"50 Shades Of Wanabees" **Will finish writing this and add the conclusion sometime in the near future. Unfortunately, work and life get in the way of passion at times not affording us the opportunity to delve into it full time. That and writing this on a cell phone is a daunting task. Read enjoy, educate, comment. It's all good. I've been involved in this lifestyle for going on 40yrs. It is a very special kind of relationship and bond that takes lots of commitment, EFFECTIVE communication, understanding and most of all....TRUST. This type of life is not for everyone especially those "vanilla relationshippers" who don't understand it or know anything about it other than the stereotype information they heard or read. It is a multi-layer, multi-dimensional universe of its own that is compromised of many of its own ecosystems. It's as vast as the many kinks and fetishes that people can imagine and transform into being on the physical plane. Although we try to categorize the many desires so we can label them and sort them in order to find fellow kinksters. It is a task less job of who done it. No different than labeling colors. To the right we have orange. To the left we have red. But what happens when we have a color that falls in between? It doesn't necessarily look orange or red on of its own. Do we call "rednge" and make it its own category so it sits their all alone? Obviously not! But yet another hybrid is born expanding our array of colors once again. Adding to the illustrious rainbow of a way of life for many. It is no different than Mother nature's evolution of our planet and its inhabitants. Constantly in motion. Growing, changing, EVOLVING. How wonderful. HOWEVER, something almost always comes along to try and hamper the growth. It resonates through the community touching and infecting all that live in it. It betrays us all and infaspects the very things that make it so unique. Trust quickly dissipates as the intrusion spreads like wildfire burning all that fall within its path. Leaving behind scorched emotions, lack of trust or belief. Like that fiery fire is what I call, "50 Shades Of Wannabees". It's compromised of those who watched or read this crossover book or movie of a kinkier version of "Pretty Woman". A rich man who takes over a lower class woman's mind and bends her into his submissive. Suddenly like the herd of Buffalo, that once roamed this nation, a stampede of kinksters charge into our community. There is no understanding that there is SO much more than physical ownership of a sub or slave. It is a psychological game of Stratego that has been played by the partners gaining command of the others headspace. That headspace contains all the emotions, physical desires, dreams, fantasies, psychological manifestations of childhood yearnings, etc. All rolled up into one area waiting to be examined and absorbed by someone who can understand them and nurture them to fruition. A Bach of the composer world who takes them and turns them into beautiful music that all can hear. The manifestation of the hidden minds collective emotional desires and needs now controlling the physical form like the captive they once were. With this weapon in hand the dominant hunter has captured his prey. He cages and controls it by holding its heart tightly against his chest in his protective arms so no harm will come to it. The chase was long. The chase took many paths that one had to avoid straying from and getting lost. So when finally navigating it and finding that pot of gold at the end it is treasured as the greatest possession owned. It's capture was earned and not stolen. I can't help but look at these wannabees as nothing more than and invasive army made up of decisions or narcissistic grandure. Their need to feel powerful and fulfill their cardinal desires of physical pleasure and loneliness taken by force. No understanding of how the lifestyle works because they have no desire to learn it. Whips spinning in the air, shouts of demands and orders barking, physically overpowering of their prey is all they understand. I am a MASTER they proclaim to all as they dangle bait in hopes of luring a potential pacifistic creature. No you are NOT A MASTER, the knowledgeable citizens say. YOU ARE JUST A BULLY! A bully fueled by your narcissistic desires of ownership over another that you expect to force to serve you for your pleasure and your pleasure alone. You and your wants are all that matters and the emotions of the server are forced into exile.

UPDATE: March 3, 2022 We are making our dream a reality. We purchased a nice chunk of acreage in NE AZ near the New Mexico border. The property is riddled with evergreen trees like Juniper and Oak with grass. Yes greenery! Views that seem to go on forever as you can see the skyline in the distance affording beautiful sunrises and sunsets. Adjoining our thousands of acres of state land so no worries about any neighbors there and also gives us a lot more land to play on. We have several trailers loaded with building materials, solar panels, water and septic tanks. Now its just a matter of moving things there and starting to build our Utopian Homestead. Our search for our third to join us is now being ramped up. What a wonderful treat it would be to have her join us and be part of it from the very beginning. Allowing her input on her cabin or room. Took one of the horses with me when I made the trip from Ohio to check the land out before purchasing it. I cannot even begin to share the incredible feeling inside as we traversed the property for two days. Checking out all the nook and crannies. Kicking up antelope and even a couple Mule Deer along with the many Jack Rabbits. Exhilaration filled my heart and mind as I enjoyed the beauty of reality as dreams are being fulfilled

Its been a loing time, but the writing bug bit again since Christmas. I have a novella pretty close to completetion. Looking for volenteers to help edit it. Here is the synopsis an AI created for it: In a shattered world ruled by ruthless megacorporations, eighteen-year-old Sophia clings to the last independent farm outside the megacity. Each night she dreams of the same man — tall, blue-eyed, commanding — who pins her against walls and claims her body with effortless authority.  When the farm faces ruin, her desperate parents send her to the black skyscraper that purchases beautiful, impoverished girls. Few ever return.  Under a merciless spotlight, Sophia meets the man from her dreams. He sees in her a rare, natural submissive ready to be broken and remade.  Stripped, examined, collared, and renamed Initiate 37XY8C, Sophia begins her transformation from frightened farm girl to obedient pleasure slave in a hidden world of absolute power and perfect surrender. A dark, intensely erotic dystopian tale of total submission.    

It was a mixture of arousal, curiosity and his final reassurance that made her mind up. She knew she could say ‘Stop’ and he would, though that could be permanent, it was an instinctive decision that made her move towards the lift and later she realised why she made it. There was a logical progression to it. She was a stubborn person with a rebellious streak and a free will who made her own decisions and didn’t blame others when they went awry. Here she was reigning in her rebellious streak of her own free will and her natural instincts reinforced this. Her stubbornness would make her comply with what she wanted in this regard, even though it seemed counterintuitive.  Now it was a rush to the receptionist’s desk to get a pen, the envelope was already open and had the room number written on it. The contract was one piece of A4 paper and the male receptionist must have seen the bold type headline which stated ‘SUBMISSIVE’S CONTRACT’. She didn’t have time to read it all, her instinct told her that he would not put anything in it that he had not said. And what would be the point as it was a symbolic act, not a contract that could be legally enforced.  She hurried the short distance to the lift; the concierge seemed to have anticipated her need and he had pressed the button, she momentarily wondered if he knew. Once inside she selected the 4th floor. Her heart missed a beat when just before the doors closed a woman stepped into the lift causing the doors to recycle again and they selected the 3rd floor; she knew this would delay her further. She willed the lift to move faster but still almost in two minds about what she was doing, but she wanted to be the decision-maker on this and not subject to an arbitrary cut off due to time. Her pride ensured she used the time to check her hair and lipstick in the mirror as she would not countenance the thought he would not find her attractive.  The lift reached the 4th floor and according to the large sign room 417 was to the right, she almost ran, nearly tripping over her heels on the thick carpet.  The door to room 417 was slightly ajar, and a ‘do not disturb’ sign was hanging on the handle. She stood for a second or two to let her breathing steady, it seemed to take ages for her hand to travel from to the door, her knock was timid and her stomach almost jumped as she heard the noise her hand made.  A firm reply was forthcoming a few seconds later. ‘Come in Joanna’. She swallowed, took a deep breath and gripping the envelope, pushed the door open and whilst trying to look calm she stepped inside and the door closed with an almost imperceptible click.  The room was warm and gently lit from the lamp above the desk he was sitting at. His jacket was over the back of his chair and the few papers he was attending too were lying about.  Nonplussed for a moment she stood there waiting for some sort of guidance, she knew what she had to do but some sort of signal from him seemed essential.  He understood, or knew, and stood before quietly saying, ‘Come here Joanna’. It was about 4 steps and he stood almost impassively as she greeted him properly. Her arms went around his waist and she pressed herself against him until he said that she could stop. This time it seemed natural and gave a moment when she could do something that seemed familiar and that she was in control of. It also served to break some of her tension before she stepped back ready to kneel. Kneeling seemed a strange and almost alien act; she had been on her knees in front of a man before, but then she was in control of him, she forcibly overcame her rebellious streak and found it disappeared almost entirely.  Her eyes cast down she noticed her knees were together, it seemed inappropriate so she moved them further apart. Taking a larger breath she looked down at his feet and with the envelope in both hands, she held it up to him.  He didn’t seem to move for ages, and then he took it from her hands. He checked her signature was on the contract before placing it amongst the other papers on the desk. This was a small action, however, it made her realise that she had voluntarily signed this part of herself over to him. He had taken possession and she was now his.  He turned the chair to face her and sat on it.  She was on her knees only a few feet from a man she had just given her submission to in writing, she was no longer so nervous, it was now anticipation mixed with exhilaration and her senses were alive! She was now free to be what he decided. He leant forward and lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look him in the eyes, ‘Joanna, you are now mine’ he said quietly.  After a pause during which he just looked at her he then continued ‘The photography will wait until tomorrow as there are a few matters from earlier today I will address straight away.’ He wasn’t asking for a reply, he told her to stand and rest her elbows on the desk. She was a little taken aback, whilst earlier considering what might happen this evening she thought he might just photograph her. In a way that would be easier to contemplate, she could understand it would be a reasonable first private meeting, however, she knew it would disappoint her.  But now he was going to ‘Address some matters’ and that sounded ominous, it made the butterflies in her stomach come alive again. She did as asked, putting her elbows on the desk. He told her to arch her spine downwards, this meant she was bent over much further than she felt comfortable, it made her bottom more pronounced and her skirt was tighter. Her knees flexed as she tried to contain the nerves generated by her bottom being so vulnerable, he ordered her to straighten her legs and keep them so, as it tightened the skin of her buttocks. What he did next was unexpected, he ran his fingers around her neck gathering her hair into his hand at the nape of her neck. He expertly wound it into a ponytail using a band that must have been around his wrist. She now felt even more vulnerable without the usual shield of hair that would normally surround her face. She nervously moved her weight from one foot to another. He told her to spread her legs wider to shoulder width. She glanced up into the mirror above the desk; she could see him standing a few meters behind her, looking at her in a way few men had done. It was not simple lust, his face was almost impassive, she could see he was comfortable looking at the salacious view she presented.  His voice was calm as he told her that she had been disobedient when she broke away from the greeting before she had been told she could, she had also been demanding in their early email exchanges. For these, she was going to have her bottom spanked, he said it would be a ‘cumulative dozen’ and if she made any of these mistakes again it would be a stricter punishment.  He told her to raise her skirt over her back, this unnerved her more, it was one thing to have her skirt lifted, but another to do it herself! She thought she could not, but his curt statement of ‘disobey and I will use a strap instead of my hand’ encouraged her. She rested her forehead on the desk and reaching behind her with both hands she lifted the hem of her skirt until it lay over her back. He then described the view he had of her bottom in very basic language. His description of the way her swollen sex lips bulged into her panties was particularly crude and said with distinctive pleasure.  A short while later he moved to her left side. He reached over her back and pulled her right hip towards him, holding her still by trapping her against his thigh.

She had spent the previous hour obeying his commands, staying in her allocated space, removing clothing when told, displaying herself when ordered, her shoulders ached from being held back to display her breasts, then from being held between two pillars, her thighs ached from being spread as she struggled to hold position. Now all she was wearing was a white G string, wrist and ankle cuffs, which he had used to spread eagle her between two pillars as he applied the flogger, concentrating on her back, bottom, thighs and stomach, but no part of her had escaped its attention. Once again he felt her roughly between her thighs, examining the scrap of material to see how wet she had made it, only eventually announcing she was wet enough. He released her, and immediately clipped her hands together and ordered her to her knees and elbows and to dip her spine, removing the tie sided string he then forced it into her mouth and then positioned himself behind her. His instructions were short and to the point, the first time he would enjoy her from behind, she would receive less stimulation that way so letting her concentrate on using her internal muscles to pleasure him. The crop would serve to remind her if she transgressed. He took a handful of her hair, pulling her head back he slowly entered her, ordering her when to tense her muscles as he also enjoyed the heat from her sore buttocks against his stomach.  He took his time, often she transgressed and paid the price of the crop, until she felt him slowly release.

Let me tell you who I am and why I am this way. I am a natural leader! Not because I take it, because God made me this way. In High School, I was the Battalion Commander (the highest rank) for our military program. On active duty, I took operation out as the office in charge. I was enlisted but we were short officers so I was picked by field grade officers,  to lead the operation for my platoon. I didn't ask for any of this, it was given to me (by  God). I feel God gives us our path and it is up to us to walk it. I read the Bible, and it is very clear that he wanted man to be head of the house hold! You may ask, what about the women. Is she worthless, just an object, second rate! No, she is much more than most men realize, much more! She is his back bone, his purpose for living, his sounding board (to talk to on his ideas and hear her voice on it). Without a strong woman by his side, he cannot reach his potential (so he would never be at his best, without her)! You can agree or disagree, but like I said at the start, THIS IS WHO I AM!

    11/07/2024    Take Notice    I will be unavailable until further notice.      The noted positions have not been filled ...    For those that meet preferences and follow direction       I may or may not be checking in periodically.   

Hiya cissys and male pigs!!!   2013 has had a very good start for ME, so good that I have decided to DISMISS 5 of MY stable of devoted cissy slaves, I shall shortlist 7 from my stable and let them compete against each other to see which 2 can stay with my other bitches!   This allows ME to seek out other devoted hopefuls and select 2 or 3 of them to Worship and Serve ME, The Miss Davinia Jade, Arrogant TV Superbitch, Superior and Demanding of YOU<<<<   mmmm I WILL enjoy the selection process, interrogating and then shaping them to MY way of thinking until they finally become MY cissified pansy slaves, begging to serve ME!!! hahahaha

Wow.. it's been forever since I posted here.  Im not even sure when journaling opened back up.  Last weekend was 1 year since my husband/ex Master passed away.  It's been a journey of refinding myself,  of re discovering independence and my own abilities to take care of "honey do" jobs around the house,  and of learning to put myself first.   I've gone back to favorite recipes I hadn't made in years because he didnt like them,  I've thrown out the foods I never liked but had because he liked them.  I've even learned to install a doggie door and a keyless entry by myself:)   And I've gone through several cycles of being mad and sad,  and mad and sad again.  I didn't like the man he became, but I will always treasure the many years with the man he used to be.  And while it's been a bumpy road,  I like this version of me that has come out of it all.   A me that wouldn't exist without the strength he gave me for years.     Be well wherever your soul rests, Daniels.

A lot of people here are searching for their self.  I appreciate this and encourage it. I am not searching for myself.  I know who I am and what I am looking for in life and in partner(s) - I SEEK PRESENCE.  I SEEK SERVICE.  I SEEK COMMITTMENT. I am POLY.  My household and those whom you would be serving are TWO WOMEN - MOTHER AND MYSELF.  Service to mother is doing anything I would do for her. I am POLY.  I choose to have relationships with MORE THAN ONE MAN AND UNDER THE SAME ROOF.  Do not contact me if you cannot handle being part of a FAMILY. SAFE SANE AND CONSENSUAL - RISK AWARE - NOTHING UNHEALTHY UNSAFE OR ILLEGAL.  CONTRACTS get to the nitty gritty of the outline WE follow in our engagements and where we may draw outside of the lines.  They also discuss YOUR CONTRIBUTION(S) to our home, STD's, Emergency Contacts, Health status and a lot more. YOU SUBMIT TO ME.  That means YOU start the process with WHAT YOU SUBMIT TO.  Dont come to me stating you will do anything or with your list of likes.  Come to me with a readiness to live this life REAL TIME FULL TIME WITH A FEMALE HEAD OF HOUSEHOLD. If you are looking to life a life, chained up in my basement, eating my scraps from a dog bowl, or better still only eating shit, you better come with a handler as well.  Be of genuine and sincere value to this home and to me and my family and be seeking to belong to a family.              

How I Think About This Life There's a difference between Dominants and Masters that most people . Dominants and submissives live this episodically, in scenes, in chapters, in hungers that get fed and return. It's something they do. For those at the deeper end of the pool it goes further than that. It is fundamentally different. It is woven into who they are. It can't be set down because it was never picked up. It is simply there, part of who they are.  When they aren't living in alignment with it, they feel something is missing. If you've done scenes, found satisfaction, and then felt the hunger return unchanged as if you'd fed the wrong appetite entirely, sit with that. It may not mean something was wrong. It may mean you've been reaching for the right thing in the wrong form. That isn't to say that a lifestyle that's built around playtime scenes is wrong or lesser, just that if it isn't scratching the itch you feel fully, mere domination may not be what you need. From my perspective, dominance is about the application of power in a given moment. Mastery is about depth, about how completely you're committed to understanding and fully expressing a woman's unique nature. I use dominance as a tool of Mastery, not its definition. What I'm after isn't the performance of control but its reality, to shape a willing partner into their deepest perfection as I see it. Dominance is the moment. Mastery is the journey. That journey begins with genuinely knowing her. What moves her. What holds her back. What she hasn't yet given herself permission to want. What she doesn't yet understand about herself. I hold what many people today would call an anachonistic (and often misogynistic) view of a woman's nature and her place in a dynamic. It is not a lesser place, simply a different one.  A hammer and a screwdriver serve different purposes, and each performs terribly as the other, yet they are both equal.  Dominance and submission is a response, in many ways, to how our society has tried to homogenize the roles of men and women in a way no different than demanding we accept hammers and screwdrivers as being equaly capable of fulfilling each other's roles.  I believe far too many women today struggle with happiness precisely because they have accepted society's rejection of traditional gender roles socially and sexually. I've seen women who feel peace and gratification when they submit in the bedroom, then can't understand why they're angry and frustrated when they live the rest of their lives trying to pretend to be the same as men.  Some women can navigate society's definition of "equal" just find, but submissive women need a place to express something core to their being that isn't satisfied in that space of equality.  For some, submission in the bedroom fills the need adequately, but if you're still feeling that hunger to submit, if scenes aren't fully feeding your need, I believe that's why. Do not mistake me: I do not see women as in any way lesser than men, only different. There are highly compentent women in every field and skill; I simply believe that a woman need not sacrifice her femininity, nor a man his masculinity, for the sake of equality, and that society's attempts to do so are why so many women (and men) are dissatisfied today.  It is mind-boggling to me how so many people can recognize the fundamental difference between equality and equity in relation to (for instance) disabilities, yet contend that equality between men and women is natural.  If you have a womb and I don't, equality isn't possible, period.  Equity, however, is. I don't apologize for those beliefs and I'm not interested in debating it. What I mean by that isn't contempt. It means I think femininity carries something specific and profound and inextricably linked to submission.  A something that goes to one's core, and that a woman who understands and inhabits that space rather than arguing with it is capable of a submission that most people in this life never actually find. I find that kind of woman extraordinary. Truly a priceless masterpiece to be treasured, and conformed to my vision of their perfection not harshly, but with firm confidence. My approach has always carried a 1950's quality to it, in the best expression of that era (which most certainly wasn't always its reality). The structure of domestic life has always served, for me, as an expression of the dynamic.  That particular kind of submissive femininity that finds meaning in service and in the rhythms of a household held to a standard, the rituals of daily life weaving the texture of the dynamic. The aesthetic matters to me as well: a woman in a well fitted A-line dress over stockings and a garter belt, moving through a home with intention and grace is, to my mind, one of the most beautiful things there is. It is simply where my sense of how this life is lived most fully has always landed. It certainly isn't for everyone, and I"m not saying it is better, only that for those for whom it fits I believe it is most satisfying.  I'm drawn to a woman who makes pleasing me her partner her quiet art, whether we are in a relationship or not.  I love enging with a woman who wants to be formed and shaped into her most fully realized self, who finds in that not diminishment but the truest expression of what she is.

On Being Tended To There is a particular kind of vulnerability in being sick that I have never made peace with easily. I am not a woman who softens gracefully under inconvenience. I do not do helpless well. A migraine, specifically, is an affront, the kind of physical mutiny that my body stages without my permission and that I resent with the focused irritation of someone who had other plans for the day and does not appreciate the interruption. What I have made peace with is this: being cared for well, by someone trained to my specific requirements, is its own kind of power. It is not weakness to lie in a darkened room and receive exactly what you need. It is, in fact, the point. I wake with it already behind my left eye, that specific pressure that announces itself before I am fully conscious, before I have had a chance to negotiate or refuse. The light from the curtain gap is already too much. I do not have to say anything. You are already moving. This is what attention produces, real attention, the kind that is trained and deliberate and treats learning me as the serious undertaking it is: you read the quality of my stillness the way a sailor reads weather. You know before I speak. The curtains are drawn the rest of the way before I ask. The room drops into the particular darkness that a migraine demands, not full black but the soft gray of a room that has been told to be quiet. You move through it without turning on lights. I notice this. It matters. The water arrives cold, with the specific glass I prefer, on the nightstand without a sound. My medication beside it, already sorted, already the right ones in the right order without my having to inventory my own suffering aloud. You have learned my protocols the way you learn everything about me: carefully, completely, understanding that the details are not optional and that getting them right is the baseline expectation rather than a performance deserving praise. You adjust the pillow without being asked. I note this too. The house goes silent. Not the silence of absence but the managed silence of someone who has taken on the task of keeping the world at a specific volume so that I do not have to. Inside there is nothing: no television, no movement that is not careful, no presence that asks anything of me. You understand, or you will understand, that tending to me when I am unwell is not about hovering. It is about calibrated invisibility. Being precisely available and precisely absent in exactly the right proportions, which requires more intelligence than most people give it credit for. I am not interested in someone who needs to be seen caring for me. I am interested in someone who simply does it, correctly, without making their effort my problem. You bring a cool cloth without being asked and place it over my eyes with hands that are exactly the right temperature and exactly the right pressure. Not tentative. Tentative is more irritating than bold when I am in pain. You do the thing or you do not. You do not do it halfway and then hover at the edge of the bed waiting to be told you got it right. You already know whether you got it right. If you do not know, you are not ready for this. I sleep for a while. When I surface you are in the chair, not at the bedside, not making your presence into a demand I have to respond to. Simply there, available the way a room is available: quietly, without agenda. The water has been refreshed at some point without my noticing. This pleases me more than you will ever hear me say. By afternoon the worst has passed into the dull aftermath, that wrung-out flatness that follows a bad migraine like a gray tide going out. You bring food without asking whether I want it, because you know that I will refuse food when I should eat and that part of your function is to override my worse instincts with gentle, firm consistency. It is exactly what you know I can manage: nothing that requires effort, nothing with a smell that will undo the fragile progress of the afternoon, presented without ceremony or the implicit pressure of someone waiting to be thanked. I eat. I do not thank you. You do not require it. Later, in the thin early evening light, you sit at the foot of the bed and work your hands over my feet with the focused attention you bring to anything you do for my body, slow and deliberate, the kind of pressure that does not ask anything back. I lie with one arm over my eyes and the understanding that I want from you in these moments is not sympathy and it is not performance. It is competence. It is presence without weight. It is the specific quality of someone who considers this a privilege rather than an inconvenience, who moves through my discomfort with the steadiness of someone who has made my comfort their entire purpose for the day and requires nothing in return. You do not ask how I am feeling every twenty minutes. You do not make small sounds of concern that require me to reassure you. You do not treat my pain as an opportunity to demonstrate how caring you are. You simply handle it, quietly and correctly, and you let me be unwell without making my illness into a performance we are both starring in. This is what I require. Not grand gestures. Not visible sacrifice. The quiet, intelligent, sustained attention of someone who has studied me carefully enough to know what I need before I need to say it, and who finds their satisfaction not in being acknowledged but in the simple fact of having gotten it right. If you can do this, on the days when I am at my least, when there is nothing glamorous or cinematic about what is being asked of you, when the task is simply to be useful and invisible and exactly correct, then you understand something essential about what this life actually is beneath the surface of it. It is not always the collar and the candlelight. Sometimes it is the cool cloth, the right glass, the chair in the corner, the silence held like something precious.   Get that right, and you will have understood something that most never do.

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 .   

Extra, too much, enough Dear men, Before you say I'm "extra" and "too much," ask yourself ... "are you even enough"? Compliments of the Single Woman. The right man will love you right.

Your Kink Personality Type isBDSM CONNOISSEUR As a BDSM CONNOISSEUR, you're in the perfect position to start exploring BDSM more fully.  You may be working hard on avoiding the vanilla rut right now, but with a little more confidence and support you can quickly take things to the next level. You're strengths at a glance:SENSUAL ~ SMART ~ ATTENTIVE

Personality Traits of BDSM Practitioners Another Look A recent study provides another glimpse into Recently, the practice BDSM (bondage and discipline, dominance/submission, sadism-masochism) has generated a great deal of interest among lay-people and academics alike. The best-selling novel Fifty Shades of Grey and the new film of the same name have helped bring an otherwise stigmatised phenomenon into mainstream awareness. However, this book is apparently not a particularly accurate portrayal of how BDSM is practiced in real life (for example, see this post by sex researcher Justin Lehmiller). Fortunately, this increased interest in the subject has also been accompanied by some new scientific studies that may help to provide more accurate insight into these practices. In a previous post, I discussed a 2013 study that suggests that BDSM practitioners are generally psychologically healthy and that they tend to prefer roles that fit their personalities. In this post, I discuss a newer study that also examined the personality traits of BDSM practitioners using a somewhat different personality model. Some of the findings were highly similar, although there were some differences as well that may be worth exploring further to shed more light on the psychology of BDSM. BDSM encompasses a diverse range of activities that include but not are limited to the exercise of power and control by one person over another, physical and psychological restraint, and infliction of pain and humiliation. These activities may or may not occur in a sexual context. Typically, someone in a dominant role, known by a variety of terms, including ‘top’, ‘dom or dominant’ or ‘sadist’, will direct the actions of someone in a submissive obedient role, known by such terms as ‘bottom’, ‘sub or submissive’ or ‘masochist’. All activities are consensual and practitioners will negotiate beforehand what they consider acceptable. Many participants have a preferred role they assume in most or all activities, while some prefer to switch roles as desired. Participation in BDSM can range from occasional casual role-playing to a preferred orientation and even to a whole lifestyle with 24/7 role enactments (Hébert & Weaver, 2014). As discussed in one of the earliest posts ever, when i decided to start posting a blog, there has been some quite interesting research looking into the psychological characteristics of BDSM practitioners. Contrary to what has often been assumed, there is no evidence that BDSM practitioners in general suffer from any particular form of psychological disturbance and in fact they seem to be mentally and emotionally well-adjusted (Richters, De Visser, Rissel, Grulich, & Smith, 2008; Wismeijer & van Assen, 2013). I was particularly interested in the findings of a study of Dutch BDSM practitioners (Wismeijer & van Assen, 2013) which included an assessment of their personality traits according to the Big Five model. The five factors in this model are neuroticism, extraversion, openness to experience, agreeableness, and conscientiousness. These are broad personality characteristics that subsume a larger number of narrower more specific traits. According to this study, practitioners in general, including both dominants and submissives, tended to be higher in openness to experience and conscientiousness compared to a comparison sample from the general population. Additionally, participants who preferred the dominant role tended to be lower in agreeableness and neuroticism compared to submissive participants and to the general population, while, submissives tended to be more extraverted than the general population. Additionally, dominants tended to have higher subjective well-being and were less sensitive to rejection compared to the general population, suggesting that people drawn to the dominant role may be particularly

I know your out there I feel your breathing I sense your need to be controlled. I have been looking for you for several years now I’ve seen you in my mind bound, struggling with the chain that binds you. The need to be used kept. You need even the decision of who to belong to taken from you. You only want someone to come and take you give you a home and a purpose. You don’t want to play at being a slave you want to be a slave. Even if I never find you I will still know you’re out there denying to yourself that this is truly what you wish for. I have denied that this is who I truly am what I need and want for to long wearing the guise of the gentle patient Master when the sadistic black side of me hides within. I want to feel your fear your need for my uses of your mind and body. I ache to feel your hair wrapped in my fist my hand at your throat the fear and need in your eyes.

 A collar isn’t just a symbol… it’s a question What does your collar mean to you? Is it ownership, trust, devotion, identity… or something else entirely? For some, it’s a sacred vow. For others, it’s a promise to themselves — a reminder of who they are when they give themselves over.   I want to hear your thoughts. When you see or wear a collar, what stirs in your heart? Is it pride? Submission? Comfort? Or maybe a little fear that makes you more alive?   Let’s open this dialogue. Share your experience. 

we meet for the first time in 7 days  I hope this is the last time I meet a new Master and my search is over. So over being letdown for whatever reason. I'll always feel like we could've been great together and even though I understand why you ended it,it still hurts and my head is making sure I move forward.but my heart ..well it's still hurting and you will always hold a special place in it. But I'm so looking forward to this next chapter in my life and do far,it's been great..I've only fucked up once ..maybe twice. I'm not a perfect slave,I have serious hangups n they do surface sometimes and they do impact on the way I perform set tasks,but when I fail I own up and take responsibility  That said,I think some slack should be applied in a new relationship or agreement,I see massive differences between the Masters ive played with and been collared by and it's so much fun learning and experiencing these differences. I am eager to learn and experience all you bring to this relationship if you do decide to collar me,but if you do or don't,it has been a fun journey anyway.i sincerely hope your my forever Master,it's tiring trying to find a match,don't get me wrong it's fun chatting n getting to know people,but I know what I want and I'm over wasting my time .

12/04/2021   After a long ass time, I've finally returned to the site, to find the best possible option available to me, a journal entry system. I'll start by clarifying a few things, since I seem to get enough messages, no I am not a bot, yes I can tell when someone is a bot, and no I did not originally write the initial profile descriptions.  To be blunt, I was not the most supportive person when it came to this site, and didn't feel like getting involved. However, my former partners at the time, far more reserved than they come to appear in older versions of the profile, disagreed and decided that I need to replace them with someone else.  I am looking for a partner to have fun with, but more than that, I am looking to continue experiencing life...which hasn't been easy these last two years. Just when I was getting more involved on this site, the pandemic hit and made some things more difficult. I will admit to still looking for a creative "excercise" partner, and welcome anyone who'd like to join me.A lot of people had similar issues it seems, but I'll be here, clean and vaccinated, being as safe as I can and encourage all others to be the same.    Onto the juicy bits if y'all are still reading. I am still an Active Dom, last two years were rough but not without some interesting meetups, you'd be surprised at how many submissives are in the medical field and are desperate for some kind of release and feed into their fetish to alieviate the issues as of late, and I can't say I blame them given what I've seen of the emergency wards and the Covid floors.  Though my original profile entry is a bit more crass and disjointed than I'd have liked, I am still looking forward to meeting some folks here, and would more than welcome the opporotunity to engage in the community once more, Send me a message if ya wanna chat, game, or do whatever.

I've had some interesting conversations of late.   The one who spoke of how much her curiosity drove people away and then spoke about how her mental disorders stopped her being curious and that drove people away.    The one who who admitted all manner of deviant desires but then admitted me knowing those things made her uncomfortable in my company, so she ghosted me.   The one who believed slaves should have no rights, but that she could never be a slave because of that, but that being just a submissive was beneath her.   The one who masturbated openly to thoughts of degradation and humiliation, but was afraid her future owner would expose her to anything degrading or humiliating.   The one who wanted to serve anyone just to practise her skills, but admitted she couldn't serve at all because she just couldn't take D/s seriously.   The theme? Internal conflict. Its a very odd thing to see so many here pulled in such clearly opposing directions. Now, people of all persuasions have regularly dreamed of writing cheques it turned out they couldn't cash; that's par for the course and expected - our reach often exceeds our grasp, after all. But this almost 50/50 spolit been desire and reality, between who we think we are and who we turn out to be, and who we present as and who we then admit to being, is something new. I was away a while, but I did not expect to come back to this. I think it's just fear, something of which there seems to be so much of, more than I ever remember. People are afraid of speaking openly, afraid of seeming dumb, afraid of saying or asking the wrong thing, afraid of learning about themselves, and on and on and on. What I think people are afraid of is being seen for who they really are because so many don't seem to know that basic fact about themselves, and they don't want to put the time, effort and work into finding out, or be vulnerable and humble enough to listen and learn if they do.   It's a dispiriting experience.      

Be Available! Here is why I stress that potential online submissive men be single--meaning you should not be married or partnered or attached in any way:    I am not interested in competing for attention with this partner or spouse, nor am I interested in being their stand-in for a sexless relationship or otherwise help you sneak around behind their back. I do not intend to be held responsible should you be caught. And anyway, how can you truly be made mine if you belong to someone else?    Here is also why I make clear that you should be living alone--meaning you are the only one who resides in the house with no roommates or tenants (or partner or spouse):    If you feel the need to hide because you believe they would not understand, how can you freely behave in service to me? It would also mean never-ending waiting on my end until you were alone. Sure, you may have a job or may have an errand come up but at least when at home, you are able to freely behave according to your true nature (and my instructions).    Finally, here is why you being constantly busy or engaged will not work in my favor: Like the above two examples, it would hinder your availability and performance. I understand if you had a job that lasted from nine to five, but if the work (or any other activities) keeps you away for entire days, that does not make for satisfying service or effective communication (my tutelage and control). And I have done enough waiting.    At the end of the day, this is taking place between Me and you; the nature of the dynamic requires you to be at my beck and call as well as your undivided attention.    How can you make yourself useful to me if you are always hurting for time?    How can constant supervision be possible if you are hardly even there?    How would this respect my own time and energy?    I may have patience but only up to a certain point, especially if you’re screwing around and wasting time.

A Raven and a Wolf   He sat, kneeling really, slowly panting, under a soft leather hood. It was laced tightly, almost preventing his every breath. And in the darkness, under the hood, he strained his ears to hear whether she was near, or far. He inhaled, trying to find her scent, but could only smell the leather of the hood. He tried to feel if he could sense her presence closer, but nothing. The air was still. His mouth, dry from nerves, with lips slightly agape, didn't utter a sound.   So he waited, arms bound, shoulder back, chest forward and exposed. Uncomfortably upright.    She sat before him, watching him lazily, like how a cat does with a weakened mouse, very still. A hunter and their prey. She was breathing evenly to hide the excitement pooling inside of her. Hands encased in buttery soft lamb skin gloves, the color of his hood, the color of her whip, the color of blood. The color of her lips. A red so beautiful. Her eyes sparkled at the idea of it coming from his body. Beautiful and broken. She could sense he was searching for her; a slight turn of the head, listening, perhap? Leaning forward gently; trying to smell? Like a dog, she thought, just like a dog. And she sat there far longer than even she desired to see how far this "dog" would go.    "Bark, dog" she commanded in a low voice  And he barked immediately, no hesitation. She pulled back her hand and slapped him, his head jerked, body lurched, chest rising and falling rapidly. A noticeable difference between his legs. There it was again, a hunger to bite into him. Taste his blood. Consume him. But only silence. No whimper, no moan, not a sound escaped him. She wondered if he were bleeding from his cute little mouth. Again she slapped him. Softer than the first, a loving caress, bits of his hair peeked through the laces of the hood and she wanted to grip them and tear them away. Would he let her? Perhaps.    The next slap, and the one after, opposite hand, and he fell forward just enough that his face touched her thighs only separated by the hood and her own stockings. The rule was he wasn't allowed to touch her unless she said. This was a broken rule, however accidental. She stood and let him slump forward in a stupor, supported only by the tension of the rope tied to the foot of the bed.   Bark, dog. Dog. He barked.  Up, dog, and he returned to his previous place, exposed and upright. She stepped forward, the toe of her shoe pressing down on the sensitive flesh of the head of his dick. She crushed it gently until he sat even straighter. She held his head in her left hand, caressed it gently, leather on leather. The smell intoxicating her. Raising her right hand she slapped him again, over and over until her hand grew hot even under the glove. Was he bleeding? She hoped so. She hoped to kiss him and bite his lips and taste his blood. She wished she could see his eyes, dazed, glassy, far away. She caressed his head. And whispered, "you may touch me" and he pressed his face into her hands, her thighs. Still no sound, he was so silent.   "Bark, my handsome boy" and he barked, hoarse and painful as she encircled his neck with her hands. This was his idea, he had inspired in her a lust for choking him until he was nothing and drifting away in the ether. She squeezed, her hands perhaps too small, until he gurgled. She wondered if his eyes were open or if they were dimmed. The hood obscured so much. She squeezed until he seemed to go limp. And she let him. Shoulders yanked uncomfortably under his weight.    He awoke. Arms aching, face hot but no longer enclosed by the hood. He could see her though his vision lacked acuity. She was standing over him, wrapped in pink except for gloves. He yearned for them then. Yearned for them to be around his neck, feeling the bones of her fingers threatening his very life. He wanted to ask for it, for her to choke him, strangle him, but knew it was to her whim that he obeyed. Obeisance was her pleasure. He looked at her, eyes soft, left cheek swollen, lips split ever so slightly and she leaned down and kissed him, sliding her tongue over the drying blood. He kissed her back, gentle, but hungry.    Her kiss was soft but grew more passionate until she bit him and suckled his mouth. Did he love this part of her? The softness before the sting.  She broke the kiss. Her lipstick perfect but her mouth and chin stained crimson with what must have been his blood. "Open your mouth, I'd like to try" she said softly. A shy whisper. So unlike the command to "Bark".  He angled himself upright, head back, lips parting painfully like a little bird. She leaned forward and let her own saliva pool in her mouth and slowly let it fall into his. He shuddered. His excitement excited her and she kissed him again before he could even swallow but this time it was wild and wet. Her saliva all over his mouth, chin, cheeks.    "I have to whip you now, are you ready?" She asked and he nodded. A question was not a command to speak. Dogs do not speak unless commanded to speak. She untied him and his body fell forward. Not used to its old range of motion. His limbs buzzed from having sat in one position for too long. He wondered about how much time had passed. Funny thing, time. Why did it matter now when he was in the moment with her.   Without the hood he realized he could smell her. A warm sweet scent, perhaps arousal. And he thought then about being forced to please her like they talked about in passing, forced until exhausted and even beyond. After play. Her, in her pink, looked like candy and he wanted to lick her. She must be sweet.      She looked down at him and his face was peculiar, his mind was somewhere else and he looked rather cute. But she was jealous at the idea that his mind wasn't on her and she kicked him in the stomach to bring him back to her. He coughed and curled up as she walked to retrieve her whip, preparing for the next step in her courtship.  "Up" she commanded and he got to his feet, winded, bruised. Arms still behind his back. She released them to tie them around the post of the bed. The bed post being the whipping post, isn't it somehow romantic, she thought.    "If you need me to stop, tell me, I won't be gentle otherwise" she said to him, her mouth on his ear. His hair was slicked down with sweat and he smelled musky. She liked his smell. She bit his earlobe and stepped back a couple of feet and threw the whip. Lash after lash until he tried moving away. Pulling at the post until it creaked. She wanted him to cry but he only moaned and groaned, no tears. Just a brow drenched in sweat as his back went from fine pink lines to slowly oozing wounds. If he didn't give her tears then she would have blood.  He pulled desperately as if trying to escape her and she threw the whip furiously, lashing whatever she could reach, his ass, thighs, calves, neck, even the back of his head. The post groaned as if it would break under the strength of him trying to flee.   "Do you want to get away from me?" She asked. His breathing heavy, labored, his body wobbled as blood poured from him, he shook his head no, weakly, and looked over his weeping shoulders with hazy eyes. Finally he spoke, a clear and clean "No, ma'am" from his lips now dry from mouth breathing, swollen from having been bitten and slapped.   The no rang through her body and she leapt at him and kissed and licked his mouth, his shoulders, his back. Barely containing her arousal, her hips moving in slow circles. She was so hungry.&n

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.  

One of the advantages of being older is that you learn what is realistic for a lifestyle and what isn't - what exists only in the realm of fantasy. The various profiles you read of "...wanting to be locked in a dungeon 24/7..." just aren't realistic.But… when you make someone whom (or what) they have always dreamed of being, it’s an emotional experience for both of you, almost intoxicating. So how can you make this work? In my arena of the lifestyle - transforming someone into a rubber or rubber doll 24/7 isn't realistic. You can however try and set up your lifestyle so that the experience feels like 24/7. The following works for a latex lifestyle: I would come home from work and go into a spare room and change into rubber. My slave would already be waiting for me in another room, hooded. The first time I saw her after work she would be hooded. The first time she saw me after I got home, I too would also be hooded.The next day, before I left for work, I would change into work clothes without her seeing me. That way, we went several days without seeing each others faces, only hooded. For two people who found being around other humans awkward, this truly was a moment of emotional freedom. I have tried this and it worked (wonderfully!), up to a point. But that topic - when things didn’t work out perfectly - is the subject for another post.

    Public Service Announcement to the “I Want to Serve You, Goddess” Crew: Your Thumbs Are Not Submission  Let me make something crystal clear for the aspiring submissives, servants, and “I’m-ready-to-devote-my-life-to-you” hopefuls who beg for an opportunity to prove themselves who then crash and burn before the engine even starts. If I grant you permission to call me, and your response is to text me, congratulations: you’ve already failed. Let me repeat that slowly for the chronically dense:   Texting. Is. Not. Calling.   You begged to serve. You pleaded for a chance. You wrote paragraphs about how serious you are. I finally say, “Fine. Call me at this time,” and suddenly your phone.. The same phone you’ve been blowing up with 27 back-to-back messages now it mysteriously loses the ability to dial?  Miss me with that nonsense!   Submission Requires Execution, Not Excuses  You don’t impress me with walls of text explaining how loyal and devoted you’ll be. You impress me by following a single instruction without turning it into a personal struggle session.   If you cannot: Press one button to CALL Respect a time window Present yourself with clarity and intention  …then you are not seeking to serve. You’re seeking attention!  I don’t run a charity for grown toddlers!    Submission Is Action. Not Emojis. Not Daydreams. Not Typing Sprees.  You want to text-chat your way to greatness? Go find a Discord Mistress. Or a Telegram Dominant. I deal in real presence, not keyboard fantasies.  And to the ones who send non-stop text threads instead of doing what was asked... You’re not being persistent. You’re being annoying! Uncontrolled desire is not devotion. It’s desperation. And desperation without discipline? Instant disqualification.  The Standard Going Forward  If I say call, you:  1. Confirm.  2. Prepare.  3. Call.  There is no: “But I was nervous.” Nervous dogs still obey commands. “But I didn’t know what to say.” Then ask first, think second, but DO. NOT. TEXT. “But I’m better in writing.” Then you are better off elsewhere! You Want Access? Learn Precision! Servitude is not granted to those who talk the loudest. It is given to those who listen the best. If you can’t execute a basic directive, don’t request a role in my universe. I am not here to mother you, motivate you, or walk you through the concept of a phone call in 2025. Be clear. Be ready. Be real. Or be gone.  

Hello, I was bored so I took some time to go state by state and look at the basic category of profiles at appealed to me. There is quite an ecliptic number of very interesting people with truly Kink-based desires.  A thought-provoking side issue was that either the website is randomly broken or people who are in many cases requiring complete honesty are not quite providing it. There is a mileage indication on many of the profiles which is the distance from where I am located to where they are.  I'll use Dallas as an example, it is approximately 1300 miles from Los Angeles. Amazingly many profiles had distances in the low hundreds of miles to nearly double the 1300 miles.   It is thought-provoking that's for sure. 

3 things you’ve done today: - SHOWERED TWICE. - PAINTED A CERTAIN PART OF THE KITCHEN FLOOR GLOSSY WHITE. - CUT GRASS OUT FRONT. 3 things you’ve purchased recently: - DORITOS. - CRANBERRY JUICE. - FOLGERS COFFEE. 3 things you’ve eaten today: - MAC & SHEESE. - BEANS. - BREAD. 3 movies you enjoy: - 'BEETLEJUICE'. - 'THE HUNGER'. - 'CAT PEOPLE'. 3 of your favorite bands: - DURAN DURAN. - SIOUXSIE & THE BANSHEES. - DEPECHE MODE. 3 songs you enjoy: - 'ENJOY THE SILENCE'. - 'ORNAMENTS OF GOLD'. - 'NEW MOON ON MONDAY'. 🎼🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶💜 3 things you wish for: - I WISH MY MOM NEVER PASSED-ON & SHE WAS STILL HERE WITH US. 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 - I REALLY WISH EVERY LAST UNCONSCIONABLE LOWLIFE REPUBLICAN IS VOTED THE FOCK OUT OF OFFICE SOON. 😑😑😑😑😑 - W EED. 💚💚💚💚💚💚💚 3 things you’re wearing: - BLACK BAGGY SHORTS. - A PAIR OF WHITE KNEE-HIGH COTTON SOCKS. - ANOTHER PAIR OF WHITE KNEE-HIGH COTTON SOCKS (I always wear 2 Pairs of Socks...for years...ha. Yup.). 3 things on your mind: - "I Love You Forever And Ever And Ever, Ma..." 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 - "Oh, This Timelessly-Beautiful Goth DarkWave Rock Sure ALWAYS Makes Me Feel Like I'm Eternally 17...ha...yup." 🤘😎🤘 💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤 - "Ohhhhh...I Gotta Shower! So fucking Hot & Sticky right now!" 😆😆😆😆😆 3 of your favorite smells: - AFRICAN MUSK OIL.💚 - CK1 COLOGNE.🤍 - CITRUS AIR FRESHENER.🧡 3 words to describe how you feel now: - DAMN SLEEPY. - FRESHLY-SHOWERED. - UNEASY. 3 things you like about yourself: - FIT. - VEGETARIAN. - DANCER. 3 unpopular opinions you have: - THE WORLD HAS A *BAD* OVERPOPULATION PROBLEM, SO PEOPLE WHO WANT TO BE PARENTS SHOULD HAVE ONLY ONE CHILD FROM HEREON... - ...AND/OR GET SPAYED/NEUTERED.✂️ - AAAAALL THOSE DESPICABLE, GUILTY, VIOLENT, TRAITOROUS, TREASONOUS JANUARY 6th INSURRECTIONISTS NEED TO SUMMARILY BE TRIED & CONVICTED EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. 🔨 3 things you enjoy doing: - SMOKING W EED🤩...THEN... - ...DAAAAANCING...HA. 🥰 - FILLING THESE SURVEYS OUT SOMETIMES. 3 of your favorite photos (or memories): - PHOTOS OF MOM. 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 - FAMILY PHOTOS OF YEARS AGO WHEN I WASN'T SO GODDAMNED CYNICAL, BITTER, & JADED, I GUESS. - I HAVE LOTS OF COSPLAY PHOTOS, HEH. 3 things in your room: - A 6' 6" WOODEN COFFIN. - A 5' WOODEN COFFIN. - A 6' WOODEN COFFIN (I'm A CoffinMaker...for yeeeeeeears. There's also A 6' 4" Coffin too.). 3 things that scare you: - FIRE. 🔥🤯🤯🤯 - DANGEROUSLY-IMMATURE (Anti-Vaccine/Anti-Mask) SELFISH PEOPLE. 😷💉 - DANGEROUSLY-STUPID TRUMP CULTISTS. 😑 3 things that you find attractive in a person: - SHE LOVES WEED. - SHE DISLIKES REPUBLICANS. - SHE CARES ABOUT FITNESS. 3 places you have traveled: - NO. - NOPE. - NUH-UH. 3 of your favorite flowers or plants: - ROSES. - LILIES. - WEED. 3 facts about your current life: - I JUST GOT 2 NEW TATTOOS A FEW DAYS AGO. - I'M VERY FUCKING ATTRACTED TO A YOUNG, SLIM, POLITE, SUPER-RESPECTFUL BLACK GIRL THAT WORKS AT THE STORE DOWN THE ROAD, HEH...I SENSE SHE ALSO FEELS THE SAME WAY...🤩😍🥰 - MY EX-GIRLFRIEND GOT REALLY FUCKING SICK WITH COVID, & SHE UNFORTUNATELY WENT THROUGH HELL BECAUSE OF IT, BUT SHE EVENTUALLY RECOVERED, BLESSEDLY...BUT IT ALSO REALLY MESSED HER UP MENTALLY & EMOTIONALLY, & SHE LATER TOLD ME THAT SHE REALLY NEEDED TO BE ALONE. 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯 💔💔💔💔💔 😞😞😞😞😞 OKAY, THEN...ALRIGHT. I UNDERSTAND...I'LL GIVE YOU YOUR SPACE. I WON'T GIVE YOU A HARD TIME. I DON'T LIKE THIS, BUT I DO UNDERSTAND. I MISS YOU, I LOVE YOU, & I ALWAYS WILL...💜🖤💜🖤💜 🐢❤🐢 3 books you’ve read recently: - OOOOO...I *USED*... - ...TO READ BOOKS... - ...A *LOT!* 😆😆😆😆😆 3 things you are planning to do this summer: - UGH...WELL, I KEEP PUTTING-OFF SOME FLOORING I NEED TO GET DONE. HOPEFULLY SOON. I'M FAST. I'VE DONE LOTS OF FLOORING BEFORE. DIFFERENT KINDS. - MORE PAINTING. THESE 90-100 DEGREE DAYS ARE PERFECT FOR FAST DRYING TIMES. PAINTED FOR YEARS. I'M FAST & CLEAN. - UM, HOPEFULLY SOON GET A NEW PICK-UP FINALLY. NEED IT. IT'S A CRUCIALLY-VITAL TOOL, DAMMIT! 3 games you enjoy - any type: - "MORTAL KOMBAT' (even though I have actually Not Played VideoGames since ARMAGEDDON came out. I'm not a Gamer.) - 'YOU DON'T KNOW JACK!' - 'CATCH PHRASE' 3 facts about your appearance: - I CHANGE APPEARANCES A LOT; I GUESS ONE OF MY SPIRIT ANIMALS IS THE CHAMELEON, HA... - I JUST GOT 2 OLDER TRIBAL TATTOOS ON EITHER SIDE OF MY HEAD REDARKENED A FEW DAYS AGO. *NOW*: TIME TO LET THE HAIR REGROW OUT AGAIN...HAHA...😆😆😆😆😆 -MY NAILS ARE *ALWAYS* BLACKPOLISHED. https://youtu.be/cKxhNfdCc34

I can't sleep, it warm and I'm horny, which reminds me and makes it harder to sleep... thinking about a really hot time I had with an old friend of mine.  She new I was a slut, and that I was into kink.  I was staying at her place one time.  It was a hot night and I was laid awake, and I heard her get up.  Then my room door opened and she came and laid next to me. She said she was awake because of the heat and feeling horny.  Sh e then whispered in my ear, saying "I know how kinky you are, are you a slut for anyone, even me" She pulled the covers off me and could see I was getting stiff, and said "I guess so". She then held my cock, and told me she was thinking of telling her female friends about me, what I was, and asked me if it turned me knowing that they'd know. Of course my cock got hard, and she said "well I guess that's my answer" She made me flip over, and then just rested her arm out underneath me, making a grip with her hand, she then told me to fuck her hand. I said instinctively "yes Miss" and proceeded to slip my throbbing cock into her hand and stated to fuck her hand.  With her other hand, she began to play with herself, it didn't take long for her to make herself cum, after which she just opened her hand and said  "goog slut, now I'm going to bed, no touching until I say" She kissed my cheek, and promptly left. It took me a while to get to sleep with my cock throbbing and the heat.

Okay, what is with mens profiles on here?  Is this a matter of the Collar Gods not updating mens profiles or journals?  Is it a matter of too many of them to approve? I dont recall engaging with one man here whose age is accurate lol  And we are not talking a year or two off, but typically a DECADE or more some times!  lol At least if your profile is not accurate, the least one can do is update in the first contact email.  I should think this provides the appropriate degree of honesty upfront, while also reducing time wasted for you if the person does not like your stats. As for Me, I could care less how old or young you are, with the exception of 20 year differences.  Those kind of differences need a wee bit more considering to the extreme differences/challenges these may pose). Also, what is with dominant men contacting Me and telling Me they are submissive/slave types, but they have no such information in their profile?  Make another profile or have something prepared to share in your first email.  DEMONSTRATE SOME BLOODY EFFORT, YA LOUSE! Facts are, I have gone to considerable lengths to share quite a bit about My motivation and vision.  Still that is not enough for the energy hoards.  Send pics they say.  lol  How about you tell Me what it is that I have written which speaks to YOU about Me and how you see YOURSELF SERVING ME.  How about you lay out all the mundane shit you are just dying to do in order to get a wiff.  Instead many begin with pics!  I get it.  Yet if we don't even have the makings of something which will work in the REAL WORLD, how come we need to see one another?  I'm54, Rubenesque, full figured, strong like bull.  What else?  Height?  Weight?  I'm a little above the average on both and stronger than any women I've known.  I have good teeth, wear glasses, have allergies, am quite fair, and am letting My long strawberry dirty blondish grey grow out.  I've hazel eyes and freckles, size 9.5 shoe, D cup and a large ass.  I've never had a surgery or broken bone. Type O positive lol  I'm shaved or hairy all depending on mood and My shit stinks lol The list of things could go on and on and it doesn't matter one fig in the long run.  What matters is that I get you and you get Me and we want to get IT together.  This is discovered by YOU DOING WHAT I REQUEST and Me honoring what you have to share with Me.  From there we both get to determine our suitability. Oh yes, and what is with the supposed slaves offering theirself for ALL?  I really don't get it.  If you offer all, you should be here already not phone-finger fucking Me. I'll tell you how My first introduced himself, got a picture, every alais I've got and is on speed dial on My phone.... wait for it.... in his FIRST email, he quoted My profile, commented on it and said why HE LIKED ME.  Wow!  There it is folks, the slave told Me what he liked from My profile! LOL When he asked how to proceed, I told him we move to another chat venue (NOT PERSONAL PHONE LINES).  He moved so fast I got whiplash! We typed some words and after a few minutes things started getting convoluted -as TYPING THOUGHTS OFTEN DOES. I told him it wasn't working for Me and it wasn't going to work for Me if we didn't speak by telephone.  BAM! - he said I could call him ASAP.  I called him and the rest is, literally, history. IF YOU CANNOT SPEAK BY PHONE I AM NOT INTERESTED. No where to go and time is a ticking! Newsflash, I am not going to work overmuch to get you to submit yourself to Me.  I am not a salmon or a trout.  If you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen and if you cant come off the porch, you can't play with the big dogs. And don't get your hopes up, My tongue is worse than My lash...unless you are beloved and then you will get your just desserts!  lol

I’m not interested in disrespectful, fake subs who throw temper tantrums like toddlers denied candy. I’m not here for a drama queen who thinks his pussy is somehow better than mine — sweetie, we’re not comparing fruit here. Life’s too short for attitude, bad manners, and ego contests. If you want my time, bring respect, humor, and a little humility… otherwise, you can keep your crown and your tantrums for someone else’s court

Socrates wrote, “The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.” Another way to look at it is that anyone who thinks they have achieved great wisdom clearly hasn't attained the wisdom to realize how little they still know, and are likely unworthy of the title wise. I love that idea. I think it's capable extending beautifully for the scene. If I ever tell someone they should trust me, rather that show someone who I am and hopefully inspire trust through my every action, I am probably undeserving of trust. If I ever tell someone they should respect me, rather that show someone who I am and hopefully inspire respect through my every action, I am probably undeserving of respect. If I ever claim to be a Master, having mastered myself, my ideas, my tools, it is likely I am simply displaying my deep unawareness of the more than a lifetime's worth to master. Of course, they executed Socrates for what he said about wisdom. So, to all those Masters, who demand trust and respect, who have little cliques who award each other leather. I'm sure you totally deserve all you demand. Hopefully that didn't sound too sarcastic. The British accent makes everything sound that way!

First Journal Entry I am back on here after a long hiatus on this platform, fingers crossed, it works out better than the first time.  I am here looking to make friends, and who knows what after that. One thing I have found so far is that not much has changed, those jumping into my inbox still manifest many of the prior encountered issues: trying to insta me, using titles before they have been earned, fantasy pushing, and having the sort of energy and vibe of trying to use me as a kink vending machine. I am a person first, before being a dominant, so please don't do this.  A new one on me is seeing not being willing to jump to chat apps as a red flag, as a reason to think someone isn't genuine. To be very clear, I won't jump off this platform onto a chat app after a few brief message exchanges. Trust has to be built up, a connection of sorts created first. I am not interested in one of hook-ups, but want to build something more meaningful, and that will happen on here first. In my book trying to pull me off here, after a few minimal messages, definitely is one, and strongly suggests a scammer at work, not a genuine person.  Please don't try and do that. 

It will be OK Two drifting people on different ways,Living limited lives from distant days.Surrounded by many, yet still alone,Both in houses, but neither at home.A chance encounter - light, no more -Stirred something deep in each to the core.Old memories woke, a future appeared,New beginnings whispered where caution had steered.One stepped forward, the other stepped back,Too much to carry, too much to track.Too deep for one heart to sustain,And early joy gave way to pain.Like moths to flame they circled still,Neither yet ready for the bitter pill.Until at last he spoke his truths,Releasing both back to their roots.They dared to dream - and will again -Just not together.That much is plain.

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

Seller accepted everything I wanted.. Down to the last details. In underwriting and waiting for a closing date. This limbo has been emotionally draining. I have clients who are sticking by me, wondering if they have one more appt. , or am I leaving. It seems it will be soon, just don't know when.   I have all sorts of emotions.  I'm feeling  so ambivalent  and anxious. I'm stepping so far out of my comfort zone.  I will know noone, will have to learn a whole new area. Grow a circle of new friends, find doctors, dentists, car maintenance, vet, etc etc. I will be setting a cottage for my dad, finding a caretaker for the weekends, and setting up braille lessons for him. There will be much to do, packing, loading moving, unloading unpacking, arranging. On top of this , I'll be going into growing season, which means I will have a lawn on top of landscaping and gardening !  What was I thinking? I'm not 30 😆 I'm  going to miss many of my clients,  they have become special to me.  My friends  too ! The comfort of familiarity and confidence in my knowledge of my area.  I'm a native to my part of the state. I will not miss the politics of the DC area. I've watched it become so contentious and intolerant. I'm so sick of the constant drum beat of pernicious propaganda.             

Dreams Everything is about our dreams When we dreamers stop dreaming The rest of you have no dreams left   Vi är för Altid by  Kent

The treat She popped on a playlist and smiled the whole time she got herself ready for this dinner date.  It was a real treat to be taken out to their favourite foody pub and she was tingling in anticipation of being out and about in public with him. She left her hair to dry naturally in soft waves and applied minimal makeup as she decided on a rberry plunge bra and matching stretchy lace panties.  She eased them on, over the suspender belt already in place, and then slipped the thin jersey dress over her head.  She looked in the mirror.  “Perfect,” she thought to herself.  The ditsy floral dress clung to her breasts and waist and the v-neck was deep enough to display a good amount of cleavage, before flaring out loosely over her ample hips and arse to stop just above her knee.  She pulled on her leather knee-high boots, grabbed her jacket and bag and skipped downstairs to wait for the door. He arrived not long after and she let him in.  “I have a surprise for you,” he said with a grin, holding his closed fist out.  She smiled broadly and put out her hand.  When he opened his fist something warm and heavy dropped into her palm.  “Go and put it in,” he ordered quietly.  She looked at the in her hand.  It was a shiny metal sphere, about the size of a large marble.  She let it roll around her palm and felt some kind of weight shift inside the smooth sphere. A little later, as she climbed into his car, she felt the weight shift inside her cunt and the anticipation of the evening ahead flared in her belly.  Before starting the car she felt him look her over and she became very aware that her breath quickened under his gaze.  He didn’t say anything, but placed his hand on her right knee and let it slide upwards, pushing the fabric of her dress ahead of it.  When her stocking-tops were exposed he briefly traced his finger over the soft flesh of her inner thigh, forcing her to part her knees.  “Hungry?” he asked.  “Very,” she replied, a little breathlessly.  Satisfied, he started the car and they set off. The pub was located in a small village a short drive from her home.  One or two locals were sat at the bar, but the restaurant area was dimly lit and virtually empty.  He walked her over to the corner end of the bench that ran along one wall - the end nearest to the small fire – and motioned for her to sit at right angles to him at the square table.  He had a good view of the room and the archway to the bar, whilst she was mostly hidden by the wooden dividing panels which were spaced along the length of the bench's back. She settled onto the cushion covering the wooden bench, removed her jacket and flexed her shoulders against the back rest.  A waitress brought two menus over and took their drinks order from him.  He picked up one of the menus but didn’t pass it to her.  Without thinking she reached out her hand for the other menu, still resting on the edge of the table.  She ged sharply in surprise when his hand flashed across the table and firmly grabbed her wrist, her fingertips still hovering above the menu.  “No choosing for you tonight,” he said.  The waitress had stopped uncertainly a few steps away from the table, holding a tray with their drinks on it.  She seemed unsure about whether to approach or whether she would be intruding.  They both turned to smile at her and he released her wrist, letting her return her hands to her lap.  They both thanked the waitress as she placed the drinks on the table and then she left quickly, without asking if they were ready to order.  Again, he studied the menu, occasionally flicking his eyes over to look at her as if matching the food to how she looked.  She felt her cheeks warm under his gaze and realised she needed to squirm in her seat to release some of the heat she felt in her belly and cunt.  The shifting marble inside her gave her no respite from the arousal that was building; instead she felt her nipples stiffen inside her bra and she had to open her mouth to return her breathing to normal.  He smiled behind the menu before closing it and placing it back on the edge of the table, waiting for the waitress to notice that they were ready to order. It wasn’t long before the waitress was standing at their table again, small notepad in hand.  She looked directly at the woman and asked, “What would you like?”  The woman blushed and rocked forward on the bench.  Her mouth opened slightly, as if she was about to speak, but she turned her head to the man instead.  The waitress frowned slightly – confused rather than annoyed – and turned to the man as he began to speak.  “We’ll have the sticky barbeque ribs for two, followed by one seabass with new potatoes and green salad, and one ribeye with fries.  MR for the steak and oil and vinegar for the salad please.” Finally, they were left to talk with no likelihood of interruptions for a while at least.  Their conversation flowed easily.  They spoke about work, friends (mutual and individual) and their plans for the next few weeks.  As they spoke she grew more and more aware of his gaze.  She could almost feel it gliding down her neck, over her collarbone and plunging between her breasts.  Despite their everyday, normal conversation she felt the heat from his eyes as they slid over her breasts, down her belly and she imagined them settling over her clit.  His hands were cled, elbows resting on the table as he spoke to her.  He didn’t touch her throughout their convers ation, yet she still felt her arousal swelling inside her.  Her voice became lower and breathy as she talked to him. She found herself leaning forward and turning towards him as they talked; her neckline gaping for his gaze.  She hadn’t realised, but her knees had spread beneath the table.  An unconscious way of allowing herself to press her clit against the thin cushion as she leant forwards.  All of a sudden, his hand rested warmly just above her knee and patted.  She instantly sat up straight and, moments later, the waitress set a large plate of ribs and two finger bowls on the table. They ate the sticky ribs without much talking.  The silence and having to eat with her fingers seemed to shrink her world to a private bubble around their table.  She felt primal.  Sucking meat from the bone, sticky juices staining her lips, she was very aware of the fact that her nipples were now hard enough for her to feel them rubbing inside the bra she was wearing and her clit was screaming at her to be rubbed harder and more directly than on a soft seat cushion.  He looked carefully at her as they ate.  Watched her body perform it’s little rocking motions in the seat, watched her green eyes darken and her tongue lick sauce from her lips.  He let her eat two more ribs and then told her to sit back and have a drink.  He finished the remaining ribs while she sat there, almost panting, as she fought to control herself.  He judged that she had got a good handle on herself by the time he had finished eating so he dried her fingers for her, after she had used the finger bowl, sliding the soft napkin along each finger to the tip.  She looked at him as he dried her fingers, the gentle tug of the napkin on each finger sending a shiver to her spine that caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise.  Her eyes pleaded with him, tried to convey to him how close she was to wantonly climbing onto his lap and grinding her cunt ont

If you think I would spit on you  And call you a cunt I'm sorry but that's not what I do. I'm way more subtle , and with far more respect To be such a prick to you. I will set you rules that you will have to obey No doubt you will break at least one every day Rules on your dress, you grooming , your place On how you must act, in our private space I will cane you for punishment,long and hard Strap you  to keep you line You will beg my forgiveness , plead with remorse Bits that's all part of this design. For a man is man , head of the house The role of the woman is to serve And when each knows their role ,then both both understand Each gets all that they deserve She will get love, certainly and discipline ,  Each in appropriate measure He will have a woman , submissive and pleasing His to always treasure.   I

The AcadaMay CFNM Ladies' Tea Party - 11th July 4pm This is the latest review from my tea party held on 6th June I attended the Acadamay CFNM Tea Party for the first time yesterday and I have to say, it was a truly unique experience. I can honestly say that this is the most authentic Female Domination experience that I have ever had. The women attending were clearly not 'playing' a role, but are living it. For some of the men present this was there first experience of female domination (at least in such a formal sense), but Master May runs the event with strict protocol, but with a light touch, so that everyone feels welcome. I don't know how Master May selects attendees, but it was a wonderful mix of backgrounds and experiences. I have had quite some experience of female domination, but to do it in a group, and to serve formally in that environment was very new to me and a revelation in the effect it had on my psychological state. There is something wonderfully calming about surrendering to the will of others, but to do it in a group the effect on me was even more powerful. If you are curious about Femdom, then this is a great place to start, and if you have had some experience and wish to delve a little deepening, this is also a profoundly rewarding experience. Underling 5 Single females are always welcome to the CFNM ladies tea parties, also single groomed submissive men who wish to serve their superiors may apply to attend. The AcadaMay CFNM Ladies' Tea Party celebrates female empowerment through elegance, confidence, control, and connection in a respectful, sensual, and beautifully refined setting.  Whether you're a seasoned attendee or new to the scene, the Tea Party promises laughter, conversation, and connection among like-minded individuals who appreciate charm, class, and decorum and most of all, plenty of BDSM!  This is a small intimate and inclusive afternoon for elegant ladies who relish the attention of the naked males who wish to serve them in any way demanded from them.  When you attend a club as a single person you are taking a major chance on whether you will actually meet anybody that you actually want to meet.  Who wants to spend time standing alone at a bar surreptitiously casting your eye around for somebody who might be interesting to talk to, let alone develop a deeper connection whilst feeling embarrassed about being on your own?  My Ladies’ Tea Party is more like attending a dinner party where the host spends time each month assembling the perfect combination of guests to ensure that everyone has the most entertaining and stimulating time. You will be introduced personally to a selection of like minded people and have the opportunity to forge new lasting friendships.   At my CFNM you will meet everybody present and be comfortable participating in the conversation and activities. But unlike a dinner party, the conversation will be completely free of taboo and judgement and everyone will be encouraged to ‘do as thou wilt’ as the course of the afternoon develops.  As a lady you will be given the support of the other females present, whether you’re new and wish to know more about the art of female domination, or maybe more experienced looking to swap tales of experiences and to extend a friendly hand to the newer recruits to the lifestyle.  As a male you will relish the chance to associate with other men who have had for the longest time the same fetish as you to be naked and servile amongst powerful women without worrying about having to overcome any shyness about being with other men in the same position or having to approach a woman that you don’t know: every guest is included in the interactions and that you will have the opportunity to meet each and every Lady present is a given. This is a party like no other, held in a deluxe, decadent and very private boutique hotel suite where discretion is the key word and you will have the opportunity to strip bare the normal conventions and reveal exactly who you really are.  Do not miss this potentially life changing chance to realise your long held dreams of being in the company of liberated people who have long wished to be part of such a select group.  If you wish to attend you will send me an email with a face photo and some details about yourself so that I can choose the perfect combination of guests to make a memorable occasion for everybody. Email: acadamayevents@gmail.com

Well Used... This week has been a combination of failure and success. Not much to do when on your cycle, but did still plug a couple of days during that. Open to possible options in how to be of showing submission during that time. Of course bj's are in the table. Sometimes, however, that's not desired by my owner. On the upside, there was being fucked senseless while plugged. And the last 24 hours has been very good. One round if being eaten out and fingered. Three rounds of being woken up for sex. He seems pleased that I always seem ready to go even being woken up in the middle of the night. On to week three!

Farewell to Autumn - Witkiewicz He penetrated more and more violently the mouth, which now only gave way little by little to the pressure of his lips, his teeth and his tongue. It opened completely, transforming itself into a wet swamp and burning with incredible sensuality, it took gigantic dimensions, it was the only thing really existing. Hela's tongue slipped like a flame out of that slimy, mollucoid mass, touched her lips and tongue, and began to suck, irritating her mouth madly... The pleasure, which flowed through her whole body, seemed already peaking, and despite that it intensified more and more, becoming of an intolerable force, which bordered on pain. The contact of this tongue which seemed conscious of his actions, he felt it everywhere in the spine, in the kidneys, and there, where billions of beings conceived in him rushed towards life, without paying the least attention nor to his great love, neither to the meaning of his existence, nor to any metaphysics. In the darkness of the body, in the swollen glands, at the complicated crossroads of the nervous pathways, everything pressed with elementary force towards a single goal: the only reward of the duped mind was an inhuman pleasure which destroyed it, giving it loneliness. unconsciousness of the moment.

What I am looking for Part 2: Apparently it wouldn't all fit in 1 journal entry....go figure...   My masocistic side is weird. I am not a masochist in the every day sense that I crave pain all the time or that it gets me off. It fucking hurts. However, pain for me is a means of catharsis and for me to be able to process emotion as I have a terrible habit of just bottling it up instead of expressing it in the moment. The pain allows me to release all of that. My masochistic side is also very largely dependent upon the energy between my partner and me. I can take more and play heavier if the energy is right, compared to if it is not, then I may choose to not even play with them. This wouldn't be so much of an issue as I would not enter a relationship with someone who intended to play with me if the energy was not right for this to occur. That also being said, I have a few play partners in FL that I adore and trust more than anything. Whomever would be considering owning me would have to be okay with this fact and open to me being able to play with others. Obviously introductions would happen, but these are people I know I have a great energy transfer with and I have known for years. The same as I would be open to my partner playing with others, I would hope to garner the same respect as he would be more than welcome to be present if he was not comfortable with me playing alone. I do want someone I am slightly afraid of that I know could hurt me/kill me if they chose to, but who has enough knowledge and restraint to not. I find knowing that the person I am with can inflict pain in punishment in a meaningful way, I am less likely to get out of line.   I love to travel and have a huge gypsy soul and feel wanderlust almost constantly. I would need to be with someone who is open to travelling and taking road trips. I love cruises and just going to new places and doing touristy things.   Lastly, I do have a slight brat/baby girl side. The baby girl side is more when I am just completely content in a relationship and is my more 'squirrel' and giggly/giddy side. I do like watching Disney movies and I like being cute and sappy and doing romantic things. I enjoy theme parks and will want to walk in every candy/toy/souvenier store there is, even if I don't buy anything in any of them. I love to be silly and just be able to relax completely about my Sir. If I am serious all the time, there is probably something wrong or I am not comfortable/happy. This should be noted, but I do expect this person to be not only my Sir, but also my lover and life partner. I do want love/passion/romance in the relationship.   Did you make it this far? Great! Now, bare in mind that this is not EVERYTHING, but is I feel a really good starting point for someone to understand why what I am looking for is so difficult to find. Do I know that I am likely to not find a person who fits into all of this? Yes, but that doesn't mean I am going to lower my standards to find someone who fits only a couple of the categories. They are all equally important to me, so I refuse to pick and choose which ones are met.   I will update this and elaborate more on things as I think about them, but hopefully this can give at least a semblance of an idea.

For those who wonder: That is a 1931 Indian Scout. It is a 3 speed stick shift, 750 cc.It was my dads bike when I was a little kid.He lost it on a sandy curve in 1953 and hit a tree which bent the frame.It laid out in one of our fields up until about 1985 or so.My friend talked my dad out of it and spent nearly 40 years trying to rebuild it. My friend sold it back to me last year but it still would not run. I sent it to a guy in Grand Rapids Mi who specializes in them and he got it running again.I got to ride it last year for the first time since 53.It is a beast to ride. Weighs 850 pounds, has a high compression engine with kick start that can throw a man over the handle bars if it kicks back which it does from time to time.It has a hundred rules you have to observe. It has no crankcase for one, which means the engine oil takes up half of that gas tank and every now and then, you have to hand pump some oil to the engine. Give it a couple of pumps to start it, a pump now and then when ridding, an extra pump to go up a hill or if going fast.It is left hand throttle and right hand magneto advance or retard and you have to advance it, the faster you go. Left foot for the clutch right foot for the rear brake, right hand for the front brake. To shift, it is pull back for first, then two forward for second and third.The brakes are clam shell instead of disk brakes so you have to start braking sooner than a modern bike.There are lots more idiosyncrasys but those are the highlights.

Most any store you go into now asks you to take a survey when you leave so they know how they can improve. A lot of websites, social media groups, blogs etc, will belittle someone leaving who dares to give feedback about just why. "It's not an airport, you don't have to announce your departure".Those kinds of snarky remarks and the childish attitudes of the users,  are often the main reason someone will decide to cease participating in any particular group. Apparently, those managing these sites don't really care why people stop coming back.I myself don't announce my leaving or the reasons for it, I just go. Sometimes I'll check back in a year or two to see if that bunch of people still exists online and often it is gratifying to see that my judgment was correct and the group is dead or almost so.Now, I'm not planning on leaving CS, but I would like to give some feedback if the owners ever read these journal entries. This site is nearly stagnant and I think the long wait to approve a new profile or change an existing one has a lot to do with it. It's a huge turn-off and block to new members, many of whom will leave if they're not able to participate quickly and will probably forget they even created a profile here after a couple of weeks.So, it's the same people here every time. Nothing against any of them, but if they weren't interested in me the last 25 times I was online, I don't think they are gonna leap to to get to know me anytime soon. We need new blood here to keep things moving or CS risks becoming another uninteresting, moribund website.Okay, it took a long time for me to get there but it's been said. Back to surfing.    

Something I just wrote to someone on here which I think is a valid statement from me: I mean I'm not on here just for sex. I'm a sapiosexual above anything and to even interest me you have to engage me on a mental level. To expound on that, I'm also here to expose myself to people and concepts of sexuality and expression that are new to me. As I've explored further, by reading, connecting with people and experience I find that I've become a more sex positive person in general. I've been accepting new and bizarre things that perhaps turn me on and celebrating them instead of shaming them away. I am becoming more comfortable as a sexual creature as I follow my curiosity. I am also honing my communication skills. I love the emphasis the BDSM community has on talking about limits and consent and making sure people feel heard and valued. It's a value set we would do well to enact in our everyday vanilla efforts to communicate. These are just some musings I suppose.

Some people smhSo this guy contacts me, supposedly part of a Dom couple, with condolences saying he's sorry Master James passed away. Many have done that and I thank yoiu all for your kind thoughts, words and prayers.But this one guy then wants pictures, I say that I'm still happily owned by Mistress Tabitha and frankly we don't pass out pictures to strangers.He then says he wants g rated pictures and I remind him that my headshots from my younger days when I was trying to become a model are on my profile as well as a few that are more reresentative of my current age. I also politely inform him for about the fifth time that I am NOT interested in him and he should be on his way.Now he's angry and tells me that the pictures are too pretty to be me. I need to send him a nude while holding a sign with his name on it to prove that I'm real or he will declare me a fake! LOLLook at my profile. I CLEARLY state that I'm owned and not looking. Why would a fake tell people not to waste time chatting with her or sending her pictures?My guess is that there is an angry 14 year old boy out there with a bottle of his mommies hand lotion looking for love! LOL

I have long been fascinated by the basic concept of "How". How do I develop actual power over a sub. How do I instill a true mindset of submission or devotion. How do I get and keep control/power over a whole person. How do I actually mold someone, train them. How do I create an environment where I can unleash myself. How do I get the results that I desire. One thing I've learned is that people develop a core let's say picture of themselves. They develop this idea of who they are in their head, how does she talk, walk, dress, think, her desires, priorities, perceptions, etc etc. Once we have this image in our head this definition of who we are, our minds will do mental backflips to rationalize anything that might challenge this. There is an incredible inertia against any form of challenge or change. Even if you want to change, even if you want to be someone else, it's climbing a mountain. I have met all too many submissive women who on the face of things are willing to do an endless litany of gross, dirty, rough things. Their minds then go through this incredible process of rationalization and narrative building to square that in a way that doesn't challenge their inner self. They will then balk at something incredibly simple that invades their non submissive compartmentalization. One of the core pillars in my philosophy of dominance is to challenge her conception of herself. If I can subjugate your idea of who you are, I can move the real you in so many possible directions. Real power and dominance is not about how hard I can hit you or making you do the grossest things I can think of, it is about owning the idea of you. Once that is done the possibilities are endless.

How Plucky Duck is an example of bad BDSM   Something that popped into my head this afternoon - Waaaaay back in 1992 there was a cartoon movie called Tiny Toons Adventure- How I spent my vacation. The trials and tribulations of Plucky Duck in that are the perfect way to describe many of the issues people run into with BDSM. (Stay with me here. I'm not nuts. At least not about this.) Upon hearing that his friend Hamilton Pig's family is headed to HappyWorldLand, he immediately throws himself at them until Hamilton asks if they can take him. They agree, and he hops into the car with them. Plucky then has a very long, unpleasant trip where he discovers that they have a very different idea of how a road trip should go. They don't use air conditioning because the dad says "it wastes gas" but they can't roll down the windows because mom says "people will think we can't afford air conditioning." They don't eat fast food, and offer to share the food they packed, but of course, it's not what he likes. They pick up a hitchhiker, and are oblivious to the radio reporting a dangerous homicidal maniac, and also oblivious to his trying to violently murder Plucky. And so on. When they get there, they don't ride rides- they stroll through the park, admiring everything, and stroll out, while he loses his mind about having taken this nightmare ride with no payoff. All of this is a perfect illustration of how people get into BDSM and then find themselves in terrible situations. Like Plucky, they didn't bother to do any fact finding or discussion beforehand, to find out if THEIR vision and definitions for the trip matched his. There was no meeting of minds or shared understanding of comforts, interests, etc. He didn't do any negotiation to make sure he got anything he wanted out of it. He didn't plan, at all, for how the the trip (session) would be supplied, or prepped for, or conducted during, or have a way out (safe word) to get him back home if he wasn't happy. He was too focused on what he wanted to bother finding out if the people he expected to provide it had an intention of doing so. Or if they even understood what he wanted to start with. They had a plan, they had prepped for that plan, they had a goal for it, and he begged to be part of it without asking a single question. And then he was unhappy the whole time. And the whole way back, one assumes, although they don't show that. Just his sulking to his friends after about how terrible his whole summer was, and how soured he was on the whole idea now. He did not do anything required to inform himself, but instead gave blanket uninformed consent to everything that happened after. And then he blamed them for how it went. I see this ALL the time played out by newbies to the lifestyle. They are so desperate to feel the way they think they will feel, and to get the experience they have seen in videos that they jump at the first thing that's offered without doing ANY of the boring, unsexy groundwork necessary ahead of time to make sure it fulfills that. They don't read anything, so they don't know the terminology that would allow them to understand what was being said to them. *Or not said.* They don't educate themselves so they know what questions to ask, or what to ask for when the opportunity presents itself. They don't learn how to spot a scammer, or a fraud, or an abuser. They don't practice safety and negotiation, so they get scammed, sometimes out of thousands of dollars. Or they get a session, with someone who talks a big game but has had limited or no actual education or experience themselves, leaving them with damage (which can be hard to explain in the emergency room.) Some of them even end up losing their homes, getting their paychecks sent to someone else's bank account while they live in servitude they never intended, with no money and no way out. Extreme example, but I've known people who had to literally drive to another state to help someone escape with just the clothes on their back. So many people say that talking/reading/educating yourself about it first "takes the fire/fun/passion out of it." Unfortunately, NOT talking/reading/doing the work up front to learn can literally take all the fun out of everything permanently. So much of what we do is borderline dangerous if not practiced by someone who's done all that work. If you don't know enough, you can't know if that amazingly sexy potential new someone is full of crap and will leave your hands numb and your junk non-functional for days, or months, or forever. (That's delicate equipment and its easy to wreck the hydraulics, yannow?) So TL/DR - you can't safely "learn by doing" in this, and failing to ask questions and discuss stuff can leave you with some horrifically bad experiences. Do the boring part so you can do the fun stuff for a long time.

REWARDS IN BDSM In BDSM, rewards can play a role in certain dynamics and relationships. It's important to note that BDSM is a consensual practice focused on exploring power dynamics and different forms of pleasure. The specific rewards and their significance can vary greatly depending on the Dominant creativity, expertise, and the Sub and Dom agreed-upon dynamics. Here are a few common types of rewards that may be incorporated: 1. Verbal praise: Providing positive feedback and expressing appreciation verbally can be a rewarding experience for some individuals in BDSM. Words of encouragement or acknowledgment of a job well done can be highly valued. For instance, I am proud of your performance baby. 2. Physical rewards: Physical rewards can range from something as simple as a hug or a kiss to more elaborate rewards such as massages or pampering sessions. These rewards are meant to provide physical comfort or pleasure as a form of positive reinforcement. 3. Access to desired activities: In BDSM dynamics, certain activities or privileges may be seen as rewards. For example, granting permission to engage in a particular fetish or allowing access to specific types of play can be rewarding. 4. Special treats or gifts: Some BDSM practitioners may use gifts or treats as rewards. This could be anything from small tokens of appreciation, eating favorite foods, or even special outings or experiences as a way to celebrate achievements or milestones. 5. Points or achievement systems: In certain BDSM dynamics, a point-based or achievement system may be established. Completing tasks or meeting certain goals can earn points or badges, which can then be exchanged for rewards predetermined by the participants. 6. Orgasm control or denial: In power exchange dynamics, controlling or denying orgasms can be used as a form of reward or punishment. Allowing someone to orgasm as a reward for good behavior or denying orgasm as a punishment or building anticipation can be incorporated into BDSM play.  It's essential to emphasize that consent and clear communication are vital in any BDSM relationship. The rewards and their implementation should always be discussed and agreed upon by all involved parties to ensure the safety, well-being, and enjoyment of everyone involved. Wise creativity plays an essential role and can shed satisfying results.

I  messed up badly extremely badly on my first night at Masters home  I. Have thought n thought about it and I know i have to show Master that I know i made a  Big mistake and no matter what,I'm going to do my best to never ever do that again  We did discuss what happened and it did have the potential to kill what we both wanted. I will strive to be better,do better and be what you want,need and desire  I just read a post about shitty subs,yes I said it and it did strike a nerve. We did discuss my behaviour and over the next 2 days,I did demonstrate to Master that  I was ashamed of myself and stepped up in everyway possible  I could've ruined the best opportunity to be owned by a Master who is so special and so different . Your a kind,caring and strict Master and even tho we agreed to never bring it up again,I want to say sorry .. That was not acceptable in any way shape or form and beat myself up daily.. I know I have a way to go and I will Master. I want you to be proud to own me,. .were still kinda new to each other,but ii want this to work with all my heart Master 

Lifestyle submissive man who is willing to accompany Me to munches and fetish clubs such as Pedestal.  Message me to get to know each other. First meet is at the Mawney Munch in Romford, Essex, England so live no more than an hour or so away. D/s FLR relationship sought with kink AFTER knowing each other at least SiX months. No instant gratification. I am on Fetlife so look at my profile. Also service sub sought for garden work. Mistress Whipplash Ma'am 

Remote Controlled - Part 2 A fiction story Usually, waking up was a gentle thing in Sally's home. She'd take a few moments to stretch in bed, to wake gently before turning out of bed. This morning though her eyes landed on the evidence of last night. Instead of her crossword book on the nightstand she caught sight of her plug, phone, and wet wipes. No, last night certainly wasn't a dream. She'd been floating high after her online encounter with Jonathan. A shame flooded through her though. She'd fallen asleep instead of cleaning her toys properly. Sighing, the drawbacks of a long-distance dynamic welled up. If she were in a relationship with a dominant in person they'd never have allowed her to fall asleep and be such a lazy slut. Not wanting the near £200 she'd spent on her vibrating toys, Sally threw herself out of bed and set to cleaning up the mess she'd left for herself last night. Running some hot water, and taking her toy cleaning solution from the shelf she set the toys to soak a little in the sink before attending to the nightstand. As she began spraying and cleaning down the nightstand she noticed the texts. 'Aren't you going to thank me?' 'Just because I let you cum, does NOT mean you get to ignore me.' 'When you see this I want you to message me, slut.' Sally's heart slumped. This was exactly what was wrong with online play. Sure the thought of someone she couldn't see was hot and steamy, but the aftermath was disappointing for everyone. Caught in this thought loop she carried on cleaning until her phone buzzed. 'I am very disappointed Sally. When you are next online I would like us to talk.' Sally sighed, she was just as disappointed in herself. He was right of course. He'd done something for her, and what had he gotten from it? Immediately he thoughts shifted gear. Sally had told Jonathan why she didn't enjoy this dynamic. He knew what he was getting into. Why does he get to be disappointed? Why should she feel guilty? She could quite understand her own reactions, and needing to get on with her day, she pushed them aside to finish her cleaning and start her day.It would be a day or two before Sally next saw that Jonathan was online. In that time she'd put some thought into her feelings. Into this disappointment. She had no idea how online could work. 'Jonathan, I'm sorry I fell asleep on you. I told you I hated online' 'Don't worry. I won't take it personally. I have a suggestion for you if you're willing to be open minded again?' Sally's hands lingered over the phone screen for a little while as she considered her response. As she thought her eyes wandered around her room, eventually resting on the toybox she kept. It was a wonderful orgasm. What could it hurt? Sally, tapped the voice call. The ringtone tormented her for longer than she could bare. She could see he was still online, so why was Jonathan taking so long to answer? She could feel herself anticipating the conversation. How would this go? 'Hello Slut.' Jonathan's tone shook Sally. Instinctively she hated being called a slut. It was such a horrid word. She decided to overlook it for now. As much as she hated that word, she wanted even more for people to think well of her. Impressing and making good with Jonathan was more important than a four letter word. 'Hello Jonathan. I am sorry you know.' 'Oh slut, I know you are. Do not worry. I still think you are interesting.' His tone took her by surprise. He sounded...understanding. Calm. As the conversation went on, she did her best to apologise and to explain but he was calm and reasonable. He truly seemed not to be mad about it. His tone comforted her just as much as it made her feel uncomfortable. Eventually though in what seemed to be another effort to put her at ease, Jonathan made her an offer. 'Do you want me to give you a way to make it up to me?' 'Please Jonathan, it would set my mind at rest.' 'Very well. I have an app I would like you to download.' Almost immediately a message flashed on her phone. The link was easy to follow and the app looked legitimate enough. 'What is it?' 'Download it and find out.' Sally downloaded the app and set herself up on it as best she could while they talked. It appeared to allow one person to set rules, tasks, punishments, and rewards. It used a series of points to track things and could be shared between two people. Almost as soon as she was set up a request landed on this app - Jonathan would like to be your partner 'You do not have to accept, but I know you will slut.' Sally was disarmed by the confidence in his voice. Curious and still hoping for another long distance session where she could benefit from her vibrating toys, she clicked accept. The pages of the app seemed to immediately become filled with things. As she tapped through Jonathan began to explain. He could set her some daily tasks that she would need to mark as having completed. There was even a feature where he could request photo proof if she was comfortable with it. The rules was blank for now, but if the app proved useful Jonathan explained that he'd start giving her some rules to follow. The rewards tab contained two very simple rewards. 1. You may cum even if Jonathan denies you permission. (100 points) 2. Request a new toy from Jonathan. (50 points). Jonathan explained that he had found a delivery locker in her town and he could safely send items there without needing her physical address. She could be assured of her safety and not have to hand over sensitive information. Sally couldn't help but smile, he had really thought this through. Continuing on to the final tab, the punishments page had one punishment listed. You will tell Jonathan a name or descriptive word that you do not enjoy being called. Jonathan will use this word to address you for an entire week. 'I can hear over the phone the gasp of breath when I call you slut. I know you don't like it.' Sally couldn't deny it. She hated being called a slut. And then it clicked. He hadn't called her by her name since the night she'd fallen asleep on him. He was punishing her and he wasn't even here. Sally couldn't help but be impressed by his skill. The two talked for a little while longer, with Jonathan asking what toys 'Slut' owned. She reeled off the toys that she owned, taking and sharing some photos along the way. They discussed her limits, the things he enjoyed, the things she enjoyed. Then he announced something. 'If I have captured your intertest enough, I want to ask you to submit to me using this app and your toys. If you agree Slut, you will leave the call open and put in your vibe and buttplug. If you do not agree, then you can end that call

On The Possibility of a Dream When I was 20something, I discovered Female Domination like a supernova in the night sky. It bathed my thoughts in a different light, it revealed hidden meanings in the way I felt, and it made it seem like anything was possible. It was strongly sexual - physical. Almost like a drug that charged me and made everything more vivid, more alive. In the center of this supernova was an archetypal vision - Woman, the essence of all I desired, the goal of all my efforts. The embodyment of all good and pleasure. Impressive as this was, I think it was incomplete. Now it's been 30 years, and with the help of several intelligent and perceptive Dominas, i can see more clearly. i realize that this raw power, the blind almost biological impulse, is made human, civilized, and meaningful by service - from bending to and serving a real woman. Not an archetype. A human being with her dreams, fears, hopes, and yes weaknesses. Does this mean I think my initial vision was wrong? No - I think that almost primeval response is the natural fuel for a rock-solid relationship. It is the capacity of seeing my partner as the channel, the embodyment of that feminine divine energy, that can charge our whole relationship and add layers of meaning "vanilla" relationships lack. Is this a dream? Maybe. But I know my soul is religious and its dream religion is the woman i would share my life with.

I had a conversation yesterday that reminded me why I don’t rush access. Every so often, someone comes along who understands the difference between fantasy… and function. He didn’t come in with noise, exaggeration, or empty declarations. He understood something much more important, how to exist in both worlds without conflict. That’s rare. Because the truth is, this isn’t about cosplay. It’s not about acting out power or performing submission in isolated moments. It’s about integration. Taking what exists in this space, structure, direction, awareness, and applying it to real life in a way that actually works. Where it builds something. Where it creates value. Where it makes both people stronger, not dependent. That’s what most miss. A real dynamic doesn’t remove you from reality, it refines how you move within it. And a true leader doesn’t just command… she guides. She shapes. She diraspects with intention so that what stands beside her is not just devoted, but useful, capable, and aligned. That’s where something meaningful begins. Not in fantasy. But in what you can sustain. I think i'll keep him — Mistress Nikki Vixen aka Goddess

When will you be back? Remember when we first met? Knives and sex?  It's you I choose in the end. Whether you come back to me or not.  You are my eternal flame that I chase.  You are the way my soul is leading to.  It's your name that slides of my tongue with love and lust.  Let the flames take me but let them not take this love.  A fallen creature like you ... Who do you pray to? I hope it's the universe cause that's what I pray to and hope in.  A love like ours and a deeper future vision. This can't go to waste.  You don't have to chase me or speak.  But I'll be around youll hear your name from my lips everyday.  Love you Luce! Keep your head up and fight the battles you need to and turn away the ones that don't matter.  You know who you are. You know your truth. You know where your heart leads. Don't let them strip that away.   

He placed a small locked case on the table. "One more step," he said calmly. "Not because you have to—but because I want you to understand what surrender really feels like." I looked at the case, my pulse quickening. It wasn't the object itself that unsettled me. A chastity device.  It was what it represented: giving up control, trusting someone else, and committing to the journey I'd begun. "You can still say no," he reminded him. After a long silence, i nodded. He explained the rules. The device wasn't a punishment; it was a symbol of discipline, patience, and intention. If i chose to wear it, the decision would be respected, and either of us could end the exercise at any time. As the lock clicked shut, i felt an unexpected calm. The moment wasn't about humiliation. It was about crossing another threshold, leaving behind hesitation, and embracing a side of himself I'd hidden for far too long.

Lady of Mexico In Mexico, where the sun meets the sand, There lived a woman, fierce and grand. Her spirit strong, her will untamed, In her veins, a legacy unashamed.   She ruled with grace, her presence known, In every step, her power shown. Her eyes ablaze with fiery might, A force of nature, shining bright.   In lands of color, where passion thrives, She led with strength in all her strides. Her essence echoed through historys call, A dominant spirit, standing tall.   In Mexicos embrace, she found her way, A queen of purpose, unafraid to sway. With courage as her guiding flame, She carved her place, a revered name.   In every heart, her story lives, A dominant woman, whose power gives Inspiration to those who dare to dream, In Mexicos tapestry, a vibrant seam.  

DISAPPOINTED-  There is a difference between presence and performance. When we meet in public, energy speaks louder than words, and truth has a way of revealing itself without effort. I pay attention to alignment — between actions and intentions, between spoken language and written expression, between who you present yourself to be and who you actually are. Lately, something feels off. The version of you I encounter in person does not fully match the one you portray through your writing. Words can be crafted, polished, and arranged to create an impression — but authenticity cannot be manufactured. It either exists, or it does not. Our recent meeting here in Folsom raised clear red flags for me. What I observed in person did not align with the image presented through your words. When behavior, tone, and presence do not match the story being told, it signals inconsistency — and inconsistency erodes trust. We live in a culture saturated with illusion — curated images, rehearsed personas, half-truths, and quiet deception both online and off. Masks have become normal. Pretending has become easier than being real. But I am not interested in illusions, performances, or carefully edited versions of truth. Transparency matters to me. Consistency matters. I value what is real, even when it is imperfect, over what is carefully constructed to appear a certain way. Facades are exhausting to maintain, and eventually they crack. When they do, truth stands on its own — calm, clear, and undeniable. I am direct, observant, and grounded in what is genuine. What you see is what you get. I do not perform, and I do not pretend. In a world full of filters and deception, I remain authentic — as real as you will find. Be real. I can see through what is not.

Been a while, lots going on! Some really exciting prospaspects coming up so ready to see where this path goes!   on the journey, I'm down under 220... I feel infinitely stronger than I was before and I think I'm going to just have to keep this up! lol I set a new personal record on snatches at 165 for 3 reps! I don't think I could lift that over my head even when I was younger and in good shape so yay!   on the search for the right boy... well let's just say flakes abound and I'm almost over it... oh well...     on an extremely personal level i had something I never expected to happen happen to me (advice appreciated)... I spent 16 years wondering who my birth father was, 3(ish) months trying to build a bridge between us, and 32 years trying to forget... a little over 2 months ago he reached out to me (first time ever) three weeks ago it was "hey really wanna meet with you, just say when and where and I'll be there..." so I told him Monday 1pm at my bar...  *crickets*  I haven't reached out or anything but I really wanna be petty and post how I feel while tagging him since he reached out to me via facebook... I'm turning 49 in just over a week, ive survived this long with out him... maybe I should give up and walk away? Any thoughts?

On Being Felled, Temporarily   I have been absent. Those of you who follow closely will have noticed the silence and drawn your own conclusions. The conclusion is this: my body staged one of its more dramatic rebellions in the form of a kidney infection serious enough to take me entirely off the board for the better part of two weeks. I do not get sick quietly or briefly, apparently. When I go down I go down with the full commitment I bring to everything, which I would find more admirable if it were not so thoroughly inconvenient. I am on the other side of it now, or near enough to be upright and writing, which I am choosing to count as a victory. While I was ill, someone broke into my home. I want to let that sit for a moment because I am still sitting with it myself. I was sick, my children were unsettled, and someone decided that was an acceptable time to violate the space where my family lives and take what did not belong to them. They took the children's gaming system, which in the grand accounting of what could have been lost is not the worst possible outcome, and I know this, and I have said this to myself many times. It does not make my children's faces easier to look at. The specific devastation of a preteen who has had something taken, not misplaced, not broken accidentally, but deliberately stolen from their home, from the place that is supposed to be safe, is its own particular kind of heartbreak to witness as a mother. They were crushed. I was furious on their behalf in the way that only a mother's fury operates, which is to say completely and with no available outlet. I handled it alone. As I handle everything. And this is where I find myself needing to say something I do not say easily, which is that my resilience, that quality I have always counted on, felt genuinely shaken this past week. Not broken. I want to be precise about that because I will not be imprecise about myself even when honesty is uncomfortable. Not broken. But shaken in the way that a foundation shakes when too many things hit it simultaneously, the illness and the violation and the children's hurt and the daily weight of a life I carry without assistance, all of it arriving at once while my body was already at its limit. I had hoped, by now, to be in a different chapter. I had hoped, genuinely and specifically, to be in conversations about sharing a home with someone actually prepared to show up for this life. Someone whose service was not theoretical, not a future intention, not a beautiful idea that dissolves on contact with the reality of what showing up actually requires. Someone who would have been here during a kidney infection that left me barely functional. Someone whose presence would have meant my children came home from school to a stable and managed household rather than to a mother running on empty and a space that had been violated. That person does not currently exist in my life, and the disappointment of that is not small. It is not something I can dress up into acceptance without first acknowledging that it is a genuine and specific grief. I built a vision. I know what I deserve. I know what this dynamic looks like when it is real and functional and inhabited by someone with actual capability and actual commitment. The gap between that knowledge and my current reality is something I feel most acutely on the weeks that ask the most of me. I am resilient. I will return to myself completely, as I always do. But this week the crown was heavy. I wanted to tell you that honestly, because this space has always been about the full truth of this life, not only its beauty.   More soon. I am still here. I am still unserved. I am still waiting and wanting. 

i am a submissive man... i have had submissive tendancies for as long as i can remember... it all started with a dream... Around the end of Oct '22 i met a kitten... how we initially met isn't that important. But the chemistry was obvious, to me at least. We arranged to meet at the coast where we both live.. as it turned out the kitten lives about a 10 minutes drive from where I live. While we were walking the boarwalk, we stopped into a bar.. neither of us drank alcohol, but the conversation was interesting, as the kitten pointed out women she thought attractive.. which led to her confession that she was bi. As we left the bar.. we stopped at a tattooo shop, inquired about nipple piercings (for me, as i always wanted one pierced).. turns out both of hers are pierced, as i discovered while there. We walked back to our cars.. stopping for some frozen yougurt concoction, it wasn't very tastful as I recall.. while having the snack at a table by the sand... kitten admitted that she "was into pain if properly administered". I was a bit taken aback, but as i am core sub, i understood completely what she was saying. Understanding, that, for me, infliction of pain in various manners produced chemicals and allowed me to forget the grinds of life for a moment or two.  We enjoyed each others company. Upon departing, as I walked her to the car, I stole a hug and a kiss, that we both seemed to enjoy, and i recieved a positive vibe as we said our good bye's. We texted each other later the following week, "I hope to see your place sometime soon" she texted.. I decided to invite her to the beach again the the following Sunday morning, but schedules wouldn't allow... we did decide on late brunch, we would meet at my place. (the story goes... she was clamped on the couch.. i pulled her nipple clamp chain while i banged her with ma fingers, she came multiple times) CMNF for he most part during tis session.   Decided she was a slave and not a kitten or a submissive..  Reminder notes to write about...  The next Sunday we had brunch... I finger banged her on the couch and told her I wasn't going to fuck her yet... i was going to make her wait.. she wanted to get slapped in the face.. I had serious Dom drop after this as it went against my grain to soo much as lay a finger on a woman.. called her the next day to check on her mental state, cause mine wasn't great.. she was in a very good mood and happy.. the slapping got easier to deal with as we progressed in our process and play. Two Sundays later we had cropping session.. and caned her.. with her new cane.  She got covid... two or three weeks later.. she came over for an hour or two before going on break with family.. in front of the fire.. she dry humped me until orgasm.. she came when i pulled her hair while she was doing this... like instantly as I tugged on her main. She went on xmas break When she got home Jan 12th, that Sunday started with otk after she came out of bathroom in nothing but xmas gift panties... told her to pick a tool from the closet, she chose crop, dragged her into the doghouse by her hair.. we had a cropping session, left marks, she rode a dildo stuck to a saucer plate (while throating me) had a very intense convulsive orgasm while doing this... dildo was expensive and nice one, after cropping and then gave me the blow job of my life... sucked on my balls while stroking my cock, almost made me nut but i stopped her.. was going to fuck her later.. after she worshipped my feet, failed doggy, as I lost my erection in hassle for condom, or she would have gotten fucked.. i was hard all night before that, but she was kind and understanding about it.. I just felt like my cock had been hard for so long all night it was just done lol.. after cropping.. she came again before she left on the couch, during her aftercare session i rubbed her button until she came... after she had put all her clothes back on... they all came off again.. she dressed and left.   We met briefly.. at a bar.. i don't drink but she had two glasses of wine.. we flirted with each other and she said she was going to fuck me.. we went our seperate ways.. we will go to a club to see bulesque next Thursday, but she will come of to get used monday prior.. to be continued.  We met again when she came over.. i wonder if she stricly comes over to be used.. i was giving her aftercare and massaging her red welted ass... i noticed her butthole was so pink.. and pretty.. my mouth found its way there somewhat naturally.. it was a first for both of us.. she loved it and so did i. She certainly earned it.  Haven't seen the kitten going on three weeks... between her studying and spring breaking... I was taken aback when she texted me saying she wanted to come over next weekend.. i think the stress of school and all the studying has gotten to her.. she misses the distraction of the crop.. and needs some masochistic distraction. More to come..         

Therapy was downright brutal tonight. Reliving and explaining childhood medical trauma I wouldn't wish on anyone. That shit is hard. So many unwanted tears. Present day, I mean. Back then it was screaming and crying because that was the only power I had when I was on a cold metal table in a dark room by myself and had to keep perfectly still. I screamed when I was allowed to move between tests. Spending time in that memory makes me feel powerless and angry and really fucking emotional. After the session was over my therapist told to me to snuggle my dog, which I am always happy to do. And then I dropped in on my latest obsession. I discovered these coloring videos, but they use markers and create very detailed pictures beyond what is on the page. I mean, it's still coloring, but it's intricate. I like it. I want to do it. Yes, you're right. I already ordered the markers. And um, a book or two. Small happiness. Especially after living in that memory. Childhood me survived, and mostly grown up me is in charge. Less trauma. More coloring. 

Depression wears funky shoes...does not matter what they look like, anymore, they all hurt and bring tears to my eyes. Food fills a void. And then my reflection hurts as well. Days pass. Alone most of the time with little that asks to be done. Care becomes a bird with no feathers that cannot fly. Hope is my shoe sole with lots of holes. Nothing matters. Nothing changes. Especially me...days come and go and will, till i die, my next horizon, the grave, how exciting. Sun rises and sets as if change cannot happen. Tick tock...tick tock... Am i waiting for Godot? Should i pin my eyelids open or no, maybe closed. Maybe not seeing what is before would help. And...maybe not...ah well...time heals all or, if nothing else, takes what we want and leaves us to make a legacy. i have only words to hold what has been and could never be. Something happened and joy left me.

  Unless you want to clean our house or pay our bills, we don't want you.  (Note: this is called a joke)   Daddy is all i need or want and i don't share, nor does He.     i am on here to communicate with friends i've chatted with since collarme was a thing.  i have no need or want to be bothered by the so called "doms" that throw temper tantrums when i point out i am happily taken.  Just a clue, it's none of your concern why i am on here.  i don't message or bother you, so don't bother me.  If you are not my Daddy you mean nothing and i owe you nothing.

If you do not have permission all ready to live and work in the USA, then I am not interested in you.It is very difficult to emigrate to the USA.  I cannot sponsor you - not from lack of will, but because of the rules.I have nothing against potential slaves contacting Me, but I will NOT sort out immigration issues for you.    I also will not wait until you do.  It can take years.So, if you all ready have permission to live and work here or dual citizenship - great.   If not -  don't bother contacting Me.See the US Immigration website for the rules.

Values beyond the flesh So often I hear from ladies how this guy just wants sex, that guy just wants nudes, or even in a local trend "Doms" charging sex for scenes claiming they deserve it for all the work which gets put in by them :eyeroll: The desires of the flesh leaves so much unseen. The beauty of the mind, warmth of a heart, passions of ones soul have always been so captivating to me. Even at a young age in gradeschool I found myself writing poems well beyond my years. I was recognizing the fact that the flesh fades. Wrinkles will form. The body changes with stress, kids, injuries, and any number of factors which life throws our way. That "perfect wrapper" was purely a deception and the true beauty laid so much deeper. So over the years I dated ladies of a wide range of physical descriptions. Race, weight, disabilities, prior traumas, were not detractors but seen as part of the history she had lived and what helped shape her into the wonderful person she was. I put my heart and soul into the relationship easing away the scars revealing the beautiful lady which laid beneath all those layers. In return I was presented with someone stronger, wiser, and more loving than ever before. It was a healthy wonderful exchange with great rewards. I took on many scars of my own over the years. My face is wrinkled with the stress of it all. My heart is tired and sore. For all that I took on in my life I have been showing the wear and tear. Even still I hear those same complaints. Nomatter the smiles I try to bring the story is always the same. Lady's will complain about all the heartache brought by such disgusting leaches which drink their heart and soul dry all while overlooking the guy who can truly love them and treat them as they truly deserve. As more than a piece of flesh, but as that person deserving of support, compliments, a partner truly there for them in this life. The person standing right there next to her through all this heartache crying his own tears at her pain. The one called upon in distress, but never seen truly.  

Growing out of touchWith myself -This is me;trying to stay afloatand trying to stayon this boat and clingto a motivational quoteand a big fat jolly emote.Trying to put on my sugar coat andKeep this sicknote in mytote, as i deepthroatAnother dose of thisworld's useless antidote.But then this is mewhen You touch me;i sing notes in octave CAnd become a born again devoteto your lifeboat of keynotes,And i realize all along my scapegoatWas an incredible sinking u-boat.~ dirtydarling (8.27.23)

We found this online and now can't find it to reference. We are grateful to the author What is a Daddy Dom \ little girl relationship: Daddy Dom/little girl does not refer to the ages, real or pretend, of the participants. Nor does it imply closet desires. We do not engage in age play specifically (beyond the occasional school girl fantasy) and our relationship is not based on any need to have sex with children. A Daddy Dom is so named because of the qualities he possesses and the service he provides. So, what are these qualities? What is a Daddy Dom? His love for his little girl goes without saying. He loves her as much for who she is as for who she will become with his guidance. She is his prized possession. His eyes light up when she walks into the room and he takes great pride in her successes. After all, he helped to create her. She holds the most tender part of his heart and has the greatest power to hurt him. This love would not be possible without respect. A Daddy Dom needs to feel pride in his little girl. He needs to know she can hold her own in the outside world and still submit to him. He holds the greatest respect for the gift she has given him and takes great pains to increase it's value. It is extremely important to him to know she can be with any man and she chooses to be with him. He knows that this makes discipline a priority in their lives, more important than in some other D/s relationships. In order for the little girl to really trust, she must know he means what he says. If his little girl is going to be the best she can possibly be he must stand firm. He uses his experience in life and his knowledge of her to provide proper direction and punishment when the need arises. If he does not enforce discipline, this respect becomes a tenuous thing. If his submissive finds that she can manipulate him out of punishing her, she begins to lose respect and the ability to empower becomes impeded. He understands that it becomes increasingly difficult to be possessed by someone you do not respect. A Daddy Dom provides something else that is very important to his submissive...acceptance. She is safe in his arms because he knows her, everything about her, and he still loves her. When she goes to him she knows that this man knows all of her dirty little secrets and it doesn't matter. To him she is beautiful. Daddy Dom and sadistic Dom are by no means mutually exclusive. Many Daddy Doms embrace their sadism while understanding and feeding their submissive's masochism. This balance is necessary to many little girls because it allows all parts of her to be nourished, leading to an incredibly fulfilling relationship. I think most Dominants have a bit of the Daddy in them, taking on the role of male authority figure in the submissive's life and using their power to enrich that life. Daddy/little girl verbalizes that feeling, and adds a dimension of warmth, caring, and ritual that it's participants crave. There is something infinitely magical about a Daddy Dom. Perhaps it is something only a little girl can understand.

Every time i try to update my profile it either gets discarded or just never seems to update, so i am going to try a journal entry. It's hard to believe i could be much more prepared to meet someone for a serious relationship/position, but i continue to work toward it, hoping someone might one day be there for me. In a perfect world, i would find someone that wanted both a genuine relationship and a very regimented M/s life. It would be wonderful to travel and share a life with a Master, living life as His girlfriend, with hormones and 24/7 femme existence. But to also have the M/s dynamic as a backbone of our relationship. Cuddling on the couch, binging a series but all the while wearing a metal collar, chained wrists, chastity, ass plugged. All of the wonderful things of being a spouse but never once having a moment to think that it is "free" of will or choice. Soaking up whatever attention it's owner is willing to give, working every minute for it's opportunity to get a little positive feedback.  

I DID EDIT A COUPLE ENTRIES WHEN I REALIZED THEY WERE HARD TO READ, UNTIL I NOTICED IT CHANGED THE DATE... I don't know if I should just give up or redo my profile or what. I have lost contact with some I wished to talk to due to short term memory issues that pop up from time to time. Those that I have a great conversation with just seem to disappear. If I am screwing up-tell me. I do talk a lot when nervous. I also try to lay it all out there so things don't come up later and be a red flag, and that  can be overwhelming. I am very honest and open because I know what I need and want. Very few have been as open back, but I have appreciated it, Maybe I just need a break? I have grown weary of the search.

Let’s contemplate the issue of energy when it come to sex among equals. As a rule nature is perceived as male and female, positive and negative, dry and wet, light and dark, cold hot; you get the idea. However if we add to these categories the fact that there are many ways in which these elements can manifest it becomes apparent that in nature these concepts are very fluid. There are many ways in which gender is conceptualize by cultures and more varied indeed is the manner in which gender roles are characterized. When it comes to love among equal genders these categories manifest but from the standpoint of strength which is the value of the male realm. Passive, submissive, or any other adjectives given to the bottom are but description of how the male strength choses to emerge in a male/male relationship; the same way when we use other adjectives to characterize tops. Any word and denomination is constraining and the truth is that there are many ways to be a bottom and many ways to be a top and the fluidity of these energies are always in a state of flux.  As a rule the male strength is always present regardless of the role we play in an intimate relationship. The strength and force of a male grip either using the hand, the mouth the anus, or the phallus is still a manifestation of that universal force that permeates all of us as we engage each other’s energy within the chosen role. That is a point of departure; there can not be a top without a bottom or vice versa. It is as I said before the natural order of things. No one can denny the fact that we are relating our energies in a sexual encounter as a male to male proposition but in a different degree of intensity which makes the encounter fulfilling and meaningful. The organs involved speak to the degree of energy engaged and no one can forget the fact that there is a male exchange of energies which is mutually fulfilling when done right.

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! 

4/19/2024 7:38:34 AM I detest the world of text and email is little better.  How do we get to know one another?  Talking by phone is good, sharing space is better.  Nothing replaces breathing like air.     I'm here seeking now and am looking to install a slave in reasonably short order.  I've no intention of playing with ya'll for months on end.  We talk, we meet, we do.   While different aspaspects are new, unclear, or undefined, this is not an impossible ask.   This relating we do touches on our core and when we text and email, we are agreeing to open ourselves to misinterpretation.  We have lives going on, usually complex and not meeting our inner needs, we are over tired, sick or caring for others.  We dont have the luxury of seeing one another at work or at the pub to work things through.  We need to listen and give the benefit of the doubt until or unless discussions implode.     Have you ever heard that the more ingredients in a food, the worse it is for your body?  Bingo!  The more division we put between us and our get to know, the harder that climb and claiming is going to be because their is more opportunity for misunderstanding.

  11/07/2024  Take Notice  I will be unavailable until further notice.  The noted positions have not been filled ...  For those that meet preferences and follow direction     I may or may not be checking in periodically.   

1/25/25 Are there Dommes of quality in New England or NYC?     As I have said in my profile, I'm nominally a dominant man, very much the take-charge sort of person, and have fully explored D/s as a MDom. I was hoping that there would be a few Dommes who could make my head spin, my heart race, and shift my libido into overdrive. Someone to make me want to throw caution to the wind and put myself in your hands, kneel and worship you.     Sadly, the landscape is pretty barren, barely out of school “dommes’ who want money, or others who wouldn’t catch my eye on the street. Engage my mind as well as my libido and I will worship and please you as only a well-rounded, complete man can.  

Hey Mistress I am not your Mistress Sorry hello Ma'am how are you,Will you do to me the things you do?Whips and Canes and all that stuff,I have "sub" frenzy and can't get enough, Yes I will say all the right things but never do them true,I am a shadow wanker and cum while messaging you. *No I won't, you ignored my needs,

What I am looking for in a new partner? I identify as a Master who lives for consensual TPE M/s dynamics. I have been in the lifestyle for over 20 years. I am not a switch! I have experience in a lot of BDSM and SM practices and what I do not know I love to learn. Here is some information about me that you may need to know first before you decide if I am the one you wish to serve. If I sound particular and demanding-like, that’s because I kind of am. I don’t need quantity. I desire quality. I want one or two of the good ones; one with a whole actual, entire, functional, language-enabled brain who knows how to use it. One with a bit of passion and integrity about him. Anything worth having is worth the work and effort to make it happen. Building trust takes communication and continuous effort. It is something you must work at to keep and it is also one of the hardest things to regain once lost. That level of complete trust is what makes Master/slave dynamics work. But trust is needed on both sides. The Master has to trust the slave just as much as the slave has to trust the Master. Ok.. so here is what you need to know about Me: My preferred terms of address are MsPebbles or Ma’am. Anything else is not acceptable until you have earned it. I am a married cis woman with one child still living at home. I also have relationships with others. You need to be ok with not being the only person in my life. I am demisexual,demiromantic, and bisexual. I am a non-smoker, a social drinker and a lover of wine. My hard limits are sissification, age play, humiliation, degradation, scat, brat taming, race play, extreme breath play, death fantasy and bull/bbc culture. I will add to the list as I find things that I will not do. What I need in a dynamic is communication, honesty, transparency, respect, loyalty, effort, consistency, and service. Someone who enjoys pain is a plus but so is someone willing to explore new things. I am not just dominant in the bedroom. Having sex with me is not a guarentee for you. So if you think this is going to be just kinky sex with a woman in charge, please move along, we are not looking for the same thing. I am a compassionate, friendly, happy, relatively “normal” human who seeks compassionate, friendly, happy, and relatively normal men or women. What I mean by this is, while I am dominant and seek true power exchange with the right man or woman I also seek cuddles, conversations and yes I am going to say it … INTIMACY. G I know right? As a Dom I like control, A lot of it. Shocking right? I love s-types who are naturally and deeply submissive and who desire to give themselves freely and fully to me on My terms. I am looking for a sub/slave who is willing not just to get down on his knees, but also to be emotionally real with me. This involves communicating clearly about your emotions and who you are and what you need, not necessarily about all that you want. I want to dominate a mind and a soul, not just a body. Enough about me (I know, rare words indeed from a dominant). Let's turn the spotlight on you. What is it that I look for in a potential slave?

So i think it's time to make an update on here. I have COPD and it's bad....like i have 5 months left to live bad.... no need to cry for me, i beleave i lived a good life and did my best with that time i had. anyways.....thats all for now.....ask if you want to know more

Phallic Masturbation (Solo) Much of Phallic worship in the West begins with mansturbation  and the misunderstanding  of it at best. Males are made to view their phallus as a source of pride and also shame. Males are made to hide under the pretense of modesty that which nature adorned him with to be the glory of the world. Excitement by itself has been viewed with contempt, disgust, and rejection albeit in public. Nature is full of the glory of phallus and it is the male prerogative to show it in all species except Homo Sapiens. Western societies cannot find a clear cut  (no puede n intended) view of the phallus since it admires it and fears it at the same time. However, those of us who had the fortune of being initiated at an early age in the mysteries of maleness and how to achieve and give pleasure know better. The phallus gives pleasure indistinct of gender, but there is always a dominant preference. The giving and receiving of pleasure through and by the phallus is the aim of these thoughts. When the phallus and the worshiper are giving ritual pleasure is a different scenario to when one is alone. With another male in this case the center is the phallus, its glory, its power to penetrate, expand, and pulsate with life inside the one receiving it. However what happens when we are alone? Are we lost since there is no one to direct our power and mystic union? Not at all. Ritual mansturbation is a beautiful event in and on itself.  The aim is not to ejaculate but to allow the phallus to grow and expand in your hands as you caress and anoints it with appropriate oils and substances that show you devotion. I prefer honey, sweet almond oil, and myrrh. Begin with the testicles, and feel their presence and see them as the repository of power and maleness. Feel each one as you use the oils to enhance the experience. Warming the oils make a more profound effect by allowing the aroma of the oils and your own male scent to rise to your nose. Intoxicate yourself with the aroma and know that it is the same aroma inhaled by those who worship your phallus. Own it, you are as distinct as any other male. As you enjoy your testes move to the shaft and do the same, let the oil, precum, your sweat and your scent intoxicate you. This is not the time for stroking is the time for touching and feeling as my dad taught me. Feel the veins, the skin (if you are uncut, do not retract yet) the shape and feel the unity of the testes and the phallus. Caress as you anoint, smell as you reach the tip and taste your hands; that is your scent signature. That signature is the one anyone who had you keeps in his brain and soul own and know that. Stop, rest, allow you phallus to relax and now begin to stroke with you least dominant hand (right if you are left,left if you are right.) Stroke the shaft, not the head or under it. Let you phallus grow to its full potential and now slowly if you choose you can ejaculate and get the full signature aroma of your phallus. You have reach your solo blis. How can this be wrong?

Reflection: Week 1 Well I would say that the first week has gone pretty well. I have worn my collar daily. I have used a plug all but one day. I will find some additional attire for around the house that will be acceptable. I have shared all of the messages with him that I have received since the beginning of the new year. It may be a small step but I feel like these things help maintain a good headspace for us bith and encourages intimacy on various levels. I will try to keep an ongoung update as time permits. Through reflection comes the opportunity for growth.

Too many of you are confused — begging to be subs one minute, acting like wannabe Doms the next. All these hidden intentions are getting annoying. I don’t do pissing contests with little boys. Either serve or stay out of my inbox Having a handful of internet subs doesn’t make you a Dom — it just makes you loud online. Real dominance shows in how you carry yourself, not in how many chatroom pets you collect

Questions: Rough sex or soft? I prefer to mix it up depends on the partner. Weirdest place you have had sex? Under the pier at Carolina Beach during the day. Favorite sex position? Between a partners legs giving oral. Or from behind if they are strapped down. Have you had any one night stands? Never I'm demisexual so what gets me going is a personal attachment. The thought of a stranger fills me with dread! Have you had sex in a public place? Quite often. Restrooms, by a river bank, in a forest. Have you been caught masturbating? I rarely touch myself. I have gone 12 years without after my wife passed. How often do you have sex? If in a relationship I want it every few hours. If I'm not in one I don't at all. Do you prefer giving or receiving oral? Giving, I'm a person pleaser. Most embarrassing thing that has happened to you during sex? Adjusted position and gave accidental anal. Yeah not good!

 YourEnabler 

When I say that I want to turn a woman "trashy", I'm often asked to define what I mean by "trashy".  A woman being trashy is much the same thing as a guy being a typical douchebag or tool. Below are some qualities that, in my opinion, make a woman trashy.    Slutty clothes in the wrong situations. Obnoxious tattoos Over use of profanity Badly applied makeupgiant hoop earrings. Being overly noisy and argumentative at inappropriate timesinappropriate places Bad habits Doused in cheap perfume Crazy unemployable hair styles   These are just a few examples meant to bring a stereotype to mind. We would, of course, go with what works best with you. That would come from getting to know you better.     I'm also often asked why I would want this. Aside from the fact that it turns me on, a chick with a questionable past who proudly owns up to it is going to be 100% more loyal than some goodie-goodie who keeps secrets.