How does a sub distinguish something real from something that isn’t? How do you vocalize you’re needs and desires without pushing away someone that you genuinely like, but aren’t compatible with?

I never really had a voice that was my own. I grew up in a house full of rowdy boys, were a soft voice wasn’t heard. So I learnt how to raise my voice, but not raise my words. And I’m still working on it now.

Should I bluntly state everything I want without tact, or should I figure out a tactful way to push someone away but not really… push them away?  How I’d do that is a mystery to me, so as of this moment, I’m quiet. Thinking. Does it make me a bad person to want to connect with other people and keep that connection thriving without making it intimate? Its called friendship. But how is it that so many people don’t understand the boundaries of a platonic relationship and try and express something more?

Is it that I’ve led them on somehow? Or is it that they’re testing the limits of said boundaries? And if so, how do I, as a sub, establish those boundaries?

I know there is a way. That someone out there has this alllll figured out. But what applies to one does not apply to all. Although you can benefit from them. So I must figure out what works for me.

If only I didn’t struggle with that so….


Sensitivity and Submission

This year, as it turns out, has been a journey of self discovery. So lets cut to the chase.

I’m a highly sensitive person (HSP). And while most of the world knows sensitivity as weakness… I prefer to view it differently. You see, being sensitive does not mean you’re weak. It just means that you process a helleva lot more than the average person, and you need to have an ‘escape’ route and you need to ‘retreat.’

In other words, my sensitivity means that by taking in a lot of stimulation, I need a place in order to process everything that happens.

Submission, in essence, is letting go of your stress, allowing yourself to let go of everyday worries and allowing someone else to take that control and accept those worries. And to put someone elses needs above ours in servitude. At least, that is submission as I know it so far.

I, for one, would never have known that I’m a HSP (Highly Sensitive Person) had I not been instructed by someone I trust wholeheartedly. The book is called the Highly Sensitive Person, by Elaine N. Aron, and I truly recommend it its taught me about myself, and how to deal with stress and anxiety I obtain from everyday life.

I will include a link down below- just a short test on you and your sensitivity levels. Who knows- maybe you’ve been sensitive you’re whole life (like me) and you’ll only discover it now.

I intend to further elaborate on this subject, but I am far to tired and exhausted to give it its due justice.

-sara xo


Just a really interesting website I discovered. The website has audio files, and I find it so, so, so! relaxing. It has by faaar decreased my anxiety, and increased my confidence- also, there is a kinky aspect to it, so if you are looking for some sexy times, it has that to! Although I mainly use it to calm my nerves, help me sleep, and put me into a certain mood.

Anyway, without further ado, here it is:

Enjoy! Don’t forget to read the disclaimer (cos rules ARE important!)


Play Fight

There’s a raw edge to passion- its that insatiable emotion that guides one into doing something with little to no heed of the consequences. A double sided blade that cuts those who grip it close.

Its allowing oneself to be overcome with sensation, with feeling, with… fire.

And there’s an edge to human need for companionship. We need each other. We are all interdependent.

We crave someone to share our life with, and to be an intricately woven support structure in our dreams, hopes, and desires. In our future.

But there’s also the animalistic side of that need- the side that is feral, natural. Instinct’s aren’t just emotions- they are our brain processing information so fast that our conscious state is unable to pick up on. Make no mistake- instincts are the power of our unconscious mind at its unrivaled glory. Instincts are raw, and built in.

In the natural world, a male would first have to completely overpower a potential mate, thus winning their respect, and their submission. By doing so the male earns his right to be her… dare I say.. king. 

Similarly, for a brat, there’s a  need to be put in your place- a desire to act in such a fashion that you have to be taken down a couple of dozen notches. But once you have been conquered… I feel that my submission is somehow greater.

Now, here comes the fun part- playfulness for me, often leads to pretend fights (pillow fights, wrestling… etc), which… leads to the.. ahem… the other stuff. Ahem… Cough…

So yes, technically there is a reason as to why brats need taming. But am I a brat? I don’t think so… I’m just… playful ;D

For me playfulness is teasing, testing, and breaking…. wait, no, thats faaaar to harsh a word… just a teensy weensy tiny little bending of the rules. Just so long as nobody notices! Its okay to sneak a cookie on the sly… just so long as it isn’t the last one. Its okay to jump on the bed… so long as nobody is home, and I tidy up afterwards.


I think it may be due to the fact that I just… want to feel like he worked, like he put some effort into it, before I flop over belly upwards,  ya know what I mean?

My point is- being tamed is fun. Well it can be. Just not for your poor behind if you get caught…

Lesson- don’t get caught 😀



Dear Stranger

Dear stranger.

Hi. Its me.

How are you doing?
I don’t quite know why I thought I should write, but…. I felt the need to vent. Its been awhile… and, I just wanted to take a step back, reevaluate life, ya know?
7 months ago, I thought I’d start writing. Seek guidance, just… try and figure out who I am. I was… intrigued by the notion of BDSM. But…  I didn’t quite know then what attracted me to it.
So what about BDSM attracts me, you ask?
To be honest… it’s knowing where I stand (or knee) in a relationship, and being able to have someone steady… someone stronger then me physically, emotionally and perhaps even intellectually, in charge. Taking the lead, and the key to my freedom.
The idea of violence intrigues me, not necessarily the actual act. You kow what they say- the anticipation of pain is worse then the pain itself… and I like the thought.
I don’t know who I am, or what my purpose in life is, should I even have a purpose. But, Buddha once said that “Your purpose in life is to find your purpose” so maybe I am serving that purpose seamlessly.
I DO know that I am someone who enjoyed taking the role of being domestically and sexually submissive.
Am I a slave? A babygirl? Or…  just a sub in the bedroom?
I still have no clue. And I’m learning that not knowing is completely acceptable. Not being certain of anything is OKAY.
I do know that I like the feel of chest hair scraping my nipples, wax play sounds HOT (pun intended), and the idea of a good flogging is downright appealing. Handcuffs? Pretty please.
Of course, I don’t know about caning, whipping, electricity, suspension, needle-play (yikes), knife play (mm… maybe),  and all those other scary/cool stuff. But like I said. The nitty-gritties will come later.
I guess this is where I apologize to you for being so small minded, for my ignorance is still all I know.
I apologize for being to quick to judge, for being small minded, because me 7 months ago would have said heyll naw to the things on my “yes/maybe” list.
This is me trying. This is me learning.
So thank you for reading dear stranger.
Thank you for understanding
With love,

Self Destruct

I told myself I was over it. I was over caring about their opinion for me

I mean, who cares? It’s all negative anyway.

Yet I feel my grasp on who I am fading

And I told myself that I was done conforming to their opinions

yet, here I am.

Bisecting, dissecting flaws, as if I can be fixed. As if I need to be fixed.

Maybe it’s my laugh. The little snorts I can’t keep in.

Maybe its my smile. It’s just… a bit too… weird.

Maybe it’s my awkwardness, My uncertainty to be myself.

Maybe it’s me. 

What’s wrong with me? I tell myself that people should take me for who I am.

Yet, each day I brush away something they might not like..


What about me makes it okay for me to cut myself in half for others?

Is it my need for approval?

My need to be… accepted?

The desire to please?

To make someone as happy as possible, regardless of… me.

Me? I’m collateral damage of only my thoughts

That’s set to self destruct



Picture Perfect

Since the beginning of the year, I have tried my best to be the best. To be perfect. Academically, I excelled, but… I lost track of my quirks and the small things that make me, ME. I didn’t allow myself to have fun, because, what if I slipped up and screwed up a friendship, or worse, defaced my reputation? I kept a tight leash on who I was, monitored every word I said, and, if I so much as thought I had said anything remotely stupid, I’d berate myself, ask myself why do you have to be such an utter failure?

Needless to say, I am suffocating. I  don’t feel myself anymore. I feel like a robot. I just… I care to much about what people think of me. And, I don’t even know why that should be important to me.

I am the furthest thing from perfect. I am flawed. And while I truly believe we should always aspire to be a better person, to be better tomorrow than we are today… how much better are we talking about? i tried so hard to erase who I am, to paint a picture worth far more than the Mona Lisa, but… all I saw after I had made the briefest stroke on that canvas was failure. So I erased once more. And I still don’t know what I am trying to paint.

I want to be friendly, sweet. Easy going. Loving. Understanding. And I want to paint the entire world the color of my love. But… I have to start with me. But, I don’t quite know where to start, or even what to paint.

She’s the Freak

It’s been more or less 2 months since I’ve put my fingertips to a keyboard to write something that isn’t an essay for uni. But… I’ve often learnt that writer’s block is more of a life block then anything else, really. But,that’s not the point.

I’ve come to realize that I’m more then a little confused. I don’t really know what I’m looking for in a man, and, its more of the if I see it I think I’ll know, kinda thing.

Thing is, I’ve been so independent and self-reliant my whole life, I’m not sure I can just give up control to anyone. Maybe that’s what I’m scared of- not being submissive enough. But, I only think that way during the day- at night I sleep cuddling my stuffie, and dream of being called kitten, slave, slut, and… so much more, lol.

So who’s going to win?

Logic and reason, or… some side of me that I don’t really understand so well.

There’s just something that I’ve finally been able to understand. When I was a kid, I use to love the thought of being held super tight. When I was a teenager, one of my first fantasies were about being caged, naked. Being inspected by someone. That was when I was 13. Yikes. I guess you could say I’ve always been connected with the sexual side of me… it just… I was to afraid to voice it. To tell anyone, my bestfriend even, that I wanted to be caged? God no. That’s just… no. fuck no.

Thirteen years old, and already a freak. I know that I probably shouldn’t call myself that, but… thats what it feels like.

Fuck it’s something I can’t speak about to this day. It’s something I’ve literally never said out loud. I wish I could just ‘fess up and get it over with, but even thinking about it makes me want to shrivel up with anxiety.

I need help.








Suck, Slave


She had followed the instructions down to the T.

Her outfit was a tight pair of black boyfriend shorts and a black sports-bra that pushed her breasts upwards. Like an offering of the most promising fruit.

The shorts were a couple of sizes too small, and they rode into the crack of her a$s, parting the lips of her pùssy.


That was the second part. Isabella’s legs were parted slightly, the cool air of the wooden floors a breathy kiss against her wet cùnt.


Suspense wrecks havoc on her nerves, and she swallows.

Why wasn’t he here yet?

Yet a part of her couldn’t help the shiver of anticipation that made its way up her arched spine.

Time trickled by…

Seconds fell into minutes.


There it was.

His presence.

She felt it the moment he entered the room. His presence enveloped her, and somehow she could feel the strength in him. The dominance. The utter knowledge that she is on his turf. Playing by his rules.

Soothing her nerves, yet somehow intimidating her further.

Silence ignited tension. and then

“Hmm… I see someone decided a lesson was in order.” He spoke.

His loafers squeaked against the wooden floor as he made the slowest circle around her.

Inspecting. Criticizing.

“Your form needs a bit of.. adjustment,” he mused.

She felt the tinge of disappointment almost immediately. She didn’t mean to disappoint him… yet somehow that was the only thing she seemed to be good at.

He ran his fingers along her spine, causing her to tense and arch her chest out further.

Pressing his hands gently against her shoulders, he forced her shoulders to relax slightly.

“One thing you have to understand, Isabella, is that my goal is to guide and nurture you. There are certain things in your training that will hurt you, yes… but trust that I will never cause you harm. Do you understand, mio piccolino?” His voice was a soft hush in the silence.

[My little one]

She nodded. Barely.

“When I ask you a direct question, I expect I direct answer.” He grouped her hair into a fist, yanking it down with a firm hand. She met his probing gaze. Uncertainty and a slight tinge of fear could be detected in the chocolate irises of her eyes. He stroked her face with one hand, watching as his touch soothed her inner fears.

“Y-yes s-sir.” She whispered in a breathless, hesitant voice.

“Very good, Isabella.” The small praise and smile meant millions to her. She smiled softly, and he let her hair fall back down.

“Now. A few rules before I start; one, you are allowed to be vocal. I want to be able to hear you moan, so communicate with me as you please. Two, no eye contact. Three… I want you to be as still as possible unless told otherwise. Four… trust me to know your limits. Five, listen and obey. Do you understand, piccolo?”

“Yes sir.”

“Very well.” He moved away from her, taking a seat in a leather chair in-front of her. she kept her eyes focused on the floor, tracing the grains of wood as it dilated and floated in waves. . She could only see the top of his loafers so she kept her eyes trained on them. A focus point of sorts.

“Spread your legs.” His command was direct and decisive. “I want to see how wet you are, slave.”

She inched her legs apart wider. Her modesty a direct reflection of her innocence.

“I said spread.” His tone was tense, a tart nip of displeasure.

And so she spread her legs as wide as they could go. And even wider then that. Until her clit could nearly touch the cold floorboards.

He hummed. “Deliziosi… Sono lieto, mio carissimo.

[Delectable… I am well pleased, my dearest.]

A soft moan fell past her lips as the air nipped into her, an intimately cold grasp. It thickened the smell of her arousal.

Damiano flared his nose. Inhaling the sweet musk of desire as it leaked down her thighs.

His next order came fast, “Crawl to me.”

And crawl she did. She placed her hand in front of her, her muscles changing into a crawling position. And then she felt it.

The friction between her thighs. The material pressed against her clit. rubbing slightly against her vagina

She hadn’t yet taken half a step forward before the moan escaped.

“Ohmigod,” she gasped, struggling to keep her eyes open and just… focus on the task.

“Crawl, Isabella. I never said you could stop…” He tsked.

Damiano knew exactly what was happening. He could see the desire that was etched on her face and sculpted in the tenseness of her body. His cock was pressing hard against his belt, straining for her to relieve the tension.

He watched her take a deep breath in, focusing herself. And then another short step. She bit her lip hard, trying to keep the sound of her pleasure in.

“Crawl.” He bit out, clenching his teeth.

And so she did. Taking agonizingly slow steps forward, her tits heaving.

She was gorgeous. And so damn perfect.

It was only when her forehead was about to touch the head of his cock that he told her to stop.

yes. That’s it.

Isabella resumed her kneeling position, eyeing the front of his trouser hungrily.

It was an animalistic desire the one to take and fuck into oblivion. But it was a beautiful one too. The need to own and shelter. To protect and guide.

He placed his shoe beneath her legs, rubbing it slightly to catch just a little of the moisture gathered there.

“Oh…” she gasped, swallowing heavily.

When he moved his shoe back, he smirked when he saw the mess of cum on it. This was by fair, his favorite shoe.

“Tsk, tsk. Look at the mess my little cunt made for me… aren’t you a bad girl? Spoiling your sir’s shoes with your filthy cum. You should clean it up…” He trailed off, watching as her nipples beaded even more beneath that tight bra. She moaned slightly, reaching out a hand to wipe it off but he stopped her.

“Uh uh, take of your bra first. Let me see those t1ts first.”

She froze, chest heaving. He watched as she battled with herself, her modesty and self-preservation.

Would the obedient slave prevail, or her shyness?

But he watched. Smug, as shaky hands began lifting the tight fabric, before drawing it over her head.

Her t1ts hung free. Heavy, plump yet perky. her n1pples were a dusky pink, mingled with brown with just the smallest beaded pebble at the front.

“Beautiful…” He whispered hoarsely.

Shy eyes glanced up fast, before she swung her head down.

“Isabella… look at me, carissimo.” He lifted her face with two fingers, gauging her emotions and studying her reaction.


Uncertainty shaded her face, and he knew better than to take disciplinary actions. For she hadn’t glanced at him out of mere disobedience or defiance; but to try and detect if he actually liked what he saw.

“I think you are beyond gorgeous. You have amazing tits, and I can just imagine sucking them… flicking them…” He leaned closer, “biting them.”

He chuckled when her eyes went wide, anticipation and hope shining through. “You’d like that, won’t you? You want me to suck on these fat tits… on my fat breasts?”

Isabella nodded eagerly.

“Words….” he trailed off. He had to be lenient. Lenient yet strict. A firm, yet giving hand was needed for a beginner.

“Please… please..” She begged. A delectable sight of neediness and lust.

“Tsk tsk… naughty girl… you forgot to clean my shoe…” He taunted watching her.

She glanced down, and once again went to wipe off her own cum with her hand. Quick as a flash, he tugged at her hair, halting her yet again.

“Use your tongue.” He smirked as her pupils grew wider.

She bent down, hair falling forward as her tits touched the floor. She lapped lightly at his shoe, tasting the salty-sweet taste of her cum, whilst the smell of leather invaded her nose. It rose, mingling with the smell of heady arousal.

When she was done, Damiano had unzipped his pants and was staring at her with a smirk.

“Suck, slave.”