In the loving hands of her master.
In the loving hands of her master.
And yet you’re leaving a puddle…
“How is it that you know exactly what’s going on inside my head?”
“Because I’m a master. It’s what I do.”
It’s mine, princess. I’ll do whatever I want with it.
Aren’t you going to thank me for being so nice to you?
I get these abusive comments often, and usually just delete them, but I thought today I’d share.
First and foremost, these messages are always sent anonymously. These kinds of people lack the courage to face their opponent, and prefer to sneak pot shots from the shadows.
Next, it is always instructive to replace every “you” with “I”. It’s a common psychological self preservation tactic to project one’s own feelings of inadequacy upon others, especially those you envy in some way. If you cannot rise above them, the only alternative is to drag them below you.
I’d also like to draw your attention to his denigration of the submissive female. This is almost always borne out of frustrations in dealing with the opposite sex.
Normally, I’d also comment on the general lack of eloquence that is common in such messages, but English is not his first language, so one cannot really infer anything here, except that his choice of language suggests that he is of Eastern European origin.
And now she understands what she was born to do.
Show off daddy’s work.
That’s a good girl!
Submission means accepting the suffering that is your due.
If you’re gonna be fucked, it should hurt a bit
Breaking is a simple matter of pressure, and time.
You’re mine now.
Everything you were and everything you had, you can forget about that.
Short is around a foot or so shorter than me, give or take some inches (I’m 6′3″). It’s the small frame that does it for me more than anything. All of the common things are answered here: http://keepingher.tumblr.com/faq
For other questions, just PM me. I keep all interactions of this sort private.
Other than that, someone who is relatively fit, genuinely wants to serve, and has an innate need to eventually make it permanent. Everything else I can and will teach.
I’ll break your bad habits, build your good habits, teach you the skills you’ll need to serve me properly, and give you an entire life in my chains, under my rule and care. You’ll live what the other girls only post to Tumblr.
Shorter (by about a foot or so). I’m 6′3″. Basically someone I can lift with one arm :)
This is how I show you that I like you.
Here, let me help you tighten those.
Upon re-reading, it does come off as a bit arrogant, doesn’t it? That wasn’t my intent at all.
I’m certainly not the ideal, nor will I ever be. All I can do is strive for it, and be better than I was yesterday. That’s all anyone can do, really.
It’s better to be imperfect, anyway, because that’s the only way you can understand the pain of your imperfections enough to have compassion for others and their struggles.
The only point I was trying to make is that I have reached a level where I can (and do) survive and thrive on my own, and have a domain of my own. I’m respected, not because I shout orders or demand things or insist on titles, but rather because I’m finally reflecting enough of the ideal to be respected spontaneously. It certainly wasn’t always this way. I’ve hurt people (not in a good way), and done a lot of things I’m not proud of.
And ultimately, it doesn’t even matter how far along you are in reference to other people. Follow the path, and everything will come in its time. There’s plenty for everyone.
A good girl cherishes her collar and everything it represents.
It’s a mix of things, but probably the best way to explain it is the romanticized gentleman warrior of middle aged Europe.
That’s the ideal you’ll never reach. Keep this mythical creature clear in your mind, and it will guide you towards becoming the man you need to be.
A huge part of becoming stable and secure is research. List out every way in which you fall short of the ideal, and then research ways to improve.
I became strong through boxing. I became self reliant by learning how to fix anything. I bought a college book on automotive diagnostics and repair, and read all 1000 pages of it. I learned the electrical trade. I learned to weld. I learned to pour concrete. I learned electronics, and how to program.
I became tough by learning how politics work. Politics exist in any situation where there are more than two people involved, and are a HUGE part of your work life, and your chances of advancement.
I learned courage by tackling my fears, which involved deliberately putting myself into situations where those fears arise.
Once you’ve identified areas to improve in, and know of some ways to remedy your situation, form a plan, right down to a daily routine that will get you from where you are to where you want to be.
Fill your schedule with tasks that further your goals. This is where discipline comes in. Follow through and DO them. Start a routine. Don’t miss a day. Missing a day makes missing the next day easier, until the routine dies.
I can’t stress this enough: Discipline is 90% being there. Don’t miss a day.
Three books that cover most of what you need internally:
I’ll also plug “Mastery” by Robert Greene. Very useful book, especially if you’re starting out in life.
Not just doms, but men in general, as can be seen here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Age_disparity_in_sexual_relationships
The reasons for this are manifold.
First, girls mature faster than boys. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/science/science-news/10529134/Girls-really-do-mature-quicker-than-boys-scientists-find.html
The difference is quite striking: between 5 and 10 years. This is why women will complain that their boyfriends tend to act in immature ways, and is also a contributing factor to workplace problems.
In general, the men rarely catch up to women their age, except for fairly late in life (50+).
Secondly, a greater age infers stability. For women, a stable man is very important to their mental health. This goes double for submissive women. There’s nothing worse than surrendering your life to someone who’ll squander it.
Third, a greater age inherently commands respect. It may seem silly, but it’s very real, and is always at play, even if you try to ignore it. Once again, for submissives, the effect is more pronounced, and it’s usually a big part of a girl’s fascination with significantly older men (especially when you throw ddlg into the mix).
I’ve been with girls older than me, and I’ve been with girls significantly younger than me (as in half my age). I don’t really have much of a preference, to be honest. I’m stable, successful, disciplined, and can command respect regardless of age.
I’ve been getting a lot of requests to dominate recently. I’m laying things out here so that you’re not disappointed.
First off, I’m a real dom. I’m only interested in the real world. I don’t dom online. I don’t talk dirty online. I won’t feed your rub fuel for you. If that’s what you want, there are plenty of Tumblr doms out there who’ll be more than happy to service you, but I’m not one of them.
If you live far away from me, and relocating is an impossibility, then it won’t work. Don’t even start with me, because it’ll only end in disappointment. I can do remote in the short term, interspersed with meeting in the flesh, but ultimately that’s unsatisfying. I’m a jealous god, and I won’t have my property living away from me. Ownership is 100% or 0%.
If you don’t have a petite body type, it won’t work. I know what I want, and I won’t compromise. It’s not fair to either of us to settle. Desire should be 100%, and the petite body type is what does it for me.
Your experience level DOES NOT MATTER. Period. I don’t care what you have or have not done. I do things my way, and you’ll learn my ways because I’ll train you in them. My way is what got me to the point where I’m secure in my future, and what’s good for me is good for my slave.
I don’t care how fucked up you are. I don’t care that you feel inadequate. I don’t care that you mess things up constantly. I don’t care that you get moody and depressed. I don’t care that you’re needy and keep asking the same things over and over again. I don’t care that you’re insecure, have anxiety, or cut. Those are actually the kinds of things that attract a real dom, tbh. A real dom likes to be needed. A real dom likes someone he can guide, protect, and help grow.
If you need advice, or just want to chat, the above doesn’t apply, of course. Ask away! If, however, you long for me to take you, then it will only happen on my terms. I offer the real thing, 24/7, and I’ve set up everything necessary to make it happen, for real.
So unless you’re prepared to go all the way, don’t ask.
And if there’s one thing you don’t want, it’s a bored sadist.
I get up. “Would you like an orange, dear?” I ask sweetly. “Yes, sir.” she says. I should hope so. She hasn’t eaten anything all day. I go to the fridge, take one out, kneel by her chair, and start peeling it for her. It’s a beautiful chair, befitting her station. They’re expensive as hell, but being a patient opportunist, I got a sweet deal on it. At first glance, it’s just a wheelchair, and I’ve got her tied to it pretty good. It’s only upon closer inspection that you see the commode hole in the seat, giving me full access to her most sensitive parts. I like to remind her of how vulnerable she is.
“Here you go, dear.” I say, holding her head as I push the peel into her mouth. She knows better than to defy me, and obediently begins chewing, wincing at the bitterness of the peel. “That good, huh? Don’t worry, I’ve got more.” I eat a few wedges of orange, then carefully peel some more rind for her, and push it into her mouth. I’m smiling, but she knows me too well. The sinister purpose behind it is palpable. Carefully, she swallows. “Thank you, sir.” she says, forcing a smile. That’s good. I like that. I throw back a few more wedges. “Here, have some more.”
She finally chokes the rest of her meal down, and I gently kiss her forehead. “Was that good, dear?” I ask. “Yes, sir.” she says. “Good. Now that I’ve done something nice for you, you should do something nice for me.” She sees it in my eyes. The searing fire. I’m out to make her suffer, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. I can smell the fear in her, and it pleases me. “I…” she begins. “Hmm?” I say, casually fondling her breast. “May I suck your cock, master?” she asks timidly. “Boring!” I say, slapping down on her tit. “Entertain me.” She gasps as I reach out and start squeezing both nipples. “Or I’ll entertain myself.” She’s hunting for something, ANYTHING to say. I watch the rising panic in her face. “Time’s up!” I get up and reach for the whip. “Oh please, sir!” “Please what?” I say, looking back at her. She lowers her head. “Please whip my tits.” she says, defeated. “I intend to. But you still have the opportunity to come up with something more interesting.”
I take down the whip and bring it to her lips. “Consecrate the implement of your suffering.” I say. She closes her eyes and kisses it. “Good!” I shake it out and give it a good test lunge. SNAP! She jumps, then follows helplessly with her eyes as it dances and slithers along the floor. I don’t need to hit very hard, and that’s the beauty of it. Her sensitive flesh suffers with every little flick of the tail. I concentrate on her tits, watching them wave about in a fruitless endeavor to avoid their fate. Slowly, they begin to redden. Every few strokes I do a hard one, leaving a nice welt. “Oh please, sir!” she begs as her body twists and turns. “I’m listening.” I say, continuing my assault upon her tender flesh. “Please I can’t…” she says desperately. “Then I guess your tits are going to be turned into hamburger.” I say. Poor girl. It’s a shame she can’t think of anything. Swish! Swish! Swish! “I could… I could hold something in my cunt for you, master!” she says frantically. I stop to think. “That’s actually not a bad idea, slut, with one minor modification…”
It takes me a little under an hour to build it, and it’s a little crude, but I’m quite satisfied with it. I finish off by wrapping some copper wire around each breast. She winces as I wrap tighter and tighter, turning them into beautiful globes. “There!” I stand back to admire my handiwork. Her tits are of course wired into a shock unit. Nothing special about that. It’s the scale that makes all the difference. It’s electric, which means it turns on when it senses weight. All I had to do is splice the connection to the LCD and connect it to the shock unit. Now whenever the scale senses weight… I push on the scale. Her scream is like music. “There, isn’t that nice?” I exclaim. “Now you’re ready to hold things for me!” A moan escapes her gag (I figured she might as well be gagged since there’s nothing left for her to say anyway). I wheel her next to the couch. “Meanwhile, we can watch a movie.” I stuff a dildo up her cunt, then have a seat on the couch and start the movie.
It takes a good 10 minutes, but eventually I hear the dildo impact with the scale. “MHAAAAAAAAAA!” she screams, twisting and writhing in pain. “Oh dear, you dropped it!” I say. “Would you like me to put it back inside you?” “Muhuh! uhuh!” she says, nodding her head vigorously as the electrons course through her. I get up and take the dildo off the scale, and she sinks back into the chair. Carefully, I stuff it back up her cunt. “Hmm, I’m not sure why you couldn’t keep it in… Maybe the voltage was too low?” “muh uh! uh uh! uh uh!” she says frantically while I adjust the dial. “There you go, honey!” I say, happy to be of service, “Now it should stay in longer.” Her head falls back as she lets out a despairing moan.
Eventually, I hear her start to whimper. Slowly it grows, becoming more and more frantic until finally I hear the telltale sound of the dildo impacting upon the scale again. “MHAAAAAAAAAA!” I pull out my timer. “Look, honey!” I say, getting up. “That one lasted 13 minutes!” I say, showing her the timer. “See?” “uh huh! uh huh!” she says desperately. She’s so precious. I pick up the now very slimy dildo and stuff it back up her cunt for her. “Maybe we should increase the voltage some more…” She sobs.
As the movie progresses, her spirit weakens, and every shock strikes deeper into her psyche. Finally, the dildo falls again, and she dissolves into tears. I watch her, writhing, crying, snot flying, a complete mess, and can’t think of anything except how fucking beautiful she is; how beautiful I’ve made her. I pick up the dildo, put it to the side, and start stroking her hair. Her whole body shudders with each beautiful sob, and the only thing I can think of is how much I love her. I pull a vibrator out of my pocket and apply it to her clit. “Shh… See, doesn’t that feel nice?” I say soothingly. The conflicting emotions paralyze her brain, and it takes awhile for her to regain her senses. “Cah I cum, mahta?” she asks. “Not yet, princess.” I say, and put the vibrator down. A shriek, as the scale registers the vibrator’s weight, and she breaks down completely. Satisfied with my work, I pick up the vibrator and apply it to her clit again. “Cum as much as you like, honey. I’m proud of you.” Her eyes roll back as she stiffens and shakes. “mmmmmmMMMMMMMMUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” She screams, and screams, and screams again, shuddering with the intensity of her orgasm. I hold the vibe to her, and she goes off again, and again, each one pulling her lithe body taut. Her voice is an exquisite symphony of desire and release.
I remove her gag and share a tender kiss with her. “Thank you, master.” she says. “You’re very welcome, my little slut.” I say, kissing her again. Satisfied, I let her get some sleep in her chair while I watch the rest of the movie.
Sing for me, bitch!
Hmm… how to get to Tsushima station…
The Japanese have a tendency to take things to the extreme. Audiophiles are no exception.
Yes, that is a $6000 speaker cable.
The further you get from the city, the more the toilets change to “washiki” style, also known as the squat pot. You basically put the waist of your pants behind your knees and squat down.
I’m definitely a fan of Japanese food. And since inflation has been nonexistent in Japan for the past 30 years, things are finally cheap!
Plates are 100 yen apiece, and you can special order on the touch screen. Two of us ate for 1800 yen total (about $18). I’m out in the sticks, so you won’t find English at all here.
That’s what they’re for.
Her happy place.
I believe in soulmates, but not “The One.” Soulmates also come in degrees, some better matched than others. It’s a bit of a fuzzy line where someone becomes a soulmate, but it is acutely felt by both people.
A soulmate not only feels right; they just automatically contribute. You’ll have bad times, but they’ll apologize if wrong and work to fix things. They’ll be proactive. They take an interest. They are concerned about your welfare. And you’ll only find your soulmate once you’ve developed a soulmate mentality yourself.
What I’m saying is that there is no such thing as a “perfect” match. You’ll have very good matches (soulmate matches), but never perfect. This is an important distinction to make, because imperfection means that you must put effort into your relationship. Taking the traditional “perfection” based definition of soulmate is a cop out.
The cult of “The One” is a form of laziness that can take root at all stages of a relationship:
The first stage is when you’re alone. You despair that you’ll never find “The One”, and so you never bother trying in the first place. Or you just sit there waiting for prince charming to find you and sweep you off your feet.
The second stage is when you’re in a relationship. It’s not perfect, and so you conclude that he isn’t “The One”, therefore it’s beyond your control, and you’re absolved of responsibility for tending to the relationship.
The third stage is when a relationship actually IS bad and should be ended. You hold on because, after all, he’s “The One”. That’s just the reason you tell yourself. The real reason is because it seems less painful to hang on than it is to be alone again.
The fourth stage is when the relationship has ended (break up, divorce, death, etc). You dread having to find someone of soulmate compatibility again, and the sheer amount of work and patience required appears an insurmountable obstacle. Far easier to say “There’s only one soulmate, and now he’s gone” because it absolves you of responsibility for doing all the hard work of finding someone again.
So while I can understand why someone might commit suicide over heartbreak, there is no situation in which I’d say it is justified. As long as you’re still breathing, you’re being afforded the opportunity to begin anew. You don’t just throw that away.
I’ll be in and around Nagoya. It’s the third largest city in Japan but nobody’s heard of it.
I’ll be there for a couple of weeks, but if you ask it now it’ll give me something to think about on the long 12 hour flight!
You’ll hide nothing from me.
Walking properly for her man is a very important skill. A good master won’t neglect her training.
It’s her natural state.
I’ll be in Japan for awhile, so I won’t be posting so much. Meantime, enjoy some cunt wetting material!
Steel is forever.
I give her the greatest gift of all: Purpose
It’s OK. She can wait outside.
The fresh air does her good.
Once you’ve learned how to be quiet, we’ll try taking the hood off for awhile.
See how pretty I make you?
She’s always there for me.