I have come to expect a certain level of rudeness among the collarme crowd. But it still bewilders me why people do and say things online they would never do in real life. Does the safety net/internet give them some sense of inner self righteousness that they do not possess in real life, some reason for them to be rude and arrogant?

Port Dover bound. Yippee-ki-yeah...

Towering over her, his green smouldering eyes looked down on her, appraising her, measuring her, making her feel his power over her, making her feel her own femininity, her own vulnerability, on her knees before him, undressing her in his mind. Fully clothed, she was naked, another paradox in the relationship between them, like the contrast between his outside image and how he acted alone with her, the gentleman and the master. It was a similar yet totally opposite contrast that existed inside her, the lady and the slave. In his ordinary world, he was friendly and well liked by those who knew him, his friends and coworkers, and he showed more than the typical respect and concern for their needs. In her ordinary world, she was friendly and well liked by her friends and coworkers, and allotted a level of respect by men she somehow found discomforting. Secretly, she had longed to surrender herself and reveal herself as the slut she was inside. He had seen through her disguise, and revealed himself to her, all of him, the side he did not show his friends and coworkers, his dark side. And she had embraced it, dove headlong into the darkness with him, a darkness only they shared.

The darkness was not dark at all, another paradox, for it was lit with the fire of their very souls, and it blazed with their passion, and it was imperishable. It brightened their lives and they bathed in the darkness together. They did things together that were inconceivable to many, disgusting to some, intriguing to others. Together they had descended into the darkness, and no one else knew or even imagined how the darkness empowered them, how they wrapped themselves inside its’ comforting aura. Together, and only together, had they descended, and explored the myriad sordid fantasies that each had, bringing dreams to life. He was an artist and she was his work of art, ever evolving under his hand. He was a painter and she his canvas. He was a sculptor, and she a piece of stone, ready to be carved. He was a master, and she was his slave.

And he was many other things to her, and everything he was, was mirrored in her. He was teacher, and she was his student. He was a father and she was his daughter. He was husband and she was his wife. He was a doctor and she was a patient. He was captor and she his captive. He was a guard and she was his prisoner. He was a hunter, and she was his prey. He was a rapist and she was his victim. He was a photographer and she was his model. He was her boss and she was his secretary, his maid. And many other things was he to her, and she to him, and always the darkness, always the flame imperishable embraced them, the fire that fed off each of them, as they fed off each other, she an echo of his whisper.

 Their descent was marked by events that were a record of her journey into submission: the realization that they wanted one another, knowing it was right, knowing it was unstoppable; hearing each others’ voices for the first time, the laughter, the desire; meeting, seeing, breathing, touching and sweet surrender, raw domination, the power that exists between man and woman, the power that preserves; her collaring, a simple pink collar first, and there had been no long wait for the collar marked her for what she knew she was already, his slave, and delay was impossible, and it was understood that when she was ready, he would re-collar her with black leather, a symbol of her descent into the darkness, the quest she had dreamed of all her life, the quest, the journey, the grand adventure, almost hellish in contemplation, in breadth and scope perverted and obscene! And she needed it, just as she needed him to guide her, to teach her, to discipline her, to push her, to train her to be his total slave.

Training had begun immediately, a successive and overlapping series of tests and exercises: obedience, the first level of training, which involved a number of simple orders, designed to measure her worth and make her feel her submission stronger, from kneeling and serving to eating like an animal and displaying herself for him; objectification, in which her barriers were broken, all dignity lost, treated as furniture, treated as a dog, treated as a sexual object, displayed so in public; humiliation, part and parcel of obedience and objectification, but darker, more intense, having to pee in a bucket, having to expose herself to her master in ways only he could imagine; degradation, where she was subjected to name calling and acts that both disgusted and excited her, the paradox again, the agony, the pleasure of being soaked with her master’s sperm, so warm and sticky, or his urine,  or covered in her own drool; bondage, the wonderful feeling of being tied helpless, with ropes or in shackles, in chains, exposed and tortured by her master; discipline, the pain of being punished with a variety of tools, from floggers and canes to clamps and racks.

She remembered waking once, and tied helpless on the bed, face down, spread eagle, and blindfolded, a cock was thrust inside her, his cock, her master’s cock, and he fucked her hard. She remembered being spanked with her master’s hand and flogged until her ass was red and was sore to sit on for a week. She remembered being gagged and unable to stop the drool from dripping down her chin and onto her breasts while her master laughed at her for being a worthless whore. She remembered being tied with rope, in what the Japanese called the harada, a form of bondage where a single length of rope, knotted and passed around her body vertically and then diagonally, pulling the sections apart into diamond shaped patterns, and she recalled the pleasure and pain she had felt as the coarse hemp rope dug into her skin, her breasts, her cunt. She remembered surrendering to him the first time, and the piercing look in his eyes as he stared at her, like he saw right through, like he saw her for what she was, his hopeless slave, ready to be taken.

And he had taken her.  He had made her strip naked, and kneel before him. Towering over her, his green smouldering eyes had looked down on her, appraising her, measuring her, making her feel his power over her, making her feel her own femininity, her own vulnerability. He had touched her, a fingertip brushing against her soft lips, the back of his fingers against her cheek, his strong hand caressing her throat, making her feel how bare it was, how naked it was. Revealed with a whisper was the pink collar, so simple, so soft, so elegant, so fitting. Later, he whispered, when you have proven yourself to me, when I have wrapped you in the darkness inside me, I shall collar you with black leather and cold steel. She had served him then, crawling to fetch wine and a glass for her master, and on his orders, a bowl for herself. As he sipped the wine, he delighted in its rich texture, its full body, its fine aroma, as it sipped at the wine in its own bowl like a dog, or something less than a dog, a worthless slave, his most prized possession, his one obsession.....

She had cried in disgrace, shamed at having him see her this way, having him order her to do these things for him, to strip naked and display herself shamelessly like a wanton slut, to drink from a bowl like an animal. He smiled and kissed her then, and kissed her tears away, and spoke words she would always remember.  I am not afraid to bring you to tears pet, for they are my tears too. She cried more then, and knew she was truly his whore, to be used and humiliated as he pleased, and she was ashamed how much she desired it, and he saw her for what she was and he laughed at her embarrassment, and told her that her journey had only just begun.

In a recent poll, Canadians were asked:

Do you think there are too many foreigners in Canada?

Poll result:

18% answered: YES

82% answered: ما من [أف كورس] لا

Give up your heart and you lose your way, trusting another to feel that way. Give up your heart and you find yourself living for something in somebody else. Sometimes you wonder what happens to love. Sometimes the touch of a friend is enough.

Hold a place for the human race, keep it open wide. Give it time to fall or climb but let the time decide. Sometimes you wonder what's in this for you but you wait, and you see 'cause it's all you can do just to hold on...Jackson Browne

Any woman that thinks
The way to a man's heart
Is through his stomach
Is aiming just a little too high!

Adrienne E. Gusoff

It’s a matter of fact that a cock ain’t a cock on a twelve inch screen...David Bowie

Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand...Albert Einstein

I've often been asked what I am seeking. In truth, it it a hard question to answer....

I seek someone special, someone real. As my submissive, you would be loved and treasured beyond all else.

I believe strongly that submission is the greatest gift anyone can give or receive, for it is the gift of oneself, heart, body and soul, and it should always be cherished and respected, never taken for granted...

I tend to lean towards a daddy dom type, very kind and generous with my sub, treating her like a princess at times. But I am also very strict and expect a girl to obey. Once limits have been established, I expect my orders to be obeyed without question. I would expect absolute surrender.

I have often said I desire a lady in public and a slut in the bedroom......but sometimes I believe I want my lady a little slutty in public too. I enjoy the mental aspect of a D/s relationship the most, making a girl feel like a woman, and know that I am a man, her man, her One. I enjoy spankings and bondage, some name calling, private exhibitionism.

I seek one who truly desires to submit, not someone I have to constantly dominate in order to make her feel that submission. True, there is a level of constant domination that needs to be exerted in order to make one feel their submission constantly.....mental bondage, if you will.....but I have no desire to have to "rape" a girl when I want her. I want her to please me, worship me even, without being threatened into it. That doesn't mean I don't enjoy a little rough play, or forceful play, now and then, but I do not want someone who tries to test my domination of her at every single turn. I think that type of relationship loses the symbiotic aspect of a D/s relationship, where both partners draw off the other constantly.....domination feeds submission and vice versa, and each grow from each other, back and forth....It can't be all domination (or all submission). It's a give and take relationship.