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I adore how in kink we call intimacy “playing.” I can go up to someone and say, “Would you like to play with me?” The same as when we were children. This dark obsession of ours is pure and bright, like when we forget ourselves pretending to have superpowers in the schoolyard or when we grow so enamored with a book we tenderly sew it up inside our hearts and spend hours over laptop screens and notebooks spiraling into its universe. We design our own toys and research different ways to make someone scream or pose properly on our knees, and we realize we never left those days escaping into our fantasy dimensions. Those who did not understand branded us odd, and that hasn’t changed either. As we graduate from playgrounds and swings, we isolate ourselves too much in our own strangeness; in our own imaginations. We must reach out and teach ourselves to play again. Playing is giddiness and enthusiasm and innocence. Will you play with me? Will you share this love of mine and laugh it across our bodies in bruises, cum, and blood? Will you hold up your hand to slap my face as if you are a candle in a dark attic between two grade school friends sharing secrets when their parents think they are sleeping? Help me arrange my pain and pleasure alphabet blocks. You are a knight and I am a warrior. Your flogger is your stick sword, my skin is my cardboard shield. I am a dragon and you are a princess. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, I’ll leave scorch marks and pull your hair. In our taboo corner, we seek safety under shadow. Our fantasies and longings stir inside us misunderstood and denied like the desperation with which we waved wands and secretly believed we were wizards. We sometimes find someone like us. Someone who knows magic and that other world one can’t put into words; the one that feels like fireflies in your belly. And in an excited, hushed encounter like two am at summer camp under the covers with comic books and flashlights, the only right way to ask is, “Do you want to play?”

Love love love this

This was such a lovely thing to read.

Yes, i do love it, but what’s more important is that He DOES, in fact, deserve the compliment. He chose me, He teaches me, He corrects me, therefore He deserves the compliment.

I love the sense of peace he gives me 💍

If you participate in debauchery for your bachelor or bachelorette party, you don’t deserve to get married

Addition: if you consider your bachelor or bachelorette party “your last night of freedom” you don’t deserve to get married.

Catch phrases?(;

shame is so painful to me…. I need it.

What say you, slut? Are you craving shame and degradation? Just let go, and admit the need.

you yearn to be broken so badly, you break yourself.

I feel like much of my life since finding kink has been about seeing just how much farther I can go, how much deeper, how much more depraved, filthy, animalistic.  Because all of it just turns me into a puddle of cunt drool. I’ve yet to find my limit.

Nichts ist geiler als eine verschämte nach aussen unschuldige Kleine, die aber nicht dagegen machen kann, dass sie von den perversesten Phantasien klatschnass wird. Sie will nicht. Sie will nicht. Sie will nicht. Oh… Nur kurz dazu berühren… Die Träume ausleben. Jaaaaa Jaaaaa Jaaaaa. . Aber Daddy, ich will das nie wieder. Nie nie nie. Und wieso grinst Du so . Ich werde anständig sein. Bestimmt. Ist mir das peinlich

This is super important.  A lot of the messages I get are from guys wanting to paint me as a shameless fuck bunny.  My first sexual experiences were bound up in shame and humiliation.  That is the feeling I’m trying to recapture.