== Results from http://bdsmtest.org/ ==

99% Rope Bunny
99% Masochist
99% Submissive

97% Slave
97% Pet

92% Primal (Prey)

88% Girl/Boy

86% Degradee

79% Experimentalist

74% Non-monogamist

71% Ageplayer

65% Brat

55% Sadist

40% Exhibitionist

27% Switch

18% Rigger

15% Degrader
15% Primal (Hunter)

14% Voyeur

12% Dominant

11% Owner

7% Daddy/Mommy
7% Brat Tamer

5% Master/Mistress

3% Vanilla

See my results online at http://bdsmtest.org/result.?id=1394284

Being that dominant who 'takes new submissives under his wing' isn't a noble thing.
You're being predatory.

You're being part of the problem.

You're literally fostering the idea that a submissive isn't capable of making their own decisions, and telling other dominants that a submissive's 'no' isn't worth listening to unless it's backed up be a dominant.

Stop being that guy.

That guy is the old creepy guy that we all talk about behind your back.

How are we meant to respond as a slave/submissive/babygirl type when we're asked to do something and we know it's the wrong thing to be doing?

I'm not talking about the "I want you to take this gun and shoot that person" scenario that is so often the rhetoric of those who are opposed to (or who don't understand..) the ideas behind TPE.  I'm thinking about a real situation when you have been told to do something that is going to have negative consequences for not only yourself, but for your master and for the relationship between the two of you.

I used to think that I knew the answer to this question - I mean, it was easy... the relationship dynamic is based on trust and surrender on the part of the slave.  This means that even though I might not be able to see the reasoning behind a decision, I have to know that my master has the goal in mind and I have to follow.

I just have to have faith and surrender.

What I didn't really consider is that there might be times when he simply makes a poor decision about how to get to that goal, and as a consequence of that decision things fall apart.

How should I behave when I can see what the result of a decision is going to be, and I can see that its going to be bad?

I think that until now I only knew half of the answer.  Yes - this dynamic is about trust and surrender... but the aspect that I was missing is that it is also about the acceptance of consequences.

So, I have faith and I surrender.

And when things fall apart because I have obeyed his will, which is the good, right and true thing for a slave to do, I will accept the consequences of my obedience.

Sometimes the consequences are hearing the words "good girl."  And sometimes the consequences are that things just fall apart.

If things break, it doesn't necessarily mean that I failed.. sometimes things just break.

The girl sits for a moment and thinks.  She goes over the conversation that she has had with him in her mind.  It is almost like deciphering a code as she thinks on the things that would please him.  His instructions where to masturbate to the point of release and then to hold it for 15 minutes before she was allowed to finish herself.  But she wants to please him in the way that she performs, not just by completing the basic task.  She decides what path her task is going to follow to best please him.

She slips from her chair and walks slowly to her bedroom.   The girl pulls her t-shirt up over her head and steps out of her sweat pants, smiling to herself as she feels the cool air caress her pale flesh.  She feels comfortable in her nakedness.  This is the way that she should be.  Clothed in nothing but her willingness to serve him.

She opens the black case in the corner of her room, catching her bottom lip with her teeth as she looks over its contents.  She collects her ballgag and a clothes peg.  She closes the lid of her case and looks over at her bed.  A slow smile plays over her full lips as she drops to her knees on the floor where she belongs.  She knows that she is worthless, that she deserves to be humbled and lower than the ground itself.

The girl lifts the gag to her mouth, taking a slow breath as she slips it in place behind her teeth, feeling her tongue trapped under the hard rubber ball.  She fastens the leather strapping behind her head, making sure that the buckle is tight.  She places the clothes peg tight on her nose, making sure that the only way she can breath is by drawing long, measured breaths through her almost blocked mouth.  Feeling a wave of panic drift up from her stomach, she closes her eyes and centres herself, concentrating on the knowledge that her actions would please him.

She thinks on her posture.  Leaning back into her kneel, she holds her head proud, her pale white shoulders dropped down to reveal the delicate curve of her neck.  She lowers her grey eyes to the floor, thick dark eyelashes against the milk of her skin like delicate lace.  She straightens her back as she leans her arse back on her feet before spreading wide her soft thighs to display herself.  She rests her hands lightly upon her knees, palms facing upwards in a display of supplication to his dominance.  

I had an image come to mind once. 

It was after a session with daddy and I was totally spaced. He picked me up and cradled me in his arms and carried me into the bathroom where he’d run a deep bath, the water was hot enough to pink up my skin and warm me up because I was shivering cold...

He put me in the bath and cradled my head in his hand, so that his hand was under my head. He wasn’t grabbing my hair or holding my head in place or anything. Just cradled gently...

Then his hand found my sex and he started playing... probing... pinching... and as I got more and more excited, my body responding to his touch, he just lowered my head under the water to cut of my air.

I was looking up at him through the water and just laying there as he explored my body with his free hand, the other hand cradling my head. And when he decided that it was time, he’d raise my head out of the water so I could take a breath, and then lower it again.

I wasn’t held under the water. I was simply waiting for when he decided that he would let me breath.

She lies back against the warm porcelain of the bathtub, feeling her flesh pink with the heat of the water.  She slides her soap slick hands over her body, feeling the soft curves as her hands explore.  She slips a hand between her thighs and cups the soft plumpness of her sex… feeling the freshly shaved velvet soft skin, her finger probing quickly between lips… feeling her wetness, different to the water lapping around her… feeling her heat, burning at the thought of his ownership over her body.  She whispers softly in the quiet stillness, her voice echoing slightly against the tiled walls.

“This belongs to him.  It exists to serve him and I exist to serve him.”

Daddy’s Good Girl

Kitten sits quietly by her Daddy’s feet, her head resting lightly against his knee as her thick black curls cascade over the milky flesh of her shoulders. She is still, waiting for his instruction.  She feels her stomach flutter with nervous excitement as Daddy lifts his hand and brushes his fingers through her soft hair.  She purrs softly and nuzzles her head lightly against her Daddy’s knee.  Her breath catching gently in her throat as her lower parts tighten, feeling her Daddy’s fingers grip her hair, twisting through it to pull her head back slightly.  His grip isn’t harsh or cruel, but commanding.  Kitten knows what Daddy wants, and she yearns to provide for him.

“Stand up, baby-doll.”

Daddy’s words strike deep into the core of her being, igniting her need for him.  Her voluptuous body uncurls with an almost feline grace as she rises to her feet and stands before him.  Her arms relaxed at her sides, her back is straight and her head held proudly.  Her full pink lips curl into a slow smile as she feels her Daddy’s eyes trace over her form, drinking her in.  She feels the pleasure that he takes in the sight of her.  Her Daddy pats his lap, looking into her eyes as a loving smile plays over his lips.  She steps to him and climbs into her rightful place on his lap, feeling his strong arms encircle her, she smiles softly.

My Soul


I feel you inside my skin.
Your very presence beats a pulse through my veins.
My blood rushes with your nearness,
My breast rising as you draw breath.

I have found my soul in you.

And when you leave,
If only for an hour or a day,
It feels that eternity has fallen dark.
And my soul is missed.

She sits and quietly listens to the voice inside her head.  It whispers the secrets of her life.  Twisting the truth and drawing through the pain until she can’t tell the differences anymore.  She doesn’t want to tell the differences anymore.  She picks up the ice and drags a burning cold line over her skin, watching the water bead against her pale skin.  She mourns her loss.  She mourns for that familiar burning sting.  She aches for the warmth of red.  She mourns her loss.  She mourns for that brand new safety she felt.  She aches for the warmth of comfort.  She mourns her loss.  She mourns for that pleasure of ignorance.  She aches for the warmth of not knowing.

She waits for You and slips the tip of her wet, pink tongue over her lips to wet them slowly, her eyes sparkling green-grey as she leans back on the sofa, settling against the cushions.  She traces her slender fingers over the front of her shirt, her dark painted nails flicking lightly over the hardening buds of her nipples beneath the flimsy fabric, catching at the edge of her full bottom lip with her teeth as a soft moan slips from her throat.  She closes her eyes as she sighs softly, and runs her hands down over the round softness of her belly.  Slipping them under the hem of her shirt, she pulls it up slightly to bare the pale expanse of skin below her breasts, and curls her fingers to rake her fingernails viciously over her flesh.  She catches her breath in a soft gasp as her nails mar that milk skin perfection with red marks.  Her back arches causing her breasts to strain against the thin fabric of her shirt, her thick hair spilling over the sofa cushions as she rolls her head, lost in the exquisite pain of the moment.  Her tongue slips wantonly across her lips as she runs her hand down over her belly, her fingers playing softly over the scratch marks, teasingly gentle after the pain she visited upon her own form.  She bends her knees up, lifting her legs, the curve of her calf pressing against the backs of her thighs, her skirt slipping up over her milky pale thighs revealing more of her form, her sex covered in the tight stretch of plain cotton panties.  She cups her small hand over that aching mound and moans softly, her slender fingers probing, searching over the thin cotton, feeling the moistness spread as her excitement grows in preparation for You.  Then, feeling herself grow close, she stops.  Her breath in quick shallow pants as she stills herself, and forces her hunger to wait.  She waits for You.

She steps out from the doorway, wearing a short pleated school skirt, her long white socks pulled over shapely calves, her shiny black mary-janes catching the reflection of white cotton rufflies under the skirt.  She has her hair pulled into two ponytails that frame her pretty round face.  Her wide grey-green eyes blinking innocently as she looks around the room, her breasts heave gently against her tight white cotton blouse as she gasps softly, seeing Him in His chair.

Her face lights up in a grin and she giggles, twisting her fingers through her red curls before skipping over to her Daddy.  Her short skirt flipping up to reveal a hint of soft milky thigh topped by her white cotton rufflies.  The material stretched tight over the plump softness of her pussy already dampened slightly with her excitement at His presence.

Coming to stand before Him, she blinks and meets His gaze through her long dark lashes.  A playful smile tugs at the corner of her full lips as her small pink tongue slips over them.  Her fingers twist through her ponytails as she rocks back on her heels slightly, and tilts her head to watch him with her big grey-green eyes.

She scuffs her little good girl foot and twists her fingers in the edge of her skirt as a soft, breathy giggle slips over her full pouting lips.  She speaks with a gentle lisp and then bites at he full pink bottom lip, catching at it and tugging with her teeth.

 “I miss you, Daddy.”

A Moment

For a moment I was the blessed one.
I was the aim of his yearnings,
And I revelled as the focus of his attention.
I was the object of his desire.

For a moment I was the hunted.
The blood of his prey was on his lips,
And I lay wounded before him.
Vulnerable to the killing strike.

For a moment I was his.
Wounded and waiting for my little death.
La Petite Mort.
He left.  And I died.

Blessed

The girl trembled, kneeling before him.  She felt the small pillow beneath her knees cushioning her position at his feet, she felt the thick strap of leather tight around her slender white throat, she felt the heavy chain leash hanging from the collar brush her swollen nipple as he moved in his chair.  Over all of the physical however, was the knowledge that he owned her.  She felt his piercing gaze as he watched her where she knelt, in her rightful position as his precious property.  His worthless slut.
She leans back into her kneel, her head held high and proud but her eyes lowered to the floor, she straightens her back as she presses the round firmness of her buttocks to her feet, her thighs spread as she rests her hands lightly atop them, palms raised in supplication to him.  Her back is slightly arched, her breasts rising and falling with each soft breath, her pussy...  no, HIS pussy is hidden from view like a precious secret for only her Daddy.  She concentrates on calming her breathing as she revels his presence.  She hears him whisper one soft word… 

“Mine.”

She feels her heart pause a moment, as though her entire being has held its breath.  A silvered tear rolls down one cheek as a soft smile plays at her lips.  She feels him press the gentle kiss to the top of her head, her heart swelling, filling with pride in the joy that she’s brought to him as she kneels silently and waits upon his pleasure, blessed just to remain in his presence.