I’m a Dominant. I’m a Master, a Daddy and a primal.

I expect speech protocols to be followed, gestures to be undertaken and rules to be remembered.

I’ll lead you when you need it, I’ll guide you when you’re lost and I’ll nurture you when you fall.

I’ll pull your hair and pinch your tits and slap your ass and call you names.

I’ll come on your tits and spit in your face and claw your body till the marks on your body show like you’re my calling card.

I’ll lease you and collar you and lead you out in the afternoons for walks.

I’ll deprive you of sight and sound and release till you’re a quivering, sobbing mess without a semblance of humanity.

But I’ll let you teach me. I’ll let you take care of me when the anxiety is so bad I feel like I’m losing my mind.

I’ll listen to your advice and listen to your needs.

I’ll put your desires ahead of mine because your smile and your happiness satisfies me more than any sexual act.

I won’t flinch when you step up to take care of me, I won’t speak over you when you need to tell me something.

I will fall to my knees and press my head between your breasts when I’m feeling vulnerable and sad and lonely and out of whack with the world around me.

I’ll let you put your arm around me when we rest in bed, because I need that more then you realise.

The Rope



Tangles of red rope reached across her pale flesh, cuffing around her inner thighs, resting at the edges of her lips.

The rope stretched along her stomach, forked diagonally upwards across her tits, where it would grind against her light pink and puffy nipples.

The rope scorched her, leaving behind thin broken lines seared into her flesh. Like dunes in a desert.


She was to remain on her stomach on the floor, her legs held up across her back and bounded by the rope.

Every inch of her was met with the coarse material. It was perverse, painful.

Even though she was only in the middle of their lounge room, she

felt exposed to the world and all its elements. Like a girl, like a lost little girl.

The knots started to itch against her, yet she became its slave, open and willing.

She dare not move, for the rope would only work against her, twisting and digging in a delightful mix of pain and pleasure.

She hated it yet loved it. For every thrill she felt from the sting, the rub of pain, she wanted to relieve her ache. She wanted to dull it, just a little. A little squeeze of her nipples, just a little. But she was bound, left to feel the lingering kiss of the rope.


She had learnt to be still the hard way.

Pressed against the wooden floor, she felt the cool teasing ache of its touch against her nipple. In her absence of reason, a fault of no one but her own she reflected soon after, she tried to move her body up, if only to slightly drag her hardened nipple across the floor, to satiate herself.

But upon even an inch of movement, the rope tightened. It dug a nice crevice into her breasts and began to leave its mark.

Oh, she had whimpered, had tried to flail like someone half her age, but in the end, she was bound to that spot on her stomach.


There she would remain, a wretched prisoner, a willing slave, till he returned home from the shops, just like he said he would.