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 Couple, 55/58, Illinois 
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  Couple

 Illinois

 5' 6" / 5' 6"

 200 lbs / 200 lbs

 55 / 58

 Hetero / Hetero

 Caucasian/Caucasian

 03/09/24

I'll start with the executive summary.
I wanted to have a submissive wife. (profile AbeLincoln) I now have a wife. I whip her once a week. I love her.
I wanted to add a slave to our household. (profile MasterWifeServan) I wanted someone to take care of the household, and I wanted someone who didn't just defer to me but was devoted to me. I haven't been able to find such a person.
So now I'm thinking I'll handle the household cleaning part by hiring someone. And rather than finding a 2nd person to submit more deeply, my relationship with my wife can morph.
Here comes the crux. My relnship with my wife is too important to experiment with. If I slap her across the face, will she respond with outragebut an undercurrent of comfort and arousal, or will I be divorced? There are people out there who love to be slapped across the face in the context of submitting to a powerful master. I'll experiment with one of them.
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What I am proposing is very much sessions. I will not bring a bottle of wine. I will not tell you I love you. I may tell you, you have very nice skin. Followed by, Wow, look at that red hand mark.
I will not fuck you. I will not (or, I don't plan to) cum in your presence. I will get naked with you, and I will probably be erect the whole time. But this is my little reminder to myself, Hey, you are married. (Seems very Bill Clintonesque, doesn't it?) I'll probably masturbate furiously when I get home.
Hey, the executive summary is longer than the body. Don't you wish I was longer than your body?
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And now, the action items. (Have I been to a lot of meetings, or what?)
If you are submissive, and up for having your buttons pushed in a good way, contact me. Especially, if you need some abuse to clear the way to get aroused, contact me. I'll slap your face, welt your skin, violate your holes, and leave you relaxed and content.

1/16/2016 10:08:40 AM: I think this video is extremely hot. http://xhamster.com/movies/3444478/torture_hanging_crucifixion.htmlDo you think so?

1/24/2015 7:37:48 AM: I had this dream.  Copy it to your journal, and add to it.  Add how the submissive feels, if you have ideas in that area. I put a ratcheting device in our dungeon.  Its end is pointed, but not sharp.  With a lot of pressure, it can penetrate flesh. I tell you to put it into your asshole, and walk backward.  It is anchored at the floor, but it can tilt upward as you walk back.  It can't go back down.  It's a one way motion. I kiss you, stroke you, and urge you back. Eventually, you are in a fair amount of pain, and the tip of the long dildo is in your midsection. We keep going.  Eventually, the shaft passes through your throat, and entered your soft palate, going into your brain.  You look at me and whimper, and I stroke you and pet you as your are impaled. Eventually, your impalement is complete.  The tip of the dildo is resting on the inside of your skull.  I fuck you, kiss you, we enjoy each other. I take a hot knife.  It parts flesh using heat.  It's not sharp.  But there is very little bleeding. I open your belly from your ribcage to your belly button.  I kiss you and caress you as I reach inside and stroke your intestines and your lungs. 

1/1/2014 11:06:46 AM: I have realized something.  I was trying to keep the slave at arms length.  Not mess up the relationship between me and the wife.  Not get too close to the slave.   But that's wrong.  Everybody, slave and free, is in it to be known and valued.  Even if they do it by offering their backs to be whipped.  Even if they do it by accepting backs for whipping.  Accepting the gift while maintaining reserve will never work.   So I'm abandoning that.  Slave, I will take you all the way in.  You will matter to me, like my own flesh.  I will never abandon you.

8/7/2013 4:53:39 AM: From that same book.  Is this not a beautiful picture of the Real Situation?  Between a submissive and her dominant, or between a worshiper and his God.   'Jane had gone into the garden to think. She accepted what the Director had said, yet it seemed to her nonsensical. 'Religion ' ought to mean a realm in which her haunting female fear of being treated as a thing, an object of barter and desire and possession, would be set permanently at rest, and what she called her ' true self' would soar upwards and expand in some freer and purer world. For still she thought that 'Religion ' was a kind of exhalation or a cloud of incense, something steaming up from specially gifted souls towards a receptive heaven. Then, quite sharply, it occurred to her that the Director never talked about Religion, nor did the Dimbles nor Camilla. They talked about God. They had no picture in their minds of some mist steaming upward: rather of strong, skilful hands thrust down to make and mend, perhaps even to destroy. Supposing one were a thing after all-a thing designed and invented by Someone Else and valued for qualities quite different from what one had decided to regard as one's true self? Supposing all those people who, from the bachelor uncles down to Mark and Mother Dimble, had infuriatingly found her sweet and fresh when she wanted them to find her also interesting and important, had all along been simply right and perceived the sort of thing she was ? Supposing Maleldil on this subject agreed with them and not with her? For one moment she had a ridiculous and scorching vision of a world in which God Himself would never understand, never take her with full seriousness. Then, at one particular corner of the gooseberry patch, the change came. What awaited her there was serious to the degree of sorrow and beyond. There was no form nor sound. The mould under the bushes, the moss on the path, and the little brick border were not visibly changed. But they were changed. A boundary had been crossed. She had come into a world, or into a Person, or into the presence of a Person. Something expectant, patient, inexorable, met her with no veil or protection between. In the closeness of that contact she perceived at once that the Director's words had been entirely misleading. This demand which now pressed upon her was not, even by analogy, like any other demand. It was the origin of all right demands and contained them. In its light you could understand them; but from them you could know nothing of it. There was nothing, and never had been anything, like this. And now there was nothing except this. Yet also, everything had been like this: only by being like this had anything existed. In this height and depth and breadth the little idea of herself which she had hitherto called me dropped down and vanished, unfluttering, into bottomless distance, like a bird in space without air. The name me was the name of a being whose existence she had never suspected, a being that did not yet fully exist but which was demanded. . It was a person (not the person she had thought) yet also a thing-a made thing, made to please Another and in Him to please all others-a thing being made at this very moment, without its choice, in a shape it had never dreamed of. And the making went on amidst a kind of splendour or sorrow or both, whereof she could not tell whether it was in the moulding hands or in the kneaded lump.'  

8/7/2013 4:44:37 AM: One of my favorite books seems to me to be talking about Dominance and Submission.  I doubt that any of the book's academic reviewers, of which there are many, viewed it in that light.  Here is a description of what people in this website call Natural Dominance.    'How did other people – people like Denniston or Dimble – find it so easy to saunter through the world with all their muscles relaxed and a careless eye roving the horizon, bubbling over with fancy and humour, sensitive to beauty, not continually on their guard and not needing to be?  What was the secret of that fine, easy laughter which he could not by any efforts imitate?  Everything about them was different.  They could not even fling themselves into chairs without suggesting by the very posture of their limbs a certain lordliness, a leonine indolence.  There was elbow-room in their lives, as there had never been in his.  They were Hearts: he was only a Spade.'

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canabliss
 
 Age: 27
 VA Beach, Virginia