Reverence of The Marks & Symbols of Ownership

I spoke of Faith. Now…I’ll kneel to Reverence. Our first date. I stood calmly in His bedroom. Still. Waiting. A lioness’ instinctive understanding short-circuited my usual primal sexual aggression. I knew this man before I knew Him. Though desire and need raged through my veins, my lioness lowered her head in acquiescence to a Power she had known before time began and been searching for this entire lifetime. I waited. Utterly defenseless. To see how He would move. To see what He would want of me. To see which direction He would Lead us. He shifted behind me in the dim light. His first touch. A bold unmistakable Claim. With a deliberate slowness that seemed to last eternity, His fingers dug into my biceps as His teeth sank into my tender flesh where neck meets shoulder. My body gave into His strength. My mind let go of logic. My heart and soul gratefully surrendered to His Demand. I will always feel the echoes of the Marks He gave me in that moment. That was only the beginning. With ...

My FUCK Covid! Post

FUCK, Covid!  I've been a socially defiant bitch more often than not.  When the world starts going one way, something in my mind always tells me to jump off that bus.

Yeah...this fucking sucks.  Everywhere for everyone it sucks.  COVID (either it or the fear/threat of it) is everywhere.  But for fuck sake...does it HAVE to insinuate itself FULLY into Fet?!?

If Facebook has turned into a political, socially dividing, fact-checking, misleading propaganda machine, then FetLife has turned into a giant mother fucking emotional therapy support center of tears and sniffles and traumatized blank stares.

Look...I get it!  This shit is HARD...physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.  I've been sheltering-in-place for 67 days in a NYC apartment with no private backyard, no balcony, no front stoop.  I need and want an escape...but since the hot, fun, and sexy has all but evaporated from my favorite kink site, Fet's only escape option is a list of virtual classes where a majority of attendees treat it like TV and silently suck on everyone else's thoughts and words.  ~eye roll~  The average number of "Bueller...Bueller..." moments on a Zoom session is 3.5, and it's agonizingly depressing.  Look folks...mute is not impressive.

So fuck COVID!  Here's my hot and sexy contributions to the world:

I need beat with so much leather there's a whisper of "moo" in the air.  Thuddy, stingy, slappy, ouchie... Leather meets flesh in a symphony of whimpers, moans, groans, and cussing.  I need His hands, His belt, His teeth, His weight controlling my every action, so that not even a single coherent thought can form in my head.  I want to stumble from the Pain and hear His voice goading me to take more.  I need to hurt until I'm breathless and crying and fucking shamelessly coming like a sailor during Fleet week.

Then I need not just fucked but whorefucked.  Raw.  Nasty.  Filthy.  Brutal.  Vicious.  A three-holed hours long dick session that leaves me unquestionably used and worshipping that hard flesh like it's my mother fucking God and my ONLY way to salvation.  I need Him to take from me what's His and leave me a cum-stained, quivering, mess that's drained Him dry.

Yes...THIS—our deplorable, wanton, wicked, hedonistic, sadomasochistic vices—are what we need to be wallowing in...even if it's just the beautiful idea of those moments.  Because FUCK, COVID...it will not take this joy from me!!!

Now...I just need to find a name to attach to all those His and Him's I just mentioned.  Someday COVID will be in our rear-view mirror.
~DominaKat

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