I want to be clear...here are my hard limits... Kids Animals Choking Guns Orgies/Gangbangs Swinger type events. I am into the power exchange not group sex Cuckold  Scat Serious Public Humiliation/ Sarcasm/ Degradation/ and/or blackmail Diapers Pacifers Bottles Dont ever call me mom or mommy Age Play Animal Play, no pony or puppy role play either ( can be done at very infrequent times but not for all the time) Sissy play (some femme is ok) Needle Play Tattoos /brands, unless you are collared I won’t tattoo you ... and even then I probably won't.  Blood Play Illegal Drugs and many legal ones Smoking/smoke Untruthfulness Ass to mouth. I will not take things from your ass and expect you to put them in your mouth Death play Vomit Occultism Paranormal things Vampirism Poppers or drugs

Nothing can be gained without losing.Even heaven demands death.One day, someone is going to walk into your lifeand make you realize exactly why itnever worked out with anyone else.It'll be ovious in the way he shows up,chooses you, prot ects you, and guides you.

   Ali’s Story      Ali's Story had a lot unsaid, a lot unrevealed. I have discussed aspaspects with friends and recently someone asked me what I'd do if Ali called me out of the blue. I don't know how I'd react, I really don't know. What would you do?   For my friends and the curious here is.       Ali’s Story It’s my epic summer. I crave the heat. Heat seems to stir up my happiness genes. I had no idea how my organized, careful world would come to such an abrupt and decisive end. You can direct and plan your life in a fashion that corresponds with your economic means and social demands or you can try to self-actualize. I had gone the safe route with occasional side trips to my secret life. I say chuck it all, why not live in the brief time you have. Revel in your oneness. Narcissism in small bites might not be a bad thing. Why all the detail? I wanted to make sure you understood I wasn’t bored and looking for some gratuitous action. I had a lot of cool things to hold my attention. Why I encouraged a visit to a part of my life I always thought of a

Columbus has been feeling… quiet lately. Not in the peaceful sense—more like the kind of silence that comes when there’s a lack of presence. A lack of structure. A lack of men who understand what it means to offer themselves with intention. I’ve been observing more than engaging, and what I see is a pattern—too many who talk about submission, very few who live it with consistency, discretion, and discipline. That’s where my attention has been shifting. I’ve been considering creating something more… curated. A private space designed for those who understand devotion beyond surface-level interaction. Not performative. Not chaotic. Structured, intentional, and centered around real standards. Access would not be given lightly. If you’re the kind of man who needs constant attention, reassurance, or direction just to function—you won’t last. But if you’re composed, self-managed, and understand that true submission is proven in silence just as much as in service… then perhaps you’ll find yourself exactly where you belong. Columbus may be quiet—but I won’t be for long. — Mistress Nikki Vixen

Where does one begin to find a subject for a journal entry, when one does not ordinarily journal? This being a lifestyle site, i find reading others profiles and journals is akin to going out and finding people at munch's or parties and getting to read their minds. Journals are where so many post their / our thoughts and desires. I suppose it's the desires that many post, if they aren't just sounding off on all that vexes them. W/we all want to find someone to belong to or belong with. (which side of the / do W/we live). I have mentioned in many posts, not just here, but in the rare journal or diary entries scattered through the devices i have owned, that i found the collar from this site. or when it was Collarme at the time. The time belonging to and growing again as a person, not just as a submissive,were the most special of my life. Finding joy in your life is important. How we find that joy varies immensely. my own discovery of belonging to someone (at that time a couple) gave me back a spark of joy that has carried me to where i am in the local community. Do not lag in finding joy! I see many who live in their fantasy only in their minds, not realizing that all we desire and hope for is out there. Waiting for us to find it, accept it and be thankful for it becoming part of our life.  my own cravings for certain activites are again looking for an outlet. This is not a plea, just putting out there that a willing bondage subject and, now out of the closet, cross dresser, hopes to find people who, together, we can enjoy something together. That's about all for now. Be safe out there and feel free to reach out to those you find interesting or want to learn more from. @}-- Sister Ida aka boytom

Doors, and the Men Brave Enough to Open Them I need to talk about housing, because the situation has moved from inconvenient to urgent and I have never been the kind of woman who dresses up an uncomfortable truth to make it easier to look at. The burglary destabilized something that was already fragile. The particular violation of having your home invaded, the way it changes the quality of the air in a space you were supposed to feel safe in, has made staying where I am feel increasingly untenable. And so I have been doing what practical women do: looking at options, running numbers, weighing what is available against what I actually need, and arriving repeatedly at the same frustrating conclusion. The budget and the requirement do not currently overlap in the way I need them to. Chicago is not a forgiving market. What I can afford and what my children deserve and what my own standards require form a very specific Venn diagram with a smaller center than I would like. I am not defeated by this. But I am frustrated, genuinely and specifically, in the way that only financial limitation frustrates a woman who knows exactly what she should have and cannot yet reach it. And so I find myself thinking about a different kind of solution. One that lives not in the listings I scroll through late at night but in the framework of the life I am actually trying to build. The truest forms of submission are not always the ones that happen on a marble floor or at the end of a leash at a Renaissance faire. Sometimes the truest form of submission is a man who looks at the woman he serves and says: my home is yours. Come and make it what it should be. Let me provide the foundation and trust you completely with everything built on top of it. That is what I am thinking about. A sub who opens his doors is offering something more profound than service in the conventional sense. He is offering sovereignty. He is saying: I trust your vision, your standards, your taste, your authority over the space we will share, completely and without reservation. He is handing over not just his time and his attention but the most intimate expression of his daily life, the home he lives in, and inviting a woman of genuine authority to take it in hand and make it into something neither of them could produce alone. I think about what that would look like in practice, and it looks like this: I come home from work and from school and from the particular exhaustion of a life I carry with full commitment, and I come home to a space that has been held in my absence with the same care I would give it myself. The children are received. Dinner exists. The household has been managed not because I directed every step but because the man inside it has internalized my standards deeply enough that my presence or absence changes nothing about the quality of the result. The home runs on my vision and his execution and the collaboration between those two things produces something genuinely beautiful. I would be the homemaker in the truest sense: the one who makes the home what it is, whose taste and authority and presence defines the atmosphere and the culture of the space, while still working and studying and mothering and building the future I have mapped out so precisely. Not because I need someone to fund me into passivity, that is not who I am and never will be, but because the domestic load distributed correctly, between a woman who knows what she wants her home to be and a man who has made producing that his devoted purpose, is what allows both people to function at their highest level. This is not a fantasy of convenience. This is the framework. This is what the life I have described across every entry in this space actually requires to function. The architecture of everything I am building has this at its foundation: a shared home, governed by my standards, maintained by his devotion, built around my children's stability and my own restoration and the slow and serious construction of a future that looks like what I deserve. The man who offers his door is not losing anything. He is gaining the most clarifying thing available to someone like him: a woman who knows exactly what to do with the space he has been living in alone, waiting without quite knowing what he was waiting for. I am not difficult to house. I am specific. There is a difference. I know what I am looking for. I know it exists. And I am, as always, building toward it whether or not it has arrived yet.   It will.

I’ve been reflecting on past dynamics—especially the ones that carried intensity, structure, and a deep psychological connection. And over time, something became clear to me. Some lost sight of the purpose. They became more focused on punishment than on presence. More attached to the feeling of correction than to the act of truly serving. The dynamic shifted away from alignment… and into fixation. And that’s not what I want to cultivate. Because my role, the way I see it, is not to break men down or leave them in a constant state of need. It’s to guide. To shape. To bring them into alignment with something greater than themselves. That’s where my philosophy of Goddess and matriarchy truly lives. A feminine-centered dynamic, at its highest form, is not about chaos or control for its own sake. It’s about order, intention, and a quiet kind of authority that creates structure others can settle into. Within that structure, the masculine doesn’t disappear—it finds its place. It becomes supportive, focused, and purposeful. That’s where devotion becomes meaningful. Not in desperation. Not in obsession with punishment. But in awareness. In learning how to show up consistently.In understanding how to listen, how to respond, how to serve in a way that actually contributes to something whole. I won’t define what this looks like for everyone. But for me… it has never been about destruction. It’s about refinement. Guidance. And creating a space where submission is not just felt—but lived with clarity, balance, and intention. That is where something truly divine begins to take shape. — Mistress Nikki Vixen

Life doesn’t give you breaks. The echoing silence of the house after work is a painful reminder of the voids that have been created in the past few years. James's memories are still fresh, like an unfinished story that replays in my mind every time I find a moment of quiet. The vibrant life he introduced me to, our moments of intimacy in the world of BDSM, and the painful void of his loss due to COVID. But this year, just when I thought I was gathering myself up, learning to stand again, another wave hit. Dad's gone. It's been four agonizing weeks since his heart failed him, and my world crumbled, yet again. Coming home, I see mom trying to cope, trying to smile for me, but her eyes betray the pain. As much as she leans on me, I lean on her. Between the bustle of the law firm, my weekend beauty appointments, and the humdrum of daily chores, it's these stolen quiet moments with mom that have become my solace. We share memories, of dad's quirks, of his love for spicy food, of the times he'd dance with me on old Bollywood numbers. this city feels so different without James and now, without dad's laughter ringing through the corridors of our house. The weekends are a . Between the shopping, the laundry, and the cooking, there's this constant underlying grief that seems to tag along. Sometimes, during my beautician shifts, I wonder what's next for me? Would I find love again? Or perhaps another purpose? My heart feels so brittle, afraid to hope, afraid to dream. Yet, with every sun that sets, there's a hope for a new dawn, a new beginning. I believe James and dad would want me to find happiness, to thrive, to make them proud. And so, I promise myself to take each day as it comes, to find little moments of joy and to cherish the love that I've been so lucky to experience.

== Results from bdsmtest.org ==100% Submissive100% Rope bunny99% Pet98% Slave98% Primal (Prey)97% Non-monogamist96% Degradee86% Voyeur80% Masochist78% Experimentalist70% Boy/Girl61% Exhibitionist53% Ageplayer40% Brat18% Vanilla2% Primal (Hunter)1% Brat tamer1% Switch1% Daddy/Mommy0% Rigger

I wish I understood the urge to write to a stranger and make obscure pronouncements. I am moving. I tried it. Even compliments like You have sexy feet or I love your hair. I wonder if they get an effective response rate from others. They certainly don't get anything from me but the delete button. I don't think I can be any more clear. Read the fucking profile. Emails with less than 3 sentences are deleted as soon as they are opened. Yes, even compliments. Even cryptic declarations. Especially cryptic declarations. Occasionally I am tempted to reply to a nice message with a thank you or ask a cryptic declarater (declarator? one who declares cryptically) WTF. But then I remember that EVERY SINGLE TIME I have made an exception, I have regretted it or felt it was a terrific waste of my time and effort or both.   I guess I will never know where random guy is moving or what other random guy tried. Maybe I'm better off not knowing. ~E

Who are You? Ladies,   Do not be afraid to call it out:  Manipulation-- Had a conversation with another dominant.  We're both romantic and,sapiosexual.  In the morning he wishedme "good morning." The next thing I knew, he wrote ,"if thats all it meant to you"   Yeah, that totally manipulative.  We had a conversation.  You didn't cross the Mason Dixon and save me from slavery.  Fantasy conversation: Homeboy starting talking about his cruise and staying a few day to spend time with me.   Who are you and what are you talking about about? Drive Thru Order: I want a woman to peg me.  (Has no clue who you are,but thinks you're a menu item.) There are a few ways to respond.  1) This isn't a drive thru.  Otherwise, you'd be  paying for your Happy Meal at window 2.  2) People in Hell want ice water.  Are you volunteering?. Home delivery:  Dude asked if I traveled to Vegas. "Yes, I travel, but I don't deliver.  I'm not pizza.  Call Uber Eats for front door delivery.      

SO,YES.I AM TOO MUCH. YOU ARE HERE TO CATER TO MY DESIRES.NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND,ACCEPT IT OR MOVE ON.JUST LET ME KNOW.

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.

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

Last week, someone shared MeatLoaf's video for "I would do anything for love" in one of the FB goth groups. I hadn't seen it in years. Like... a decade or more.  It had the same immediate effect it had the first time. ( I recognize I have some monster fetish issues. Don't judge. LOTS of people felt the same way about it. Nyyaahhh.)  The imagery was specifically tailored to pull in notes from Beauty and the Beast, as well as Bram Stoker's Dracula, among other things. Stories of a soulful, tortured man, cursed to be ugly and alone, desperately longing for the beautiful woman he feels would never want him in return. Body language of self-loathing, body and facial expressions of agony and adoration, pain and passion. Always hiding just out of her sight, sometimes almost within reach before rushing away to escape his suffering...smashing mirrors and covering his face...  Meanwhile, she wanders around in the luxury of his castle, surrounded by silks and candlelight, soaking herself in a huge bathtub, stretching out on a curtained bed of satin sheets...  Classical romance. Heady stuff. And the same silly part inside me that got sucked in by similar images in the old fairytale stories when I was VERY young responded. Re-watching it a few times. Re-writing it and building a lovely fantasy where it's me he sees in the garden, me wandering through the castle halls... me looking around at the obvious roaring fire that someone lit, and the wine that someone had opened, the bath someone had run, ... and then who I am gets in the way.  I can't quite get my head around walking into a house where someone obviously lived, and had just been in that room, and just making myself at home. Because I READ the fairy tales. The OLD versions. WHO lit the fire? Who's bed is this? Am I Goldilocks here, using up someone else's hot water, eating their dinner, etc? Because I know what happened to her after they find her, whereas the modern versions end on a much more PG note. Or am I in a beautiful pitcher plant, seduced by the opulence in preparation for digesting? Because that's what it would be in a fairy tale if you wander in uninvited and start helping yourself to whatever without express consent.  Even his beautiful, plaintive lyrics, sung with such sincerity and emotion start to give me pause one I start looking at them closer. (You know about me n lyrics...)  "I would do anything for love..." OK, but are you saying you would do anything to HAVE love in your life? Orthat you would do anything for the person you love? Or anything in the name of love that your loved one asked? Or just ... what? I need more clarification, please. I don't want to be going along thinking one thing, and then find out I misunderstood.  And then we get into "anything." I mean, he does state "I will never lie to you" which is very much appreciated, and ideally, the whole song does seem to aim in the direction of "I want to make you happy" but... at the same time, I've lived a long time in the real world, and "anything" can be pretty terrifying if you have experience and imagination.   Would he kill a rival? Would he keep her prisoner in this beautiful settling until she gave in? Would he MAKE her love him with magic? He obviously has a lot of power at his disposal to do those kinds of things. I have a lot of experience, and a huge imagination.  And would "anything" extend to controlling that mirror-destroying temper if she disagreed with him or rejected him? Because he spends some of the video kinda snarling in his frustration, clenching his fists, etc.  Would it include exposing his deepest fears and risking himself emotionally to connect with her? Because spends most of the video avoiding that.  He sings that "no one can save me now but you." Will he love her even if turns out she can't? Does "anything" cover acceptance of failings and limitations?  As you can guess, my fantasy breaks down into logic puzzles and communication complications and 'what would I do if I didn't have this outside perspective to know how all this opulence was being provided?'  Which turns it into an entirely different kind of fantasy, I guess, because I've heard "I'd do anything" more times than I could count, and it always falls apart the first time "anything" includes something they hadn't already planned to do.  I guess I'm not really meant for fairy tales anymore. On the upside, it makes me more grateful for my sweetie, because while he isn't a monster/wizard/whatever with unlimited power, and he can't provide "anything" I may want, he tries not to make promises he can't keep, and he tries to provide what he can that is within his power. He also appreciates what I do in return, so... Maybe that is the modern fairy tale - good communication, honest effort, and sincere caring.  I do wish it came with the magical 'self cleaning house' thing, but I will have to live without.

Warning: This is a long rant...So I got my first really nasty message today regarding my political leanings.  He called me an ugly ignorant cunt among some other choice words that I don't even remember now. Funny thing is I am a cunt but I don't consider myself ugly but, of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  To each his own.  I don't expect to b everyone's cup of tea.  To this coward (he blocked me before I could go off on him lol)  I will say that insults like these tell me more about you than about myself.  The fact that you blocked me tells me you're probably a baby incel living in your mother's basement. This is all well and good when you're in your 20's but beyond that makes you pitiful. You were well over 30 ad clearly need to get fucked. To anyone else out in CS land I will say that you don't need to show me your ignorance by attacking my political beliefs or my physical appearance.  It's pretty fucking clear to anyone with at least one brain cell that this orange imbecile and his band of ass lickers are destroying our democracy in the worst dumpster fire this country has ever seen. We;re a laughingstock of the entire world. And just when you think he can't possibly do anything worse than he's already done he goes and does a few more detrimental things to the American people.  That inclues you ignorant repugnicans! You're worshipping a moron and you can't even see he's fucking with you, too!  Now that's what I call IGNORANT!!! In ending I will say that I'm glad this asshole showed his ass to me today because it gives me a chance to rant.  My final words are if you don't like my politics you need to scroll right because I don't want to know you anyway and it saves me the trouble of asking, unless of  course you're dumb enough to wear your ugly red maga hat in your profile pic. 

Hello my fellow kinksters.   I am so glad that this site brought back the ability to add new journal entries.   Today's rant boys and girls is...   Does no one want to be an exceptional submissive or slave anymore?   All I get are young gamers who want to escape their pathetic life that they created and live in a basement somewhere. WTF!   Or old guys who were cross dressing back in the day that now list themselves as " Trans" because they think it's cool to do that now.   News flash..just because your fat ass found a dress to squeeze into doesn't make you automatically a Trans.   Being Trans is way more than that and the Trans slaves slaves that I have had and Trans friends I have would tell you the same thing.   It seems like everyone in the lifestyle only wants to have casual play and sex.   They want fantasy instead of the reality and hard work that this lifestyle requires to have a long lasting relationship.   Ok, old man lecture over.   Well for now anyways!

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, Didn't read my profile or even glance through my feed, So my needs have zero to do with what you seek, Pushing yourself first and certainly not meek,* Oh Ma'am your voice makes my knees go weak, (In boy speak damn I hope my load is expelled before she peaks) So off he went that newbie quick, without a clue on how to be mine he was such a dick, Yes we know it happens but 4 in one day, The shadow wanker news must be actively pushing my name. Obedience to me is what I like, Some laughter and a bare derriere in sight, A man who asks my consent, Before he wanks and becomes spent, Then in a restaurant a respectful man, Simping on me doing all he can, Hanging up my coat & pulling out my chair, Fetching all I need his excellent manners beyond compare, No age doesn't always develop better, Self-aware submission daily melts his mind to fetter, Only offer what you can do for me, Servant, sweetheart long term be, Fetter and bind that will to me, So he begs never to be free.

__Do I Want A Sub or Slave?__There are many definitions of what is a sub and what is a slave, not are wrong, it's just a matter of personal opinion. I state that I'm looking for a slave, but what to me is a slave?Slavery to me isn't about having a servant without question, a punching bag, or a doormat. Slavery is a state of mind. In my mind, a sub is someone who likes to submit, but ultimately, through limiting what they submit to retain ultimate control. A slave gives over that control. It does not mean they don't have opinion, in fact they should have opinion, and those opinions should be listened to, but the ultimate control should sit with the Master. A Slave can live without constant control, but knows that with a look, or a call, they will submit to the one they call Master. A slave and a Master should move forward together, there relationship should be a balance between BDSM and 'vanilla' life. Following a heavy session, a slave should be held close, talked to, cared for, as at all times. Heavy play doesn't just have to mean a heavy spanking, but more importantly after forcing a strong psychological response from the slave. In public, and at work, a slave should always be seen as a 'vanilla' member of society, but underneath always know what they are owned. Sometimes they may receive a call, or a txt, or an email, telling them to carry out a task. It could be as simple as going to the toilet and removing their underwear, or only drinking one sort of drink in particular, but it would remind them of there ownership. Having behind there eyes that pearl of knowledge that they were owned, cared for, and controlled. A slave should be held close, cared for, and always listened to. Slavery is not being told what to do, it is giving the final decision as to what to do to the Master your trust. Many think limits need to be set in tone, but to me, slavery is without limits, or at least truly defined ones, HOWEVER, the trust control given over to the Master by the slave, means that to go beyond the limits of the slave and then to keep going without taking there opinion into consideration, is a breakdown in that trust. While a slave allows a Master control, it does not mean the master has to use it all. It is the ability to truly understand the limitations of the slave, and not over extend them, that makes one a Master, not just a bully.

The following I did not write, but came across in here and it very much resonates with me.I think you are more suited to being kept as a submissive fetish sissy. When most people talk about a shemale they mean a girl who has a cock a girl who uses her cock... A frilly fetish sissy is something else entirely. A fetish sissy is not even allowed to have a cock we call it her clitty and we treat it like a clitty keeping it in locked chastity. The more needy horny a fetish sissy gets, the more she becomes controlled by her clitty and quite quickly she finds herself doing utterly humiliating things to please her superiors without so much as a whimper in fact, she often begs for more of the same. She is overwelmed with the desire to suck cocks or be bent over to be doggie bitch butt fucked to obtain her erotic pleasure. To become a submisive creature that wants men to subjugate her and use her to satisfy all their sexual desires and perversions. Using her and ifying her as a sexual toy for their pleasure and orgasmic release. Her oral and anal slut holes just cock receptacles to be filled with hot cum. A sissy sexslave as it were, obediently doing everything she is told no matter how humiliating it might be. Her desire for utter and total submission and humiliation compels her to obey without question.If you google shemale, youll be directed to sites of TS girls fucking males. If you google sissy, youll find frilly little creatures, often dressed in extremely fetish feminine attire getting fucked by a strapon cock or a real mans cock. Often the sissy is on her knees submissively sucking a mans cock like a good sissy cumslut. I think you are the later. I think you are a submissive fetish sissyslut.I think what you need is to have every trace of male left in you removed until you are hopelessly feminine in the most exaggerated ways possible. Totally transformed into a hot sexy slave bitch, then dressed, displayed and used as one.Willing even to submit to large breast implants. Your clitty needs to be locked away and the only way you would be allowed to find orgasmic relief is by being penetrated with stiff hungry cock or a dildo. Your libido and lust turned inward, your slutty desires only satisfied by phallic anal insertion or a mouth full of hard cock. Soon you will find your hips wantonly grinding up to meet your penetrator to attain your orgasmic femme sissy relief. Soon you will crave the company of dominate horny males seeking to use you as a cock slut for their pleasure and perversions.Now picture yourself like that deliriously horny tightly corsetted, locked in a chastity belt with large butt plug stretching your rosebud and filling your bottom, dressed in frills, garters, nylons, panties, petticoats, short revealing skirts, fetish leather or rubber, open ass hobble skirts, locked in the steepest stiletto high heels or ballet boots, ribbons, satin, latex and lace, often humiliated even in public. Often kept in some of restrictive bondage, your will or choice to resist your male suitors completely removed. Forced to submit to horny men orally and anally on a regular basis, transformed into a willing and wanton cocksucking cumslut sissy and bend over pussy butt bitch... Does that sound like you? Yes it most certainly does. You are a fetish sissyslut.

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

You do not restrain a girl when she is to be punished. Restraints are a learning and teaching aid, or part of simply revelling in who and what you are together. A girl who is to be punished lacks discipline, she lacks a sense of her place and purpose. Part of punishment is making her understand that the only way to get through punishment is forebearance, strength and devotion, both to you as her owner and herself as a slave. Restraining her removes the need for her to endure and to control her responses. I usually discipline with a cane, and usually a thin, flexible one rather than a thicker, heavier type. In my experience, girls tend to prefer thuddy canes as the pain is much deeper and more rounded. Thin cane strikes are sharp and immediately, eye-wateringly painful. And yes, I have been caned and caned well - I know what I talk about. You can become lost in the heavy impacts of a stout cane, overwhelmed and rendered mentally helpless. The pain just swamps you. The bright, cutting pain of a thin cane constantly assaults your sense, but never enough that you are mentally able to travel elsewhere. Those impacts always, always drag you right back to the here and now. My routine is to bend a girl over the end of the bed or a desk (not a chair - too liable to tip), and tell her the number of strokes she will endure (usually 10), that she will count them from 1 to 10 as they are delivered and that she will not be restrained at all. Hands planted on the top of whatever she is bent over, feet planted and about a metre apart. There are two rules. The first is that she will not move, speak or cry out. If she does, the count starts over and the leniency with which I apply that rule is at my discretion and dependant on what she is being punished for. The second rule is that we will not stop until all 10 strokes land according to the first rule. If the rear becomes too welted, then there are the front and backs of her thighs, her breasts, the soles of her feet and several other places.  She will take her 10 and she will do so with resolve, commitment and determination. She will do so with discipline. And once punishment is delivered, the sin is forgotten. It is not referred to again, it is not held over her and is not used as some kind of fucked up supporting evidence of a future transgression. It is done. The girl is cleansed and I tend to her. I bathe her from top to toe, slowly and with care, I ease her pain best I can and, if the situation permits, I reward her with pleasure. At the very least, she sleeps in my arms and when she awakes, it is a brand new day for us both.  

Imagine a wedding chapel and the room is filled with men and women we know. You're wearing a handsome Groom suit or wedding dress Then the doors open and you see me. Im in a see through sissy slutty bride outfit with a veil over my face. You can clearly see my fresh nipples are clamped with tiny bells or weights.     Im wearing a see through skirt with my dick locked up in a chastity cage or a cock ring leash. In my pussy is a white dildo to match my attire as I try to walk down the lane to you.   Once we meet you take off my veil to see my dressed up face.    The pastor asks you if I am taken as your slutty sissy and will torture and pleasure me until you no longer desire me.    The pastor then asks me is I the bride will promise to pleasure my master and be his sissy doll and slut until I am no longer usable and I say I do.   Once its done we exchange rings. You uncage me and put it on my small cock. While I put your ring in my mouth and use my skills to put it on your cock.    The pastor then announces is master and slut. Then says the slut may now suck his masters cock. I then suck it until you pop in my mouth and I swallow it in pleasure.   You then take me by force, remove the dildo from my pussy and fuck my pussy in front of everyone as they watch it pleasure.   You then let out a big one in my pussy for everyone to see and I open my pussy with your special sauce dripping out as everyone takes photos and I suck your cock in pleasure.   During the reception we dance, eat, drink, engage in sensual games, and you even let the other guests have their way with me if they desire.   Then it ends with the 🎂, but its me with whip cream on all my parts. All the men and ladies take out their cocks and spray me with their cream to help me look better as you enjoy seeing me like this.    Then we end with a group photo with me holding up 2 peace ✌️ signs on my hand, covered from top to bottom with the wedding cake cream, and you doing whatever you want to me.   My ideal wedding as a bride. 👰‍♀ 

 When I wrote my profile, I had no idea what this site was like, but now that I've been here for a little while, I have a few things to add:I'm not interested in slaves, domestic servants or switches. This should go without saying, but I'm also not interested in men who aren't single. Long distance relationships don't work. If you don't currently live in (or near enough to conveniently drive to) the state of Florida, we will not be a match.My inbox has been flooded with messages from nameless, faceless guys who want to chat, but I'm not on this site looking for anonymous penpals. I'm sorry.I'm not interested in talking to submissives without photos. You've seen my face. If you feel uncomfortable showing me yours, that's totally fine, but if you're just words on a screen, I'm not going to be able to take you seriously. I am monogamous, and I have absolutely no interest in cuckolding. If that sort of thing interests you, you are not a candidate for the kind of relationship I'm looking for, so please don't waste my time or yours.  

I have a calling bigger than myself to be seen and heard, because I have something of value to express.  I'm newer in showing as I learn new things about myself and those around me regularly.  There's always a first and a last of something or another.  I am at rare levels of firsts of what might have happened once upon a time.  Which means, there's plenty of people that have experienced things I have yet to give and receive.  Also, a middle-aged woman putting herself first.   Non-negotiable.  I'm certain of roots that bind within me. Stop the other shoe from falling.  I dare you.

Here is something I wrote a long time ago for a web site called RLSlavery ( That no longer exists) Why is It So Hard to Find True M/s Poly Members? In the world of BDSM and kink, finding like-minded individuals can be a challenge. Many people are looking for a specific type of relationship, such as a Master/slave (M/s) dynamic with a polyamorous twist. But why is it so hard to find true M/s poly members? In this article, we'll explore some of the reasons why finding genuine M/s poly partners can be difficult, as well as offer some tips for those who are searching. The Stigma of BDSM First and foremost, the stigma surrounding BDSM and kink can make it difficult for people to openly express their desires and find partners who share those desires. BDSM has long been associated with deviant behavior and taboo practices, and many people still view it as something shameful or perverse. This stigma can make it challenging for people who are interested in BDSM to find partners who are open to exploring this lifestyle with them. Even within the kink community, people may be hesitant to openly discuss their desires, which can make it difficult to find like-minded individuals. Limited Pool of Potential Partners Even within the BDSM and kink community, the pool of potential partners who are interested in a specific type of relationship, such as M/s poly, can be quite limited. While there are certainly many individuals who are interested in kink and BDSM, not everyone is interested in exploring the same dynamics or relationship structures. As a result, finding someone who is interested in the same type of relationship as you can be a challenge. This is particularly true for those who are interested in less common or niche dynamics, such as M/s poly. Lack of Clear Communication Another reason why finding true M/s poly members can be difficult is the lack of clear communication between potential partners. When exploring a BDSM or kink relationship, it's important to have open and honest communication about desires, boundaries, and expectations. Unfortunately, many people are not skilled at communicating their needs and desires effectively. This can lead to misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and relationship breakdowns. Without clear communication, it can be difficult to establish the kind of trust and intimacy necessary for a successful M/s poly dynamic. Fear of Rejection For many people, the fear of rejection is a significant barrier to finding a suitable partner. This is particularly true for those who are interested in niche or less common relationship dynamics, as they may worry that they will be unable to find someone who shares their interests. This fear of rejection can lead some people to avoid seeking out potential partners altogether, which can make it even harder to find a compatible match. It's important to remember that rejection is a natural part of the dating process, and that it's okay to put yourself out there and take a chance. Tips for Finding True M/s Poly Members While finding genuine M/s poly partners can be a challenge, there are some things you can do to increase your chances of success. Here are a few tips to keep in mind: Be Open and Honest: When seeking out potential partners, it's important to be open and honest about your desires and expectations. This can help weed out individuals who are not interested in the same type of dynamic, and increase your chances of finding a compatible match. Attend Kink Events: Attending local kink events and meetups can be a great way to connect with like-minded individuals in your area. These events offer a safe and supportive space to explore your desires, and can be a great way to meet potential partners.   MasterG

Finally re-dyed my hair for the first time in six months.  Made a mess of it, all over me, but the colors are better than i could have hoped for.   Unfortunately it did not help my mental state at all, which was what i was most hoping for.  But at least now i can get my new driver's license and have pretty colored hairs in my picture. Daddy has been so patienct with my mental state, or lack thereof, and i need to find a way to make it up to Him.  How he deals with me i will never know, but i am beyond thankful. This week also started our doctor appointments...hopefully we are able to start the disability process for Him quickly so that we have a dual income again.  And i know He hates not being able to contribute financially due to His health.  The doctor told Him that although He is only 41, He has to consider Himself 75 physically, and that is a tough pill to swallow.   For me i'm sure they will try and give me medications again, and i'll accept it for my blood pressue as it is beyonf sky-high but other than that i prefer not to take anything....i would rather allow my body to heal itself....even if it is really bad at doing so...

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

 AngelWingsOnly