire orientation for the hours you were gone has been toward your return. I know that difference in my body. I have lived on both sides of it, and I will not pretend they feel anything alike.   Right now I come home to silence. It is my silence, my space, maintained to my standards because I maintain it myself, and there is nothing wrong with it except that it is inert. A room that has not been thinking about me. A kitchen that holds no evidence of anticipation. A threshold that does not know the difference between my arrival and any other event in the day. I cross it and the space simply continues being what it was, indifferent, unchanged, requiring nothing of either of us.   I miss the other kind of threshold with a specificity that surprises me sometimes.   I miss the quality of a home that has been tended. Not cleaned in the transactional sense, though that too, but tended in the way that a person tends something they care about, with attention to what it is for and who it belongs to. The particular arrangement of a room that tells you someone has been thinking about your comfort in your absence. The light already correct. The temperature already what you prefer. The small and specific details of your own preferences reflected back at you by a space that has been held, carefully, in your image while you were elsewhere inhabiting the world.   I miss being known before I speak.   There is a warmth to genuine devotion that I do not think translates to anyone who has not felt it, because it reads from the outside as service and from the inside as something closer to being loved in the most precise and practical language available. Not the warmth of sentiment, though there is that too, but the warmth of competence directed entirely at your ease. Of someone who has studied you carefully enough that your needs arrive met before you have finished forming them into requests. That warmth is not loud. It does not announce itself. It simply exists as the temperature of the space around you, slightly and unmistakably above what the world outside provides.   I think about coming home after a hard day, the specific hard days that my body produces without my permission, the ones where the pain has been a sustained and wearing presence since morning and the outside world has asked more of me than I had available and I have given it anyway because that is what I do. I think about what it would mean to cross a threshold into a space that already knew. Where the bath had been drawn, not because I asked but because someone understood the day I was having and had moved to meet me in it. Where the room was quiet and the lighting considered and the particular tea I need when I am worn down was already steeping to the correct minute.   Where someone was waiting, not with needs of their own to present or words requiring response, but simply with presence. The warm and steady presence of a person whose purpose, in that moment, is entirely my restoration.   I built that once. I know how to build it. I know what it requires, and what it produces. I know the specific quality of peace that settles into a body that has been genuinely, competently received by someone who considers receiving you their greatest privilege.   Kahlil Gibran wrote that work is love made visible. The devotion I am describing is exactly that: love made visible not in declarations but in the ten thousand small and correct things that together produce a life that feels held. The right cup. The considered room. The hands that know where it hurts without being told. The presence that asks nothing and gives everything and finds in the giving its own complete satisfaction.   I am building toward it again. This quiet house is a temporary condition, a chapter rather than a conclusion, and I know this with the certainty of a woman who understands the difference between where she is and where she is going.   But tonight I notice the silence, and I name what it is missing, and I let myself want it fully and without apology.   The warmth of a home that has been thinking about me is always on my mind.

this came to me last night as they do....the multi level.   first level is the lyrics: "Touch, touch I remember touch Touch, touch I remember touch Where do I belong? Touch, I need something more I remember touch I need something more in my mind Touch, I remember touch Pictures came with touch A painter in my mind Tell me what you see A tourist in a dream A visitor, it seems A half-forgotten song Where do I belong? Tell me what you see I need something more Kiss, suddenly alive Happiness arrive Hunger like a storm How do I begin? A room within a room A door behind a door Touch, where do you lead? I need something more Tell me what you see I need something more Home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer, you're You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer You're home, hold on If love is the answer, you're Touch, sweet touch You've given me too much to feel Sweet touch You've almost convinced me I'm real I need something more I need something more"   love of a 5d radical detachment spiderweb synchronistic beyond the physical vibe ting.   then we go to the actual song for the layer, pauls intonation and the cloudy vibes emphasize...   TO---UU-CCHHH.   TOUCH!   A YEEEEEEEE   re MEM bah TOUCH!   the key is in how he says it...you could simply speak, touch. i. re.mem.ber. touch. but he choses how to speak it in a way that carries a deeper message.   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Gkhol2Q1og&pp=ygUPdG91Y2ggZGFmdCBwdW5r     4 years ago this fellow probably scriber made this video. amalgamizing from the person's text video from another daft punk  that i actually either didn't see or didn't remember that synched perfectly to it.   i want to emphasize in my 20s i took the blowing up to mean literal but now at 37 forward i see it as radical detachment..the key isn't ejecting it's removing what seems so familiar and deeply you to ascend to another playing level of life. it feels like it's exploding but it actually is simply elevating.   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wP1w5M0F57U   i'll always be salty that daft punk stopped sharing the message and the lessons...but we all know when it's time to let it go and be the merlin like in the 1998 movie that only tells stories. i'm just salty they are simply telling stories and not in it anymore. but whatever i'll get over it. they'll always be grandfathers, masters, ascendedness in more ways than one. and well at least they are still around there's that.   side note on the message if you are on my frequency and you've seen this movie/tv special you are probablllllllllly like me that queen mab was the end beginning and everything and her son mordred is the best boy hottie husband/boyfriend/romantic attraction if men are your deal. if he an arthur we don't want em. funny thing is, with all this esoteric work i've done i've cracked a code that some men that carry the archangel michael energy in their souls tend to have either slightly or obsessively horrible connections with their moms and how it is their personal life lesson to balance their nurturing protective nature in the reflection on earth with their parental upbringing. and wellll mordred babe DEF reflaspects that.   at least for me the key is to be queen mab, bellatrix, galaxia from sailor moon etc. but NOT kill people this time...wield the same thing but be cutting and cunning..but don't go full in. the balance is the lesson this time around.

To the asshole who called me a royal bitch then blocked me so I could not reapond... I know you'll see this. I can see that you are still looking at my page. My response: "And you seem like a judgemental prick who puts no effort into a conversation. You just make assumptions, poorly apologize, somehow expect me to be super interested by or attracted to that behavior and fawn all over you, then hurl insults. Whatever." Background info for others:  I didn't respond to his lazy messaging fast enough so he accused me of ghosting in less than 3 hours on a weekday afternoon. I said I was busy and pointed out that most people have things to do on a weekday in the early afternoon. Then I asked him to be more thoughtful and considerate before talking to people. He said "sorry miss". The next message from him was insults, combined with blocking me so he can continue to live in a fantasy world were that behavior is okay.    To everyone looking to make connections. Be thoughtful with your communication.

I will chat with anyone, from anywhere.  Relationship oriented, or just general chat about..  anything.I am open to, and possibly able to relocate fairly soonish, possibly anywhere I so choose.I am able to visit anyone, anywhere.However note, that if our messages here get serious to the point of thinking about or talking visit/relocation, I would expect to video chat, at least a couple times before doing so.  At a minimum.   This is only a requirement before I spend hundreds or thousands to visit you.  If there is no such plan, I'm happy to keep things message only forever.I do not need, expect, desire, or want anything kink or sexual.  Just some "face to face" conversations.   If we can't do that via online, why would I expect it would be so different in person? And video chat requirement doesn't apply to someone I can reach by car within a day or so.  But as soon as I need to take a flight somewhere, that is where things change.That said, I do believe online, long distance relationships can work if both sides wish it to. Abd I am able to relocate.The relationship matters, not the location I live in.

An Insider Account of CollarSpace Prison Once upon a time, a little boy stumbled across a news website about some busdriver bitching about a pet getting on the tbe bus with owner. Anyway, years later a website known as showed up. Cool cool. Suddenly, "collarme was disappearing because failing business partnership issues"... What about my information that little boy might have put up? Do not know for how long, but see and look, my data was here in collarspace.com all along. #and that is why it has become difficult for me to delete this account. It serves as a historical reminder that sane people still run the world. So, if you do not like me here, you will like me less in person. If you come up on me without introducing yourself, I expect you are after my money for free, which you are. Now, legally married slave couples that are seeking someone they would like to call "master" may message me; here, there, whereever. Do not dare to presume I care to know you, because I really do not... I wonder, can you place your camera in front of YOUR new born baby son and capture his eyes as he slowly starves to death?     If you do not dare to make and post that video, you are not slave enough for me to consider you "slave", let call your bloodline by that.

* ISO of a decent, naturally submissive gentleman to grow old with in a committed LTR relationship * NOT interested in horndogs, freak shows, married and cheating, online anything, pay to plays, or anything else subpar  * just want a great guy who is submissive by nature, who knows his place in a FLR with whom to share My life * NO drama, excuses, or BS * am seeking a quality submissive man ready to settle down and enjoy life with a truly Dominant Woman in a D/s relationship * not willing to settle for less

11-JUNE-2026. NECROMANCY. Talking with the dead. Talking to the dead. Consulting the dead. Call it what you want. I do it.I didn't choose it. It chose me. In 1988 Jannie died in a car accident and came to me on that Friday night. I  was 19. He was 30. had his one month old  baby. 5 days later I found out he was dead via a phonecall. I did not feel him "leave" my home on tje farm for a year at least. This was the backwaters of South Africa. Who was I going to talk to about it?  I can't write the full account here on my phone. But let's just say each time I closed my eyes I was in a huge lightless space. Not warm. Not fridge cold. It felt vast but enclosed. It took 3 decades to discover YouTube and discussions on the space between life and death.  The VOID as I called it, lasted until Monday. I was so exhausted because I dared not close my eyes. Baby cried at night and I tried toget some sleep during the day. Jannie had taken my soul with him into the void that weekend.  African farms are very quiet and we know pitch black darkness due to their remoteness. I was used to total darkness. But this VOID was not like anything I had experienced before. Here is the twist. Last year before I came to the UK, an American chap and I were experimenting with the VOID and his projection of his spirit to Africa. He could do it easily as I was living for those 5 weeks in a dark and remote part of the country called the Wild Coast.  But when I decided to come to London I told him I was going to a Faraday cage. And it was true. None of the blackscreenmen could access my spirit like they had when I was in that BnB. Very quickly I deleted my account on Cs and about a 6 weeks later in May the one on FL. I was exploring fire and Hurricanes there. Hashem always plants the seed of the tree He needs later. I met some very interesting Christians on FL and we discussed the fire of G-d. I had NO idea what the next months would do to me, but one man helped me tremendously to have the foreknowledge of the emotional pain to come. I thank all BlackSceenMen for their conversations, therapy, patience, role play, and more and all they taught me. MUCH gratitude. Oh, you will know if you are a BSM. I give you a nickname and you will know it. Across time if we meet again, it is our code to recognise each other. Some of You remained anonymous. No voice no photo. Just your words on the black screen in the dark of African nights.. disembodied men of a sort.. most of you saw me. I learnt so much in that intense short period of time. And it gave me tools to cope with what followed.  All the Glory to the Supreme Spirit who can find me anywhere, anyhow. He is disembodied for us. I would say those weeks on the Wild Coast were ordained. I was mad at many of you. Opening wounds to let the infection out is nasty. Some of you are expert with the psychological scalpel. Surgery of the finest caliber. Surgery on the emotional body without anesthetic is always going to have me bite you, or at least try. But those who found me endearing would return once I had sheathed my claws and stopped hissing like a wild cat.  I never has the opportunity to thank you. El , aka TheTurkMan (as he had a nick too it was tattoed on his leg.) took up my 3D life and Mass and prayer and tears and then the path to receive the Holy Body of MY MASTER became all consuming for me... I  went deep into what is called Catholic Mysticism. It is the Divine Romance. The Bride and the Groom. It is deep and solitary and the ultimate BlackSceenMan is HIM..He let me play with you but HE was always going to get me in the end. Some of you will remember sending me your spirit and I would respond with a text to confirm it. Some to an astounding accuracy. It was common place for me. I called it Spirit texts back in the 2000s when my then boyfriend was freaking out. An example. He was asleep. He woke up craving ice-cream. He had never eaten it infornt of me. He sent me a text. I answered. Yes I am looking at the different flavours Iin the supermarket and wondered what you liked? He had sent a text saying "if you are town could you buy strawberry whirl ice-cream ". He was scared. My one son and I had huge conversations just looking at each other. He was born in 1992. Our ESP was very strong for 20 years. My daughter shut me out when she was 3. My babies were open books at the breast. I knew what they wanted before they knew and expressed it. My version of motherhood was 24/7 with them and ESP. Then G-d removed them all from me. I was childless by 2006. Long story. So, don't underestimate me when I said I knew TheTurk.  I would lie on the sofa and stare at him for hours. Every flicker, every frown as he worked on his computer became my language and codereader of him. So when he could not talk in the hospital I could tell others what he meant. It is not special. It is hyperfocus. Which is why when I tell you to stop trying to manipulate me, I mean it. Sometimes I wanted to see where you are going. What is your dark predilection. But the need to know is now passé. I have gone through the fire of TheTurk dying. I don't want to know the darkness of this site. I am here not for the dark but for the light. I saw the abyss up close for decades. It is a bottomless pit of death. A vacuum where our souls die. The light is blinding and needs adjusting that takes time. It consumes. It burns. It destroys. It leave the pure metal and destroys the dross. That is my delight. Getting close to the flame and then entering into it. Each purification leaves more pure metal exposed. Did you know a goldsmith cannot look away when he purifies metal. Our Creator is closest to us when we are burning. His full attention on us. He craves our pure soul to shine in all its splendour. If you don't like the idea of fire, picture a gem and how it is cut and polished.. you get the idea. Friction and sharp tools bring out the hidden gem. For me BDSM is not a game. It is breaking the soul. The most precious thing of all His creation. Beware what you do, or face His wrath. You have been warned. Not by me or for me. HE HAS MY BACK. I do not walk in fear. I am small and fragile and without a skin in this world. But He asks us to be naked and vulnerable because that is how He can shape us. He uses creation to bring out the gem of the soul. The Ultimate use of Dominance, and our Submission to that Authority and the acceptance of His Bondage by saying "yes, please Hurt me to purify me, Master, I am your slave."......

The earliest memories I've had of a female exerting their power over me date back to kindergarten, well before I knew anything about sexuality. My mom would set me up on "playdates" that involved me being trapped in a cage while the girls enjoyed tea time. At recess, being held down by girls while my guy friend was being chased by the other girls...I have no recollection of how these things happened, but these memories stand out in my mind to this day. As a young boy that fantasized and daydreamed about these types of scenarios quite regularly, I was often shy and nervous around most girls, especially the ones I was most attracted to. But I also think this type of thinking has contributed to me having a successful career in the arts in some way. Similar to a D/s relationship, evolving as an artist involves discipline, creativity, and the willingness to challenge your own perception and beliefs. I hope whatever relationship I involve myself in will allow me to further flourish in my career, which will in turn make me better equipped to handle the demands of a kinky relationship.

A good mantra for a submissive to live by... A submissive’s life is to be in service as required and of service however desired and solely for their Dominant and Owners pleasure amusement and comfort. A submissive’s function should be to strive to be a completely willing and capable of serving for the constant enhancement of the Dominant and Owner's daily life and pleasure in every way possible and on a continuous basis with absolute obedience, commitment and dedication. A submissive understands that the decisions and rules of the Dominant are to be accepted and followed without hesitation or conflict at all times regardless of personal feelings or conflict.  A submissive understands and willingly accepts that it needs its Dominant’s control, use, discipline and punishment as deemed fit at anytime. A submissive needs to accept that it's Dominants and Owner's pleasure, amusement and comfort must be its priority and be all that really matters to the submissive foremost.A submissive understands and accepts that its own pleasure must come from how well it pleases, serves and accepts being used and controlled by it's Dominant and that it may be rewarded if deemed appropriate or pleasurable to its Owner.

Master's WritingsCategorizing Levels of SubmissionOthers, in an attempt to categorize submissives, have described submissives by the levels of their submission, moving from role play to slave, while others suggest there are distinct categories of submission, where the motivation behind one’s submission drives their role such as for fantasy, relationship and/or fetish. Acknowledging that all submissives are different and any such categories could only apply in the loosest of terms, I find both model instructive in its own way, yet somehow missing the mark in some aspaspects.The creators of both models clearly identified that each individual submissive is unique and comes to their submission and depth of submission in their own way for their own purpose. And to this, I completely agree. Yet we are humans and we live to label things, so I will offer my own model, recognizing full well that mine too will fall short of describing all submissives and their motivations. I would also note that what I suggest here may have already been put forth. If so, I offer this only as my own ideas without the knowledge of their contribution to our body of knowledge. Thus I would offer a third model for consideration and discussion.I see it more a kin to the structure of Maslow‘s hierarchy of needs, Where Maslow identifies our most basic needs, moving from basic survival to self-actualization, I see submissions moving from role play to self-realization. The model I put forth is as follows:     Role play. A connection to the role based on whatever preconceptions or second hand knowledge they may have. While one might act the part, they have no emotional or mental connection to the role.     Exploration. The beginning stages of submissive awareness where thru trial and error or training, real experiences begin the development of a connection to a submissive’s awareness and one's submissive self. This level usually includes an over indulgence or over compensation of doing what they think a sub "should do".     Connection. The birth of inner connectedness to one’s submissive self, and the realization of what it feels like to give of one’s self to another. Hallmarked by a greater sense of self awareness, a growing identity as a submissive and a struggling to reconcile their submissive life with their vanilla life.     Identity and Belonging. The inner awareness and shift of self-identity as a submissive or having submissive side (as in a switch), as a genuine and acknowledged part of their persona. While they may not share this openly with others, inwardly there is a growing conviction that being a submissive is core to their being. While connection can occur at any stage, at this stage, connection to a Dominant becomes more essential to allow for further growth.     Confidence. As identity as a submissive grows and self-esteem relating to the role increases, their confidence of self grows. The focus can now be more inward to understand their submissive needs, who they are as a submissive, and the beginning of blending their submissive self into their vanilla life and identity.     Self-Realization and Connectedness to their Id. Full acceptance of their new identity, as submission is fully integrated into their sense of self. Submission can now fuel their lives and relationships with greater meaning and richer experiences as they fully integrate their submissive-self into their vanilla life. Not every submissive will reach or choose to reach this level. I would welcome comments and ideas for the improvement of this model if others see value in it. 

Live the Life You're Meant to Live You were not placed upon this groundTo stumble aimlessly around.A spark was lit, a flame was cast,A purpose born to hold you fast. The breath you take, the time you spend,Was gifted with a higher end.Not just to drift, to merely be,But shape the world, your legacy. Each talent, dream, and burning fireCalls out to lift your spirit higher.To squander it, to let it fade,Is to betray why you were made. For those who idle, waste their light,Who fear to step or fight the fight,Will watch the world, a fleeting stream,While drowning in a shadowed dream. But those who dare, who strive, who seek,To live their truth, though strong or weak,Will find the path that calls their nameAnd leave behind a glowing flame. So rise, and live the life you’re meant,A fleeting gift, so wisely spent.For failure’s not to fall or trip,But to forsake your sacred script. ~ Miss Dar      

The meal The table was laid.  It was an important dinner party, but the table wasn’t overly fussy.  It was going to be a simple meal: the steak already in place on warm plates at either end of the six-seater table, wine in the goblets and terrines of buttered vegetables in the middle.  One plate was set between the other two chairs.  Chairs which stood, side by side, along one of the longer sides of the oblong table.  Next to the plate were two glasses of water, a plate of small cubes of fresh bread and crudites and a dish of oily, dark balsamic dressing.  The lighting came mainly from the open door to the kitchen and the two tall candles on the table. Two women stood, close but not touching, each behind one of the chairs.  They were dressed the same: black heels, black stockings, black suspender belt, but they looked different.  One was significantly taller than the other, and much curvier.  The curvier sub had dark blonde hair which fell in a straight curtain down her back, the other had shiny brown hair which fell in soft curls just past her shoulders.  The brown-haired sub had pubic hair, neatly trimmed very short.  The blonde-haired sub was completely bare.  Both wore a narrow black leather collar around their necks with a metal ring centre front.  And both wore leather cuffs with a similar metal ring around their wrists. Two men entered the room and both women stiffened.  Each one cling their elbows tighter behind their back pulling their shoulders back and pushing their breasts out; nipples already erect from anticipation and from being exposed.  The older man walked towards the blonde haired sub and turned her collar so that the ring was at the back.  He threaded a chain through the ring and attached it to her cuffs; holding her wrists in place behind her waist.  Each man pulled out a chair and motioned for the women to sit. Suctioned to the bare wood of each chair seat was a dildo, glistening with a thin coating of lube.  It wasn’t very long, maybe only 4” but it was a little thicker than a standard dildo.  Both subs placed themselves over the dildos and slowly eased themselves into their chairs.  The blonde sub could feel it slowly stretching and invading her cunt and she felt heat spread up her belly.  She turned to the older man and gave a barely noticeable smile.  The older Dom said “You are not to speak unless spoken to.”  “Yes sir,” replied his sub recognising the smile in his eyes behind his stern words. When both women were seated the two men took a moment to check the state of their sub.  The older Dom placed his hands on his sub’s shoulders.  He gently ran his fingernail down her back.  He heard the intake of breath, saw her breasts rise and felt her rock slightly forward – dildo inside her and clit bumping onto the hard surface of the wooden chair.  He let his hands glide down the swell of her breasts, pinching each nipple between his fingers and using them to lift her heavy breasts; feeling their weight and seeing his sub rock forwards on the seat again.  He gave each nipple a playful, sharp flick and the second Dom said to his sub, “Feed her first.”  Both men sat down and began eating as the brown-haired sub, with her hands still free, turned to the blonde-haired sub and smiled. The meal continued.  The men and women talked normally to each other.  The shorter sub fed the blonde sub bread and vegetables, dipped into the balsamic dressing.  Whenever a small drop fell onto the lip, chin or breast of the blonde sub, she kissed or licked it off.  After a while the blonde sub began to squirm noticeably in her seat. When the next drop fell onto the top of her breast the brown-haired sub leaned forward and grazed her tongue over her nipple before catching the drip.  The blonde sub squirmed again and moaned aloud, the dildo deep in her cunt, her clit swollen from constant bumping and squirming on the seat.  “I told you not to speak sub.  Are you such a slut that you can’t eat a meal at the table without moaning?”  the older Dom spoke sharply but quietly.  “Over the table now.” The blonde sub eased herself off the dildo, ging again as it left her cunt.  She walked, wrists still bound, to the empty edge of the table, opposite the other sub, and leaned her body over it, feet shoulder width apart.  Her Dom could see her slightly gaping, wet cunt.  Without warning he stuck two fingers into it and everyone at the table heard how wet it was.  Removing his fingers, he rubbed her juices over her swollen clit and gave a quiet chuckle at the low moans his sub made.  “I think she needs more tonight,” he said to the younger Dom.  From out of his pocket he took a metal butt plug with a flared base.  The blonde sub could see that it was her medium sized one; the one she had been wearing recently for periods of time outside the house.  Her Dom applied a little lube and then she felt it pushing gently but insistently against her arsehole.  As she felt her arse open and suck the metal bulb in, her Dom grabbed her hair, turned her face towards the other Dom and delivered six sharp smacks to her arse.  She felt the heavy metal plug jolt inside her and she closed her eyes and moaned with arousal and embarrassment.  After the sixth smack he pulled her upright by her hair and delivered another six slaps to her breasts, three on each.  She felt them bounce and her hard nipples screamed in pain, making her g and cry out.  “Sit back down and finish your meal,” her Dom said. On wobbly legs, she returned to her seat.  As she lowered herself back onto the dildo she felt an exquisite fullness as the dildo rubbed past the plug in her arse.  The brown-haired sub had been eating but, at a motion from her Dom, she began to lick and suck the blonde-haired sub’s sore, engorged nipples.  The sensation was arousing and soothing but, desperate to make no sound, the blonde-haired sub closed her eyes and tilted her head back.  Focused on allowing the soothing attention.  She didn’t notice that she was already rocking her clit against the wooden chair seat again, but the two men did… Mar 28, 2020

“The Lesson in the Red Chair – Part IV: Devotion at the Edge” T.L. Duncan His forehead rested lightly against my thigh— not touching enough to claim contact, but close enough to breathe in the heat of my skin. That was important. He hadn’t earned full touch yet. “Don’t lean on me,” I warned softly. “You’re in my space, not holding onto me.” He exhaled a broken sound, forcing his trembling legs to support him while keeping his forehead just shy of resting. Good. That tension would serve me well. I let my fingers hover over the back of his neck— close enough for him to feel the warmth, but never letting my skin meet his. “You’re still shaking,” I murmured with quiet amusement. “Yes, Ma’am…” “From the edge?” “Y-yes…” “Good. Stay there.” His breath caught. “You think edging is just denial,” I said, tone low and precise. “But real edging—my edging—turns your obedience into instinct. Not wanting. Not hoping. Serving.” His fingers twitched behind his back, desperate to steady himself. “Keep them still,” I said without raising my voice. He froze instantly. “That’s devotion,” I continued, leaning close enough that my breath brushed his ear. “Not touching me. Not begging. Not climbing into my lap the way your body wants to. Devotion is obeying while everything in you shakes.” He swallowed hard. “Now lift your chin. Keep your hands behind you.” He raised his face slowly, eyes wide and glassy from the ache in his thighs, the tension in his spine, the constant, torturous nearness of pleasure with no release. I placed two fingers under his jaw—light as a whisper—tilting his face up further. “There,” I murmured. “That’s what devotion looks like on you.” A shudder rolled through him, nearly taking him off his knees. “Careful,” I warned. “If you fall, we start over from the beginning.” His breath hitched; he forced every muscle to obey. “Good boy.” The phrase hit him like heat, full-body and overwhelming. His lips parted in a helpless moan he tried to swallow. “That reaction,” I said softly, tracing my fingertip down the air just above his throat without touching his skin, “is why I keep you hovering. Your devotion sharpens when your pleasure threatens to break you.” He breathed harder. “You’re going to show service while you stay edged,” I said. “Slowly. Precisely. Without touching me unless I allow it.” He nodded once, reverently. “Start by spreading your knees wider.” He did—shaking, breath catching. “Back straighter.” He corrected himself. “Open your mouth.” He did—soft, vulnerable, obedient. I leaned down, my lips hovering a fraction above his. One-inch distance. Half an inch. A breath away. His entire body seized in anticipation. Then I pulled back just enough to make him exhale in a stunned, broken whisper of need. “Not yet,” I murmured. “But your devotion just earned you something else.” He swallowed hard. “Place your hands on your thighs,” I said. He obeyed instantly. “Now run your palms slowly down them… not to touch yourself… but to show me how you present for your Domme.” He slid his palms down in a reverent motion, every movement slow, controlled, worshipful— his hands trembling as he fought not to drop into instinct. “Good,” I whispered. “Again.” He did it, hips shifting involuntarily as the edging tightened in his body. “Hold still,” I snapped. He froze, teeth clenched, lower lip trembling. “Look at me,” I said. His eyes snapped to mine, raw and pleading. “You’re offering yourself,” I said softly. “Not for release. For service. And you’ll keep doing it while your body begs you to fall apart.” He moaned, breathless. “Because I said so,” I added. His head fell back slightly, overwhelmed. “And that is what devotion feels like at the edge.” His palms slid down his thighs in that reverent, trembling motion I commanded. He was barely holding the edge of himself together — breath shuddering, muscles taut, the ache between denial and devotion turning his whole body into a live wire. “Again,” I ordered. He obeyed, slower this time, because he was losing the ability to do anything quickly. His mind had melted into obedience. His body was shaking from the precision of holding position. “Good boy,” I murmured. That word — good — broke him more than anything else. I saw it happen. The micro-collapse. The body betraying him before the mind could stop it. His knee shifted. Just half an inch. But enough. He knew it immediately. He gasped softly, panic flashing across his face, and tried to return to the exact posture — but he was already too late. I stood. The room froze around him. His breathing quickened, edging into fear-laced anticipation. I walked a slow circle around him, letting the sound of my heels carve dread into every nerve he had left. When I stopped behind him, I spoke in a low, controlled voice. “What did you just do?” His voice cracked as he whispered, “I—I slipped, Ma’am…” “You didn’t slip,” I corrected, leaning down so my breath grazed his nape. “You broke position.” “Yes, Ma’am… I’m sorry…” <

Morning all -- we are entering a interesting time of the year - let's see who's up to the chellenge Pegtember Pegtember is the month of September when those lucky enough get to participate in pegging. Whether that is receiving or giving, rejoice- its Pegtember   Locktober When typically men put on chastity cages on for the entire month of October. No Nut November  aka  #NNN No Nut November (NNN) is an annual online challenge where submissive / slaves try to abstain from masturbation and orgasm for the entire month of November. Denial December aka #Dencember Denial December is a monthly challenge in the spirit of Pegtember, Locktober, and No Nut November. During the month of December, each day you must edge to the brink of orgasm in the amount of days that have passed in December (15 orgasms on December 15, 16 on Dec. 16, etc.). If you cum during the month, you fail the challenge. YOU MUST DENY YOURSELF ORGASM FOR THE ENTIRE MONTH TO SUCCEED. Good luck, have fun

  While I’m on a break from Fetlife, one thing I’m conscious of is that I tend to post things about looking for someone to go for cups of tea with, visit graveyards, go to bookshops and then snuggle up for reading. It’s pretty silly, but it’s meant sincerely. While I have to stop myself from adding “apply within”, in the end, it reflects how I would like a relationship to start. A thing of meeting for tea, visiting graveyards/taking quiet walks, and sharing a love of books and reading. Of course, it isn’t everything I want, and I hope that’s obvious as this is a kink site. It’s just that, as I’ve probably said so much that people are sick of it, I want to make a connection on a vanilla level and then grow the kink side of things. I’m looking for a band that takes more than just a love of kink, and I want to go slowly and surely. Eventually, I’d want things to develop into something more committed, and deeper, and to bring in other elements. I just don’t want to rush it. I don’t want to be someone’s mistake. I also want to be sure that most of our mutual needs can be met, and that both of us are working on whatever we need to work on - trauma is being addressed, patterns of behaviour are being broken if they’re negative, and so on. I want to be sure that the connection with this hypothetical person is strong, and that it can withstand a lot of shit - because I think life is going to get more, not less, difficult in the next few years. Any relationship is going to have to be strong enough to ride out the coming storms.Adding to this, I suppose I should expound on what I actually want. Before I go on, I should ask that the reader remember that this is me putting things out into the universe, so of course it’s selfish as fuck - I imagine yours would be too… Isn’t that sort of the point? (It strikes me as odd that we both castigate the “I have no limits” people, but also defining what you want can lead to you being accused that “you’re trying to control things and reduce me to a fetish dispenser” - the point is to talk things through and get to a happy medium, surely?). This is my “moon on a stick” list of things I want to have in a relationship. Vanilla: I want a relationship based on love, trust, communication, and sharing, and that reflects shared values. I want something where we can have separate bedrooms, though, in part because I snore horrifically and I feel guilty if I disturb people’s sleep. I also have restless legs - no idea why, but I suspect it’s anxiety related - and so I want to sleep alone to avoid kicking my partner. I also want to have a space that is mine (mine, all mine, bwahahahaha), because I want somewhere I feel I can go to write, create, and study. Or even just curl up if I need to be by myself because sometimes I do. This isn’t a slight against a hypothetical partner, it’s just how I am. I’m very introverted, think I may be an HSP, and there are times when alone feels like bliss - not because of who the other person is, or anything they’ve done… just because I need that time by myself for my sanity. Touch is, however, very important to me and is probably my primary love language, so I would like a lot of that. I enjoy acts of service too and supporting the person I’m with. I like giving massages and other forms of body worship too. I am happy to take responsibility for housework, cooking, and other domestic chores. This being said, I am a writer and I do need time to work and I expect that to be respected in a relationship. I hope my partner will have their own passions outside of kink and that they can be things we can share (books, board games, cats - you know, stuff like that). I value creativity, so I’d love it if they were also a writer or an artist, or something like that.  I know we don’t have to be completely in tandem, but at the same time, I have learned that shared passions are very often the key to a relationship and that losing that common ground can spell disaster. I’m not sure how I feel about having children - I used to be very opposed but now, I just don’t know.   

FAVORITE TV:  CSPAN, PBS, HTV, GAME SHOWS, HISTORICAL, WAR, SCI-FI, FANTASY, SOUNDSCAPES. ????????????????????????Senate Advances Pete Hegseth????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????WHAT???????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????WHY?????????????????????????????????????? Where is the experience necessary for the job as Defense Secretary - 3 MILLION MILITARY UNDER HIS DIRECTION Someone who holds contempt for federal workers? Taking the jobs from federal works and directing the money to make it great for Corporate America.  Why is Pete Hegseth even being considered for this postion? NO management experience for the manager of 3 million federal workers?  What?  How?  A man who furhter displays a loathing for diplomatic relations with the nations of the world we share.  Secretary of Defense unequipped to understand the necessity of healthy  diplomatic relations in The World.  If that isn't enough, he thinks women should not serve in the military becasue women detract and or are ineffectual, or worse, weakening the military due to the accomodation of women because they bleed...and are  a source of rape.   This is a vulgarly poor arguement for eliminanting representation of the human condition within our military and all of life through the elimination of the female gender.  Just another ATTEMPT TO REMOVE A WOMANS GOVERNANCE OVER HER BODY.  TO DIFFERENTIATE.  TO SEPERATE.  TO ENSLAVE WITHOUT CONSENT. Removing women in the military is NOT on the table. Removing a womans sovernty is NOT on the table.   !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!REMOVE HEGSETH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh no Im Blocked So you contact someone after reading their profile. You can see that you don't fit what they seek but hell you contact them anyway.  They chat with you whilst trying to make it clear that you are looking in the wrong place for the help you seek. You then decided to call them names and block them. Maybe you need to look in the mirror as they are not the issue you are. Respect is what you need and just because they seem to be what you want does not mean you are what they want. SoS

There are parts of a person that don’t begin at the moment two people meet. They begin long before, in the quiet places where experience shapes us and then gets sealed away. Long before I met her, I had lived through something that awakened a deep part of me — a capacity for intensity, recognition, and emotional clarity that rarely finds a home. And she had lived through her own version of that. For different reasons, both of us buried that part of ourselves. She buried hers out of fear - fear of instability, fear of loss, fear of needing someone, fear of being seen too clearly. I buried mine out of discipline - a deliberate containment, a way of protecting others from the full force of what I feel and protecting myself from offering it where it cannot be held. Different histories, different wounds, same instinct: suppress what once burned too brightly When we met, that buried part in both of us stirred. Not because we created something new, but because we recognised something familiar. The connection wasn’t imagined. It wasn’t accidental. It was the reawakening of something each of us had sealed away. In the moments when she felt safe, she softened, revealing warmth, intuition, and depth she rarely allowed to surface. And in response, I became the version of myself that feels most grounded, steady, and alive. I understood the sandcastle she lived in. I saw her protective walls. Not as flaws, but as architecture - structures and anchors that kept her upright when life gave her no stability. I understood why trusting one person felt like stepping into open air. I understood why she stayed in the present, why she avoided looking ahead, why she protected herself even from what she wanted. I saw the logic in it. I saw the cost of it too. It is heartbreaking to see how someone can be hurt so deeply, so repeatedly, that they retreat into a world made of compartments. A world where adult emotional connection feels dangerous, where closeness carries the risk of being wounded again. And so she anchored herself to the one place that felt safe: the innocence of a child who had never betrayed her. The child of the man who had most recently broken her trust became, in a way, the last untouched corner of her emotional world. Maybe she saw a younger version of herself there. Maybe she stayed close to that child because it allowed her to protect something pure in a way no one ever protected her. Whatever the reason, it is unbearably sad that the safest place she could find was one that existed outside the realm of adult connection entirely. I understood how it was easier to feel when it was transactional, triggered by someone else and emotionally outside her control. What I felt for her was not fantasy. It was recognition. I cared for her deeply, and I would have treasured her - not by holding her tightly, but by creating a space where she could breathe without fear, where the sparks I glimpsed in her unguarded moments could grow into something steady. I never wanted to reshape her. I wanted to offer a place where she could rest without bracing for impact. It hurt that she couldn't understand my deep need to care; that she could and did give herself to another physically, to a sadist, when she couldn't accept my care or give herself physically to me. And I never believed it would be easy or instantaneous. I knew that being together would require patience, courage, and the slow dismantling of old defences. I knew it would demand effort from both of us. But the difficulty didn’t deter me - it clarified me. It strengthened my resolve. It deepened my desire to care, not out of saviourhood or fantasy, but because I saw what was possible if she ever chose to step toward it. But the truth is simple: the part of her that woke up when we met is the same part she has spent years learning to silence. Stepping toward what she felt would have required dismantling the very defences that keep her functioning. She retreated not because she felt nothing, but because she felt too much. I stepped toward it because I was ready. That difference is the whole story. So I release this into the ether - not to change her, not to call her back, not to craft something optimised for her reception or softened for her comfort. I have written carefully, yes, but this is not for her. This is for me. This is where I place the truth so I no longer have to carry it alone. We both knew. We both felt it. We both buried it for our own reasons. Meeting each other unlocked it again. She ran from it. I stepped toward it. And now I name it so it no longer lives unspoken. Whatever she chooses, whatever she fears, whatever she cannot yet face, I hold no anger. Only the quiet truth of what was possible, and the peace that comes from finally giving these words a place to live outside my own mind.

I am a 48 year old transgender sissy slave.. I am from Denmark but I can relocate for the right person..  I am single, unowned, no kids, no friends, no family that will miss me, the perfect victim.. I am educated as an ITsupporter but I am unemployed at the moment.  I am looking for total and real slavery.. I am looking to be fully owned and controlled with no rights, no freedom, no escape, no hope, no mercy, becoming brainwashed, broken down, humiliated, degraded into deep slavery fearing what comes next, when is the next beating, when is the next rape, what is the next sick perverted thing done to me.. Always living in chains or in some sort of bondage, staying locked away in a pitch black cell and/or cage, maybe for weeks at a time.. I am just a worthless disgusting pig, a toy, a fuck doll, a rape victim waiting to get beat up and raped on a daily basis, violently abused, a piece of meat, a possion, property who Master can do with as he pleases.. I am a big nothing who is waiting to serve in anyway I can.. Limits are limited to dismemberment, death no pulling out teeth or nails, no broken bones, kicks to the face and try to limit fists to the face, but in the heat of the moment, shit happens..  

Below is a cut and paste of a partial response to someone who asked me "where am I from?" I told them to google why asking a POC that question is racist. For a change, they did. My response explains not only why one should not ask where I am from, but also why I require my potential anything to be an intersectional feminist.  I will also point out that it is not my responsibility to educate you, it is your own responsibility to educate yourself. ***** If we simply look at the stats from last weeks international mother language day, English is the most spoke language in the world. The reason for that is because of the colonization by the British empire. Which leads me to point out how not homogeneous the population of UK is as during that time, the colonists literally kidnapped from every corner of the world then forced (the kidnapees) to reside in the UK. The "barbarians" were regularly brought back and exhibited then dumped to live in the worst conditions if not as slaves. The white majority forced all these minority to erase their rich culture in order to survive. And not just in the UK but at their homeland. Simply research into chicken tikka masala - not a dish that existed in India before the British invasion. One also simply has to trace the development of rice as a cash crop around the world to observe the change abolition had the Chinese diora. There are many examples in the history to demonstrate the diversity of UK's population. ... This is why in my profile I clearly state I am looking for partners who are intersectional feminists. People who have at least attempted educated themselves about how different factors in the world that have affected peoples lives, specifically that of disadvantaged individuals. Because while I do not expect my partners and I to share common life experiences, empathy and the willingness to understand where each other comes from is an important thing to have in every relationship. Being supportive and an ally is another.

COVID hit our community hard, and I have a few slave friends that lost their Masters.With no continuity plan in place, it is difficult for a slave. This, the House, helps address that. And it is a passion project for Myself. A way of giving back to a community that has altered My life for the better. On a personal egoic level, of course it is nice to be the Master of the House. But, it also is structured to survive My own passing and continue to care for its members. It is pan sexual in nature and can be grouped in different houses, gay, lesbian, trans, etc. as well as professional, career, orientation. There are a lot of moving parts to this. .... That said, the question is does one wish to be part of something bigger than itself. And to be owned and serve.you will be required to contribute to the home by being able to support yourself. It is a self sustaining operation.As a Master, My responsibility is to provide structure and an opportunity for the slave to serve and to be owned. Its primary service is to the Master, then its brothers and sisters, and then the House as a whole.That is what this Master offers all who come.

Bridget Choses Enslavement   Bridget’s emotions were running wild.  The ride up to Master’s gave her ample time to reflect on this special occasion.  Bridget was to be enslaved today.  Master had often told her that all women secretly wanted to be possessed and owned by a dominant master.  Collared.  Be an enslaved slut.  Bridget had embraced her inner slave and wanted the delicious certainty of being a strong Master’s owned property.  What a glorious feeling to have no need to carry on with the soul killing charade of denying her sexuality, her submission, her needs and desires. Bridget was so sure.  She couldn’t wait for their special ritual.  The ritual was ordered by her Master but she had made adjustments and additions that had delighted Master.  She knew Master treasured her and all of her. He often remarked on her intelligence and how it drove her kink and also drove his passion to be her owner.  Master always said women with a desire for the collar, for enslavement were usually the very intelligent ones.   Before she left home Bridget paid attention in the shower.  Her shaving was meticulous. Her legs, arms, and pussy were smooth as possible. She thrilled at the thought of the way Master would cup her smooth, oiled pussy and run his hand back and forth as she squirmed and moaned. She knew Master loved to lick and kiss her clit.  He also like to use his Hitachi and a soft makeup brush on her.  He’d alternate the vibrator and brush on her clit.  Sometimes he’d just stop and listen to her breathing.  Bridget loved it when he chained her wrists and ankles in his bed and made her come over and over until she screamed.  He’d gag and blindfold her and make her come some more. Master had learned early in their play to put a towel under her.  The wet spot was something to see. Bridget’s enslavement ritual outfit was all white and had been her idea.  Master had suggested adding long white gloves and she agreed with relish.  Once out of the shower, at Master’s direction, she installed two Ben Wa balls in her pussy.  They went in nicely.  When she walked around she could feel them as she moved.  She wondered if walking in heels would accentuate the sensation.  Oh well, she’d find out soon.  Bridget loved Master’s toy collection.  He had a veritable fleet of vibrators including a very useful remote controlled beauty.  Master said he was shopping for an internet controlled vibrator for some long distance fun.  He also had a selection of nipple clamps, some fun and some she feared.  There was a lot more and she was sure the list was growing After carefully pulling on her white stockings and attaching them to her sexy garter she slipped on her skimpy white panties.  A curvy white push up bra completed her underwear.  She had a nice white blouse with a plunging neckline that accentuated her cleavage. Her brief white skirt would expose her slim legs and white stockings.  Finally she slipped on her white high heels with thosecute sexy little ankle straps.  Naturally she added accessories like a string of pearls and a bright red lipstick.  She decided she’d add her fragrance and put on the white gloves when she arrived at Masters. The miles rolled by.  Her heart sang.  She had made her decision.  It felt so right.  All the things she wanted to experience would be hers in a safe and protected place.  Master would help to explore all the dark kinky places she dreamed about.   The highway intersection appeared on her GPS. She had to turn north.   It was time to call Master.  She heard the phone ring.  Her emotions ping ponged.  Master answered with a pleased voice.  She was close.  He could almost sense her.  They both reveled in the joy of anticipation.     Master remarked that he was looking forward to draping her with his new 1/8” stainless steel chain.  Perhaps chaining her breasts with a nice halter.  When he mentioned that he’d like to chain her in Sirik Bridget’s was incredibly turned on.  The thought of the chain running from her collar to the chained wrist manacles and finally ending on the ankle manacles.  Sirik chain bondage allowed movement but served to remind her that she was owned, protected property.  Master loved everything Gorean and spent a lot of time finding ways to practically adapt the mores of Gor to earth.  A significant Gorean notion is that bondage enhances a woman’s beauty.  Bridget agreed but also concluded bondage made her horny as hell. The rural setting, the trees, the quiet appealed to her.  Here’s the driveway.  Turning right and pulling up the long driveway she found herself next to Master’s car and she knew, the beginning of her life changing event was close at hand.  She put her car in park and applied the parkingbreak.  She felt that she also applied a break on her normal, vanilla life.  She would enter the BDSM Sea.  Enter it as one of the more exotic and nuanced denizens.  She would be a slave girl, specifically a Kajira, a Gorean slave.  Bridget and Master had discussed many aspects of enslavement, slave protocols, sexual ownership, and what they each wanted.  She agreed with Master that after all, it was at its heart, an exotic adult game.  They both knew few could play the game, few could accept their role, and few could adhere to the rules and enjoy them with intense satisfaction.  Bridget loved her role and while their private play was so satisfying, she looked forward to their forays into various forms of public play.  Public Play involved exposing part of her BDSM life to the vanilla world.  Bridget always found it surprising.  She couldn’t believe the naughty sense of excitement she felt when she was exposed.  Was it humiliation, she wasn’t sure but it was very kinky indeed. She applied the bright red lipstick.  She loved the color and loved that her Master had told her he loved bright paint on her lips.  He said she was so attractive and luscious and he wanted her lips prominently displayed for him.  Next her fragrance, chosen because it was both understated and exotic.  At last she pulled on the long white gloves that came up to her elbows. Bridget and Master had discussed how she’d wear the long white gloves and he’d hogtie her and use his ball gag.  The picture in her mind of the helpless position always made her wet and horny.  Master had done this before.  Usually he rubbed a rabbit fur all over her body before he pulled her hair and squeezed her tit while he told her how he felt, what he wanted, and what he’d do with her next. As she turned toward the house she found the garage door open and as she had been instructed, she entered the garage and went to the back door leading into Master’s Rec room.  The lighting was subdued but she saw two large shapes draped in thin cloth.  She knew these were their BDSM toys.  Master had built a large cage for her amusement and a sturdy St Andrews cross that would fulfill her desire to be suspended and held helpless. Master had promised to cuff and chain her to the cross.  She knew she’d be naked and looked forward to the way master slipped a gag into her mouth before he applied something to her ass. Usually he forced a silicone bit gag into her mouth before he used his snake whip on her.  She could bite down on the bit and scream at the same time for the serious relief she craved.  Master had assured her she’d receive a serious whipping and perhaps caning that would leave some minor marks.  She wanted the marks.  She wanted to feel his touch afterward.  She wanted all of the things that ownership demanded. She knew Master had plans for an interesting combination Stocks and Spanking Bench.  Bridget had told Master she’d love to be placed in stocks and have her ass molested, pinched, bit, and butt plugged. She wondered if he’d make good on his promise to administer an enema while in the stocks.  Master had a lot of toys and equipment.  He had showed her the enema paraphernalia and it included an interesting flow meter that Master said was important to ensure reasonable flow and comfort.    Climbing the stairs she heard Master’s voice and it made her heart skip a beat.  She loved the way he spoke to her.  He didn’t speak at her rather he spoke with her, sharing his thoughts and sometimes emotions.  Master was sitting in a large black leather chair.  He was wearing his black suit with a black mandarin shirt and a nice red pocket square.  He leaned forward and motioned for her to come up.  He wondered about her trip and if the Ben Wa balls were still in place and how she liked them.  She told him about her journey and, yes, the Ben Wa twins were still in place and had directed her attention at the oddest of times, like stepping on the brakes. He asked her if she was ready, if she wanted to go through with their plans.  Did she really want all the things they had planned for, had discussed.  She knew what he was asking, giving her a graceful out.  Her mind was made up but his trust and care made her even more convinced that she wanted enslavement, wanted slavery, wanted to be an owned woman, Master’s property.  All of their discussions had led to this decision.  They both saw a Master/slave relationship as the purest and incidentally most fun form of a BDSM power exchange.  Both of their roles had been defined in term that made sense to both Bridget answered him by unbuckling her shoe clasps and removing her heels.  Pulling the ribbon from her hair she let it fall loose about her shoulders.  Bridget smiled at her Master and began removing all her clothing.  Finally she stood before her Master totally naked.  Master seemed very pleased. He rose and ran his fingers gently all over Bridget.  Master believed that a Gorean Master took great pride in his Kajira, his slave and should be familiar with every inch of her. Bridget knew that her actually collaring demanded that she be naked. She knelt gracefully before him, raised her arms over her head and crossed her wrists.  Bridget had assumed the Kolar or collar position of a Kajira, a Gorean slave.  She knew the message she was sending was that she was ready to be bound and collared.  Naturally she looked down and waited for Master.  The decision was not only made but by showing her acceptance of their planned bond to her Master she knew it was done.  How happy, how fulfilled.  She almost wanted to cry the emotions were so strong. Her life as a Kajira, a Gorean slave was about to begin.  See accepted that she must always be pleasing and offer perfect obedience. Master formally asked her why she was before him and what were her deepest desires for enslavement.  She continued to look down and at first her voice was a whisper but as she gained confidence she became secure and spoke with a clear steady voice.  She asked to be enslaved.  She pledged to serve Master in all ways.  She would be pleasing at all times with perfect obedience.  She would be the owned possession of Master, subject to his commands, dressing as he directed.  She spoke the words of enslavement, “bind me master”. She spoke the timeless pledge saying she wished to be enslaved and then crossing her wrists in front of her asked that Master bind her.  She felt the ceremonial tying of her wrists with the traditional Gorean yellow bindings.  Master then said he would complete the ceremony, their enslavement ritual, by collaring her.  She felt the collar begin to encircle her throat.  She gasped as he pulled her hair back so he could buckle the collar.  Her formal slave collar was polished metal and had a screw driven locking mechanism.  It would be difficult or next to impossible to remove, not that Bridget would ever think about removing the symbol that encircled her throat.  Master completed fastening her collar.  He took her chin in his hand and remarked on her beauty and suitability to be his Kajira. Master removed the bindings from her wrists and ordered her to stand and had her turn around slowly to display herself. She looked at herself and saw the beautiful collar.  All she could say was “La Kajira, La Kajira”, Gorean for I am a slave. Bridget now understood in a most intimate way that her master treasured her and wanted to enjoy his treasure.  Master had two more things to complete the ritual and the first had Bridget very nervous.  Bridget knew she was to be branded.  Thankfully the branding didn’t call for a real white hot branding iron.  Bridget received a henna dye print representation of the Gorean Kef, a very delicate elaborately beautiful “K”, leaving a sharp red image high on her left thigh.  Next Master spoke her new slave name. When Bridget and Master were together in their new roles, she would be “Sefa”.  Master explained that her new slave name was pronounced SEHF-ah and meant pleasure.  He said she was named that way to remind her how she must always be his pleasure slave.  She didn’t think that would ever be a problem. It was done. Bridget had been collared, branded, and named.   Master said he accepted her as his Kajira.  Master directed her to put on her garter, stockings, panties, and heels.  He snapped a leash onto her collar ring and said “bracelets”.  Bridget immediately put her wrists behind her back, slightly bowed her head, and turned around to receive Master’s manacles. Using the leash and her bound wrists he moved her forward.  Master led her around a bit and then out around the deck. Master often told her that bondage made a woman more beautiful and that served to make her move in a sensuous, elegant manner.  Bridget agreed and could think of nothing better than to be on her knees with her Master’s cock in her mouth. He took her over to a chair by the deck table.  He motioned for her to kneel.  He unclipped the leash and attached a short piece of chain to her collar.  The chain was connected to a d-ring embedded in one of the large deck posts.  Bridget was chained to a post with her wrists bound.  Never before had she felt so at peace.  She was owned.  She had been confined on her Master’s deck.  She felt the chain on her chest.  Bridget’s excitement was mixed with embarrassment and humiliation.  She was on her knees dressed like a tarty slut, out in the open for all the world to see.  She realized that Master was exhibiting her as his prize possession.  Of course she thought, it’s highly unlikely we’ll be disturbed.  We’re out in the woods on a secluded property with foliage all around.  Master laughed and said UPS or FEDEX might show up. Bridget’s life as a slave had begun.  She wished and waited for what was next.  Master said she was to be caged in his slave pen after they had discussed their enslavement ritual.  Master took a plate of fruit and picked up a small piece of melon.  He held it out for her to nibble. She daintily nibbled the fruit.  She was being fed by Master’s hand.  She felt a deep bond and happiness.  Next Master poured some of his cool drink into a small bowel.  He placed it before her and motioned for her to drink.  He was watering his slave, caring for his prize possession.  She knelt before the bowel and lapped at the drink. She felt so humiliated to be made to drink in this fashion but it also was so deliciously kinky.   Her journey had begun.  Life would never be the same.  A calmness, a fullness, a richness had descended on her soul.  Master caressed her cheek and breasts and then checked the manacles.  He also adjusted her collar.  Bridget knew master would always make sure she looked her best.  She was his prize possession. Master leaned back and took a small velvet sack from the side table.  “Nadu” Master commanded and Bridget went into the slave position that had her kneeling with her wrists behind her back. Bridget was fascinated  She knelt with her thighs spread wide, back arched, wrists crossed behind her back.  Master produced a bright red ball gag and told her to open her mouth. Bridget felt the ball pressed tightly into her mouth as Master firmly buckled the gag in place.  She found her hands bound behind her back, and the ball gag reduced her to small whimpers to communicate.  She knew she was vulnerable and totally in the control of her master.  It was delicious.  It made her wet just to think of all the things he would do with her.  The bracelets were gleaming metal and had a short length of chain between them so they were relatively comfortable. Master helped Bridget to stand.  He pulled her panties down to her ankles and helped her bend over. He guided her to lay across his lap and began to stroke and kneed her ass cheeks.  Master remarked that she had a pleasingly plump ass that just begged to be spanked.  Bridget felt her Master applying some kind of oil on her ass cheeks.  She wiggled across his lap into a more comfortable position. It made her feel exposed, controlled, at her Master’s mercy.  Bridget couldn’t believe how excited she felt, how she wanted more, more attention, more control. Master told Bridget that he wanted to assert his ownership, make sure she knew she was his property.  Bridget whimpered her assent. She wanted to be his,begged her master to have her, to make her his own, anyway he wanted.  Just do it now. Master began a slow rhythmic paddling of Bridget’s ass.  Slowly at first but soon faster and harder.  Bridget moaned and gasped. Master paused and asked Bridget if she was his, his property. Bridget thought “yes, yes, yes, have me, have all of me.  I am your Kajira and want to be nothing else”.  Master held up one finger which was the signal for silence Bridget was surprised that Master had shut her up, to be quiet.  She understood that he wanted to be in control.  He told her he felt so completed by their rituals.   Master loved the idea that they had built their own kinky world and Bridget loved the way he ruled it. He could silence her with a command or perhaps a gag.  She loved the delicious excitement when he placed a nice red silicone ball gag in her mouth.  Naturally Master could silence her by imposing speech restrictions and she always complied but the ball gag was so hot. Master reached behind her to the small table by his large leather chair.  Bridget felt his movement and turned her head.  “Oh my” she thought as Master’s hand held the red ball gag, a shiny bright metal butt plug, and a tube of lubrication.  Her heart beat faster as she realized she was in for another anal training session.  

"I realize that like many Dommes, you are compelled to find fault with anyone requesting your attention. ... I know I am of value, considerable value in many ways, and I will continue my search." Guys, this is call GASLIGHTING. It is also called "pathologizing." I called him out on something simple and obvious - namely, the same old 'I read your profile' then asking a question that is clearly answered in said profile, showing no, he didn't actually read it, but lied about reading it to curry favor- and instead of admitting it, he tried to turn it around and turn it into some character flaw that I brought it up.  Something must be WRONG with *me* if I saw a problem, rather than there being an actual problem with something he did. Furthermore, apparently MANY Dommes have this inherent character problem, which of course lets him off the hook when he does this to them, as well. This tells me that he does it a lot, and always twists things around to get out of having to own his behavior and take responsibility for fixing it. Which is why I blocked him - because he's already told me in two short emails that he's lazy, will lie about being lazy, and then pull toxic manipulative crap to try to cover it up. Furthermore, he tried to pull a straw man fallacy argument - *I* never mentioned value. I mentioned HONESTY.  He brought up his value, as if I had cast doubt on that, rather than simply pointing out that he was asking something that was answered in the profile he claimed to have read. He tried to make the discussion about something else, so he could argue against THAT, instead of the actual discussion where he was already proven wrong. Another manipulative tactic. This is not submission. This is the screaming red flag of a weak, insecure man who got caught being lazy and dishonest. This is the signature mark of a fake sub.  A strong man would have considered what I said, recognized the mistake, admitted the mistake, and apologized for the mistake.  Real submission would have been to ask how he could make it up to me, and discuss how to improve himself so he didn't do anything like that in the future, even if I chose not to move forward with discussions. Because a truly submissive man who honestly wanted to find a truly Dominant Woman, rather than a woman who was too stupid to see his bullshit and too weak to call him to task if she noticed, THAT man would want to make himself worthy of, and less likely to screw up talking to us. If you can't admit when you are wrong, you can't be corrected, so you can't submit. It's as simple as that.

Possibly not quite "journal"-worthy material... I own eleventy three nail polishes, but am completely incapable of applying them properly - it's the fingertips too, or nothing I loathe my body; being naked Is. The. Worst. I kinda like being embarrassed though, so it's not all doom and gloom... The only sport I will watch willingly is curling (and I'm extra excited when cats get involved) Not really sure I could kiss anyone who actually likes leeks. Maybe if you brush your teeth first. Maybe. I tend to overestimate the amount of time I have to get shit done. Plus. Procrastination. "Bits" in yoghurt are just plain wrong, as is coffee-served-in-a-glass; ffs, what's wrong with you people? I was seriously squicked by episode 9 of Girls, but I still use q-Tips o.O I am a Pinterest failure I'm the clumsiest person I know and my thumbs are not technology-friendly I get trolley rage. And pedestrian rage. Stop. Gathering. In. Doorways! Your logic has no place anywhere near my outrage. Sorry. I loathe my voice ... and my feet I have "water anxiety" - my water bottle must be nearby at all times. *Or*... I'll get thirsty I guess :/ I'm beyond horrified at the thought of something crawling into my ear (either one, I'm not picky).  I'm terrible at board games, but if I don't win it's because YOU cheated  -_- I get extreme food envy - to the extent I will move towards the back of the queue, so I can copy your order I hate the seams in my socks to be crooked; my toes get creeped out I laugh at the pompous I love being complimented on my outfit and I will tell you how much it cost and where I got it in the next breath I tell most people (who don't run quickly) about my grand plan for egg scrunching - minus the cleanup I am "happy" to wait out the last bit of moisturiser in the bottle - time and gravity will defeat you in the end you slimy fucker I adore designing psychometric tools that are both ethically and empirically questionable… Let me classify YOU! (just pm me and I'll pass judgement) I cannot cut in a straight line - as a result my wrapping paper to present ratio is seriously fucked

Makes perfect sense  "Go to a movie... have dinner... look at a Rembrandt... talk about a poem... see a tree... look into a mirror together... do things that lead somewhere... AND THEN kneeling and giving orders has a reason... a purpose.. a deeper more fulfilling feeling of needs and desires..." -unknown  If I want to meet you,  our first meeting will be vanilla with a Dominant twist. It will be about getting acquainted with each other,  getting comfortable in each others presence. Our first meeting and those after will be dictated by Me. If you don't communicate,  don't expect Me to read your peebrain. If you have the audacity to agree to a meet and you fail to follow through,  you can be sure I will tax you if you reach out to Me again.  In the event you failed a previous meet, you will pay for the previous failure.

Columbus has been feeling… quiet lately. Not in the peaceful sense—more like the kind of silence that comes when there’s a lack of presence. A lack of structure. A lack of men who understand what it means to offer themselves with intention. I’ve been observing more than engaging, and what I see is a pattern—too many who talk about submission, very few who live it with consistency, discretion, and discipline. That’s where my attention has been shifting. I’ve been considering creating something more… curated. A private space designed for those who understand devotion beyond surface-level interaction. Not performative. Not chaotic. Structured, intentional, and centered around real standards. Access would not be given lightly. If you’re the kind of man who needs constant attention, reassurance, or direction just to function—you won’t last. But if you’re composed, self-managed, and understand that true submission is proven in silence just as much as in service… then perhaps you’ll find yourself exactly where you belong. Columbus may be quiet—but I won’t be for long. — Mistress Nikki Vixen

Messy Little Piggy  Had the best time today rolling around in the bath in piss and custard. Oinking as I poured it all over my head, down over my snout and finishing by rubbing it all over my tits and pussy. Piggy piss play and sploshing, yum, my favourite. What food do you like to wallow and oink in?

Many folks talk about the importance of watching for red flags when searching for a Domme. In truth there are red flags a Domme must watch out for when interacting with a sub. See some below: -Claims they have no limits -Pressures the Dominant into playing in ways that violate their personal limits. -Shows no care or concern for the dominants wants/needs -Insists on playing with no safe word -Only talking to the Dominant when they are horny -Making threats of doing something drastic if the Dominant leaves or does not talk to them -Calling the dominant names or honorifics without their consent  -Insists on playing with you when they barely know anything about you -Demanding money or gifts. If you think of other red flags to add, please let me know. 

Please do not bother messaging me if you are a Sadist and can't respect my limits. Yes I have lots of limits but that just means I know what I do not like. Do not try to argue with me about them or say that I should consent to them. I will not, there is a story behind many of them so no I don't have to share my reasoning behind it. I do not care if you have trained married women before, that doesn't mean that every single married woman is going to consent to your so called training especially if you blow off their limits like its nothing.   What gets me though is telling me that flogging is all about sadism and pain, its really not and if you are a real Dom you would know that. There are many types of flogging impliments and many are not painful at all, I prefer thuddy impliments because they don't hurt yet will still get a reaction out of me. Just like you can't tell me that loosing feeling in part of your body while in bondage is just "part of the experience." No it is not, if you start to loose feeling that means something might be going wrong, I know this because a so called rope Dom told me it was "part of the experience" when I said my hands had gone numb, but a real rope Dom had told me that wasn't true so yes I know quite a few things don't bother trying to test me I will call you out on your bs. 

I am searching for a possible 3rd s-type person to add to my life. If you are a cis male it is strictly service based and it would be every other week. Must be local and live nearby. If you are a cis female I am open to a d/s dynamic if a connection is made. While I like women I need to have a mental/physical connection to be in a relationship with them. Please read all of my journal entries before contacting me. There are more pics and additional information about me on my Fetlife profile.  https://fetlife.com/users/497253

They both took the training sessions seriously. One hour, every Saturday morning, when he stopped by freshly showered on the way home from the gym. She'd be awake, browsing porn in bed, hungrily awaiting his arrival. She had spent her early adulthood living within the confines of strict parents, and only now was she finally out on her own, with her own place where she could indulge the fantasies she'd harbored for years.  But now she was nervous. Would she be too inexperienced? Would the men laugh at her? She wanted practice first. He knew a good arrangement when he found it. He didn't ask for anything more than the agreement provided. He was discreet. He encouraged her progress, talked her through her doubts, and unleashed her long-hidden needs. Most of all, he had the stamina to hold out until she'd completed her lesson. He knew how to communicate exactly what he wanted.  Each week they'd review her lessons from the past week, and then he'd teach her a new technique or variation. He taught her to use her tongue, use her lips, to make it last, to swallow, to clean up every drip, and to make eye contact when she thanked him afterwards. She'd been mediocre at first, of course, but now after only two months he was a reasonable cocksucker. Maybe even a good one. Her inexperience meant she was a blank slate, with no bad habits.  Soon she'd be an extraordinary ball drainer. Her future partners and husband would benefit from her training for decades to come.

prt 2 ... This was the first one on one interaction I'd had with
a female for over a month, and I'm ashamed to say that with
the smell of her perfume and her proximity to me, I was feeling
the tingles of an erection.
As we talked our legs occasionally touched each other,
and I was always the one to move. June told me that 23 was no
age and that a good looking young guy like me would have no
problem finding someone new. I tried to get off the subject
and asked about her. She was divorced from Emma's dad
for some 20 years now and never seemed to have any interest
in dating again. She smiled and put her hand on my knee and
squeezed and told me I was sweet. I must admit I blushed a
little. She seemed to take courage from my blushing and
moved her hand slightly up my leg and squeezed gently again
. Her smile was even broader as I began to squirm a little
trying to hide my growing erection. Her eyes held mine as
she slid her hand further up my thigh and her thumb brushed
the tip of my erection. She swirled her thumb around the
head making it twitch. I went to stand but her other hand
reached over and grabbed my knee firmly. I went to speak
but she seductively shushed me. Her thumb was joined by
the rest of her hand. I pushed upwards. June smiled and pulled her hand away. Leaving my cock twitching
in my jeans.
She asked me if I liked that, I dumbly nodded. She asked if I wanted more, again I nodded. Smiling, she leaned in and
kissed me gently on the lips, her tongue quickly darting
in and out of my mouth. She pulled away and told me to stand
up and strip as she wanted to see me naked. I was sexually
hypnotized, my little head was doing the thinking and the
rest of my body was just going along for the ride. I stood
in front of her, she smiled and leaned back on the sofa as
I took off my shirt. She leaned forward and undid my belt,
and pulled it from the hoops of my jeans, folded it and
laid it across her lap. I undid my jeans and let them drop
and stepped out of them. My hard as iron cock was trying its
best to escape its boxer short prison. I hesitated for a
second but her smile encouraged me and I slid them off as
well.
She reached over and cupped my hard balls and gently squeezed
, My cock throbbed and I almost exploded as she took the head
in her lips and sucked gently flicking it with her tongue. What happened next took me totally by surprise and I nearly
fell over. She wound the belt around my thighs and pulled
it tight. I found my footing and put my legs together and
she took the opportunity to pull it tighter till it was biting
into my thighs. She fastened it.
I must have had the dumbest of looks on my face as she stood
. Her hand reached down and stroked my cock and she kissed
me gently on the lips. She pulled away and smiled as I leaned
into her. As she walked around me, her warm hands stroking
my chest, gently pulling on the hairs. She kissed my shoulder
and neck. Biting ever so gently. She stroked my back, I felt
her nail lightly scratch. Her hand slid down and gave my
tight ass cheeks a squeeze. I was in a haze as she reached
into her bag. I became more confused as she pulled out a scarf
and tied tightly around my eyes. I heard a jingle then felt
cold steel being tightened around my wrist and then my arms
being pulled behind me and the other wrist was cuffed. I
felt her circle me. I winced as she pinched me and poked me
. She squeezed my balls hard and I almost doubled. Holding onto my shoulders, she gently pushed me. I shuffled the best
I could. She stopped and I figured we were in the middle of
the room.  

 I am guessing that a lot of men here, and I don’t blame them, really, just want someone to look at their cock and tell them they did a good job by having one. But honestly, is that what D/s is? I thought that a Dom was a man that had figured out how to seduce a woman and liked seduction. I thought the whole point was for them to use their power in ways to see what they could do. Where are these men? I feel like I have more power now than ever and am so disappointed at the lack of creativity and artistry. What is up you guys? Within minutes of making a connection a man says ‘you will be my whore’ which is a bit much, but ok, my dude, let’s see what you’ve got? Make me your whore! Just you telling me I will be your whore really isn’t so effective. Plus you don’t mean it, you might mean you want someone you can jack off to/with, which is cool, but that’s not your whore, that’s just a whore. And being a whore, which is also fine, is not what I am looking to experience. I am surely worth more than that.  When I think about being a man’s whore, well I get very excited. I think about the possibilities for so many interesting and intriguing things, I want to give this person pleasure, I want to focus on them, learn how to serve them. I want us to build a connection that allows for mutuality. I want to want to be really bad for him.   But it’s a relationship and in my mind an important one and perhaps I am wrong but when I offer myself up sexually to someone it’s kind of sacred to me. I take the thing seriously, I am good at devotion.  There have been men that believed they very much wanted me to be their whore, but with the exception of a very few,  they weren’t really getting me, and though they seemed very much committed to ‘the idea of idea’ of the dynamic, they  weren’t able to be realistic- like they lacked maturity or experience. I totally thought I would be able to find someone to teach me something. And I am mean, I am not that evolved. I am sure I have a lot to learn. Are my expectations out of bounds? Am I wrong about what this D/s thing has come to be about? Any sane person out there want to share a prespective on this for me?   No need to attack me, I am seirously just speaking from my own experience.

This happened to me some years ago now but still remains in my memory as one of the my most embarrassing but exciting experiences. I was staying with my BF at his house for a couple of weeks. He only lived a short drive from the sea and we occasionally went for a walk on the beach. One day he announced that he thought that because of my behavior I was in need of a spanking which is something, I might add, that he did to me almost on a daily basis, and he decided we were going for a beach walk and he was going to give me a public spanking. Well, he had never done that before, I always got spanked in private usually in the bedroom or the lounge room and I was a bit dubious and rather nervous about it and what the public reaction might be and I said so. He just said well that’s tough girl that’s what’s going to happen to you and I knew there was no arguing with him, his word was law in his house (and out of it). I pouted at him a little and tried to argue further but of course it made no difference, in fact it probably made it worse for me. I was dressed in a summery, flowery mini dress, it was summertime, that flared from under my bust and only just covered my bum. Underneath I only had on my bra and panties, with my beach walking sandals on my feet. He was wearing cargo shorts and a tee shirt and to my alarm was carrying a cane in his hand as we went out the door. I said you’re not taking that with you are you! He just told me to shut up and get in the car. I did so, still pouting, which was about the only sort of defiance I could hope to get away with without risking getting a slap. I put on my seat belt and sat in nervous silence staring at my bare legs as he drove us to the beach. My mind was in a bit of a turmoil as I thought about what he said he was going to do to me but I did begin to find it curiously exciting and arousing even thinking about which panties I was wearing if they were going to be seen. Ok, out you get he said to me as we parked in the beachside carpark. He emerged from the car carrying the cane quite openly. I was quietly amused and aroused at his confidence and audacity as he walked down the sandy track to the beach proper, cane in one hand and towing me along behind him with the other. The sky was a clear bright blue with a few fluffy little clouds scudding across it. I now felt very nervously alive and excited at the thought of what was to come. The surf was crashing noisily onto the beach and the cool breeze blew through my hair and lifted up my dress forcing me to do a Marylyn Munroe seven year itch sort of pose to keep it down. To my relief the beach was not all that crowded, just a few people scattered around but there was a roadwork gang working on the road that ran alongside the beach and I could feel those guys already taking an interest in me with my attempts to keep my dress in place. We walked up the beach past the road work crew and the beach sunbathers to a rocky area at one end which was some distance from anybody else but definitely not completely out of sight. He sat on a conveniently placed large rock and I petitely sat down in the sand next to him and shading my eyes with my hand looked out to sea where a fishing boat was underway bobbing up and down in the swell. We sat like that in silence for a little while then he turned to me and in a rather soft sexy voice started to admonish me for what he called my lack of respect and disobedience over the last couple of days and how I needed to be taught a lesson, spare the rod and spoil the girl sort of stuff. I squirmed around a little as I listened to him knowing that he was right I had not been obeying him as instantly as I should have been doing, even occasionally arguing with him and that I did deserve what I was about to get. I looked across the beach towards the fairly distant beachgoers we had passed and then to the work gang on the road, also fairly distant from us now, but nobody seemed to be taking any notice of us. He took hold of my shoulder length blonde hair at the back of my neck then slowly but deliberately forced my head back until I was staring at that vivid blue sky. Automatically I twisted my head to try to get away from him but this just made him firm up his grip on my hair until it hurt and I stopped resisting him. Still using my hair to control me he pulled me across his knees and held me there. My flared dress was so short that it was already up round my waist. I felt his hand caress my bum through my satin panties and his fingers went down between my legs. I was already a teeny bit aroused by all this and by his power and confidence in what he was doing and it was now all I could do to prevent myself from squealing out loud. I just sighed instead. Then he started to spank me. He had large powerful hands and it always hurt. Each smack across my bum sent pain shooting through me making me g. I kept my hands in front of me, palms on the sand sort of balancing myself over his knees, I knew better than to try and protect my bottom with my hands. Then he hooked his thumb into the waistband of my panties and pulled them down until they were stretched tight across my mid thighs and continued spanking my now naked bum. He had pulled me across his knees facing away from the distant beachgoers and work gang but still in sight of them and I remember hoping that someone didn’t think that I was being assaulted and call the police, the last thing I wanted to face as we got back to the car would be a couple of grinning cops waiting for us and having to explain

  But would I talk about my need for your attention? Talk about my desires for naked intimacy, so close and nearly breathless, kisses sweet and juicy, long and short, tongues and fingers intertwining as I try to lick and suck every square inch of your body, the honorarium of your gift and my reception, the stoke of your cock into my opening mouth, hungry to be fed, to be filled, to be possessed by you, penetrated, taken, lust smeared over my uplifted breasts, over my mound, rubbed against my clit, hands pulling it aside with eager participation, equally wanting to lay back, but also to lay you back, concentrate on your growling desire now being swirled with my saliva, my love wetness, stoking you into my mouth, your hips thrusting, your words spoken of being your slut, the one that will get to be used, our passion exalted between us, like a plug into an electrical outlet of my holes....my chant of yes Daddy, yes Daddy...both silent, murmured, coming out loud in my head as I join you on the edge of our orgasm...ride it, babe, ride it...   That's what I would talk about.

My profile text as of 15 yerars ago. It was much too long.   I am a submissive TV with small bones for a male, a slim waist line and slender, fine features - very full brown hair down to shoulder length (as you can see) - very passable and used to living in female clothes - quite fit and great endurance, but below average brute-strength abilities for genetic male. I am generally submissive to those I admire, respect and/or fear, and eager to please them - have also been told repeatedly throughout life that I am abnormally humble and gentle for a genetic male. I'm quite adept at various stereotypically feminine pursuits such as cooking, sewing, house cleaning, laundry, ironing, clothes maintenance and gardening. I have some experience (though not abundant) serving life-style/non-pro Dommes and Dom/me couples, though not for longer than a week at a time. Acknowledging that the specific individuals are more important than the particular concept, I could see myself as open to and being happy in a number of possibilities, depending upon the details:   - a more mild monogamous long-term relationship with a dominant woman. It would probably be best, if You leaned toward the sensual domme end of the spectrum.- full-time enslavement to a Domme or lesbian dominant couple: Although I would hopefully provide You with the basic emotional and domestic support that You seek in a long-term TPE relationship, I recognize that You may have cravings for a manly man (or men!), and would try my best not to show the jealousy I would no doubt feel to some extent, should You decide to satisfy these cravings.   Regardless of the particular concept, it would be desirable, if You were enthusiastic about strict feminization and enforced chastity of the trans submissive.A situation involving old-school domesticity and self-sufficiency will be a distinct plus, and, in this case, I will be quite happy to carry the domestic bulk of that burden in the relationship; I just don't want to serve someone who'll insist that I buy processed packaged foods only, for instance.     Thank You for Your time!  

Guys be like, “men are visual creatures.” Ok mr, than why do you look like that? Maybe a lotta fellas don’t have mirrors at home. I had to be honest with a male  yesterday and explain to him that a lotta times the women THEY WANT, that don’t want them, might not be due to their financial status. A lotta times us women might not find you physically attractive (men never wanna consider this). Although your grandma and momma been telling you how handsome you are your whole life (they’re supposed to BTW) That doesn’t mean that women who you cross paths with on a daily basis look at you and think,“yea, I’d like to feel his penis inside of me, or be romantically involved with him”. This explains why it’s some not financially stable men that stay with a fine ass Boss Chick. Some men can get outta prison Tamar and be living with lawyer in her water-front condo & driving her Benz truck within a week.

 Baldrick