You are certainly masochistic, because there is nothing more scary than the term carte blanche, especially when it comes to FemDomme/sub relationships, particularly ours. I’ll go with your vision. I trust you in this. I appreciate that you are trying hard to find a way to make this work for me in a way that works for you.

I think our relationship always worked mostly because we’re both curious. You are curious to see what you can do to me and how you can push me. I am curious to be pushed by you and and feel your total control. Curious as to what I can be taught or trained to think, or to react, or feel. We’ve always worked well when exploring that curiosity and never seemed to get very far when one of us tried to limit it. Along those same lines, I think it works best when we admit and address the limitations that life itself puts on that curiosity.

Here’s an example: I don’t know how much, if any, of the things I’ve fantasized about over the years I’d really want to do. I don’t know that I’d love being forced to be a housewife in  service to an incredibly dull-witted, disengaged husband; or being trained like a dog, fed from a dog bowl, and chained outside. The realities of all of those would not be a lot of fun. But they are great to fantasize about, and obviously they get me hot. And I get off to the idea of the story.

However, this new journey, this idea of allowing for some reality to slip in, is much more different than the other things we have done.. Because I could see the dependence I fantasize about really happening. Really becoming part of my life. And that idea is awesome to me. And I like the idea that because I adore you and trust you, I understand that IN MY REAL LIFE I need to be treated like you are treating me. That I really am neither deserving nor capable of making even the smallest decisions on my own.

And that I will become grateful that you’re willing to take the time and effort it will take to make me understand what I really am and what I deserve to be.

So I don’t know what the rest of it holds, but I trust you, and I trust that you’ve got an idea of how you want this to go.

So, Oh glorious Mistress of mine, I’m paying attention, praying at your knees, accepting your 24/7 (limited yet intensely focused) total 360 degree (which is going to cost me a shitload of dollars, which I know beyond a shadow of a doubt is money well spent) control.

Tell me. Teach me. Show me. Bend me. Twist me. Instruct me. Order me.

Obliterate me.

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An email I received soon after a discussion in which a previous client and I came to an agreement. Of sorts.

Obviously, there is history here. Even a measure of affection and respect. On both sides.

I’ll leave it there for now. But do stick around for the occasional update. Because this is going to get quite interesting, and I suspect rather rapidly.

xo

Miss Angela:

A tribute to you for just being you. Thank you for your guidance and for helping me become a better person. You have touched me like no other and I am forever grateful that you permit me to serve you. I am truly blessed to have you in my life.

I feel your presence always around me, which challenges me daily to be a better person and an obedient servant to your every wish, whim and desire.

Truly
Your Devoted Pet
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When I play with This Devoted Pet, there are so many buttons to push (check out the categories he fits into at bottom of post), it’s like playing a grand piano. So much fun for me and dizzying, obedient, responsive rapture for him. It’s a win/win … always.

Two-Headed Calf

by Laura Gilpin

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother. It is a perfect
summer evening: the moon rising over
the orchard, the wind in the grass. And
as he stares into the sky, there are
twice as many stars as usual.

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Apparently this poem has been around.
Apparently nobody told me.
Apparently a handful of poetry profs didn’t think to tell me.
Apparently I believe they were in great error.
Apparently I love. LOVE. ADORE. WORSHIP. this poem.
Apparently I am seriously crushing on Ms. Gilpin.
Apparently I will grieve forever & a day and to the moon & back.

“Intellectual, imaginative, romantic, emotional. This is what gives sex its surprising textures, its subtle transformations, its aphrodisiac elements. Sex loses all its power and magic when it becomes explicit, mechanical, overdone, when it becomes a mechanistic obsession.

It becomes a bore.

You are shrinking your world of sensations. You are withering it, starving it, draining its blood.

If you nourished your sexual life with all the excitements and adventures which love injects into sensuality, you would be the most potent human being in the world. The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation. Sex does not thrive on monotony.

Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all of the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, opium, wine.”

Anaïs Nin

Come To The Edge

by Christopher Logue

Come to the edge.
We might fall.
Come to the edge.
It’s too high!
COME TO THE EDGE!
And they came,
and he pushed,
And they flew.

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about Mr. Logue