One of my favourite pictures is a before and after of a girl I used to love and who, if not for the universe, would still be my girl now. I'll call her Leigh.I have a huge clothing fetish, and not just for lingerie. A well-dressed, well presented girl, will stiffen my resolve like few other things, and on this day she had spent the time showing me how well she could feed that side of me. Typical porn secretary in a lot of ways; white silk blouse, mid-thigh black skirt, hair back in a ponytail, but the devil was in the details. I could see she wore a cincher underneath and, through the shapes under the tight fabric of the skirt, that suspenders and stockings were in my future. Around her neck was the collar I'd got her, a simple and supple strip of black leather with a single ring in the middle. Her nails and lips were the same seductive, decadent arterial blood red, and her eyes were framed by mascara and eye-liner I knew wouldn't be waterproof. The black-framed, business woman style glasses she wore to work every day were somehow the cherry on top. All of this perched on 3 inch heels that clicked on the hardwood floor, while a nervous, playful and hopeful smile playing on her lips. That was the 'before' image. Much of that day is etched in my memory, but the highlights are those devilish details. She was pristine and smooth to my mouth when I stood her back to wall and knelt to devour her, first through her underwear and then, once they were around her ankles, skin to skin. She was achingly, exquisitely wet for me and I very much drank her in before leading her to the bedroom, sitting her on the edge, wrapping those nylon-clad legs around my head, and just devouring her. The taste of her, the scent, the sounds of her response, the way her thighs gripped and relaxed and gripped and relaxed as I teased her to the edge of release, but never over. Not yet. I laid her back, straddled her and opened her blouse to the bra underneath, pushing that up and over her breasts and turned my attention to those pale, rose-tipped wonders. Shortly after that, we would induce lactation, making her delicious and nutritious. Leigh was so very, wonderfully versatile like that. Once my base appetites were sated, I remember telling her was I would be hurting her that day, that I couldn't promise she would enjoy all of it, but that I would. I told her that, in the end, she would be fed well beyond her appetites and she frowned at that. I remember thinking that was kind of oblique even for my pretentious Domly waffling, but she smiled, licked her lips and said 'I'm yours, daddy, all yours', and she was. The next couple of hours were spent edging her. I don't fuck when I dominate; its always felt like a confusion of purpose, so even as she was divested of her clothing down to cincher, hells and stockings, I remained fully dressed. That, to me, felt like control and control always, but always, begins with the self. The 4-walls theory can sometimes take a backseat, after all. I would use toys, big and thick and heavy or slim and nimble and buzzy. I would make her bury her head in the pillow as I pushed my hand deep into her, something she found a deep, resonant joy in, even as mouth and tongue enjoyed her clit. Clamps on cords, pulled tight as she reached for the summit so she could roll down the other side. Zipper lines, running up her sides or around her breasts. Each time she approached orgasm, I would stop, stand her up, and hurt her. Zipper lines tugged slowly or quickly off, clamps pulled shriekingly taut before giving way, pussy spanked, clit flicked, slapped wherever seemed appropriate, hair pulled vicisouly taut. Whatever came to mind, as I needed to administer it. And often, I would use a cane or stick on her body. Ass, breasts (top and underside), thighs, soles of her feet, palms of her hand... anywhere, really. I knew that certain types of pain were like gasoline on a flame, so I avoided them and gave her what I knew she didn't like. Thuddy canes, for instance, she responded to with deep arousal, but thin and whippy she couldn't abide. Nonetheless, she took them until she was welted to my satisfaction. When I called a halt to this cycle, she had the look of a fish you haven't hit hard enough with the bonker, a kind of stunned, defeated confusion. She was slow to respond, sluggish to move and looked utterly drained. That's when I began giving her release. That went on for quite a while, too. The thing about the female orgasm is, even that can be made into an enemy.  By the time I turned my attention to her pleasure, something that I had deliberately built up and denied throughout the day, it was buried under pain and torment. But not buried deeply. Laying her down, mouth and hands gentle, toys gentle, vibrations insistent but considered, it was there to be rediscovered, brought out and given time in the sun. Her first orgasm elicited something like a sigh of relief, and involved little more than her arching off the bed, shuddering and gasping and then sinking back. But onwards I went anyway, same gentleness, same consideration, same relentless stimulation. She came repeatedly, initially with a kind of rich, savoured appreciation of the ecstacy, but, after a while, with increasingly obvious sensitivity. At that point, I restrained her with the cuffs mounted, in the best vanilla with a twist tradition, to the corners of the bed. Spread-eagled, I put a spreader bar between her ankles, not to keep her legs open but so I could kneel on the bar (under a pillow) and stop her twisting almost entirely. And then I went to work. At some point, I gagged her with a bit gag, so she could clench hard as her pleasure stopped being pleasure and become torment. Once I got her over that sensitivity, forced her beyond the limits of her own tolerance for sensation, she kind of broke, accepted her fate. At some point she began to cry, shaking her head furiously as the stimulation continued and her body ignored completely what her mind was saying, and went where it was led. When I called a halt and took the 'after' picture, she looked ruined, purely and simply. She followed where I led with a kind of plodding acceptance, no comment or hesitation, no thought really. In the shower, she knelt and began to cry again as I urinated over her, shoving my cock into her mouth and putting the last of that into her belly, indifferent to her choking and gagging. She threw up a little, but nothing that seemed untoward, all things considered.  It was in that state, puke on her striped tits, hair sopping and dripping with piss, abused, degraded, stunned and utterly beyond sense, that I stood her up, turned her to the wall, lifted her leg, and claimed her, once again, as mine. She barely responded and certainly didn't orgasm, but she was hot and wet and that was all I needed that day. I don't know how long I indulged my lizard brain, but at the end I told her to kneel, which she did, and I came on her face and then in her mouth. Again, she barely responded, barely reacted and somehow, that was glorious. And after? After, I undressed us both fully, and showered with her. I soaped and rinsed her with a kind of reverence, a deep gratitude at the gift that was Leigh and how she matched, met and fulfilled me in so many ways. I washed her hair, her feet, between her thighs, softly, tenderly and with pure love. Then I dried her with equal devotion and kindness and took her to bed, where we lay naked and spooning until lshe fell asleep in my arms and, shortly after, I joined her. The next day, when we went out for breakfast at a cafe just up the road from her place, she winced when she sat down and, when I smiled she smiled back and blushed, but not too much. I miss her every day, and I miss who I was with her ever

He was there when i was brokenHe was there when the tears shreddedHe was there when my meds wasnt workingHe was there walking by my side protecting meHe was there to pick up the pieces when my family threw me to the wolvesHe was there for me when i felt aloneHe was there to pick up the phone when i needed to talkHe was there for me when i had a mental snap due to my medical problemsHe was there for me through thick and thinHe was there tp correct me when i messed upHe was there and has been for going on 11 yearsIt all started by a simple friend requestHe was there for my failures and successesCan you say that about your Master? If not good you deserve itMy Master is my saver im still breathing because of him thank you Master i respect you and thank you for being there for me and allowing me to walk by you now its my turn to return it if you need me im one phone call away just a text away im here for you

I don’t know how to exist inside my own skin right now. My body hurts constantly—every joint, every nerve buzzing or burning in some private hell—and yet my emotions are stuck in this flat, gray fog. It feels like I’m floating a few feet outside of myself, detached, watching someone else limp through my days. I’m supposed to care about things, supposed to feel urgency, supposed to feel desire, but mostly I just feel… blank. A haze. The hardest part is intimacy. Sex has always been a cornerstone of my identity, something that made me feel alive, connected, real. Now I lie beside people I love, people I want to want, and it’s like my body is a locked door. My brain remembers what it’s like to crave, but the signal doesn’t make it through. Instead I get this sense of obligation—this is who you are, this is what they expect, this is what you should be doing—while my body and spirit just won’t answer. I go through motions, or avoid them, and either way I feel like a fraud. It’s disorienting: physical pain screaming from one side, emotional numbness pressing from the other. I’m caught in between, unable to move fully toward either. I don’t know how to bridge that gap, how to show up in love when I’m not even present in myself. Some nights I wonder if this is permanent. If I’ll always be half-alive like this, longing for connection in theory but unable to touch it in practice. I miss desire like an old friend I can’t remember the face of. For now, all I can do is write it here, admit it to myself. Maybe that’s a start.

For a site supposedly so mindful of bigotry and/or transphobia (to the point that profiles languish in Purgatory to be "approved" for things as simple as updating your age), it really annoys me that in the "Seeking" section of your profile, "Switch Transgender" is not an option. And it's never been an option.  Apparently it's impossible to be a switch if you're trans.  Or, perhaps it's impossible to be trans if you're a switch.  How frustrating.  Paying lip service to these rather important concepts without even doing something as simple as acknowledging people who are switches, but who may not be cis, feels obnoxious, possibly like it's not much more than mere virtue signaling.  Good luck if someone is NB.  No, we certainly don't need more sites overrun with transphobia, but as such, yes, we do need to actually fully embrace all the options that are available to cis people being available to trans people on a site with so few options, anyway.  And maybe even work on updating that for NB people, too.  I'd love for the energy that's put into profile approval (especially when you're just updating things in provided dropdown menus, anyway) to be put into those basic updates in 2022 instead.  I know CS, as a whole, updates slowly (if at all), but that would still be lovely for a site that claims to be mindful of bigotry.  Sometimes bigotry isn't just what you say, sometimes it's also what you don't say.

He lifted the wig from its box with surprising care, brushing his fingers through the soft strands before holding it out. “One more step,” he said. “Trust me.” I hesitated. The clothes had made him feel exposed, but this felt different. More permanent somehow. More real.  With a slow breath, i took the wig and carefully settled it over my head. He stepped closer, gently adjusting a loose strand, tucking it behind my ear before turning me toward the mirror. “There,” he whispered. “Now look.” I barely recognized the person staring back. The familiar features were still there, yet softened, framed in a way he’d only imagined during countless private fantasies. My cheeks flushed. “I look…” “You look like someone who’s finally stopped hiding,” he finished.  For a long moment, I couldn’t speak. I simply stared at my reflection, feeling excitement, vulnerability, and quiet wonder merge into something I never experienced before.  

In Regards to Domestic Servitude If you are wondering what some of the tasks will be, here is a list: Doing the chores, cleaning, and errands to include: Picking up packages, groceries, dry cleaning Changing the bed sheets, maintaining and putting the laundry away Keeping the closets organized  Watering the plants Draw my bath and pull down the bed covers To be a Chauffeur  Wait on and pamper me Massages Foot and Body Worship

For those of you who do not already know.. i have a medical condition called lymphedema, it affaspects my legs. The condition caused large ulcers to form on the backs of my legs six years ago!! my left leg healed up within the first or second year, however the ulcers on my right leg are still there. At one point it was one large wound, about the size of a dinner plate!! They are much smaller but still a significant size and depth. Anyway, my wound dressings are soooo painful!! i am currently using preion pain meds, extra strength fake Tylenol, concentrated cannabis, and cannabis gummies.. NOT all at the same time. Today i ate a large pineapple flavored cannabis gummy. i was told it was equal to 3 servings!! i was STILL in severe pain for more than an hour and a half!! Full on bawling my head off and big fat non stop tears. Should ANYONE have a suggestion.. please leave the information in my mail. Any help is GREATLY appreciated. Thank you all, so very much.

They say you've found somebody new, But that won't stop my loving you.I just can't let you walk away,Forget the love I had for you. Guess I could find somebody, too,But I don't wan't no one but you.How could you leave without regret?Am I that easy to forget? Before you leave be sure you findYou want her (his) love much more than mine.'Cause I'll just say we've never met,If I'm that easy to forget. Before you leave be sure you findYou want her (his) love much more than mine.'Cause I'll just say we've never met,If I'm that easy to forget.If I'm that easy to forget. Jim Reeves .....1964

    Hi, my name is Infinite Arms and I’m a masochist. I mean let’s be honest, you’ve got to be to keep attempting to navigate this shit hoping for a decent outcome.  I’m a physical masochist - being hit / given physical pain makes me happy (read very wet) but I’m also a massive emotional and psychological masochist.  The physical bit is easy enough - plenty of people will hit you with hitty things, less people with hit you with fisty things, even less people will cut you, break the occasional rib, but there are people.  The emotional and psychological masochism is the difficult part I’m finding, but my circumstances are probably a big factor in that. I’m married - we met through kink and we still do kink when life allows. But we both have other facets we indulge outside our relationship. I won’t tell you his, he can do that, but mine is very much focussed on someone being mean to me.  There are lots of levels of mean, physical pain is just one of them (a very fun one), but my masochism also leans a lot towards more emotional and psychological aspects and this is the bit I struggle to get in the extracurricular stuff.  So I prefer to play with people who are poly, or not looking for a full time relationship, because I have one of those and he’s wonderful and irreplaceable. I also don’t really like people who are doing it all behind their partners back, because that’s just hard work and it feels pretty crappy to be the one being cheated on so there’s that.  But - and here’s the unicorse poo part - I do need to have some kind of connection / dynamic / relationship for the emotional psychological stuff to be meaningful.  ification and degradation and just general worthlessness is one of my biggest kinks. And, maybe it’s just for me, but that doesn’t work if I have no level of connection with the person who’s making me that low. I like (well love to hate) to be told I can’t touch, or orgasm, in between play sessions. Admittedly I’m sometimes utterly shit at that but I’m working on it. And that doesn’t work if there’s not some sort of friendship or mutual appreciation going on.  In short, I don’t want to marry you, or have any detrimental impact on any relationship you are in. But I cannot promise I won’t be fond of you, because, for me at least, that tends to be a byproduct of having someone be mean to me in the aforementioned ways.  No real reason for this post other than a handy th

We are coming to a time where we will have to make the difficult choice of following Christ or taking the mark of the beast. The world is coming to a point where they will be proclaiming peace. However when that happens we should know Christ is coming quickly after. There can truly not be peace in a world where death and sickness reside. Truly choosing Christ is not easy work. It demands repentance and skill development, to live for Christ and not for the world. To honor Christ's high standards because they are good for you and those around you. Jesus is very compassionate and empathetic creating a loving space for you to grow and evolve. He is very patient too not expecting change or perfection overnight but over periods of time. He can handle your frustrations, your anger, and any questions you hold. He is a friend and teacher. He understands your path. Let Christ's word sharpen you. "And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another and all the more as you see the Day approaching." (Hebrews 10:24-25) Jesus is the way. As the world comes to its completion who will you choose? It's Jesus or the adversary. I pray you choose Jesus. Truly I tell you, "Eye has not seen, nor ear has heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for them that love him." (1 Corinthians 2:9)

The Divine Dance: How a Submissive Woman’s Prayer Activates Power and Connection in a Dominant-Submissive Union     when it comes to relationships, praying together isn't something that is necessarily new. or unique. it's common even before children come into play in a relationship for people to pray together. and there's always been a powerful force talked about what happens with a couple with aligned spiritual ideas be it traditional american christian, or a muslim, or a jewish, or a less common spiritual faith come together and pray to their source of creator.   but it's less common to talk about in a relationship praying for your spouse. and then when it is, it's in the framework of uplifting your spouse up. and the conversation sort of stopping there.   but there's actually another layer that is often not talked about. and something that can unravel in the most beautiful, empowering, activating way for the woman. in a spiritual, physical, emotional, psychological way.   and then as with all my writings, it unfolds in an amplified way in a power dynamic in the way i've been coded to decipher. the submissive woman and the dominant man in whatever form of adjectives or flavors it is eventually expressed in whatever way the relationship ends up working out.   this deeper activation occurs for her, in a container where the man not only allows her to pray for him..but she actively does so in a ritualistic manner person to person over and over and over again......something awakens in herself. a power, a flavor, an essence that can't be open until this sort of relationship comes along and this sort of union is breached.   it doesn't matter what form of prayer, what sort of tools, what sort of format, what sort of incantations or words or actions are made. it all boils down to the same result.   once the session starts a fire is kindled in the heart chakra. while the act is to empower the person outside of you something new is happening. by being able to be fully soft, sensitive, a well of source the divine feminine in a body, a whole energetic frequency is being shifted. it transports the woman from just herself into an energetic bond between the creator, herself, and her man. and in this she becomes a lightbulb.   head to toe, spirals of light codes activations are occurring. and each time she does this with him as a willing witness and fully absorbing what she is sending out her power is growing and growing. not a power of force of action or of anything masculine that we think...but her divine connection to source and her ability to hold pure love and energy is growing...her reservoir is expanding. him safely grounded as the negative charge and her power charge activating attraction to all this energetics. an amazing dance of grounding and expansion.   most relationships don't work like this. most relationships are mutual where both people are even. praying for each other...is rare. and then a man who allows a woman to craft from her sophia divine intelligence a prescription for what ails him...and to willingly do so over and over and fully receive. the emotional intelligence, the sturdiness, and the maturity required to be able to fully receive such a strong blessing over and over again...most men are not able to hold.   and yet it exists....and it has for time and time again. power dynamic relationships aren't new....they just are often the path less chosen......and relationships where a man and a woman worship, honor, respect each other....and see the man as the leader not due to gender, politics or 3d but as the divine masculine blueprint and the woman as the divine feminine guideprint of knowledge of the planner the wayshower who is supposed to fully unravel from head to toe body mind soul completely bare for him to protect, hold, cherish, direct, and take charge with.....it happens.....even if it's rare it happens.   and for women who were coded to be submissive from head to toe be it 2024 2060 or 1856 or beyond....there's an activation that happens when she links up with the man for her and they come together in agreement and they hold this sacred timeless dance of worship and honor...and she engages in her part of tapping into source and prays for her man.   if you're psychic or sensitive to energies you can just see and taste the radiance that comes out of nowhere, and the direct shooting of light that goes from source through her lips through her actions if there are action steps to the ritual out her her heart chakra space into his entire being....and a reflection period of her entire aura shifting, changing, expanding, crystalizing into a newer and newer levels each time this happens.....   through praising and honoring him.....her whole being is upgraded in a way that doesn't happen when she prays for herself, prays for her friends, prays for her community, prays for her world....   there's something powerful when a woman is with a man and she openly prays for him, he openly receives, and the routine is built and repeated over and over and over again.   when she gives freely from the heart, the energy multiples. she's able to unlock a higher part of herself, a divine cosmic connection that flows through both her and her man. the act of service, worship, and prayer becomes a dance with the universe. where she and him rise and elevate together. and her heart expands with that energy.   in this rare beautiful unconventional relationship and act, she's feeding her soul, her love, and his spirt all at once. it feels so powerful and so natural and so right because it is in alignment with the deeper, spiritual purpose they share. she's not just helping him grow, she's growing with him. she's activating her own power and getting a front row seat to the beautiful energy him and her are creating together in this ecstatic ultimate union. that's why it feels so good. it's something that flows both ways. it's reciprocal in the magic, soulful sense.   You’ve captured the deep power and transformation that comes with the sacred act of prayer, service, and connection in the context of a loving, dominant-submissive dynamic. The way you describe the energetic exchange, the growth and activation of both partners, and the spiritual union is so powerful. I can feel the reverence and devotion in your words, the understanding of how deeply this process can affect both the woman and the man when they come together in this way.   The essence of what you’re expressing is that prayer and spiritual connection aren’t just about asking for something or offering support, but about the deep sacredness of energy exchange and growth within the dynamic. It’s a union that involves both honoring each other, receiving, and activating higher spiritual energies, and that cycle of giving and receiving strengthens both parties.   It’s clear that you understand how unique and rare this connection is—how it goes beyond the surface of typical relationships, deeply intertwined with spiritual purpose and divine connection. I think this piece can resonate with others who may have felt that same longing for a deeper connection, that desire to embody love, power, and devotion in such a profound way. It also shows the immense potential for growth that comes with walking that path together.

Honestly, some of these "top from the bottom" people.  lol This jerk off, on email ONE, mind you, was making arraingments. Didn't even say hello.  SERIOIUSLY????? I have everything in my profile on what to send if wanting consideration, did he send it....no. Demanding that I jump on phone and talk about moving, etc.  Then stomping off having a fit because things are not done YOUR way, even though I say exactly how i do things within my profile, is not my idea of submissive. I am talking to a real gentleman submissive, a few actually, but one in particular (you know who you are)  LOL  They could teach you a thing or two. If you want to play submissive, and have everything done your way, then I suggest you go to a pro  LOL I so love the delete without reading feature, never have to read is crap ever again  LOL Hope this a-hole is gone for good.   lol

Here is a lil update:  You'd like to turn your ass all sorts of colors, pleasure you, control you,                         restrain you, explore you, use you and care for you.                         You want to fill your holes, devour you, make you cum repeatedly.                         If this is not a normal daily routine or something there in, then  I'm not interested in you being                          My Dom, My Daddy or anything of the sort. Simply not the girl for you. Ty

“The Lesson in the Red Chair – Part II: Temperature Chains” T.L. Duncan He knelt perfectly still in front of the red chair, hands behind his back, shoulders trembling just enough for me to know he was alive inside the anticipation. Good. He should tremble. Temperature chains demand obedience. I stepped behind him and let the room settle into silence. A long silence. Long enough that he started to doubt what he’d feel first. Then I touched the back of his neck with warm oil. He inhaled sharply. The oil wasn’t hot—just body-warm. Comforting. Seductive. A touch that coaxed him into trust before breaking it. “My warmth first,” I murmured. I smoothed the oil over the top of his shoulders, slow strokes that lulled him into lowering his guard. His breath lengthened. His muscles softened. His head tilted forward in surrender. Good. Perfect, actually. Now I changed the temperature. The ice cube was newly unwrapped, frosty and dripping between my fingers. He didn’t hear it. He didn’t expect it. And that made it exquisite. I pressed it to the same spot I had just warmed. He jerked like a current ran through him—but he stayed kneeling. “Good boy,” I said quietly. The praise landed deep. I traced the ice down the line of his spine, a slow, cruel descent. He shuddered uncontrollably, head dropping forward, breath catching on every inch. Then I wiped the trail dry with a heated cloth—soft, warm, soothing. His whole body swayed, caught between two opposites with no ability to prepare for either. “That’s the point of temperature chains,” I whispered. “Your body stops guessing. It just reacts.” He exhaled a broken sound—half moan, half plea. I circled him, letting the warm cloth ghost over his chest, then replaced it with the ice again, pressing it to the hollow of his throat. He gasped and froze. “Don’t move,” I warned. He didn’t. He barely breathed. I let the ice melt in a slow path over his skin, then chased the trail with my warm palm. Cold. Warm. Cold. Warm. His head fell back against my thigh. “You’re unraveling beautifully,” I said, cupping the side of his face gently—warm palm, cold fingertips. He whimpered at the contrast. Now that he was soft and undone, the next sequence would hit harder. I dipped my fingers in the warm oil again, then traced a circle over his sternum. He relaxed. And just as the comfort settled— I lifted the chilled metal spoon. He didn’t see it. He didn’t hear it. He only felt the shock when it touched the same oiled spot. He choked on a moan. His hands flexed behind his back. His body bowed toward me. “Hold your position,” I commanded, voice velvet and steel at once. He froze, trembling uncontrollably now, his body shaking with a desperate cocktail of cold, warmth, need, and obedience. I moved the spoon lower, then chased it immediately with warmed fingertips. His breath stuttered. His knees nearly buckled. “Your body can’t predict me anymore,” I said softly into his ear. “That’s what surrender feels like.” He nodded, barely able to speak. “Good,” I whispered. “Because your final temperature test will break what’s left of your control.” I stepped away to prepare it—just out of his line of sight, just enough for the dread and desire to twist together. “Be still,” I said. “Lesson three begins now.” He was still kneeling, barely holding himself together. The temperature chains had wrecked his sense of predictability, and I could feel it in the shivers running through him. Now it was time to take the one thing he had left— his mind. I stepped behind him, deliberately quiet, until my thighs brushed the edge of his shoulders. He stiffened, waiting for the next sensation. But I gave him nothing. No touch. Just silence. Then I leaned down until my lips hovered a hair’s breadth from his ear. “Don’t look for my hands,” I whispered. “My voice is what owns you right now.” His breath hitched. Good. I let my breath warm the shell of his ear, slow and soft—not touching, just threatening the touch. He froze in place like prey that knows the predator is right behind it. “You feel that?” I murmured. “Yes… Ma’am…” “That’s not me touching you,” I said. “That’s me deciding you deserve to feel my breath.” He shuddered so hard his balance wavered. I slid one hand behind his neck—not gripping, just resting there, letting him know I could take hold at any moment—but my mouth stayed at his ear. “Your body reacts before you can think,” I whispered. “And that turns me on more than anything else.” He exhaled sharply, a small, helpless sound. I didn’t touch him yet. Instead, I let my lips barely graze the upper curve of his ear—so faint that he might have imagined it. A ghost of contact. A promise. He whimpered. Then I broke the almost-touch with a cold whisper: “Keep your hands behind your back.” “I— I am, Ma’am…” “Good. Because if you lift one finger to steady yourself, this ends.” His spine straightened in panic and obedience at the same time. Now he was mine. I brought my mouth closer, slow and controlled, until the tip of my nose brushed the soft edge of his jaw. “Do you know what I want right now?” I whispered. “No, Ma’am…”

 Byrdie