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    I am looking for a woman who's only desire is to be very submissive to her Mas
Male Dominant, 60,  Texas US

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Warmher - View Full Profile   View All Photos

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StraightFemale Submissive
Age: 36, Height: 5ft 7in (170 cm)
Location: Savannah, Georgia
Last on 4/10/17 at 6:40 AM









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 Dominant Male


 6' 2"

 190 lbs


 African America


 25 minutes

Actively Seeking:

Submissive Female

Friends Only



I am looking for a woman who's only desire is to be very submissive to her Master without question, she wants TPE and LT. She is clean, D&D free and sexually open minded. she craves instruction, and understands the need for rules but not a doormat. Her desires are constantly evolving, learning to become a better slave/submissive to her Master, but, she also enjoy's chatting about sexual activities and fantasies. she get pleasure and fulfillment from being in service. she totally love's being kinky. for she knows it keeps sex adventurous

there are times when the sub/slave need to be forced to comply as it is in her best interest...most never know what is good for them until shown the way and micromanagement is always a good thing for the stubborn and lazy



Your only desire will and should be to serve and please Master in all ways to anticipate your Masters wants and needs before he knows or tells them to you in doing so you'll be a much better slave/sub knowing how to keep and make your Master happy


You are a reflection of your Master and his training and teaching from what you wear to how you speak
I want you to turn heads as you walk for men to take a double look at you as you walk by knowing your Master's training shows joy for you it will be knowing you have pleased your Master
When you're trained and I know you have earned a Master's/Dom's trust then you'll get it not until then. Master/Dom doesn't tolerate b/s or lies...... trust is everything

I lead you follow

I command you obey

I teach you learn


 a Master will break you and mold you into perfection making you better and your submission stronger as you will need and crave to serve a Master and learn respect as well


Life is about order and peace everyone knows there role and place or they learn there place and role in a relationship
You have nothing to hide or be ashamed of

Journal Entries:
2/25/2017 12:25:09 AM

2/18/2017 11:18:45 AM

I don't know that I have ever heard it put better than this..

The scariest word of all in an age which has been based in an illusory idea of freedom, is the word "slave". Being a slave means to have no say in your own life, to be bullied and pushed around, made to do horrible things for no compensation, receiving not even any thanks. You are but an animal, not even owning yourself, completely subjected to the will of others. Right?


A slave - in our context here - is someone who's embracing her own nature without trepidation. A slave is someone whose love runs so deep the she is lost to the world. A slave is someone who needs a partner who's able to recognize this deep wish to be owned, to surrender everything that you are into the hands of another in utter devotion - because without being able to do this, the slave's heart will know no real peace. Only more or less medication based tranquility.

Sure enough, you can live an entire lifetime without ever understanding what's "wrong" with you and why you can't find the same happiness in the little things of everyday life that most everyone else seems to find, but you just can't. There's a fire. A yearning. Something that even if you can find some words to describe, you know that you can't talk with anyone about - because it's so wrong. So you learn to live with a secret. You learn to lie. And to take what little tidbits of joy that you can, if and when they present themselves.

How can a woman be loved like that by a man? Will he not be frightened by the sheer intensity of it and run away? Yes he will. In most cases. In most cases, a man just wants a pretty little wifey whom he can dote on and play house with. He doesn't want that primal fire. He doesn't want that devotion. He wouldn't know what to do with it. He strongly believes that we're all created equal and that the presence of any desires outside of the doll-house of family and work is just plain crazy.

Most men aren't very passionate.

They can't deal with a woman who's got fire in her heart. They get angry and accuse her of being crazy. Why can't she just accept that life isn't all that great? Most days are gray and boring. Most sex is dull and uninspiring. Show some responsibility, you ungrateful harlot! Have you not been granted a house to live in and a credit card to buy you all the glamorous things that a silly woman needs? Show some understanding. Show some respect. A man needs to work with his career. He needs that support. He needs your services, not your passion.

The heart of a slave is very much like the heart of a nun. They both seek something out of this world. They both need to love with a passion that's unrestrained. They both need that purity. Whereas a nun seeks to sublimate her sexuality into chaste faith, a slave seeks to immerse herself in the fire, to lose herself in passion and fury. She needs someone who sees her like that.

Someone who's tuned in to her melody. Someone who understand why she'd rather have pain inflicted on her than live in a dream world of unbearable lightness and fake plastic smiles. She needs a man who knows how and why to make her scream, sigh, moan, whimper, cry - and finally float away into a sacred realm of her own where she can turn her heart inside out and feel that her existence has a deeper meaning than just fluff and glossy magazines. She needs to be loved. She needs to be seen. Accepted. Caressed. Held tightly within an embrace which is as real and unflinching as death itself.

Sure enough, she can learn how to play the game and live a life with the safety of an opium dream. She can get medication. She can learn how to forget about passion. But she can't fly with wings that have been clipped. She can't sing from inside of a cage, no matter how golden.

So how can a slave's heart not be submissive?

We are not talking about a work horse now. Great injustice is being done to many who are seeking to exist within the world of BDSM. An image of someone meek and subservient is being peddled by those who should never call themselves masters of anything of this world, much less the passion of a woman. This art which we do isn't about subjugation, it's about allowance. Freedom, for real. Allowance to fly, to sing. Liberty to exist on your entire spectrum of physical, mental and emotional energy.

A slave's heart is much more greedy than it is submissive.

There's a ravenous hunger. A fire. A nuclear meltdown that is threatening to explode into furious tantrums from hell if denied any proper outlet. She craves the pain just so that she can feel and know that there is something equally ravenous and fierce on the outside of her skin, that she isn't alone in feeling like she does. She's an ocean which is seeking a cliffy coast to splash up against. And when she finds it, she will - for most women who has a slave's heart are quite smart - do anything it takes to facilitate and nurture that zone in a parallel but separate reality which allows her to fully and truly exist; with all her heart, body and mind.

So, I ask you, what is submission in this picture?� Is it the meek who shall inherit this earth? Is it the mild and maternal kindness of a gentle heart? Is it a wish to serve?

Verily, I say unto you, it is none of those things.

A slave is first and foremost a slave to the passion. Next, to the person who allows it to be, who understands that she needs to feel all those things, to have that fire burning bright, day and night. In order to have someone like that in her life, she will be "submissive" - but not really. You might as well say she's being smart. She wants to bedazzle that man to such an extent that he completely forgets that there are other things in this world but her. She wants him to be her fireplace. She wants him to stay warm. She wants him to be more proud of her than he could ever be of himself.

The next question is, of course, who can own a slave?

I don't believe it possible to relate to a slave heart unless you have one yourself. It's a question of being able to understand the mechanics of passion. It's a question of recognition, of seeing yourself reflected in the other - just like in a magic mirror. But at the same time, you're not really seeing your "self"; it's more like your justification and reason for being what you are; freed from the shackles of social convention, political correctness, and the stifling demands from friends and family that you should fulfill their expectations and wear a mask to their liking.

Having a slave heart means, as mentioned, first and foremost, that you are a slave to the passion. You don't love the same way that other people do. You would rather slit your own throat than live in the typical environment of bourgeois "marriage" where the act of building and maintaining a false public fa�ade is more important than the truth that burns in your soul. Yes you can and you will - of course - adapt a form of respectable normalcy when moving around in a public space, but you cannot truly live without your counterpart, your owned and your owner, the person with whom you're sharing that which is most sacred to you.

So who can own a slave?

Only someone who understands the abysmal responsibility of this. Only someone who really and truly; intuitively, emotionally, and cognitively; understands that this ownership is a two-way road of no going back, ever, whatsoever.

There can be no secrets, much less any lies. No mal aria of things that aren't spoken of, no uncomfortable issues that are kept in a closet; past, present, or future. You both need to be beloved to each other at a level that transcends all fear and hesitation. No other place in this world of human life will you find such love, adoration, pride and open communication as between a slave and her owner. This is not a myth, although it has been mythologized.

This is the reality of the slave's heart.

So speak not to me of submission. Speak not to me of how you can have your slut kneel before you and swallow your cock until her eyes bulge before she begs you for the privilege of licking your cum off the floor. Why, because I'll laugh at you. What of it? None of that is worth a rat's fart if she doesn't tremble just from looking into your eyes... nor you shake with the desire to own that fire, to make sure it will always burn brightly like a shooting star on the dark firmament of human folly.

This is no game. This is the elite division of human desire and satisfaction. This is utter mystery - while at the same time being the most natural thing that you can do. This is the stuff that earthquakes are made of. This is the fury that volcanoes burn with. This is the earth and the wind; the rain, the thunder, and all things that are alive. You say you are dominant? Don't make me laugh. You cannot dominate this force, you can only acquiesce, ride the torrential wave of that tsunami on a shaky little surf board of good fortune and intelligent maneuverings.

Do not tell me how you are an accomplished slut who can take pain and long term bondage sessions. Do not tell me about needles and knives, asphyxiation and the enigma of enemas. Rather, tell me how it feels. Tell me the truth. Tell me what makes your blood flow and why. Tell me what you dream at night. Tell me why you breathe. Then breathe for me. Sigh for me. Cry for me. Show me your soul. Scream for me. Beg for me. Spread your legs as wide open as you can for me. Cum for me. Then cum again. And again. Until you faint. Until you shake. Until you lose your ability to do anything but sob for me.

Because I want to hold you. I want to own you. I want to see you more naked than you would dare be even before the eyes of God. I want to know you. I want to taste your blood. I want your pussy to rub against every square inch of my body. I want to shove my cock so far down your throat that you gag and choke and long strands of saliva is following it when I finally pull it back out again. I want your eyes to water until that cheap whore mascara that you put on to please me is running down your cheeks in black stripes. Then I will kiss you and tell you the utmost truth that anyone can know in this universe: That i love you. That you are mine. And that I will not let you go, ever.

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