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

This account is old (ish) and my priorities have shifted. A power exchange dynamic (as my name suggests) is no longer a pursuit in-and-of itself. I am no longer interested in the energy expendature with shoe-horning a personality type into a role they can't possibly achieve for a multitude of reasons. Shit works or it doesn't. Things align or they don't...or you work to make you align or you don't. However, a natural alignment of a square peg to a square hole gets you part-way there. My priority, instead, is authenticity independent of any prescribed dynamic. If I can't crawl inside you and feel you, I don't know how to be interested in you. 

LongTerm Chastity The waves of denial come and go.There are days when i forget that i am locked up, then a wave of reality hits and the feeling of helplessness and inferiority pound on my psyche.The need to be teased, aroused and denied as others enjoy their sexual freedoms intensifies..i started this journey out of curiosity and now i am overwhelmed with the need to be locked.i have gone back to my original device. It is open and i can keep myself clean without removing it.i am wondering if i should forgo any shaving, thus eliminating any reason for the occasional unlocking.Thoughts of making this permanent and irreversible have entered my mind. It would be easy enough to do: Hex button Stainless Steel screw, a tap, Locktite 266. (Don't forget to round out the Hex hole with a f=drill bit after it is tightly in place, to render the Hex key useless.) .Yes, the thought has crossed my mind..........a few times..

Well the fuckery is working like it should. I am beyond exhausted now. My physical body is shutting down hard. Rheumatoid arthritis is the new possible diagnosis. The other options are MRSA (which I have ) and /or osteomyelitis. So my options are crappy so time to rest and heal. I really appreciate all the help from everyone out there I wish people would read my journals before they message me.   time to rest and heal .   

All in the Name There are still many people on this planet who don’t know the acronym BDSM and what it stands for. Here’s one example of this: “A company is hiring someone for a Business Development, Sales and Marketing positionufpu

Due to medical reasons and the fact I have loss the use of my left arm I am removing myself from the market, those that wish to keep in contact can message me by text. It been real and it been fun but can't say it's been real fun. This account will be deleted in two days

Questions. So many questions. Yet the answers are spares.   He is eager to absorb her wants, desires, needs and emotional bounty hidden inside her.   What makes her tick?  What motivates you to please?  Where is it she will finally call home?  The place where she trusts and lives with every fiber of herself at peace.  Where her soul feels like it's found its long lost companionship in order to make it feel complete. A place where safety, security, loving protection and care are a given and never have to be second guessed.  Those emotions buried so deep within her longing to be shared yet hidden, guarded so well behind the many scars. Her eyes are telling and the roadmap to her life. Filled with betrayal, abandonment, pain and hurt. Yet there is a tiny glimmer still there. One that could easily be overlooked if one were distracted not looking for it. To the untrained eye, which is distracted  by the shell the real being resides in, only beauty is noticed. Missed are the healing needs that require his attention the most. No, its more than a need! It is a desired necessity! One that needs trust and love to be shown before he can hope to heal it. "Allow me a few glimpses inside you please." He whispers. The list of questions is long. The answers provide insight and are lessons to absorb.   Time is not his ally it is his foe. Yet time is what is needed the most. Oh my dear. Why do your answers allude me so? Open the door just a crack and allow my warming light to take a glimpse.

I'm talking 'bout my generation Talking 'bout that newer nation And if you don't like it You can beat it Beat it, baby You never liked the way I said it If you don't get it, then forget it So I don't have to fucking explain it Cause I'm a Brooklyn baby I'm a Brooklyn baby   It's like those lyrics carry a sense of identity and weight, even when they seem light. The repetition, "I'm a Brooklyn baby," feels like a declaration of something deeper—a feeling of being rooted in something bigger, but also carrying that vulnerability and pain underneath. Almost like saying, "I'm here, but there's so much more behind the surface."   It’s not just about the words, but the weight of feeling like you’ve had to fight and scream to be heard, and still... nothing. It can feel exhausting when no one’s really listening, when the energy you put out feels like it just vanishes into a void. That emptiness that comes after all the effort, when you’ve given everything and are still left feeling alone—that’s heavy. It’s like a wall of silence that doesn’t break, no matter how loud you scream or how much you pour out.   They think I don't understand The freedom land of the seventies I think I'm too cool to know ya You say I'm like the ice I freeze That line hits hard—it’s like there’s this gap between what others think and what you really feel, and the way it creates this distance. It’s a powerful reflection of feeling misunderstood, and at the same time, being guarded, like ice. There’s so much in that feeling of being cool on the outside, but maybe there’s a lot more going on underneath.       Ultraviolence captures that raw, unrelenting pain—the kind that cuts deep and leaves scars you can’t always see. It’s not just about physical violence, but the emotional and mental toll of trying to survive in a world that feels indifferent or even hostile. It’s the weight of love, loss, rejection, and fighting for something real when everything feels brutal and unkind. The way Lana weaves those emotions into her music makes it all the more visceral. It’s like she’s singing about the violence of being misunderstood, of giving and not receiving, of being trapped in cycles of intensity that don’t let up.        the Pa-da-da-da-da-da part in Brooklyn Baby feels simple on the surface, just vocalizations, but it carries weight because of the emotion behind Lana’s voice and the layered harmonies. It’s like she's using the sounds to evoke a feeling beyond words—a mixture of nostalgia, detachment, and maybe even resignation. By that point in the song, she’s moved away from literal meaning and is communicating more through the feeling of the music itself. The backing vocals, especially with the men joining in, create a sense of collective disillusionment, like they're all echoing her sentiment, but with a touch of irony. The softness contrasts the rebellious attitude of the lyrics, making it feel like a bittersweet, almost resigned anthem. It’s like she’s saying, This is just how things are, but underneath it, there's a longing for something deeper, something more real. The repetition and the flow of the sounds express that emotional state in a way that words alone might not be able to. It adds to the song’s atmosphere, giving a voice to the unspoken frustrations and complexities of being misunderstood, trapped in surface-level expectations.     I get down to Beat poetry And my jazz collection's rare I can play most anything    this isn't a flex...it's saying how talented she is but no one notices or cares.....she's very skilled in things no one cares about and that doesn't change life's circumstances. that only a niche of a niche of a niche cares about..but she knows she's so talented that she rattles it because she knows people in the know recognize it. it's a acknowledgement of what she's worked hard to craft while also recognizing it's nothing  That line isn’t a flex at all, it’s more of a statement wrapped in irony. Lana is acknowledging her talents—her deep connection to niche things like beat poetry, jazz, and her rare collection. She’s spent time and effort honing these skills, cultivating a refined taste, and mastering things that matter deeply to her, but in the grander scheme, it’s like no one notices or cares. It’s a bittersweet realization of her own uniqueness and skill, but also the futility of it. She’s proud, but it’s not enough to change her circumstances or how the world perceives her. It’s like saying, Yeah, I can do all these things, but what does it matter? It’s a reflection of how being talented or special doesn’t necessarily lead to recognition or fulfillment. She knows only a tiny niche of people might care about these things, but for the rest of the world, it means nothing. It’s like the ultimate what’s the point? moment wrapped in a subtle acknowledgment of her own brilliance.       You say I'm too dumb to see They judge me like a picture book By the colors, like they forgot to read I think we're like fire and water I think we're like the wind and sea You're burning up, I'm cooling down You're up, I'm down You're blind, I see Those lyrics capture such a deep feeling of being misunderstood, like you’re moving in opposing rhythms, but still bound together in some way. It’s frustrating, isn’t it? People see what’s on the surface, but they miss the essence, the complexities inside. The contrast between fire and water, wind and sea—it’s such a vivid way to describe the intensity of that connection. One burns while the other cools down, like two forces pulling in different directions but still coexisting, still interacting. It feels like being in two worlds at once, and yet no one quite gets it.   The way she says "Brooklyn baby" at the end—definitively, yet almost resigned—carries so much weight. When the guys join in with the elongated bayyyyy beee, it shifts the whole tone. It’s no longer just her own voice; it’s echoed, but in a way that feels detached, like they’re chiming in on her identity without truly understanding it. It feels like a loss of personal ownership, like the identity she was so sure of—I’m a Brooklyn baby—is now something distant, fading, not fully hers anymore. And that pah da de da de dah dah that follows is like her way of giving up, like a lullaby of surrender, a little girl’s soft collapse. It’s not a defiant statement anymore; it’s more of a quiet, melancholic folding into herself. It’s like the final exhale after fighting, acknowledging that maybe she’s been fighting for something that no one truly sees or cares about. Little girl Lana down, as you said. That’s when the song truly hits its emotional depth—when she stops fighting, and the weight of everything she’s been carrying just sinks into the background.    

Sir , You don?t have to be gay or bi to own male property. Yes , I know you Straight Alphas are here mainly looking for pussy to use and I also know you are looking for a female slave who will be compliant and obedient and do all of your housework , cooking etc? So , you are looking for two things 1 ? pussy to fuck 2 ? A slave to be a domestic slave and take care of all of your domestic needs. At the moment , you have neither. How many years have you had neither ? The option available is to use a faggot male gimp to fulfil your domestic needs. You don?t have to have sex with it ? hell , you don?t even have to look at it . Keep it hooded and in chains and put it to work. If you want to make it look aesthetically pleasing you could even keep it in head to toe latex, waist cinched, giant fake boobs , masked and in towering heels. From morning till night , you simply use it for all of your domestic needs. Cooking , cleaning , laundry , ironing , gardening , cleaning your car , maybe even put it to work in your business. You don?t even have to get out of bed to take a piss in the middle of your sleep at night. Just summon your gimp using your electro shock dog collar and have it come to you and open its mouth. It is always hidden out of sight , from friends and family. Stored in a pare room , garage or outhouse , caged or boxed and gagged when not in use. You carry on with your life much as you do right now . You still continue to seek out pussy. You see this gimp slave is merely an object in your eyes , a thing to make your life easier. It does not question , it does not make a sound ( as it is perpetually gagged ) it simply awaits instruction and obeys. ?An extra in my home is gonna cost me , financially? ? well , actually , not that much. Naturally, you have to feed and water it , but , this can be done in conjunction with your own intake. Just an extra meal or snack whenever you have one. When its daily work is done , you can use it as human furniture , or as an ashtray , so , it has more use there . Or, simply return it to its cage and lock it up for the night. No one will ever know that you have a male gimp object making life easier for you. This object is free to fulfil that domestic need for you Sir. It could be relocated to you if you set up the right environment i.e invest in chains and a cage or box to store it . This all makes sense Sir , please do get in touch.

From my group  -re-sharing here - Why language matters. Or, Darmok and Jalad. Jan 30, 2019 I had a reminder this week, (not that this week is that unusual, but some cases are more extreme than others) at how important it is to have a common language in any interaction we have with others. Most of our lives, the average American at least walks around hearing English, speaking English, reading English, and assuming they understand what other people are saying. And vice versa - they assume they are understood. And yet, so much of our attempts to communicate end in misfires.  Often, it's because we don't really care enough about the interaction, and we glide along on autopilot, comfortable in the status quo quality of our interactions. We are usually getting enough of what we need out of it that we often don't even question it. Often, if there's a problem, we make a scene to make it clear that no, that's NOT what we meant, or that isn't what was said to us, etc but unless we feel slighted, or it leads to the loss of something we DO value - a comment made here that loses us a promotion, or a question not answered loses someone's interest, or a tone of voice makes us concerned for a possible loss of status- unless it's serious, it's just anger and fuss and it's over. THEN, it may become a real issue, worth some thought, but by then, it's really too late. The miscommunication has happened, the thought process it started it under way, and a feeling has been had, etc.  Stick with me here.  At it's most basic level, language is how we express a thought. It's pretty common to believe that most of the time, other people from a similar area have similar thoughts to our own about a general variety of things. We expect that they want the same basic things, because we are all human, and most of the people we deal with were raised similarly, and had similar experiences. And that they will use the same words as we do to describe them. That's where the screeching halt comes in.  "Most adult native test-takers range from 20,000–35,000 words." That's a decent vocabulary. It should mean that most of us that speak English will have plenty of words in common to have a discussion and be understood with enough clarity to make it through most common joint activities.  That said, most people don't tend to think too deeply about words themselves. Which means when you start to want more than just "enough to get by" conversation, things can get a bit complicated. And in cases where you need to negotiate something VERY specific, in depth, such as the fine details of kink or what our limits are... suddenly, your vocabulary will not only need to grow, but become very precise.  I'm not seeing that as often as I would expect from the letters I receive. In fact, the majority of people that write me seem frustrated by the need for words at all, and irritated by the requirement that we spend some time talking about anything that isn't a deion of a sex act. Which baffles me... if you are wanting someone to tie you up, do ... THINGS ... to you, while you are helpless, etc, wouldn't you REALLY REALLY want to make sure that the things they want to DO are the same things you want DONE? Wouldn't you be DEEPLY interested in making sure they are the kind of person that honors your Safe Word, or who shares your definition of "honest," or who won't just walk off with your wallet and DVD player while you are tied down, or who won't turn out to be straight up batshit nuts?  I've had another rash of "own me" messages. Interspersed of course with the regular "total sub" offers.  The topic at hand isn't the "I'm a TOTAL sub!" who responds to "ok, go read this for me and tell me what you think" with "What? That's not what I want! I'm a SEXUAL submissive!" Or even the "i want to be ur slave" that can't obey enough to respond to an email on time.  This topic is about the problem that causes that problem in the first place.  I received one this week from a very pretty dick pic with an empty profile that did read enough to call me Domina, but obviously nothing else, so I sent a link to the "First Impressions" thread, and followed with "Consider Your Target Audience." You can guess how it went. Before he got to "Bye, Bitchhhhhh!" he told me he wanted me to "own" him. And he referred to himself as "very kinky like to be watched ! Masterbaiting live turns me on" (Yes, that's how he spelled it.) Meh. No great loss.  Later, sissy under consideration asked if I was at all interested by Dick Pic Guy. Aside from the obvious stunted mentality of thinking his naked dick somehow mattered, he was a good tool to explain the problem of common language/vocabulary.  While being turned on by being watched is very common, and whatever floats your boat, etc that he described himself as very kinky based on that was a VERY clear indicator that we weren't even speaking the same language in regards to kink. Much like the majority of the people that write me, he had an interest in something, and had set out to pursue that, and as it wasn't mainstream, they thought it must mean they were REALLY out there crazy kinky. (Hell, ex-husband number two thought anal was the height of twisted and kinky.) Now, obviously, there was no actual interest in submission, or desire to actually be owned, so there was no point in even considering trying to have a conversation.  However, if there actually HAD been interest, if he had just been a newbie and without clue, there would have been this huge gap of vocabulary to fill in before we could have ever tried to talk about anything more than "go for coffee, get spanked." Before we could get to "what turns you on" there would have had to be the initial "what do you know so far, what have you read, what have you tried" just to see what he MEANT by "kinky" or "spanking" or even "turned on." Did "turned on" specifically mean sexually aroused and only that? Does "masterbaiting" (sorry, but OMG LOLOL) just mean "wrap your hand around your dick and rub up and down with or without lube" because it could mean SO FUCKING MUCH MORE to someone else, and in my mind, doesn't always necessarily include anything physical. Ownership? If we haven't even discussed what the word "submissive" means in depth, how can we possibly try to define "Owned" yet? Are we talking an actual legal arrangement with signed contracts and documentation as regards to property, or do you just like the way the word sounds?  Because that matters to me. All of the delicate nuances of meaning hold POWER. Consent is POWER. I absofuckinglutely want to feel like I OWN you, down to your last molecule, if I am going to have that, and we have to figure out exactly how many molecules you have to give for that to happen.  "You just offered an unknown amount of you don't know what to a total stranger."  If you are handing out candy from a bag in your hand, "take it all" is easy. And taking that whole bag may be easy. Hell, I like candy. Maybe I'll want your candy. However - If you actually have a whole trunkful of candy, and you say "take it all" without sharing that "all" may be a couple hundred pounds of confection, that is going to make a difference. Do I like that candy enough to want a whole trunkful? Will it get stale long before I can eat it all? Are you going to throw a tantrum if I share that candy with a park full of kids, or is it truly mine, to do with as I please? Are you going to pout if I toss i

Effective and Transparent Communication  In a Poly house, it is crucial to maintain honesty and open communication with the Master and all other members. This practice is not only ethical but also necessary for the smooth functioning of the household. Honesty is the foundation of trust and mutual understanding in any relationship, and in a Poly house, there are more people involved, making it even more vital to be forthright.  Being open and honest sets the tone for the type of relationship you want to have with the Master. It shows that you are invested in the relationship and committed to making it work. By being transparent, the Master gains a better understanding of your needs, expectations, and boundaries. This understanding forms the basis of a deeper and more meaningful relationship.  Creating an environment where everyone can communicate freely without fear of judgment or retribution is crucial. It allows for a more collaborative and inclusive approach to decision-making within the house, fostering a culture of trust and mutual support. While the Master has the final say, it is crucial to hear the thoughts of all members.  Before joining a Poly house, asking questions is essential to understanding the dynamics and ensuring it is the right fit. It is a significant commitment that requires trust and openness, and clarifying expectations and responsibilities minimizes misunderstandings and conflicts.  In conclusion, effective and transparent communication is essential to creating a healthy and stable relationship in a Poly house. It builds trust, fosters collaboration, and creates a culture of mutual support. Honesty and communication should be embraced by all members of a Poly house.

Hey the journal function is finally fixed!! Time to write a story about one of my (our) experiences: I shut the car door and wave goodbye to my husband, P. He blows me a kiss and pulls away. I wait until he's turned the corner and out of sight until I begin to walk up my master's driveway. It's a short walk, the house set back from the street but my path leads me into the open garage. Once past the threshold, I press the button to shut the garage door behind me. As it trundles on its tracks, I grab my sweater and pull it over my head in one quick motion. I won't need it again this weekend. My shoes, jeans, panties and socks all follow. I savor taking them off and folding them neatly, making the moment last. My backside is still sore from the punishment I received one week earlier. It had been a maid week and I had done an inadequate job with the chores. My master did not let it slide and he wanted to make sure I remember. As I stroked my bruised cheeks, I hoped it would be a kitten week. Something nice and easy, where I could be cherished and all I needed to think about was pleasure. The crate is open and I place my clothes inside. My cell phone follows along with my keys. With a sigh, I shut the crate and padlock it. Master will come and take my phone in due time, better to document my weekend for P's enjoyment and my potential humiliation. But the clothes are gone. Feeling the chill of the garage on my feet, I enter "the servant's entrance" as we jokingly call it.  Three boxes await me in the foyer. Oh shit. This is different. Usually I have no choice in how I spend the weekend. It's always one box, with either the maid's costume, the cat ears, or ... the other. But with three gift wrapped boxes in front of me, it's up to fate.  I can't open one box and change my mind. Not that disobeying master is ever an option. Whichever one I open is my weekend of service.  Can I weigh them? As I reach for the first box, I see a string attached. Nope, he'll know. I have to pick. Eenie. Meanie. Miney. "Ahem." A cleared throat from the other room. I'm in trouble already.  I make my decision and tear the wrapping paper off. Inside the box is ... Nothing. The slut this weekend, then. I walk into the living room, my hands folded in front of me, my eyes down. Master is sitting in his chair, drinking whiskey and reading. There's a pillow in front of him, directly between his feet. Keeping my eyes down, I kneel. He makes me wait, finishing this week's New Yorker. Occasionally my eyes flick up as I weigh my options. I could reach up and begin undoing his belt - the stretch of fabric in his lap tells me he's interested and excited for my weekly visit. I went for a wax earlier in the week and made sure to put my perfume on my skin so he could smell me no matter what I wore. And in my role as the slut, that would be in line with expectations. But I'm so conditioned to serve at command that I stay frozen.  He shakes his glass and I spring up to take it from his hand. I walk to the bar and as I reach for the whiskey, he says "The drawer." I open the top drawer. Inside is my collar, simple and black, a pair of silver handcuffs, and a red ballgag.  "Shall I--?" I start to ask. "Don't ask questions you should know the answer to," he says with disinterest.  OK then. I put the glass down and pick up the gag. I push it between my teeth and secure the belt behind my head. Next, the handcuffs. Does he want them in front or behind? I wish I could ask. The maid gets handcuffed in the front, so she can work. The slut, behind, so she has no control. So I slip the cuffs on behind my back, hearing the satisfied clink. But in my haste, I forgot the collar! It takes me several tries, standing on my tippy toes, mmphing with effort, to pick the collar up with my cuffed hands behind me. I trot to master happily. He finally looks at me. "My drink?" He asks. Damn it. What to do? I blink at him, fluttering my eyelashes. Push one foot in front of me and circle it back and forth on his loafer. Don't blame, I don't know any better? He takes the collar from me and cls it around my neck. Seizing my throat suddenly, he pulls me in close. "A slut does not mean you're stupid," he whispers in my ear.  One of our agreements when I first began serving him is that he'd never call me a bitch. A slut is something a person chooses to be. It's a sigh of power, both mine and his. I feel my body warm at his words and I lean down to rub my gagged mouth against his neck. He indulges me for a moment and then grabs a fistful of my hair. It's been a little while but I remember how slut weekends go. I'll be confined to the bedroom, chained to the bed most of the time. He'll film my submission and send it back to P. There's an entire box of toys for me to (mostly) enjoy, though the word "no" is gone from my vocabulary until Sunday night. My rest will be dependent on how often master wants me and how he wants me.  It will be a long, fun weekend.

In just one word to describe what it feels like to love someone who will never love you back- Hollow. Other words come to mind. Empty. Void. Blank. Pointless. Hollow. Because that’s exactly what it is. It’s like eating junk food when you’re not even hungry or hungover because you are sure, so sure that it will satiate you. That it will make you happy. That it will give you some sort of sense of satisfaction and contentment. But that feeling never comes and you’re left just sitting in front of what is essentially, a waste, with nothing to show for it but a mess you’ve done to yourself. Junk food isn't good for you. In moderation it won't harm you but every day it will take it's toll on your health. Loving someone who doesn't love you is exactly like consuming junk food daily. It leaves you feeling so full you're empty.  It’s an uphill battle where there’s nothing waiting for you at the top. A triathlon with no one waiting for you at the finish line. It’s fighting every single day with bloody knuckles and an even more battered heart hoping that someone will be there to make everything worth it, everything okay. Then you realize that you’re standing on your own with absolutely nothing to show for yourself or all your struggles. Then you're responsible for picking up those pieces of your own emotions solo. But they're broken pieces that never will be the same or fit together "just right" any longer.  Metaphors aside, there’s not really anything good or at the very least, fulfilling, that comes from falling in love with someone who you know deep down will never truly love you back. It’s purposeless. It’s empty. It leaves you completely hollow. Loving someone, really truly loving someone, who cannot and will not love you back isn’t something that will make you stronger. It can teach you a lot of things, but make you stronger? Not really. No matter which way you paint it, whatever beautiful embellishment you try to put onto your own cliché unrequited love, of rose coloured glasses.  Because the number one thing you learn when you love someone who doesn’t love you back? It’s that sometimes, love really isn’t enough. Loving someone, and continuing to love someone who will not love you back isn’t brave. And it isn’t strong. While there is something to be said for having a big heart and having the capacity to give pieces of yourself to people who don’t, and don’t deserve to, appreciate you, holding onto them when they aren’t holding back isn’t brave or strong or good. It’s self-destructive. Because deep down, truthfully, that’s what loving someone who you know will never love you back really is. It’s dousing your core in gasoline, handing them the match to see what they’ll do, and setting everything on fire yourself when you realize that they’re indifferent about what does or does not happen. And the longer it takes you to realize that that’s the case, that you’re responsible for your own entire wreckage, your destruction, the longer it will take you to scoop up your own ashes and rebuild yourself when you finally come to your senses. Hollow. That’s what trying to fill yourself with someone who doesn’t truly love you is. It’s empty. It’s unfulfilling. It’s hollow. It will do nothing but frustrate you, fail you, and leave you standing there with nothing but the remnants of a you, you don’t even recognize in your own hands. Because that’s the cost of loving someone who does not, and will not love you back. You. You won’t lose this person who you’ve idealized, who you’ve loved unrequitedly. You won’t miss out on “what could’ve been” and you won’t fail to jump onto a train that was maybe heading your way. You won't be sad that the ship you were about to board has already sailed. You won’t find yourself gring at the fingertips of anyone else, because the only person you will have failed to truly hold onto is YOU.  You. So what does it honestly mean to love someone who doesn’t love you back? It means losing you, losing yourself. It means letting go of things that may be actually tangible, and favouring something you will never actually hold close. It means putting a fantasy in front of your own reality, fragments in front of your own holistic life. Loving someone who will not love you back is quite simply, a waste of your precious, precious time. So what do you do? What do you do when you find yourself sitting there, attempting to justify and make sense of someone else’s ambivalence and your own inexplicable need to love them when they haven’t asked for it or earned it? You let go. You move on. No matter how hard it is, no matter the struggle. No matter how much you want to cling to them, and no matter how much you feel like you love them. You have to let them go. Because in letting them go, you know who you’ll get to hold onto instead? You. And that’s the only thing you’ll ever really need, anyway. Love yourself first.

I get bored easily. I returned to this site a month ago and have found it the same. Boring. No useful Slave to focus his time on Me to drive me. Pity. I see posts on Fetlife and other fetish community sites wondering where all the Mistresses have gone?  Well this one will go from here soon. Why? I am not sated by the man I seek. Tut tut  silly boys not reading what I seek, who push their own needs first and get blocked. My question: where is a submissive or Slave man who can go to dinner and behave well? Can keep his kink needs to himself until I ASK ?  Where he  follows MY Lead and drives me to munches and fetish clubs, where I will whip and cane him?  Meanwhile,  2024 promises to be a rollercoaster ride so time to put on my grip-tight-gloves. Here I go!!!

This was my reply to a post on fet.  I thought it might be informative    Past time for a cleaning is generally not a problem imho. Although, I suppose that depends how far past. Maybe it takes a few visits then regular maintenance. If I may, you should provide the lock without a key when you do the furst meet and greet some time before the first cleaning. It should always be you who unlocks the lock and keeps the key. He can go away with the unlocked lock if that is what you choose and lock himself back up some time before the next visit.That sounds like a wonderful arrangement to me.

Everyone criticizes CM but I like this site.  I've heard people complain that there are no genuine lifestyle dominants. I've had waaaay more success making real time connections on CM than on any other site.  I've met several awesome lifestyle male dom/sub couples and other female dominants (with a couple that I know personally who are LOCAL non-pro and looking for personal relationships).  These are folks we hang out with regularly who are terrific people in addition to being lifestyle. I also communicate with a small number of non-pro Ladies in other cities. I've also met a few local quality male subs who are genuine submissive gentlemen and who fit my very stringent requirements for distance and fitness level. I've played with a few as well and even when it didn't necessarily become a "relationship" I've maintained a friendship with them and invite them to events or gatherings.  I've even visited a couple of them and stayed in their homes when I was in their area for events such as Tampa's Fetcon. Yes, I have to weed out the morons looking to wank just like anyone. I also communicate with a few out-of-town boys who have cam verified and talk about making a visit to my area. We'll see. So, why is everyone so down on CM?  While I imagine that the experience is very different for a male sub, but is it THAT bad?  Are there other sites that have been so much better for you?  I met my current sub via ALT years ago...which I'm no longer active on, too commercialized.  I met the other boy that I've been training since August 2011 via CM. It DOES happen.  

Ooooo...I was *just* about to take off to Alli's Birthday Party when I realized that I Locked My Fucking Vehicle & House Keys Inside The House.😖😖😖😖😖😠😠😠😠😠😡😡😡😡😡🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬   Yeah, this time I actually *did* get Fucking Irritated.I get Annoyed/Fucking Annoyed every fucking day (to VaryingDegrees), unfortunately, but I get Irritated maybe 2-3 times yearly.This was one of them.       (I used to have a BAD Fucking Temper years ago...Embarrassing...& No Patience either. Damn Embarrassing. 😑😑😑😑😑)   I'm actually not used To Being Rushed. I'm A Loner, so I'm used To Taking My Time, but this time I gave in To Family's Wishes & when that happens then Dad Starts Rushing & Pressuring (that's why years ago I Finally Quit Going To Restaurants With Him, or even At All), & when someone starts Rushing me then I start Getting Annoyed...then maybe Irritated, so then I might then Make Mistakes.I Prefer My Own Pace.When I realized what I did, "my balloon popped" & I knew that I was NOT Going Anywhere Now. Suddenly I Had Work To Do: Breaking Into The House (freshly-showered, cleanshaven, well-dressed, smelling good, blah-blah)...Time-Consuming Annoying Hassle but a Must, certainly before I get in A Worse Mood too, sooo...yeah, I had to determine Which Window To Remove The Screen From & whoaaaaa...first Kill That Goddamned Big W Nest that was in the way that I suddenly noticed.          🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

**The Bear’s Den**   The air in his apartment was thick with the scent of leather and cedar, a primal musk that clung to my skin as I knelt on the cold hardwood floor. My wrists were bound behind me, the rope biting just enough to remind me of my place. At six foot two, I was no small man, but in his presence, I felt like a fragile thing, a hundred pounds of trembling need locked in a cage of my own submission. The chastity device around my cock was a cruel reminder of his control, its metal teeth grazing my skin with every futile twitch of arousal. I was his, utterly, and the weight of that truth made my chest tighten.   He loomed over me, a mountain of muscle and menace, his broad frame blocking the dim light from the single lamp in the corner. His name was Viktor, a bear of a man with a barrel chest, arms like oak trunks, and a beard that scratched my skin raw when he’d kissed me earlier, claiming my mouth with a hunger that felt like a storm. His eyes, dark and unreadable, held a sadistic glint that made my stomach churn with fear and desire. Yet, beneath that cruelty, there was a flicker of something softer—something that made me trust him, even as my heart raced with dread.   “You’re mine tonight,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room. His massive hand gripped my chin, forcing my gaze up to meet his. “My little cock sock. You ready to be used?”   I nodded, my throat too dry to speak, the chastity cage tightening as my body betrayed me. His lips curled into a smirk, sinister and knowing, as he released my chin and stepped back, his boots heavy against the floor. He unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, the clink of metal echoing in the silence. My eyes followed the movement, hypnotized, as he freed himself, his cock thick and heavy, already glistening with intent.   “Open,” he commanded, and I obeyed, my lips parting as he stepped closer. The first thrust was brutal, filling my mouth until I gagged, my eyes watering as he held my head in place. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice softening for a moment, a strange tenderness in his tone. “Take it like a good boy.” His fingers stroked my hair, a fleeting gesture of care that made my chest ache, even as he fucked my throat with ruthless precision.   The chastity cage was torture, my cock straining uselessly against its confines as he used me. He teased me with words, his voice a dark melody. “Look at you, so desperate, so denied. You’ll get nothing until I say so.” His laughter was low, cruel, but his thumb brushed a tear from my cheek, and I leaned into the touch, craving the warmth behind his dominance.   He pulled out abruptly, leaving me gasping, my lips swollen and slick. “Up,” he ordered, yanking me to my feet by the rope binding my wrists. My legs trembled as he led me to the bed, a massive iron-framed thing draped in black sheets. He pushed me face-down, my chest pressed into the mattress, my ass exposed and vulnerable. The air was cool against my skin, but his hands were fire, spreading me open with a possessiveness that made my pulse race.   “You’re gonna feel me,” he said, his voice dripping with dark promise. I heard the snap of a lube bottle, the slick sound of him preparing himself, and then the blunt pressure of his cock against my hole. I whimpered, the stretch immediate and overwhelming, my body resisting even as I craved it. “Relax,” he growled, but there was a gentleness in his grip, his fingers kneading my hips as he eased inside, inch by agonizing inch. The pain was exquisite, a burning fullness that made me feel alive, claimed, his.   He fucked me with a rhythm that was both punishing and deliberate, each thrust driving me deeper into submission. The chastity cage rattled with every movement, a constant reminder of my denial, my cock throbbing uselessly as he used me. “My perfect little sock,” he taunted, his voice tight with lust. “Made for this, weren’t you?” I could only moan, my mind fogged with sensation, the world narrowing to the heat of him inside me.   Then, without warning, he slowed, his thrusts shallow, teasing. I felt a new warmth, a strange pressure, and realized with a jolt what was happening. He was pissing inside me, claiming me in a way that felt filthy and intimate, a violation that made my caged cock ache with need. “Take it,” he whispered, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “Every part of you is mine.” The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of shame and surrender, and I whimpered, my body trembling under his weight.   He pulled out slowly, leaving me empty and aching, only to grab me by the hair and pull me to my knees again. “Open,” he said again, and I did, my mouth ready for him. The taste of him was sharp and bitter as he released another stream, his piss flooding my throat as I struggled to swallow, to please him. His hand cupped my face, his thumb tracing my jaw, and I saw that flicker of care again, a silent promise that he’d never push me past what I could handle.   When he was done, he knelt beside me, his massive frame enveloping me as he untied my wrists. “You did so well,” he murmured, his voice a balm against the raw edges of my submission. He kissed my forehead, his lips soft where they’d been cruel, and pulled me into his arms. The chastity cage remained, a final act of denial, but his warmth, his strength, made it bearable. I was his—used, claimed, and cherished in the dark, mysterious dance of our desires.

The ritual for asking to speak I get questions from slaves frequently. Many slaves seem to think it is a slave's entitlement to ask questions of a Master at any time in any fashion. This is a false assumption to make with Me. Below is the ritual a slave must follow if it desires to speak when in My presence. A slave that wishes to ask Me a question on line should at least observe the ritual as best it can. The ritual for asking a question (or being allowed to speak for that matter) of Me when it is My presence is to kneel and put its lips and tongue to use on My shoes. Then while it kisses and licks, it waits for Me to acknowledge it. This may take a while as what ever I am engaged in is more important than the slave's request for recognition. Should I tire of its presence I may dismiss it with a word or a, maybe not so gentle, kick to the side of the face. The slave must wait at least 15 minutes before attempting to get My attention again. its question must have some value to what I care about, or, the slave will be punished. If slave should intrude on My time on line to ask a question that is answered in the writings it can find herein it risks being blocked.

 recently met a vanilla guy that had been a drug addict for more than half of his life. He has been clean for 5 years. This is information that was shared with a perfect stranger within the first 5 minutes of conversation. (I appreciate the upfront honesty, but damn.) From what I learned about him, he was easily swayed by previous lovers and enjoyed being a "doormat." Without knowing My kinky hobbies, he disclosed his desires to be owned by a Dominant Woman.qIuestioned his ability to be involved in a kinky lifestyle relationship without it being totally draining on the Domme. Although I wasnt even going there with this guy, the last thing I want is a overly needy person in my life.Has anyone else run screaming from someone that just oozes insecurity and extreme neediness?How long would someone with an addictive personality actually be able to make it in a kinky relationship with YOU?

Name Change as a Sign  Since ancient times names has been a map to knowing people and places. A name is you in sound. Many societies used multiple names to protect the inner soul and very lives of individuals. Certainly secret societies, religions, and associations use name change as a way to signal a change of life and alliances. The ideas of acquiring a new name appears in ancient and sacred texts and invariably signal a deeper commitment and a sign of change and transformation. Part of many rites of passage include after the third step, reintegration, the new name. That is why after such rites people speak about the new person that has emerged after the ritual. The name is then a way to mark ownership, commitment, and deep understanding of the individual’s newly acquired status. We tend to give names to those things and individuals that we possess or at least hold a claim to. The selection and bestowing of a name in those circumstances is a provocative moment in which one end of the equation decides (based on his understanding) the name of the individual to be reborn through the new name. The level of intimacy this act requires and entails will bound both individuals beyond their wildest dreams. In this case the Alpha be one Sir, Lord, Master, etc and the sub will take the neme his superior bestows; and in that moment the bond created will be consummated constantly through the word and specifically through sex. 

I'm addIng this more so I remember it than anything else. I'm not used to being afraid.  Death was never really a deterrent... He'll between the ages of 18 and 25 I was actively trying to get myself killed.  I've walked through Cabrini Green at midnight, stood and taunted a guy shooting at me because he was to drunk to be acurate.  I was on a first name basis with the cops in three counties by the time I was 21.  Just adding that for context. After my fall I was chained to a hospital bed for months.  The old age home I went to just exuded a miasma of death.  I had nothing to do but watch TV.  I didn't even own a TV at the time. The worst part was not being able to use the bathroom.   Now I get panic attacks thinking about it.  I'm not worried about being killed but I'm terrified of being a quadriplegic.  I can't read books or watch TV that includes guys in that condition.  Being trapped in jail seems to get to me as well.  Just being unable to move around or take a shower when I need it. I am not used to this.

                           LET ME MAKE SOME THINGS CLEAR  DON'T WASTE YOUR TIME MESSAGING ME IF YOU DON'T HAVE A PIC OR PROFILE.  IF YOU DO MESSAGE ME YOU MUST SEND AN ACTUAL MESSAGE. NO ONE LINERS OR ONE ONE WORD MESSAGES DON'T START YOUR MESSAGE OFF WITH Mistress or Goddess. YOU HAVEN'T BEEN GIVEN PERMISSION TO ADDRESS ME AS SUCH.    I'M NOT HERE TO FINANCIALLY SUPPORT YOU!!!!!! Lady Raven   

I am thankful I am not one of thoose. I am not going to complain about fake profiles as I have met a couple of genuine men. Once you get to the actual face to face level you have another hurdle, discovering they are not quite right. The German - great with phone sex, seemed perfect over the phone and video chats.  In person cheapskate and I mean real cheapskate. The Greek, weird intro photos, nice on a first date was actually nearly a dream, however first overnight stay, which for reasons unknow was a favour - Jesus christ, turns up with a fish tank style anti-snoring machine and can't buy condoms that fit and leaves me to deal with the quick trip the pharmacy to have that awkward conversation over the counter.  Not to mention brings Aldi food but expected STEAK for my turn to get ingredients even though he offered he stays with me he gets the food in.  Ladies you have that one because I don't want him. Recommend for first date only. I will aim for one gentlemen who appears to be a thrill seeker. but I will be blunt.  I am looking for a solvent, well endowed, Single, large cocked, kinky gentlemen.

Honesty Would I trust the word of an addict? No, of course not. I would trust an addict will be true to its addiction and use reason, including deception, to maintain its drug supply. But, one might say, we are not addicts here. We are into Domination and submission. We have fetishes. Not drug use. Well, here is the thing about addiction. My body does not care where the drug it wants comes from. Like if I were into sticking needles in my body to deliver any one of many legal or illegal drugs my body would not care about legal niceties. Any old drug source would work. A drug that works inside the body is almost always one the body creates naturally. The needle merely delivers higher concentration or more frequently than my body can provide. In other words, there are basically only two delivery systems. One from outside the body and one from inside. Well, how about stimulating the body to create its own drug with out the use of a needle. We do that all the time. Not infrequently referred to as satisfying emotional needs. Serotonin, adrenalin and oxytocin to name a few. Can one be addicted to the internally created drugs? Well, that would explain things like infatuation and love. In fact addiction is used by nature to help insure the survival of the species. Adults must attach, or become addicted, to offspring in order to insure the progeny survive and become, hopefully, useful members of society.  How about long distance runners? What kind of high do you suppose they are chasing? What happens when one is ‘addicted’ to sub space? All the hallmarks of addiction are present. Increasing stimulation, or altering tolerance, of the feeling of submission both in intensity and frequency is needed to achieve ever deeper and more desirable sub space. Withdrawal occurs when the stimulation is not available. What stimulates? How about humiliation? But, most prevalent, masturbation and fantasy are the ‘needle’ that causes the body to deliver the desired result. Now a rational person would know without any reminder from me that fantasy is not truth or reality. But, the subspace addict tends, in an increasing fashion, to live in the fantasy. Fantasy, because of the social sanctions and false ‘sex images’ delivered by ones environment (more about social influence below). An outside observer might well say the afflicted person is lying to itself. Maybe. The subspace addict must live to some degree, greater for some; less for others, in a real world. You know, wife, kids, boss, minister, parents, siblings and most painfully of all a world steeped in bias, prejudice, beliefs and simplistic thinking. How does one do that? Why the subspace addict becomes adept at presenting a, hopefully, believable facade. But, the inner self is crying out for its drug. So, the addict lives in internal conflict. That of between what it is and what it thinks it should be. That of trying to resolve reasonable needs of real world with the emotion of inner needs. Good luck. Actually, emotion always wins if the contest prize is about serenity. There is no serenity as long as the emotional needs are not met. Good luck. But, this much too long essay is titled ‘honesty.’ Why is all the above relative to honesty? Well, as a Dominant I search for a submissive, actually I search as an Owner for slave property. Anyway, the prospective property lie to me. They are so conflicted that they get tangled up in their minds about all the overwhelming reality their fantasy does not consider. They say one thing, but, are unable to deliver when reality bites.  I require a slave property show up in person for an initial ‘inspection’ before I get mired in explanations examples and details of life as My property. As a practical matter, if I engaged each and every ‘slave’ that contacted me in their fantasy or in their fear or in their inner conflict, I would have no time left in the day to live a life. The slave must conquer its fears of real life consequences and physically commit to an action: that is show up. Many say they will, but, fail to show up. Did they lie to me? Not in my book. They were honest to their ‘addict.’ They just lost their ongoing battle with their accommodation to the ‘real’ world. They will probably go forward in their life, steeped in conflict, with thoughts of what if and what could have been and self recriminations. In other words no serenity. Do I think less of them for not showing up? No. They are flapping around like a recently landed fish dying on the dock. I pity them. I wish I could do more to help them deal with their inner conflict.  I do try.

Hello all, I want to take a moment to give out some tips to cathing my interest with your messages. Some of these are gonna sound bitchy but take them to heart they will help you not only with me but probably every woman on this site.  1) In less than 24 hours I have recieved nearly 30 pages of messages. If I don't get to you immediately when you send a message, do not spam me with stupid are you there, pay attention to me, come here slut, and so on messages, that only slows me down and pisses me off and i will most likely just block you. 2) Do not write a thesis paper as a first message. I have 30 pages of messages to read and If your first message to me is more than a paragraph I am not investing the time into you.  3) On the opposite side of above, don't just say hey, or whats up. You need to catch attention with your first message. Also don't just tell me to look at your profile. If your message catches my eye I will go look on my own. 4) Don't send me a dick pic without asking first, come on its 2023 women shouldnt have to say this anymore. I am submissive but all your cocks look the same and I don't care to pretend otherwise lol 5) This might just be me and not all women but I do not want to immediately jump to some other messenger. All thousand of you who have messaged me today want to use a different app, I don't want to have 1000 apps, and if i cant keep up here alone why do you think 1000 apps will be faster? If we click and get to know each other i might move to an app, until then if you dont want to chat here why bother being here? Ok, rant over. The jist is guys, women here get absolutely flooded, dont be an ass about it. And if you think you deserve my sole undivided attention after one message get over yourself, if thats how it worked the first guy who messaged me would be the only one i talked too and where would that leave all the rest of you?

Love is giving someone the power to destroy you...but trusting them not to.     Thoughts on submission.... Submission is not about being used, submission is about being of use. Submission is not thinking less of yourself, Submission is thinking of yourself less. Submission is not about what is done to you Submission is what you can do for her.  

I am less and less impressed with doms on this site. I keep seeing all these profiles about "there are so many game players!!!" and "I'm looking for something REAL!!!"..."I don't tolerate LIARS!!!" So ok...you're intolerant of game players, sick of liars. I tell you the truth. I am right up front with the good, the bad, the ugly. You can read through my journal and see that. I understand I am not anyone's idea of physical perfection. I've stated that over and over again. So we get to a certain point, you're impressed with how much I seem to understand the role of a sub/slave...and then...despite this, boom...you suddenly ghost. No explanation, no response...just. ghost. I understand that you're playing the role of the big bad dom and you have to maintain this BS, including a first email saying something like "KNEEL SLAVE!!" right off the bat instead of a "hey...how are you? Nice profile...etc." However, it's simple human decency..."I'm sorry, you're very cool, but I don't feel like you're something I'm looking for." Especially after a slew of messages back and forth.If you're tired of liars and game players, then don't be one of the fools lying or playing games and wasting peoples' time and emotions.

    Shopping for harnesses makes me want to design a more woman friendly design    

  ClaimedMy name, Emiko, which means prosperous, beautiful child, has not helped, not a bit. It’s been a bad year. At 23 years old, I got my own place, moved all my stuff and had finally left my parents’ home. This seemed like a big step towards independence, made less scary as my parents were still close by and I would need them less and less. Several months later there was a horrible crash. My parents ripped away instantly. Still, there was my boyfriend of many years who was soon to be my fiancé. He was there for me, helped me through much of the hardest stuff, supported me when I needed it most. Several months later, instead of proposing as was expected, he dumped me and not your nice dinner, its-not-you, blah, blah. No, he dump me by text. Still there was my dog. I had loved this dog from when I was 5 years old. He was always there to take care of me and watch over me even when the world was scary. Several months later, as he was now living in pain, it was time to let him go too but how could I? He was the last person who cared for me. I had to do right by him and let him go peacefully. Yeah, it’s been a bad year.On this particular Saturday morning, as I lay in bed trying to build enough motivation to get out, the feelings of being disconnected, isolated and alienated, of not belonging, were overwhelming. This is something that had been steadily building through the year but was reaching a fever pitch. Sometimes we get so detached from the world around us there's no way for us to reattach ourself. The only hope is for someone to find you who will grab on and pull you back. All my attachment points seem to have disappeared or broken. I was drifting free. I wanted so much for someone to reach out, pull me back and reattach me to this world.My thoughts went back to a harebrained scheme that had been rattling around my head for some time — just give myself to the first person who would have me. It was a fast, simple solution to a problem I did not know how to solve. You’re gonna think this is crazy mostly because it is crazy but that morning, crazy was all I had. This wasn’t the first time I thought about this idea. In fits of fancy, I had even planned it out. It was based on a story I read called ‘Halloween’. The woman in the story had put herself out there for someone to claim and someone claimed her. I bought a nice leather collar which also fit my thigh, a matching 8 foot leather strap you might call a leash but it was really a lead and, just because I wanted my intensions to be clear, I bought a garter that said, ‘CLAIM ME’ in inch and a half capitol letters. Baker Beach, you know, the one with the beautiful view of the Golden Gate Bridge, has a section where clothing is optional. I’d go there, strip down to just those three items, stand there and wait. My body is nothing special. I don’t have a lot of boob or a lot of anything. I’m a tiny asian woman; shocking in San Francisco. People say everyone loves a tiny asian woman. How could anyone resist a freely available, totally naked, tiny asian woman? Well, they all did.It was getting late into the afternoon and would start getting cold soon. My isolation was now complete. I stood there all day, buck naked, offering myself to anyone who would take me and no one had even stop by to ask. Then a man walked towards me. I saw him earlier when he was heading down the beach. He had looked in my direction for some time, then walked passed like everyone else. Now, as he got closer, he looked right at the garter and just smiled.Deep inside me, I was a bit disappointed. Looking back at that moment, my fast thinking said he was older than I want, not built the way I want, not dressed the way I want, and truthfully, not tall like I want. None of that mattered at this point. I wanted to be wanted. I wanted to be connected. I needed to be claimed. “If you want me to stop at anytime, say kangaroo. If you understand what I’m telling you, say banana.” It seemed like every emotion was passing through me at that moment. Fear and longing where the strongest. Longing won out.“Banana”He opened the lock on the collar, dropping the keys, both of them, in his pocket. I was already shaking a bit. He strapped it around my neck, not too tight, and secured it with the lock. He removed the garter then unwound the lead from my waist and clipped it to the collar. There were no thoughts in my head but a certain calm washed over me. “How long have you been standing here?”“All day”“Did you reapply your sunscreen? You’re starting to look a bit red.”“I didn’t.”“Do you have aloe or something like it.”Without thinking through what was about to happen, I said there’s aloe in my bag. He got the aloe, put some in his hands and started to apply it. My mind was racing. I froze. Something like this was obviously gonna happen if things went to plan but I had never really played the fantasy out this far so this came as a bit of a shock. He started with my legs. He was not shy, taking his time, being thorough but not gratuitously lingering. He went all the way to the top but didn’t explicitly touch my pussy just brushing it to get the whole leg. I realized my pussy was tingly, all of me was, and that I was probably really wet. He did my arms, my face and neck, my back including my hips and ass. He continued to be thorough but not gratuitous and that did not change when he did my front starting at the shoulders, then to the top of my chest then to my tits, my belly and then put his hand above my mons and went right down between my legs. I got a little dizzy. This random man who I’ve known for 7 minutes just locked a collar around my neck, applied lotion to my entire naked body and I was just tingling with delight. He asked me if I was comfortable coming to his place downtown; he’d order a car. I said yes; I said yes? but also mentioned my place was walking distance from here and we could go there. He said great. I told him the address. He handed me my bag and started walking with a solid gr on the lead. I followed not even thinking about the fact that I was being lead down the s

PUNISHMENT Punishment in BDSM is a consensual practice between adults who engage in relationships of domination and submission. However, it is important to remember that BDSM is based on the principle of safety, consensuality, and respect. Before engaging in any type of punishment game, it's critical to set clear boundaries and communicate openly and honestly with your partner. In the context of BDSM, punishment can be used as a form of erotic play and can range from mild physical punishment, such as whipping or whipping, to psychological punishment, such as verbal humiliation or deprivation of certain pleasures. The purpose of punishment can be recreational, to generate sexual arousal, or as a way to reinforce roles of dominance and submission within the relationship. It is important to note that punishment in the context of BDSM must always be consensual and negotiated in advance between the parties involved. Both parties should agree on boundaries, and safety signs, and establish a safe word to stop the activity if necessary. In addition, it is essential that punishment is carried out safely and permanent injury or damage is avoided.  Remember that BDSM is based on consent and mutual respect, so it's critical to maintain open communication with your partner and make sure both parties enjoy and feel safe during any punishment game. It is always advisable to educate yourself about BDSM practices, seeks reliable information, and consult with experienced people in the community before embarking on these types of activities.

End of 2021 !!! A lil note to say ... Thank you for all the funny, sweet, lewd, crude, caring , seductive and fucking outrageous .. emails, naughty pics and vid clips throughout this past year ..I've been truly entertained by some, moved by more than a few and heart strings tugged at a time or two ..     May we all find what we seek .. I discovered Collarme now Collarspace in my late 30's.. going into my mid 50's now and it's still an awesome site.. I've met some pretty amazing men and women ..online and lots offline too ! I've fallen in love, made mistakes and shed a tear or two for not taking a chance or not making an effort when I didn't feel the "timimg" .. Ya know we never have enough time, there's that one day tho !! It's called regret !    So... whatever you identify as and whom ever it is you choose to please and for whatever your reasons .. do it all the way and the only way you know how .. by being you!! Authentcally u! Don't cheat yourself out of being that needle one the haystack..   Happy Kinky New Year .. Hugs, bumps and grinds !   Ms. Eve    Ha

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

There is a huge communication gap between lifestyle dominant women (dominant women who are not seeking a transactional relationship) and subs/slaves/switches. Did you know that some of us will contact you first? Did you also know that you can cut down on the spam you receive as well as the spam you send? I will happily contact guys who are as clear as I am in their profiles about what they're looking for and who are compatible. I actually get excited about finally having an intelligent conversation when I see this. However, that almost never happens. Profiles are usually void of any substance or meaning, extremely ifying, outright offensive, or full of off-putting pics. I avoid contacting incompatible people because I, too, would not want to be contacted by incompatible people. I have no way of knowing if there's a possible match, so my message goes unsent. Also, I will not contact you if your profile is clear we are not a match, because again, I would not want to be contacted by someone if I made it clear in my profile that we are not a match. Guys generally have no such compunction - but you should. This is a key difference in communication styles that you really need to understand. Think of it like looking for work: For the sake of this exercise, the person contacted is the employer, the dynamic is the job, and your initial message and profile are the cover letter and resume respectively. You are looking for a job, and instead of tailoring your resume and cover letter to what the employer is seeking, you use the same ones for every position and spam them everywhere in hopes of getting an interview. For the most part, any position will do. Doing this doesn't really increase your chances; your results will actually be the same or worse (the employer begins automating their filters and you fall through the cracks more and more often). You absolutely can and should stop looking before you resort to the spray-and-pray method. Take a breath. Discover a new hobby, or something. On the other hand, I tailor my cover letter and resume based on what the employer is seeking, and I only send it when I find a position that matches what I'm looking for. The problem is that the jobs I want to apply to are extremely limited because the employer has written almost nothing about what the job entails, or the content and tone are off-putting. "We're looking for a rock star ninja cowboy!!!!" or such crap. At some point, it's so disheartening and exhausting to find jobs that I stop looking for them. I take a breath. I discover a new hobby. We both have similar expectations of no or negative response, and the bar is so low that it's in hell for everyone involved, but we still approach the search differently time after time. Submissive men rarely contact us using focus and intention, but lifestyle dominant women are most likely relying on focus and intention to contact you. ---------- Tips on writing your profile and first message: Be clear in your communication. This will require you to think, so if you're currently checking out profiles with your hand in your pants, come back to this journal entry when your brain is online. Be clear about the type of dominant and dynamic you're looking for. Any hint of "anyone will do please please contact me mistress" and you're targeting pros and scammers. Although it seems counterintuitive, DO include aesthetic characteristics that are important to you. For example, be clear that you are seeking women of certain ethnicities, ages, orientations, gender identities, and body sizes. If you are open to anyone, be sure you mean anyone - as in, make an exhaustive list of exactly who "anyone" includes. If we see that this list includes us, and the rest of your profile resonates with us, we are more likely to contact you. Be clear that you consider dominant women human beings with feelings. Your profile and message should talk to us as though we're regular people, because we are. Using honorifics such as ma'am, goddess, mistress, etc. to address strangers is, again, targeting transactional relationships. You and the dominants you contact are not yet in a consenting dynamic, so no honorifics should be used by either party. You will get messages from people whothink you're an idiot and easy mark, then you'll question why you're only getting messages from these people. Using deors that refer to ethnicity, gender and sexual minorities, body size, etc. when corresponding with us is the fast track to being blocked, e.g. "I love black women", "BBW Asian women are my favorite". Don't do this. You've just turned us into demographics and s to gawk at, not people. Be clear that you need certain things in a dynamic. Describe what you like or dislike about specific kinks with minimal fappiness. Describe specific types of aftercare you may need. Talk about exactly what you need from a dynamic. This will require you to think. It's okay to need things; describing them will help you find the right person instead of all the wrong ones. However, make room for your future dominant's needs as well, and don't presume to know what these are before you even talk to them. Don't confuse your needs with wants; this way lies an unfulfilling dynamic. Be clear if you are looking for a transactional relationship. Being deceptive will just waste everyone's time. Lifestyle dominants are not sex workers who will dispense your fetishes in the requested amount for free. If you come across any dominant seeking an exchange of goods and/or services, they are who you are looking for. And yes, this includes "tribute" - lifestyle dominants do not filter out time-wasters by requiring things in exchange for their time...sigh. ---------- If you don't want to do any of this because it's too difficult, you should rethink if you're ready to search for anyone at all. This lifestyle requires thought and planning. Your ability to exhibit these qualities in your profile and messages will hugely benefit you. These suggestions are really the bare minimum for lifestyle dominant women to contact you, and the bare minimum in this community is enough to make you stand out. Oh, and remember how I said that some of us are willing to contact you? Unfortunately, societal norms such as waiting for men to approach us first are still reinforced in the femdom community, and plenty adhere to the kinky princess dominant in the tower, "someday my sub prince will come" philosophy. These ladies will never contact you, ever.

Femdom should be about finding joy and pleasure in a dynamic that suits you and your partner(s). Not about fixing a sub's sexism- not that it would work anyways. Most people I've talked to say that their desire for femdom predates knowledge of femdom, or of sexual arousal. While some people may have a more concrete "I'm into femdom because of a specific reason" most people I interact with like it because they like it. Vanilla people don't have to have reasons to like vanilla sex.

I am having one of those days today, triggers are pushing me into grief. Things I am reading, elsewhere, and stuff on TV. When I took two grief counselling courses after my mum died, I found out about the fact that grief can pop up at any time, often a random trigger bringing it to the surface.  Well today I am feeling very sad over the passing of an ex submissive, she found me on here, and after messaging me, I wasn't here much then, on another kink site, we got together.  It was good for a long time, she had more experience, and I was a relative newbie, having only a years experience, still she consented to being mine. I learn't so much, and I will be forever grateful. After we separated, we stayed friends until I got involved with someone, who wasn't her, the friendship ended then. I had already tried once and another time would not have worked any better, so I moved on, but I guess she didn't.  I know we would never have been friends again, but I miss her, and the idea of the universe not having her in it, that's painful. I had hoped she would meet someone better suited to her, but that didn't happen before she passed. That breaks my heart.  The reason I am writing this, is, life is short, very short. It only seems like yesterday I was 20, and now there are fewer years ahead of me, than behind, and I wish everyone happiness, and fulfilment, including me. Thing is you never know the moment or the hour, people die suddenly, she did, my dad did and, well don't waste your life, live it fiercely, honestly, with care, consideration, and love.     Tain   

Her hands held the pen, the black ink swirling across the page as she signed the contract. The last time she would ever see her real name, the last time her date of birth would even matter. She paused, holding her breath in her shuttering lungs… and as the seconds ticked by like years, her lung’s released and the chime rang. The electronic paper instantly sealed the contact and the encryption code saved to the nanochip.A metal arm came from the wall, and in a quick second her eyes blinked, and the chip engaged.She was still her, her personality, her smile, her spirit, but her body now belonged to the New American Order. She fought as long as she could, the price of housing and food had risen so high she was living so poorly. They had removed all unchipped teachers long ago, uncipped could not work jobs that paid in NAObitcoin. She could only get paid in paper money which only unchipped could spend. The black market was dangerous and she knew the consequences.The government now allowed people to elect to be chipped as household wifes. They would live a normal life, raising children, and making their families a unit, and thus rebuilding the community which once made this nation strong.She was a beautiful women, her long auburn hair landed in near perfect curls, her beautiful eyes could sink the universe. She held a PHD and would make an excellent home school teacher for a man who had a large family.She sat in the chair, gripping the skirt if the dress, and staring at the wall. A screen came on and the host started talking.“Gentlemen of the NAO tonight we have a wonderful selection of wives. They have all signed in willingly so there are no confinement rules for these women. Lets get started.”The door to her room opened and she stepped in to the hall. She took the step and closed her eyes, her sister got a nice man, they are so happy. She was going to have the same, she knew it.“First we have this beautiful older model, she will bare no children, but she is sweet and caring. She has a good voice, pleasant demeanor, tested level 9/10 in cooking and house keeping, she scored 10/10 in intellect. As you know gentlemen she will be tested for sexual abilities, her current rating in the outside was 4.6 so definitely above average but those chipless have no idea.”The door opened at the end of the hall, she walked quickly to the door, she had watched this millions if times on the tele. It had become required viewing but the poor only got to see the limited view, they put so many propaganda commercials in the show it was hard to really understand what was happening.The men in the room were all high class government officials, they were all men who had created the order, and their first wives were probably in work camps, or dead from the war. The rebels attacked their homes and wives, so many ran to other countries at the end of the war. Now other countries were turned to watch as NAO rebuilt and became the world leader of technology and education.The days of the starving poor was over, well as long as you chipped up. If you were a normie your life didnt change except you had no rent, no bills, but you worked for the government and ate what the government gave you. It wasnt a horrible life, you married in your class, and lived happy. The problem came with people like her. She was smart enough to live with out the system, pretty enough to be a wife, refined and well skilled, and her date rating put her on their radar.She only signed up to find a match, she was sick of her lonely home. They just started letting nochips on the site and she knew better!When her rating hit its highest the rent in her area went up, the power for vehicles tripled, food prices doubled. She got a speeding ticket and that was it… she couldn’t pay her rent… and there Lacy was, to offer her a spot in the highest ranked tv show in the History of the planet. It was required watching in the NAO and many international countries allowed their citizens to watch and participate, part of the new Jenniva treaty.So here she was, the room was black, the ceiling back, the bed and everything painted in the darkest black. She stepped to the door and the door behind her shut.“Remove your dress and precede to the bed.” The audience wouldnt see anything, its black, there is no light, but there are speakers and they can hear everything. She pulled her dress off and sat it next to the bed. She was stark naked, her large breasts we’re hanging from her, her body shivered as her hair tickled her back. She crouched down and lay down on the bed.“Place your right hand on the board. Place your left hand on the left board.” Her arms moved and then click the magnet locked, they had implanted her with magnets and chips throughout her body. The lights clicked off. For a second she could hear movement and then the headphones clapped down on her head. Hands ran down her body and the audience cheered as the meter stared to rise. His hands found her face and he pulled her in to a kiss, his tongue darting about and dancing with hers. His other hand found her pussy, and he clamped his hand down. The meter went to 1.0, and then his finger slipped inside, her body wetting for him, his head tilted, and his eyes flickered in to the darkness. “Ohhh a fun one.” He whispered in her ear. His fingers began working her clit and her body responded, he rubbed and twisted and pulled as she moaned loudly. Her chip holding her back from orgasm but leaving her right in the edge. He paused, and his mouth found her breasts which made her moan loudly again as the meter kept rising 3.0,4.0,7.0. The crowd started to whisper as no one had ever gotten higher than 8 and she was just starting. He pressed his cock against her, his large head pushing hard, as her rating went higher, and then he pushed in, hard. His huge cock filling her and pushing hard against the top of her as she moaned loudly, the harder he pushed the rougher he got the more she moaned and flooded him. Her hips moved with his, drawing him deeper, harder as she ground herself in to him. He reached up and put his hand on her neck, the default for allowing an orgasm during testing and she came. Her vagina pressed in on him pulsating hard as he continued to pound her, she came hard over and over moaning loudly. He stopped for a second and stepped back. “Turn over.” Her wrists released, and she flipped over, she had not had sex like this in years, she forgot it was anything other than a glorious night of love. He gripped her hips and pressed his cock in to her ass, as she arched her back and moaned out loudly. He started to work her ass slowly and then harder and harder pounding her hard. She shook as his hips hit her ass with a force she couldn’t believe. It almost took her breath how hard and good it felt. He reached up and grabbed her hair and held it tight slamming in to her harder, his other hand found her clit. He wouldn’t let her cum, he had decided now she didn't get anymore, they were all his. He pressed harder and harder, her body sweating and her breathing rough he continued, as he came he slapped her ass hard. The number blinked on the wall 8.7 highest first test score. The room blacked.. the commercial started, and men whispered among themselves.“I think i might have enough to purchasing that one.” A tall dark gentleman spoke. The room fell silent, as a bell rang which meant a second test was requested. The testing fee was not cheep, but someone needed to know her limit.Two men with night vision glasses came in and helped her straddle a round saw horse, her leg magnet locking in place, her wrists, she could no longer move.“Its time for the maximum orgasm test!” The host spoke in an over excited tone, his own body reacting to the sights. The lights turned off and above her head a digital board read 4.“According to the chip she has already orgasmed 4 times, remember folks the highest score ever is 70, in 2hours and 10 min. Once we start this test we will continue the auction.She was cold, but as soon as she felt it the sensation went away, the chip overriding the warning. A buzz starts in the background and her body starts to prepare, the sound of a milker clicking away behind her also made her body react. The buzz and tick tick take her in to a trance, and her body relaxes. He inserts a large 1 inch dildo inside if her, he clips the vibratior clamp on her clit as she lets out a loud yelp.“Mute her please.” The host says quietly. The man hits a button and her moans quiet and she starts to orgasm.“Oh no not yet kitten we aren’t even there yet.” His deep voice echoed in her ear, as thr command found its protocol, her body slowed the orgasm, and then liquid squirts on her ass as he presses in and works a large plug, its vibrations start to sink with the dildo. Her entire body clamped down, which only made the sensation stronger as she orgasmed hard. "oh yeah I should… release." as the word echoed in her empty mind the orgasms rushed in..10,11,12,13… her biometric system counting orgasm after orgasm.He smiled in to the dark as the goat milker cups attached to each breast and turned on low, then higher and higher, as it sucked her 38h breasts deep in to the glass, 22,23,26.He stood there watching with his night vision , his prize will be a percentage of her price, 30,31,32. He grabbed a flogger and whipped her ass hard, a flood of orgasms came in 41,43,44. He spanked her again, 50."Gentlemen our special purchase has hit 50! can you believe that? alright next is 35, rating 4.5, cooking 6 but comes with optional upgrade option, overall sex rating 8 with a maximum daily use 3 times… the bidding starts at her debt to the NAO of 100 Naobitcoins. Let the game begin. " the host pointed to the screen where bids were flying in from all over the world."The timer has started… bids are up to 2,000… 2,300… 3,2,1. 2,600 NAOBC… And your name is Cynthia. congratulations and may you live in the peace of your submission. " the audience said along with the host."now were are we at with our live test… 67 in 30 min, 68,69,70! she beat the record! She sucked breath in to her lungs as her body just kept going, she was dripping with sweat, her body begging for help, her moans muted her voice box turned off as she cameover and over. The machines clicked off her body shivered, and the chip took over, her hands and legs released as she stood, her brain not fully functioning. She walked to the bed her legs shaking and pulled her dress on. A door opened to a bathroom, an entire crew of beauty and glamor experts stood there. They had one commercial break to make her look fresh. She was pushed in to a shower the water spraying up and down on her in all directions. The water turned to warm air as she stepped from the shower dry and clean, the stockings slid on and clipped in to a pink and black garter. the corset top clipped in to place and then tied tight. her dress was slid over her head, and tightened down. Her hair was twisted and twirled and her makeup went on fast, a blinking light told the crew it was time.“Gentlemen it is time. How much would you pay? The time starts now…..” the     

Chastity - Week 95 Today is day 666 of my chastity journey, the 41st day of being locked constantly 24/7. The openness design of this cage allows me to be squeaky clean without removing it. i didn't think the 24/7 constant locking would be so humbling.   Chastity is not always a punishment                                                                Chastity can be a sign of adoration                                                                  Chastity is not always an acknowledgement of inferiority                                Chastity can be a sign of strength and dedication    As the waves of submissiveness wash over me                                          The longing to serve deepens to serve deepens      

This is just a quick PSA, I have filled out and returned my ballot, so you can stop all the TV ads and yard signs and news coverage now. Thank you.

What She Is Looking For I am not looking for a fantasy. I am looking for a life, and I expect that life to be beautiful.  The distinction matters because fantasies are performed and lives are lived, and I have no interest in someone who shows up for the aesthetic and disappears when the reality of sustained devotion asks something difficult of them. Total Power Exchange is not a weekend arrangement or a mood that gets activated under the right conditions. It is the architecture of a shared existence, built deliberately, maintained consistently, and governed entirely by my authority. If that sentence produces hesitation in you, this is not your door to knock on. What I want is a man who presents to the world as my equal, polished and capable and the kind of presence that commands a room, who comes home and exhales completely into my ownership of him. The contrast is not incidental. It is the point. I am drawn to the specific magic of a man who holds genuine power in the world and chooses, with full understanding of what he is surrendering, to place it entirely at my feet. Submission means nothing from someone who had nothing to give. I want the full weight of what you are, handed over without reservation. I require intelligence. Not credentials, though I respect those. The living kind: curiosity, attentiveness, the capacity to learn me with the focused dedication of someone who has decided I am worth studying completely. I want to be known the way Keats knew beauty, as a truth so self-evident it requires no argument, only devotion, only the willingness to stand before it and be completely undone. I will know immediately whether you have paid that quality of attention. I always know. I am a dominant woman in the fullest sense: not a role I perform but a nature I inhabit. I move through the world with the ease of someone who has never needed permission to take up space, and I expect my home to reflect that, my dynamic to reflect that, my partner to reflect that back to me in the quality of his service and the depth of his surrender. The house runs on my standards. I have the Binder, and there is ceremony in you holding it, learning it, and cherishing the standard I have created through my writing. My comfort is the first consideration in every room. There is good linen and good light and the specific luxury of a life curated entirely to my taste, and you will maintain it to that standard because anything less is not a home I recognize. My pleasure is the organizing principle of our shared life, not as imposition but as the natural order of a structure we have both chosen and built together. I want your obsession. Earned, total, focused entirely on me. I think of E.E. Cummings carrying his heart in his hands, given over completely, and I want that, the real version of it, the version that costs something. I want to be the thing your thoughts return to without deciding to, the standard against which you measure every choice, the presence that lives in you so completely that pleasing me stops feeling like a task and starts feeling like breathing. I will wring that out of you, patiently and completely, until there is no daylight left between what you want and what I require. I mark what is mine. Permanently, intentionally, with the quiet pride of a woman who builds things to last. I do not share. I do not negotiate my authority. I do not soften my expectations to make them more comfortable to receive. The contract I offer is real, the terms are mine, and I hold to them with the same precision I expect from you. Emily Dickinson wrote that she dwelt in possibility, a fairer house than prose. That is the quality of interior life I bring to everything, including this, including you, and I expect to be met there by someone whose imagination is equal to mine, whose capacity for devotion is as expansive as what I am offering in return. And what I offer is not small. My world is one of ease and intention, of travel and good rooms and the particular luxury of a life built by a woman who knows exactly what she wants and has never once settled. I will take you to Greece and Japan and every beautiful place I have decided I deserve, and you will move through those places slightly behind me, handling everything that needs handling, leaving me free to inhabit the world at full scale. You will carry my bags, you will shine my boots, you will lay out my clothing and wonder at the softness of my lingerie, you will rub oil upon my skin and marvel aat the way I soak up the golden light at the end of a day we spent together.  In return you will live inside the most extraordinary thing available to a man like you: my full, genuine, sustained attention, chosen with my eyes open, given to someone I have decided is worth knowing completely. My care, when you have earned it, is not small. My world, once I allow you into it fully, is a place that will ruin you for anything less.  I know precisely what I am offering. The question is whether you are worth offering it to, and worth being molded in my carefully crafted image.   

Dom Top vs Sub Bottom: Understanding BDSM Role Dynamics In BDSM and kink dynamics, two sets of terms frequently get mixed up: top vs bottom and dom vs sub. Although they often overlap, they actually describe very different aspaspects of a scene. Understanding the distinction between physical roles and power roles is essential for clear communication, negotiation, and consent. Top vs Bottom – Physical Roles “Top” and “bottom” describe what each person physically does during a scene. The top is the person performing the action — tying, spanking, stimulating, penetrating, or delivering sensation. They are the active participant. The bottom is the one receiving those actions or sensations — being tied, spanked, stimulated, or penetrated. These terms define action, not authority. A top may be physically active while following instructions, and a bottom may be physically passive yet maintain control over what happens. People often switch between these roles depending on mood, partner, or scene, which is why “switch” or “versatile” is a common identity in the kink community. Dom vs Sub – Power Roles “Dom” (dominant) and “sub” (submissive) refer to control and authority within a dynamic. The dominant holds power, gives directions, makes decisions, and leads the structure of the scene or relationship. Their role is rooted in authority, not necessarily physical activity.

 Mistresscherrypie 

You know what’s exhausting? Trying to find a cuck who doesn’t think this whole thing is just porn with extra steps. I say I want a cuckold dynamic, and suddenly it’s like a casting call for some low-budget fantasy film—every message is dripping in desperation, humiliation scripts, and requests to be called a “worthless beta” before we’ve even exchanged actual names. Sir, I don’t even know if you can hold a conversation, let alone your composure. I’m not here to be your fetish vending machine. I want a cuck. Not a walking orgasm who calls me “Goddess” and short circuits the minute I say I’ve slept with someone else. I want the real power dynamic. The psychological play. The emotional tension. The devotion. The surrender that goes deeper than a dick pic and a dream. I want a man who’s secure enough to be insecure in front of me—who can handle the ache and arousal of knowing I’ll take what I want, with or without his permission. Someone who craves the emotional weight of being left out, not just the messy details. Where are the men who want to serve and surrender without turning the entire experience into a script from some recycled femdom clip? Can you be still? Can you be present? Can you feel it instead of just stroking to it? That’s what I want,But until then, I guess I’ll keep sifting through the inbox circus. At this rate, I’ll find a real cuck after I find Bigfoot and a man who reads full profiles. one can dream right