#creativeselfportrait

Taking deep, long breaths outside of the full-time fetish provider life really helped put into perspective how I feel about a lot of things, where I stand about a few others.

Without actively working on it, I grew a quiet sense of strength in who I am as a Top.

A seeminlgy unwavering confidence in the uniqueness of my style, its beauty, its effectiveness.

I came back with a new understanding of my tastes and a new appreciation for my skill.

As if my instincts had grown,

as if time passing had sharpened my fangs.

It all feels much more effortless, now.

Like being able to read energies, shift them where I want them to be by pressing

Just the right button at just the right time.

Something that used to take a little friction,

But not anymore.

This must’ve altered my gravitational field, because ever since I peeked back,

There’s been a surprising number of self-described Alphas crumbling before me.

I find this quite interesting.

It’s interesting because I usually label myself a Simp Collector.

I did poke fun at Alphas here and there :

the occasional, lighthearted Dominant Femme’s jab, you know.

But nothing sustained. Nothing targeted.

I never directed that much energy towards addressing them.

So I’d never gotten that many to begin with.

And I haven’t posted new content or new messaging. I did nothing to signal a positioning shift.

I’ve just been showing up, chit-chatting in the DMs.

Still, ever since I’m back…

They’ve been crawling out of the woodworks left and right to confess their psychosexual demise.

And they’re funny, these alphas.

They’ll fall into my web knees first, head bowed, cock painfully throbbing.

And they’ll gladly admit to their awe, too.

They’ll beg for me to ruin them in a way that’s… virtually undistinguishable from how the most pliable simps would.

But their “real life” status is something they never fail to bring up.

As they’re crawling,

As they’re watching themselves desperately fall for Me,

Thirsting for more and more subjugation,

At one point, they always bring up the fact they’re “usually quite Alpha”.

It seems they cannot help it.

Maybe to save face, maybe to entertain.

Maybe they’re just venting.

But the topic always comes up, at least once.

Some even make it a point to mention how they think they’d have a real shot at "seducing" me — read fucking me — should we meet in person.

And these are usually the ones who cannot wait to share pictures of their tall, muscular—nay, stone carved bodies with me.

Slutty little attention whores, these ones.

I find them quite entertaining.

Now—I know they’re not trying to seduce me when they do,

not in a conventional way at least.

They have far too much respect for the way I present myself to even attempt to.

No, I think they’re doing that for themselves, to try and latch on to some remnants of pride.

As a personal reminder, perhaps.

Regardless, the repeated, short span occurrences of this exact pattern of behaviour made me realize something : I’m kind of into it, actually. Like a lot.

It’s one thing watching a shy simp melt and stutter before me.

A delightful satisfaction that, truthfully, will never get old.

But a big, muscular hunk crumbling just as hard, if not harder ?

That is a rush I’m learning to savour.

One that is not about “breaking” Alphas,

because I don’t believe it's what I’m doing.

I’m not breaking them.

They’ll go back to their big masc ways right after we’re done exchanging filthy things.

They’ll go back to their domineering role, quite naturally.

I’m not trying to obliterate that aspect of them,

Nor do I think their crawling undermines anything.

Quite the opposite, in fact

I like the tension.

I revel in it.

I like the fact that people might lower their eyes at them in the outside world, yet

when they’re here with Me,

It’s MY gaze they struggle holding.

With me, they’re nothing but trembling, leaking little messes.

The witch in me cackles as the colossus surrenders, falls to his knees and begs for obliteration.

When he moans, squirms and whimpers while wrapping around my little finger.

What excites me the most about this dynamic is how powerful men so effortlessly relinquish everything when sucked into my orbit.

Truly a testament to my power.

Alpha as they might,

They recognize I’m the bigger deal.

A toy put it best the other day :

I’m the alpha’s Alpha. I like that phrasing.

They don’t even bother trying to resist it—the pull, that is.

They just succumb and indulge,

They let me devour their willpower

the exact way the most smitten of simps happily let me do so.

And then, they’re back on their muscular legs.

Gigantic frames standing tall and mighty.

They go on about their lives, mind endlessly drifting back to that exquisite place,

To those very special pockets in time where they completely broke down for me.

I get unreasonably wet thinking about this tension.

Not because I find them hot per se,

Though I’d be lying if I said they aren’t nice to look at~

But because they’re a mirror.

A surface that reflects the potency of my influence back to me,

Which I find truly exhilarating.