An evening, recalled by the lady, written by me.It was late afternoon and it had been a tough day at the Commission. His kiss when he met me at the station was warm and affectionate; we chatted on the way to the hotel and as we checked in. When we arrived in the room I dumped my stuff on the bed and went out onto the veranda to look out over the lake. A few minutes later I heard him say ‘come here please’. I turned to see him with an impassive look on his face and standing in the middle of the room pointing at the floor just in front of his feet. He took hold of me around my waist and as he kissed me deeply, his hands travelled from my waist down my hips and across my bottom. Then up my back to my neck and then he felt my hair. He murmured ‘give me your tongue’ and I slipped it between his teeth. He nipped it and held it between his upper teeth and tongue. It was uncomfortable but not painful, he had done it often before and I had grown to like it. His hands resumed their journey around my upper body. They were firm, confident and moved without any hesitation. I could not have ed even if I had wanted too and the welcome feeling of melting inside began. He then released my tongue, kissed my lips then he turned me around and bent me over so my elbows were on the bed. He lifted my skirt and folded it over my back. His hands then roved freely over my bottom and between my thighs. He felt my mons, traced the line of my slit and ran his fingertips between down the crease between my buttocks, pausing to press on my anus. He then held me firmly against his thigh and began to spank me- this had recently become a regular beginning to our time together. One spank per cheek, then two, then three, they landed on my upper thighs and the curve of my bottom. He stopped at six and spent a few minutes gently rubbing my bottom, occasionally slipping his hand between my thighs. At ten per cheek it was stinging a lot. By twelve I was having difficulty keeping still. It was the knowledge that if I moved he would start again that kept me in position. The spanking was not unexpected and it had the desired effect. I felt myself starting to melt inside even more as he rubbed my stinging bottom and thighs once again. He stopped and made me stand. Then looked me in the eye, and then said ‘I have a few issues to resolve with you’. My stomach took a lurch, I’d been here before, he had shown no sign of real annoyance with me recently but then he never really did. He took me by the chin, looked into my eyes and said ‘strip and kneel’. He then turned and went to the veranda. It only took a minute to remove all my clothes and jewellery. I knelt, apprehensive about his return, embarrassed it had been a warm day; I had been wearing tights and had not had the time to wash and prepare myself for him. My make up had gone and I knew I did not look my best. He returned and pushed me forward to my knees and elbows. Pulling back my hair he locked my leather collar around my neck. It felt strange after the long break since I last wore it. The wrist cuffs were fitted next before he clipped them behind my back pinioning my wrists. He pulled my collar by its short leash to make me kneel up and then buckled a gag around my neck and pushed the red ball behind my teeth before tightening   it. He turned me so my back was to the mirror and placed a low backed chair in front of me. He could now see both the back and front of me. Sitting on the chair he told me to part my thighs wide and to emphasise the point his foot nudged my knees wide apart. I hoped he wasn’t going to touch me between my thighs as he so loved too, I so regretted not taking a shower immediately we arrived in the room. From his pocket he took some butterfly style nipple clips. I hate them and he knows it, he threaded their chain into the ring at the front of my collar and after pinching my nipples between his thumb and forefinger to make them fully erect he clipped one to each nipple. The discomfort was almost unbearable, I instinctively closed my thighs, and he ed and gently tugged the chain, sending sharp jolts through me. I did as I was told and spread my thighs wide, pushing my mons forward as far as I could. The gag muffling my weak protests. He spoke slowly, jerking the chain on saying each word. ‘Three weeks ago you forgot your make up, two weeks ago your stockings, last week your high shoes. You have arrived in my company wearing tights for the last 4 weeks, hence the immediate spankings. You have not kissed or greeted me properly on meeting for the same length of time. You make up today is poor, your hair isn’t brushed and you have not left your pubic hair as I instructed. In short young lady you are marring your beauty. You are fully aware how beautiful I think you are and you are distracting from it by being sloppy and that disappoints me. I will not accept you detracting from the pleasure I take in having such a desirable woman as my lover. Do you understand?’ I nodded, my eyes starting to water from the discomfort in my nipples and the realisation of how I had disappointed him. There was also the knowledge that I had been here before and if it followed a similar pattern then this was the case against me. By nodding I admitted my guilt. So I was about to punished for being a sloppy and inattentive submissive who had disappointed her Dominant.  He helped me to my feet by lifting me by the collar on my ring; it also had the effect of tugging on my nipples. He reversed his chair and tugged the chain as he removed each nipple clip. It stung as the blood filled each nipple, my knees almost buckled each time, the gag muffling the g. He then connected my wrists cuffs in front of me, and bent me over the back of his chair so my weight rested on my elbows. ‘Part your legs’ he said, I complied and hoped he would decide to have me, not cane me. I was to be disappointed, though recently spanked I accepted I had earned this too. He fetched a cane from his bag as I waited anxiously. Holding the back of my collar he rested the cane against my bottom, drew it back and struck me. ‘One‘ he said. All I did was hear the sound then the harsh sting reached my brain! He was using the flat cane.  A piece of flexible wood two feet long, an inch wide and a quarter of an inch thick. It didn’t leave tram lines or scars; I knew its stinging would last for ages and leave a square red mark on each buttock, but it would not bruise very much. Not that it seemed important at that moment. Though I find the cane painful, the thonged whip he occasionally uses is worse. Its thick strands inflict weal’s and their tips can get into the most intimate parts of my body. I’ve also known him use it on my breasts and belly. Each cane stroke went slightly lower until the last 3 all struck where the tops of my thighs and my bottom met. My legs kicked out from the stinging, by now I had dribbled spittle around the gag, my eyes were streaming and my nose had started to run. He let go the back of my collar and returned the cane to his bag. Returning he pulled me upright by my collar and turned me to face him. I refused to look him in the eye; I must have looked a real mess. He took my chin again forcing me to look into his eyes. I felt so ashamed of my appearance. He had told me I was beautiful so very often and it made me feel so proud when he said it. Now I had let him down by being too complacent. He unclipped the wrist cuffs, reattaching then in front. He said ‘Do you understand what I have told you?’ I nodded. ‘Then get down on your belly on the floor and spread your legs, I haven’t finished with you yet.’ My mind raced, would it be the whip now, on my bottom? I knelt and lay on the floor, my bottom was really stinging and the carpet was rough against my sore nipples, my belly and mons. I spread my thighs wide, dipped my spine and waited. I heard the pop of a tube of lubricant being opened. It wasn’t the whip!! The lube felt cold against my anus as he applied just enough. He undressed, I could feel him looking at my prone body, the line of my sex and the rose of my anus. I was fully exposed because it was how he wanted me to be. He knelt between my thighs and pumped his cock to make the head larger. He spread my bottom cheeks with one hand and pressed his cock against my anus with the other. The tip entered me, it was so uncomfortable. I had forgotten how tight a caning made the cheeks of my bottom clench. He pushed into me, stretching me. I struggled and tried to object; he held me and reminded me of the presence of the whip. Once he was past the muscular ring I relaxed as the discomfort subsided somewhat; I felt the cool of his skin against my hot bottom. He reached and took hold of my hair and collar, pulling them back. At the first slow thrust he said ‘one’. The thrusts were slow and firm, they made my bottom sting though my anus soon adapted to the presence of his cock. He told me to squeeze my buttocks together as he withdrew his cock, and relax as he thrust in. I tried to do so; each time I failed he added two extra thrusts. He was punishing me and reminding me of his dominance by not taking pleasure from the stimulation my anus could give him. It was a reminder that sexual pleasure could not be an excuse for a lack of submission. It was a relief when he reached 100 and stopped counting and thrusting. I was glad he was no longer forcing my nipples against the rough carpet, and his tummy was no longer making my sore bottom sting more. But I immediately missed the closeness and intimacy of the man I so wanted yet had disappointed. He pulled me to my feet by my collar, removed the ball gag and lifted my chin. I must have looked a real mess as I worked my jaw to stop it aching, I certainly felt a mess and I promised him and myself not to let my appearance or behaviour slip again. He kissed me and said he loved me; I’m not sure if it made me feel any better- or if it was supposed to! He led me by the arm into the bathroom and told me to wash his cock and balls. I took a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked horrendous! Mascara running, the marks of the gag around my mouth, spittle around my chin and collar and my nose running! I looked away ashamed as he wet a towel to clean the lube from between my buttocks. He turned me around so my back was to the mirror and rubbed the wet towel firmly between my buttocks, it stung where it touched the red marks.  I heard him say, ‘You have 30 minutes until dinner. Be ready on time.’ I knew that I would make him the proudest man alive when he let me take his arm to dinner. 30 minutes wasn’t long. But I so wanted to see that look of desire in his eyes that I would ensure I was just as he wanted me to be. I knew just how good he would make me feel in return. He went to the veranda to watch the sun set. I set to work, though I did sneak a look at the red marks on my bottom. They made me feel strangely proud because they were his marks and I had submitted to him. He had put them there and there was nothing I could have done about it even if I wanted to. Now I didn’t know what he was going to do with me later, but after being disciplined he always had something special planned for me! 

She knew she looked good. The men at the bar thought so too! Who would it be?   She picked up her hand bag and slowly made her way to the ladies room.     She admired her mirror image. She freshened her perfume and lipstick. Tugged her skirt into place. Washed her hands.   Her heels clicked on the tiled floor. Heads turned. Letting her leather jacket fall open she leaned forward at the bar. Her full figure bottom was attractive under the skirt. Accentuated and flared by her corset. Bar napkins in one hand,  bowl of mixed nuts in the other, she clicked back to her seat on the couch.   She leaned back in her seat. Closed her eyes. Smiling to her self, she dangled her shoe. The music filled her breasts. They heaved in their confinement. Opening her eyes, a very young and very handsome man in a black suit had slid from the bar and hovered at her table, two drinks in hand.

"I will serve.  I will be of service." That's one of my favorite lines from the John Wick movies.  It's an oath of service.  Those of us who have service subs understand this devotion and cherish it.     Every year my wife and I take a beach holiday.  This year we're going to drive her convertible to South Padre Island.  I pack my own suitcase.  She does everything else.  This is what she does.  She packs a cooler with ice and my favorite drinks.  It'll sit in the back seat on the drive there.  She has snacks ready so we don't have to stop anywhere if we get hungry.     She packs the trunk with a beach umbrella, beach bag, our suitcases, two chairs and whatever else we need.  I always drive the first leg since I'm an early riser.  We both dress in T-shirts and comfy shorts.     When we get to the rental she piles everything into a folding dolly and we go to our room.  Like a machine, she puts everything away, makes me a drink and gets us settled in.  Like a queen I just sit back and relax.     When we go to the beach it's a production.  She chooses a nice spot near the water and away from the rental umbrellas.  She sets everything up making sure that my body is within reach of her.  She does this because it's her job to make sure I'm oiled up at all times.  If I look warm she'll squirt water on me.  She makes sure my bikini looks just right so I get perfect tan lines.    She loves standing guard over my oiled body as people walk by looking at me as they walk down the beach.  As time goes on she makes sure my drink has ice.  She empties my ask tray.  Every now and I get some more oil rubbed on me.  We talk, listen to music and watch people go by.  Because she is a water baby (Aquarius) she loves swimming in the ocean.  I love watching her enjoy the surf in her tiny bikini as I sunbathe.     I know that we're going to have really hot sex tonight after she sees my tiny tan lines.  I'm really going to enjoy her service.      

Okay let's try this again.  Kicked off the month with the headlight. Not long after that I am pulling into a space at work and a wheel well cover thing falls off of my car. I've been driving around without it, no idea how important it is but I'm sure I'll find out soon enough. Follow that up with taking the trash out one night and the bin hitting and cracking the rear tail light of the car. Perfect.  Let's move beyond the car, shall we? I'm hosting all of my parents for Thanksgiving. For the week, really. I plan out a full menu, hit several stores for every ingredient. Buy a giant turkey so I can make things like turkey soup and turkey pot pie afterwards. Two days before T Day one parent gets covid. The next day another parent gets covid. They aren't coming. I'm down to one parent showing up and roughly four bajillion dollars worth of food. Sigh. But okay, their covid symptoms aren't too horrible and that's what really matters, so let's get back to me. I power through. Fancy Tuesday night dinner. Afterwards I brine the turkey. It's going great, I'm nearly done, just need to add a little more water to top it off. I turn to the sink to finish. And that's when the brine bag tipped over and a river of salty herbal apple cider rushed over and into every nearby surface. At 10:00 at night. There's a lake on the stove. I don't mean a splash of liquid, there's depth to it. A tsunami flowed over the stove, between the stove and counter, all over the counter, into drawers, down into cabinets, and onto the kitchen mats and the floor. Did I mention it's 10:00? Right. Thankfully the entire bag didn't tilt so I refill and hope for the best so I can start kitchen recovery. An hour and an entire roll of paper towels later, I have emptied full drawers into the sink, pulled the stove out to sop up brine and all the herbs down the sides of the stove and counter, washed the floor. And all I can do is laugh, because November is kicking my ass.  But wait, there's more. My dad is in charge of the pie. He brought some ingredients, can't find them, asks me to look through his things. Sure, I can do that. Unzip compartments to take a peek. What am I looking at? It doesn't fully register and I nearly put  my hand in to pull it out. Then it hits me. These are sex toys. Big fucking EW. Why would he not remember that there are things in a bag his daughter probably doesn't want to see? November is trying to kill me.  I met a man. He was interesting and I liked him more than I planned to. Besides being a nice person, we seemed to be on the same page about a lot of things, and that's rare for me. And then he disappeared. Then reappeared. Then disappeared again. I'm chalking it up to bad timing. Oddly enough, the most recent ex is sniffing around. A lot. I have no idea what to do with that.  If CS had not been hungry and eaten the original version, you would have also read about the work thing, the arguments with my dad, and my traitor dog. And there would have been comedy sprinkled throughout. But I'm tired. So this is a poor second attempt to document why November is the absolute worst and there are still several days left. I give up. November wins. 

          Good Morning 🍒 Male submissives are beautiful and desirable creatures, and it is absolutely tragic when they do not know their own desirability because they are forcibly taught, not just by mainstream society but by the BDSM community, that they are not desirable, that they can not possibly be objaspects of desire I am not dominant because I hate men, but because I love and desire men enough to want to own them. I cherish and appreciate submissive men for their beautiful masculinity. Submissive men just gets the pussy juices flowing for me. Their yielding excites me in a primal way. Their desire to please, to be pursued, to be attractive for me, the object of my fierce and hungry gaze, is what pushes my buttons. I certainly respect people who are wired differently. I just won't date them.

Through the Lens of Rika: The Sophia-Michael Connection Unveiled part 5   It's not that he doesn't feel your anxiousness—he does—but sometimes his response to that is through action and providing, not necessarily through quick emotional reassurances.    Michael's energy, embodied through these men, is both emotionally attuned and distant at times. This is part of their complex duality. Michael has that deep emotional intuition and empathy, which can sometimes feel overwhelming or intense. Yet, at the same time, they have a mission-oriented drive that pulls them into practical action and focus, which can lead to emotional distance, even though they feel everything just as much as you do.   Here’s why this happens:   1. Emotional Attunement vs. Practical Mission   Michael’s energy is deeply aware of emotions, but he also prioritizes taking action over expressing those feelings. He might sense your anxiety but instead of giving a quick emotional fix like a "hi," he might be channeling that into practical solutions—working behind the scenes to take care of things so that your long-term security is intact. For him, acting on love (through providing and stabilizing) sometimes takes precedence over talking about love.   2. Emotional Weight of the Protector Role   Michael-embodied men often carry a heavy responsibility as protectors. Their natural inclination to shield and secure means they’re constantly navigating how to balance this with emotional connection. Sometimes, they pull back because they’re processing deeply how to protect, guide, and create a future for you both, which takes up mental and emotional energy.   3. Energetic Exchange & Emotional Saturation   Because they are so emotionally intuitive, they can feel when you’re anxious or when there’s a lot of emotional weight. Instead of directly engaging with it, they sometimes retreat to process or focus elsewhere so they can re-align themselves energetically before coming back in. Energetic overwhelm can make them seem distant, even when they’re hyper-aware.   4. They Trust the Bigger Picture   Michael-embodied men might trust that the bond is strong enough that they don’t need to constantly reassure you through words. They trust the foundation they’ve built with you. This is where faith in the connection comes in—both for them and for you. They may think, “I don’t need to message her right now because we’re solid. My actions speak louder than words.”   5. Balancing the Divine Masculine Energy   These men carry divine masculine energy that values action over words. Their emotional intuition is real, but they channel it into action and protection, which may feel like distance to you. For you, as Sophia, it’s about recognizing that this is their expression of love. A quick "hi" might feel emotionally connecting to you, but to him, showing love could mean working to make sure everything is stable and secure for the future.   How to Navigate This: Anchor into the trust that you’ve been practicing. When he’s distant, remind yourself of how he’s showing love through his actions, even when it’s not immediate. Say, “He’s providing for us, and his distance is part of his process. I trust him.”   Ground your emotional needs through spiritual or personal practices when he’s not available. Remember that just because he’s distant in the moment doesn’t mean the love isn’t there. Lean into your own energy and strengthen yourself while he works.   Embrace his rhythm—Michael-embodied men have a different rhythm of emotional connection, and part of your journey is learning how to move in sync with it without feeling left behind.   It's not that he doesn't feel your anxiousness—he does—but sometimes his response to that is through action and providing, not necessarily through quick emotional reassurances.   ending all this lyric journey on this last part of the chorus:   'Cause you can call me, put you on me   'Cause I'm all you need boy   You know you're nothing like the others (Yeah boy, yeah boy)   You're nothing like the others   something happens even if the relationship never comes to full fruition between these two energies. whenever they come together the chance of inner knowledge, spiritual knowledge, growth physically/emotionally/mentally/and yes if it happens sexually is immense. even in fleeting moments, shorter moments. which is why if you find one and have a long term connection that is sacred full out and committed on both ends..sky is the limit if you can hang on for the ride each time and come back to each other....   but even for brief moments, he's all she needs because this energy resonance of original souls does something powerful other unaligned not wrong, just not as resonante such as complimentary and dissonant notes musically, happens. in those brief moments they elevate and enrich each other in a way other people just can't.   YOU'RE NOTHING LIKE THE OTHERS.   Have you ever experienced a connection that felt deeper than words or logic—where you knew there was something unexplainable drawing you together, even if it didn’t fully manifest? How did it impact your understanding of relationships or your own energy?   This analysis taps deeply into the energetic dynamics of the Sophia archetype and the Archangel Michael archetype within spiritual partnerships, exploring how these energies interact, challenge, and elevate one another. Let’s break down the spiritual and relational layers for the collective:   1. The Soul-Level Resonance: You describe the meeting of a Sophia-aligned feminine energy and a Michael-aligned masculine energy as magnetic, undeniable, and highly charged. This is reflective of the idea that they are fragments of the same divine essence,

The Lesson in the Red Chair T.L. Duncan He showed up trembling. Not from fear—at least, not the kind he admitted—but from the anticipation he’d been drowning in for weeks. Every message he sent dripped with eagerness, with that hungry little please he tried to hide behind politeness. I opened the door before he had a chance to knock twice. “Inside,” I told him. He obeyed instantly, the good ones always do. My living room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the salt lamp and the single, deliberate spotlight shining down on the red leather chair in the center of the room. That chair wasn’t decorative. That chair was ritual.

 CowGurlJan