Iâm a Spanish woman (she/her), in my thirties, and 99,8% straight. Iâm happily in love with my boyfriend, whom I call âownerâ in public so itâs clear what our relationship dynamic is. Heâs a dom and Iâm a sub, and we live this dynamic every day with the affection, love, and respect we have for each other â in what is, for me, the healthiest relationship Iâve ever had with any boyfriend.
The 0.2% of me that isn't straight is all thanks to my Miss, whose presence and personality made a woman (herself) appeal to me for the very first time in my life, and with whom I share an online relationship.
I donât share photos of myself, and any you may find in my stories are used only as an avatar. Ashley Lane is the model I use to use, just because I like the way she is pretty in a normal way and because she performed in ropes and also in adult industry. However, I have described myself in writing here and here to be something more than just a silhouette cut out against a wall.
What youâll mainly find on my blog are images of rope models that I comment on and reblog. Theyâre like an appetizer â something easy and light to nibble on â but what truly motivates me is writing and sharing my personal experiences in this blog I use as a diary. These are generally about my sexual life, but since my life goes far beyond being a sub, I write about anything I feel like talking about.
You can find all my stories organized by topic by clicking on the links below.
Top stories My posts featuring my most popular stories for my readers. Perfect for a lonely night and for your own satisfaction.
My experiences as a sub I love writing and sharing my most personal experiences with my owner. You will find plenty of ropes here.
My Miss Yes, I have an owner in real life and a Miss in my online life. Come on in and read all about my submissive relationship with her.
Bisexual Caresses and submission between the tangled bodies of two women. For those interested in my intimate stories with people of my own gender.
My fantasies I have a very vivid imagination and I love to write. Discover what I desire to do and have done to me.
Hot asks I get turned on by turning my readers on, especially those with incredibly suggestive questions.
I would love to wait on my knees at the foot of my Miss's bed for her to wake up, with a ball gag between my lips and my breasts soaked in my own saliva to say good morning to her⊠For my Miss to see all that drool and know how patiently I've been waiting to give her that little surpriseâŠ
My Miss sent me this photo yesterday. Itâs something we usually doâsharing images that somehow remind us of each other. And this photo is, in fact, very her, very for me. My natural state in private and at her feet is naked, but every now and then, she likes to adorn me with simple, revealing pieces. She is always emphasizing that I hide my body too much behind the clothes I usually wear and that it shouldnât be that wayâthat I shouldn't be shy about my body.
Thatâs why she wants me in that sheer blouse that barely covers my breasts, so I can lose the fear that a sudden movement might show more than I'd like.
Thatâs why she wants that necklace: to subtly show the world that I am all hers, and to draw people's eyes along the path it traces from my neck down to my breasts.
Sheâll dress me like this for a dinner with her friends... And I can't deny it, nor can I fool myself. I like that she shows me offâher sweet little girl.
"I can see me binding you like this. For fun. I think you would enjoy it." my Miss told me after sending me this pic.
They aren't my favorite restraints, nor is pink my favorite color (though there is certainly plenty of it in my closet). But how could I ever say no to my Miss if she feels like doing as she pleases with my body? Yes, it would be a delight. Sheâd find me with that classic smile of mineâfull of excitement and anticipationâthat I always get whenever I see she wants to immobilize meâŠ
But I don't know, today I'm feeling particularly mischievous. It happens to me sometimes; misbehaving every now and then is just in my nature. So, when she turns her gaze away for a moment, I'll unfasten those quick-release snaps on my leather handcuffs, and with an expectant smile, I'll wait for her to notice that I've freed myselfâyet stayed right where she left me. I just hope my attitude encourages her to punish me. I want to see how far she's willing to go when I'm being less than cooperative.
What a wonderful evening lies ahead of me. Just him and me, and this beautiful pattern he has traced on my skin with rope, patience, and tenderness. I wonder what other surprises and secrets he might have prepared for me. But no, I donât want to know them, not even if my mouth were free to ask.
Will we simply lounge on the bed, laughing softly, sharing knowing glances? Or maybe watch a series together? Or will the air thicken when his fingers begin to wander, teasing here and there? Perhaps heâll cradle me in his arms, combing through my hair while the world dissolves between his breath and mine.
Maybe heâll want to move my underwear aside and let his fingers explore where my lower belly loses its name⊠Or turn me around and claim me in a whirl of desire and passion⊠Perhaps heâll take me by the hair to remind me whoâs in control⊠Or maybe heâll torment me with some toy, just to watch me squirm⊠Or use more rope, tightening the knots, marking my body as if he were writing a poem upon itâŠ
In truth, the path matters little. He could leave me here, suspended in this stillness, waiting for him forever, and I would still be content.
I am happy. Any choice will please me. Iâm grateful to have him in my life, grateful that he wants to keep me as he does now.
Because to belong to him, in this beautiful and serene way, is already the greatest gift of all.
I would love to wait on my knees at the foot of my Miss's bed for her to wake up, with a ball gag between my lips and my breasts soaked in my own saliva to say good morning to her⊠For my Miss to see all that drool and know how patiently I've been waiting to give her that little surpriseâŠ
Yesterday I was tied up, and blindfolded, my owner spent the time playing with my pussy using the Satisfyer and the Magic Wand.
First one, then the other, alternating between them while I did my absolute best not to come. He asked me to keep telling him how close I was, just so he could turn them off right at the edge. He did that twice.
Then he fucked me, and the game stayed the same, except I was so turned on and sensitive that trying not to come took everything I had right from the start.
Once he realized I was definitely going to have an orgasm, that's when I made him come with my mouth.
I swallowed, thanked him, and that's how I am today⊠still turned on from yesterday's gameâŠ
I'm not the best example for this quote, since my submissive nature has always made me want to please my partner. But this quote is spot onâreally, really spot on. You guys always want to have sex, usually just in pursuit of an orgasm. For us (or for me, at least), sex isn't an end in itself; it's the culmination of my owner making me feel loved and desired. And for me to feel that wayâloved and desiredâthereâs a lot of work that goes on behind the scenes every day.
It takes a lot of kisses, a lot of cuddling, a lot of hugs. It's hearing him say things like 'I love just looking at you.' It's the way he looks at me when I get undressedâlooking at me like I'm something beautiful (like watching a sunset, for instance) and, at the same time, like something appetizing (imagine looking at your absolute favorite, most mouthwatering meal). It's the excitement every time he sees me walk through the door. It's gestures like waking up early to have breakfast with me even when he still has a few hours left to sleep. It's his genuine excitement whenever I tell him about something I'm excited about.
And all of thatâthat whole combination of thingsâis what makes me feel loved and desired. That's what keeps sex as abundant and special after many years together as it was on day one.
I don't think I've ever confessed that I'm always the one who gathers and coils the ropes once my owner is done with themâand with me. It's a lovely submissive tradition.
I did this exercise, counting out loud, and as the numbers went by, they came out of my mouth with less and less strength, without fully pronouncing them. The drowsiness kept growing, my breathing became calmer⊠And my mouth was opening wider and wider, unable to close it completelyâŠ
I kept opening my eyes less and less, and when I reached the number 60, my head slumped forward, and I stayed like that for a long while with my eyes closed, my hair over my face, and my mouth half-open⊠Only when I noticed my neck felt tired did I stretch it back up, still with my eyes closedâŠ
And now, as I write this while still in this pleasant half-asleep state, I realize that I would have liked someone to fondle my breasts, my legs, and my whole body while I was doing the exerciseâŠ
I really liked it⊠I want more exercises like these.
This term was coined not long ago by my owner, and simply by having crafted it and mentioned it to me, it has gained a strong presence in my day-to-day life. Not because it didnât happen before, but because now it has a name, and that makes me notice it every single time it happens to me.
Because yes, itâs easy to find me with my head in the clouds. Itâs easy for me to be walking down the street and for you to be the one who recognizes me first and says, "you were completely zoned out."
And yes, you, my dear Tumblr readers who know me so well, know perfectly well what Iâm thinking about when my eyes stay fixed on an indeterminate point without paying attention to absolutely anything.
I daydream continuously about ropes. On the bus ride back home after work, Iâve envisioned myself tied to each and every one of the grab rails throughout the entire vehicle. With my hands above my head, behind one of the vertical bars, even on the seats without really knowing how I could pull it off on them.
I daydream continuously about my owner. About dressing up in whatever turns him on the most ("how about a secretary this afternoon?" or "it's been a while since I dressed as a schoolgirl"), about greeting him that way at home on my knees, hands behind my back, and tongue out, with my blouse pulled down to my chest level already soaked in my own saliva. About how his erection upon seeing me is immediate and he takes his pants off in a hurry so I can go down on him, about how he covers me in so much of his pleasure that I have to wash my hair all over again and throw all my clothes straight into the washing machine.
I daydream continuously about my Miss. About her reading on the sofa at her leisure while I, kneeling naked at her feet, gaze up at her longingly. About her pushing me down with one hand from my shoulders, forcing me onto my hands and knees as well, and her getting me wet with her fingers exclusively to focus right after on my anus. Inserting and retrieving her finger inside me, not to give me pleasure, but because she feels like exploring me and my body is entirely hers.
Yes, my dear readers, every time you see me staring off into space, I'm thinking about things like this.
My Kinkysweet Miss, I was just fantasizing about you right now.
Nothing special or overly imaginative, simply the way I usually think of you: spontaneously, with an image popping into my head.
Me, naked on my knees before you. Hands tied behind my back, ankles bound too. You, standing tall in front of me while I smile up at you from below. A restrained, expectant smile, full of excitement but also affection. I am happy. You are dressed in a revealing dress that shows you're wearing nothing underneath, wearing the kind of heels you like.
You show me a ball gag, holding it by the buckle and letting it dangle from your fingers. And you start self-loving you without a word.
My eyes travel back and forth between your pussy and your eyes, delighting in the changes your own pleasure brings to your expression. I hear your wet sex splashing, and you stop as soon as it starts making that sound. You take the ball gag, roll the ball between your vaginal lips through your wetness, and then move behind me.
Before seeing the gag appear in front of me, I said "Thanks, Miss", and when it finally enters my field of vision, I open my mouth.
Thatâs a very easy question to answer! Itâs definitely the ball gag.
The reasons, however, can be a bit more complicated to explain.
On one hand, there was the factor that from a very young age I used to look for photos of tied and gagged models, and it was during those explorations that I discovered that, beyond the classic cleave gag, the ball gag was the quintessential gagâand as soon as I could, I bought one to see what it felt like to have it in my mouth. When I put it on for the first time and looked at myself in the mirror, I felt absolutely beautiful...
Thereâs also the reason that the ball gag forces me to keep my mouth open, which gives me a sense of vulnerability and accessibility. But at the same time that my mouth is open, itâs full, and I really, really love that contrast.
And finally, thereâs the drool. It took me a while to start liking it, but now I love it because I know how much it turns you men on. Iâm the one who actually tries to get that first drop of saliva to fall onto one of my breasts, because turning you on turns me on.
I was just now fantasizing about you my Kinkysweet Miss... Something very specific but not very original... That my legs are tied in a frogtie, on my knees on the floor; with a chest tie that lifts and highlights my breasts and with clamps on my nipples; my wrists tied together behind my back, as well as my elbows; a strappado straight to the ceiling that forces me to lean a little forward; with my hair gathered in a ponytail also tied to that same point on the ceiling; with a crotch rope so tight it feels like a chastity belt. I've already been like this for a while (obviously I'm naked, just the way you like it), with the chain connecting the clamps on my nipples between my lips, while you deliberately don't pay me any attention.
You're simply in your room, trying on outfits before going out to dinner with your Man. You don't even ask for my opinion on which one looks best on you, and I just watch you with hope written all over my face â the hope that youâll play with me. I try to hide it, but I canât completely erase it from my expression.
Apparently youâve already chosen your outfit (a short red leather skirt, a tight transparent blouse that squeezes your breasts and whose buttons look like theyâre about to pop from the pressure, with no panties or bra). Youâve already sprayed perfume on your neck and your breasts. With the bottle still in your hand, you aim between your legs for the final spritz, but you seem to change your mind. You look at me. Finally you look at me, and my jaw tightens. I lift my chin, pulling the chain with my teeth, tugging on the clamps on my nipples and making my breasts move. I do it several times. âDonât leave me like this, halfwayâ my eyes beg you. And at last, you walk toward me with that smile that promises nothing good â but I donât care, because youâre what I desire most.
You lift your short skirt just enough for your perfectly shaved pussy to appear. You grab me by the ponytail and force me to look you in the eyes, even though the strappado makes me look down more than up.
âThe taxi arrives in five minutes. Youâd better make me cum before it gets here. You know how much I hate being lateâŠâ
I try to nod but itâs impossible with how firmly youâre holding my hair, so the only way I can show you how much I want to please you is by releasing the chain from between my teeth, opening my jaw wide, and letting my tongue hang out.
Then you bury your sex in my mouth with one sudden, rough movement. And I devour you with the frenzy of someone who feels theyâre already late. I can barely breathe â I can only smell your arousal. I can barely hear â I can only hear the wet sounds of my saliva mixing with your juices. I can barely look you in the eyes â I can only focus on eating you as well and as quickly as I possibly can.
You start squeezing my face with your thighs, moaning without restraint, without any fear that someone might hear you. You grip my ponytail so hard I feel like youâre going to rip it out. I lick and press my tongue against your pussy with such force that Iâm grunting from the physical effort. Your moans grow faster and I already feel like Iâm about to pass out, even though the finish line seems so, so, so close. I feel the trembling of your thighs against my cheeks and, as if it were an explosion of calm, your moans fall silent and your body relaxes.
I know youâve cum, but Iâm afraid you might have faked it just to apply whatever punishment you have planned for me, so I donât stop licking you. Only when you pull my head away from your pussy by yanking my ponytail do I raise my eyes to meet yours. You look at me satisfied. I look back, staring intensely, and run my tongue along the line of my upper teeth before biting my lower lip. Would you believe me if I told you I still want to satisfy you even more? That my pussy is soaked right now?
But no, I donât need to tell you. You rub your sex across my face before lowering your miniskirt, then you lean over me and caress my vaginal lips. Next you rub my juices between your fingertips in front of me and smile, even though you try to hide it.
Iâm a good girl â not because I always obey you, but because I give you what you most desire without you having to ask.
My Missâs reply to my fantasy:
âI love your fantasy. Itâs so clear in my mind that I can imagine every second. I can imagine all my feelings while I âignoreâ you, but inside, Iâm not really getting dressed to go out and look irresistible â Iâm dressing up to increase your agony and your desire. And my own.
I love that youâre hanging there like that. I love that youâre being so, so, so good while you hang there watching, without complaining. My attitude is strict and dominant, and inside my excitement is shooting through the roof. Iâm very pleased with you. Iâm thinking that I should reward you somehow.
And at the same time that this generosity fills me, I look at you so desperate and helpless that my dominant impulse truly emerges and I grab you by the hair⊠feeling my own need intensely and fiercelyâŠ
Iâm writing this so you know my reaction, how I would feel and what I would want. I want you exactly like that. My delicious and sweet girl, my smiling and eager toy, soaked and dripping.â
My starting point was probably like what I imagine it is for most women. A lover, whether intentionally or not, who gets carried away in the heat of the moment, prompting you to say, "That's my ass."
Jokes aside, Iâm not sure if it was due to a naturally submissive nature or because I matured sexually much too earlyâat that age when everyone does foolish thingsâbut I turned to P to learn what guys liked to do and have done to them. Obviously, I took what I saw on the screen as absolute truth, as reality, rather than the fiction that P actually is, in the exact same way an action movie is nothing like a real shootout. Whatever the case, it was clear to me that I wanted to include my back door in my repertoire of S skills.
And from that point on, my journey began.
Many guys asked me for it once our S relationships became established (some, the more daring or shameless ones, even demanded it right off the bat). Although I genuinely wanted to try it, the way they asked made me hesitant and distrustful, so all my first steps were taken alone, in solitude. Nothing out of the ordinary, just experimenting on my own with my finger. It wasnât that I was thrilled by what I felt; if I compared it to its most direct, similar, and closest equivalent, it was clear that traditional hole was much more pleasurable, easy, and comfortable.
And thatâs how it went for many yearsâsomething that, while it interested me, didn't offer any major appeal. Until one of those few boyfriends I had came into my life, someone of whom, to this day, I still hold fond memories.
We had already been together for a long time, we thoroughly enjoyed each other's bodies, there was trust, and there was a desire to experiment. Then, out of nowhere one day, he dropped the bombshell: "What if we try the back door?" And I, with the sarcasm of someone who had rejected many others before him, replied by asking if he meant for me or for him. When he answered without hesitation, "For both," my jaw hit the floor.
I remember it was a lot of fun. That whole game of "your turn, now my turn," getting on all fours on the bed, our hands gloved, with the lube always right next to us, alternating back and forth. That was how the two of us grew familiar with it all: those small initial contractions that made us run to the bathroom fearing an involuntary leak, and that sensation that was pleasurable but also strange at the same time, because the pleasure it provided was far from the kind we were used to receiving through the traditional way. I remember that at the beginning, he struggled a lot to maintain his arousal while I played with his orifice using my finger, but once he managed it, the climax it ended up giving him left him completely trembling and ecstatic. And that was exactly what happened to me. The back door on its own was okay, but it wasn't amazing; however, when the sensations I received through my P and my A blended together, the climax reached another dimension, much greater and more intense.
Shortly after, we bought that set of three metal toys of different sizes and began incorporating them into our regular S encounters indiscriminately. Oralities? Add a plug. Conventional S? Then a plug for each of us. Eventually, with all that trust and complicity built and earned, and once I had gotten used to the medium-sized âtaking it out and putting it in quite quickly and easilyâI agreed to let him go inside me there.
I remember lying face down on the bed, putting a pillow under my hips to arch my back, and beginning to touch myself while he started pushing his member inside me. He was careful, though it's true that at more than one point he wanted to get carried away and I had to put my foot down. Neither of us had a climax that time, but that back door was completely open for me forever.
The thrill of the last knot, the warm yet firm embrace of the ropes around my body, the anticipation that feeling helpless always brings, and the certainty that this is how I feel my most beautiful and powerful.
Alright, fine, Iâm going to speak my mind a bit... I donât like these kinds of motivational quotes. They appeal to an emotion just to shake you up a bit and get you going. But motivation is always, always situational. It doesnât last, it isnât eternal, it isnât a purpose. It comes and goes. Motivation is fleeting.
What if, on the contrary, they rationally explained to you why you feel like life is short when, deep down, if you actually think about it, living 80 years is actually a really long time? What if they explained to you why what you call 'Boring S' is actually just comfort and complacency?
That would force you to think, to analyze, to draw conclusions. And it wouldn't stop there, because the solution to that life you feel is short, and to that 'Boring S' which is actually comfort, is consistency and discipline to build good, better habitsâand that requires a lot of daily effort, right?
So, yeah. Motivational quotes stir the conscience, but they don't solve a thing, not even in the short term.
