Tuesday, January 13, 2004

Those interested in serving me should know that there is a price to be paid for the privilege of being in the presence of a true domina. And I don't mean the monetary tribute. I mean a psychic offering to the goddess. Something one relinquishes that leaves one vulnerable. Like when a dog rolls on its back and exposes its neck to the alpha in the pack -- a sign of trust and deference to superior power. There are some seekers I have encountered who seem to think that simply paying for my time should earn them the reward of body worship or other purely sensual experiences. Yet I never engage in such activities lightly. They are in fact rewards. And they require work to get there. Be it in the form of suffering for me: the sting of the lash, restricted and contorted in bondage, hot wax on bare skin, nipples twisted and pinched, cock and balls tightly bound and laden with weight. Or stripping oneself of one's ego by exposing oneself to humiliating and degrading acts. Or being my bitch by fellating my strap-on cock, then opening oneself completely to my plundering. I believe the very nature of true submission requires a pushing of oneself to the outer layers of one's comfort zone. I don't necessarily mean being hard-core in the sense known as edge play. But simply being open to the twist.