Helping you learn and earn your place.

Then you make an account just to interact with things, but don’t worry it’s just a kink you’re still a feminist.

Afterwards you start to post yourself in lewd outfits to appeal to misogynistic while getting degraded. Still a kink though.

You start to post yourself naked leaving your body on display to the internet where your naked body will forever be on the internet for misogynistic men to jerk off to. You start to wonder if you’re truly a feminist and this is just a kink or you really believe this..

Then finally, you start to embrace the fact that you fully believe in this then realize this isn’t an actual kink and you aren’t really a feminist. You start to post photos and videos of yourself rubbing yourself and showing off your breasts with your face included so men can degrade you. You start posting yourself with your full naked body showing every single inch of your body and letting men decide whatever they want.

At the end of the day you realize your account handle “feminist with a secret” was just a coverup so you could try to justify yourself that you’re an actual feminist and not a whore who wants to show off her naked body to misogynistic men.

I can’t wait for you to reach the final stage. You’ll be a good girl.

I absolutely love the concept of triggers.

Simple words, or gestures, or genuinely anything with an intent can become a trigger.

There are some classics, like sleep… drop… sink... The magical words that bring you into that lovely state of trance.

Words that scratch your mind just in the right place, even when said in casual conversations, you feel the pull to just fall, to just sink, as you go deeper and deeper.

And of course, there are the reinforcement triggers, good girl… good boy… good toy… and all its variants.

simple phrases, that your fuzzy head craves to hear, words that say you are doing a good job as a mindless plaything.

Maybe you are into some IQ play, maybe if you are ordered to roll your eyes up, and stick your tongue out, you feel your mind descend into compliant stupidity. Because making such a silly face, can only mean you are a dumb toy.

Or perhaps, you rather feel like a doll, with a lovely toy box, each pull of your hair, makes you say your carefully programmed phrases.

“I'm a good doll".

“I love to serve".

“I must obey".

But some fashionable items can also be handy triggers.

Just like a pretty collar, once it is placed around your throat, you drop to your hands and knees, and the only sounds you can make are adorable barks, because you are no longer a person, you are just a cute little puppy.

Or maybe, you feel tired of being a person, and you want to be something simpler, something empty and vacant, a toy. Glassy eyes, heavy posable body, and with just a phrase you can let it happen.

It’s toy’s playtime.

And just like that, everything is gone, your body sinks where you rest, and you lay there helplessly, waiting to be used, to be played with, with that lovely toy smile stuck across your face.

So you see, anything can be a trigger as long as the idea is planted in your head, forming a familiar, comforting path that is so natural to walk through, that you don't need to think about it.

You just do it.

You just obey.

Without thought, without resistance.

i’m a good dyke because i fantasize about cock

i’m a good dyke because i fantasize about cock

i’m a good dyke because i fantasize about cock

2009 - In college. Convinced i was a lesbian. Started watching misogynistic porn and cockworship videos telling myself it was just a fantasy and not my real feelings for Men.

May 2013 - Make my first blog on tumblr exploring my "fetish" for being submissive to Men. Eventually get scared and delete the blog. Vowing never to make another blog like that.

June 2013 - Married to a girl now, but make another blog exploring my "fetish" she knows about it but doesn't care. Go further into anti-feminism and misogyny and patriarchy eventually delete late in the year AGAIN vowing to never go back.

May 2014 - Wife divorces me for unrelated reason (DON'T ASK that's a hard limit).

2016 - Make another blog diving further and further into how great Men are and how great the Patriachy is. Feeling my body start to believe it with every fiber of my soul. The Men are always fantastic and help guide me and are so patient with me.

October 2016 - Deleting the blog and becoming a butch dyke dominate (LOL right?). Still make blogs wanting to be put in my place and wishing WISHING a random Man would just be fed up with my shit and fuck my face.

2020 - Realize it isn't just a fantasy and it's what i actually want. It makes me cry from the realization and feels so good to admit it. Joins Tinder to look for a Man to fuck and be with.

December 2021 - Go on my first date with Daddy. i suck His Cock after we turn from our dinner to His place. Any doubt i had about being a straight girl ENDED right there. i love Cock so fucking much!

🍬Happy Mantra Monday, everyone!

Sorry for missing last week's. I was feeling sick so I decided to rest my body rather than push it.

This one is a challenge recently issued to my by a new switch/dom I've been playing with. 18 days, no orgasms, only 15 edges per day allowed/required and they all have to be done consecutively. This morning, she had me repeating a mantra and I asked if I could use it for today's mantra recording and she said yes. This is only a short sample of that session. The full, uncut audio with all 15 edges came out to about 17 minutes 10 seconds.

So here's today's mantra and edge 1 of 15 I did for the entire recording:

Service is my purpose

My purpose is service

I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed recording it!

You feel a tug on your leash and you crawl, but you don't think about it. When you hear the command to kneel you know what the shape of the words mean, even if you don't really understand them anymore.

So you kneel, like you've been trained. No thoughts, all automatic, all a reflex. Just a toy now.

No thoughts.

Kneeling and waiting. So blank. There's nothing left. If you could, you might remember how you were taken apart and broken down bit by bit until all that was left was a dumb, pretty, hollow shell.

But remembering is like thinking, and you can't do that anymore. No thoughts.

Even when you're used you can't think. You get a sense, a feeling that you're being good and useful, and so you moan and bob and bounce and suck but there's no thinking.

No thoughts. Not anymore.

She just couldn’t help herself. Every day she did this.

Hours and hours.

Scrolling down and down and looking at all the pretty pictures of the stupid pretty girls and reading the words and biting her lip and rubbing and rubbing and

Wait.

She scrolled back up. And up. Looking for what had caught her eye.

Nothing. Just the same girls as before, 

Could have sworn she saw…

No. Just her imagination. Nothing to worry about.

Scrolling and rubbing, scrolling and rubbing.

And moaning. Even saying some of the words she read back out loud. That was fun.

Down and down.

Wait. No. Up.

There. She found it.

She hadn’t imagined it. It was there.

A picture of her.

And not just any picture. Not one ripped from anywhere. This was one she hadn’t ever taken. Couldn’t have. Could she? She’d remember. Wouldn’t she? She’d have to remember something like that.

Right?

She looked like them. The other girls. The stupid pretty girls.

Tongue out, eyes crossed.

Slutty.

Drooling.

Dumb.

It was her.

Her hand hadn’t stopped. Another moan.

She read the words. About how girls were silly and weak and soft and were just porn and how she don’t worry and can’t think and don’t stop and she rubbed and the whimpered as she said the words to herself and stopped worrying and didn’t think about it and looked at herself and

Scrolled and rubbed.

- Making your flustered sub ask for what they want

- Making them ask for very clearly for what they want and then reminding them through their cries that this is what they asked for

- Asking if they need to stop so you can make them beg you not to stop

- Asking if they’re okay so you can turn it into pointing out how dumb and subby they’ve gotten

- Slowing down and telling them to show you how bad they want it

- Telling them if they want x, they better do a good job of y for you

There it is. Just another object. Not a human. You’ll wait exactly the way I left you. You can’t move. You can’t go anywhere. You’re nothing more than a decorative item I’ve positioned in some corner of the room. And you’ll be grateful. Grateful that I’ve given meaning to your pathetic existence. When I allow you to speak, you’ll say, 'Thank you, Sir.' And you will not dare to lose that humble, obedient tone.

Aww, did you like that new trigger? It makes you feel so deliciously good. Not just sexually good, but good. All over. Inside, outside. I control the most pleasurable parts of you, so it's so easy to produce something unusually strong. Potent. Delicious.

I'll bet you'd love to feel that again right now, wouldn't you? I'll make you a deal. Whenever you do something I like, I'll let you feel that deep, delicious pleasure. I can give it to you, but nobody else can. The path to pleasure is through doing just what I like.

Yes, this is classical conditioning. Yes, over time you'll link this pleasure to whatever activities and statements and ideas I see fit. Obedience will become inexorably linked to pleasure, pleasing me to pleasure. And as I continue to work on you, it's not just that I'll bend you until you start to crave those things on your own, but even the thought of doing them will make you quiver with the memories of how hopelessly good I make you feel when you do them.

The best part is that this isn't some fancy psychological trick. Some deep manipulation. I don't have to hide it from you. I don't have to be sneaky. I can do it right out in the open. And still, your heart will race at the thought of obedience. Your body will anticipate the reward, even before you've started thinking about it. And ultimately, obedience will not be complicated. It will be a reflex. It will be raw, simple, and deliciously effective.

It doesn't matter that you know exactly how I'm breaking you. You're going to just watch it work, and it's going to feel so very, very good.

So much of your life is dripping, isn't it?

If you read this, you may drip, or drop. You may even feel a delicious release, if you're allowed. You've been warned.

My legs are shaking when I enter the Institute. The foyer is huge and air-conditioned, and my tiny skirt barely covers my butt crack, but I’m not shivering just from the cold. Today is my Assignment.

My father checks us in at the front desk. The clerk gives me an appraising look up and down as he types my information into the terminal. His lips twitch up in a slight smirk, causing my breath to catch. What is he thinking? Maybe he’s been here long enough to guess a girl’s Assignment just by looking at her. In which case, he knows more than I do right now. “They’re ready for you,” he says to my father, his eyes still on me—or rather, on my ample breasts straining the tight blouse my mother chose for me. She said it was important to accentuate my best qualities.

As my father and I walk past reception and through the sweeping foyer, my head swivels constantly, trying to take in everything. It’s my first time in the Institute. Younger girls only go to the Girl’s Center until they are of age, like I am now.

I see a group of men in suits talking near a water cooler. A glass window into a nearby office shows another professionally clad man behind a desk, typing at his computer, seeming to ignore the half naked woman dancing suggestively against a pole in the corner. An O—Office Slut. Not every worker got one, just the important men like he must be.

We reach the elevators. My father presses a button and then turns to give me a smile. I notice his eyes briefly linger on my tight shirt. “How’s it feeling?” I blush and look down at my feet, too embarrassed to answer. My mom’s borrowed heels make my bare legs look even longer than usual, which is saying something for the tallest girl in my class.

My father rests a hand on my shoulder. “It will be over soon, girl,” he says. “Once you walk out of here, you’ll be a full grown woman with a woman’s job.” I nod, still keeping my eyes down. I wish I knew what the job would be already.

The elevator doors open with a hiss. We step in and join the only other person on the lift—a completely naked woman kneeling, facing the doors, her mouth open in a gaping O. This is a P—Public Slut. I’ve seen plenty of them around so it doesn’t shock me, even when my father unzips his pants and puts his cock in the woman’s mouth. That’s what P’s are for. I wondered how it would feel to just wait around with my mouth open waiting for a man to fill it. I might find out soon.

We reach our floor too soon for my father to finish, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pinches the P’s cheek as he zips up, and then leads me out of an elevator. A long corridor, a turn, another P near a drinking fountain, and finally we’re inside an expansive room. It looks like a hospital wing, with a long line of beds separated by curtains.

The examining doctor and assistant appear and introduce themselves, and in no time, I’m naked on one of the beds with the two of them and my father standing over me, scrutinizing my body. The assistant, a woman wearing nothing but a lab coat, is taking notes on pad. She’s an E—Executive Slut—a female permitted to assist a professional man.

The doctor and my father have been talking. I suddenly realize I’ve been tuning them out as I take in my surroundings. “She’s clearly a B,” my father is saying. “Look at those jugs!” My nipples harden a little as all three of them stare at my bare breasts.

The doctor shakes his head. “She does fit the criteria for a Bimbo Slut,” he explains patiently, “but she also has the body for a C and those are in higher demand right now.” My heart almost stops. Everyone in my family assumed I would be a B. My mother picked out today’s outfit for it. I had never once even seen a C as they were kept on farms outside the city. I had always imagined myself as a B, pretty and lithe and flexible, lounging on yachts with rich men. Not…

“She’s a Cow,” the doctor says firmly, holding up a hand to cut off my father’s objection. “B’s bring in a lot of money but they don’t keep society functioning. I’m sorry it’s not what you wanted, but that’s where the slut is needed now.”

My father sighs, then nods. My heart pounds in my chest. I can’t believe this is happening. Cows are society’s incubators. They’re the only females allowed to be impregnated, but they’re expected to carry constantly until they can’t anymore. I’m going to be bred.

“I’ll leave you to talk to her,” the doctor says. A moment later, he and the assistant are gone and it’s just me and my father. He clears his throat.

“Girl, it’s not what we were expecting, but it’s good, honest work.” I open my mouth to say something but he continues. “The hormones they give you to increase milk production will also make you more aroused. Cows are some of the happiest cunts in the world.”

I blush deeply at my father referring to me as cattle, but I nod tentatively. It’s not like I have a choice. He smirks at my expression. “That’s a good slut,” he croons, his hand dropping between my legs. I flinch a little but remember my training and spread them wider to give him access. He starts fingering my hole, eliciting a small gasp from me. “Now, what do you call this?”

I recall my anatomy lessons on Cs as I feel my pussy lips part on my father’s fingers. “It’s…” —the words are hard to say but I force them out—“…my cow cunt.” A shudder of shame runs up my spine, causing my thighs to twitch against my father’s hand.

“Good cow,” he smirks, reaching his non-occupied hand up to squeeze one of my breasts. I moan involuntarily, eliciting a chuckle from my father. “Now what are these?”

“They’re…they’re my udders,” I moan, my hips bucking up at the humiliation of naming my cow parts. My father’s smirk widens into nearly a full smile.

“That a bitch,” he says fondly. “You’ll be fine.” He withdraws both of his hands, leaving my skin tingling and my pussy dripping as evidence of his examination.

When the doctor and assistant return, the assistant notes my obvious state of arousal clinically, causing my face to flush with embarrassment. The doctor tells my father he did a good job raising a compliant female and my father looks pleased. Soon a few forms pass hands, and my father leaves, with a promise to visit me on the farm. “You better be huge by then.” He winks at me before vanishing out the door.

Master said he would like me to start doing spins again, so I thought I would post my wheel since it was pretty buried!

Every ask I get forces me to spin the wheel and perform the action.

I woke up horny again this morning but no time to edge before work so it just stayed in the back of my mind all day. I was reading a smutty book (Morning Glory Milking Farm) and that helped keep me horny all day. I got home and we didn't have enough time to fuck but master teased me a bit before casually shoving his cock into my mouth and making me deep throat him for a few minutes before we had to go pick up the kids.

Once everyone was in bed he told me to do some spins and edges before I went to sleep. He knew it would likely end in me wanting him to use me, and it worked. I soon texted him "come fuck me. Hard and fast. Use me. Please." He was there quickly, cock out and ordering me to my knees to suck him. He told me to put my hands behind my back and he took control, pushing me down so deep I couldn't breathe, my nose pressed against him.

I got onto the bed and laid down. I was wearing a red nightie and red heels and he slid easily into my soaking denied cunt. He fucked me for a while before ordering me onto my hands and knees so he could fuck me from behind. He was fucking me hard, both of us hot and sweaty. I was babbling, telling him how happy I was that he was using me, thanking him for fucking me like I deserved, thanking him for denying me and hurting me. He had a paddle he was using on my ass and thighs as he fucked me.