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It's All Relevant

Posted:May 21, 2019 5:54 am
Last Updated:May 22, 2019 6:16 am
Pleasant (adjective): Giving a sense of happy satisfaction or enjoyment. Pleasing. Satisfying. Gratifying. Enjoyable.

They’d always said I was such a pleasant girl.

They meant agreeable, likable. I had a pleasing nature. I wanted to be liked. I craved validation. Praise had been hard to come by, so I needed to know that I was good. That I was valued. That I belonged. And being pleasing earned me praise.

But I’d never really known praise until he said Good Girl for the first time.

Pleasant. I felt pleasant down inside my panties. This pleasant little tingle. It was like a high. And then he said, “my needy little girl” and the high got higher. The next time it was “dirty little slut” and that was like space high. heaven high. beyond everything high.

And they just kept coming. Variations of praise, degradation with a pretty, sweet, lovely, sexy, chaser.

I was addicted.

Endorphins to my brain from a good girl, or atta girl, or curious little tease, or sweet sexy cumslut, or well, any little pleasant word of praise at all, really, and it’s like my version of heroin.

Hook me up to an IV, because I am a fucking slutty praise love junkie.

I will chase my fix across his cock with my lips, my tongue, my cunt, my ass, my heart, my soul, my everything.

I’ll beg for my love drug, and worship my dealer.

“How may I serve you, Sir? How can I make you happy today?”

And he will give me my fix, he always does…and he’ll make me pay for it in the best of ways. He’ll make me earn it so I feel the weight of deserved praise.

“You may sit on my lap, Princess. That would make me happy.”

When I sit on his lap I can tell he’s already happy. And I feel it… that familiar ache of need. Need my drug. Need my fix. Need to please. Need to be Daddy’s pleasant girl.

So I start moving. Just a little. Daddy lets me. So I move a little faster. The need growing inside of me. The hunger. The desire to please.

I look at Daddy with a pleasant smile. He remains silent. My eyes change from pleasing to pleading. He remains silent, just looking at me with expectation.

I blush.

He wants me to say it. I don’t know why it still embarrasses me.

“Daddy, may I please earn your cum like a good little cocksucker?”

He remains silent.


He remains silent…. and Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The need is growing needier. Desperate.

“Please. Pleaaaaaaaaaase. Daddy. Sir. Please, may I earn your cum? I need it.”

“Okay…be a good girl and suck my cock, sweetheart.”

I groaned. Finally. Finally my opportunity. Daddy was giving me my chance to earn his praise. It was soooo much more meaningful when I earned it.

I slipped off his lap onto my knees.

I unzipped him. No boxers. He was expecting this.

I earned it. I earned every single drop of cum that I pulled from within him. I pulled the very soul from his body with my good little cocksucking ways. My dedication. My relentlessness. Relentless Forward Progress. I wanted that praise, and I was going to deserve every single fucking word.

So I did.

I licked and I laved and I teased, and he groaned and he moaned and he screamed.

I hallowed, and I hallowed, and I swallowed. He gripped and he tugged and he drove into me. Holding me tight as I took every ounce of his violence, chasing his own fix.

And in the end, he covered me in his praise. The ultimate praise. Fix almost achieved. I needed to know it was real. I needed to know he got his fix too. That I was his drug. That he was addicted to me.

I didn’t even know what I was saying I just needed to know.

Did I make you happy?

He nodded breathlessly.


I shook my head and looked at him, face covered in him.

“Yes. Good girl. You made Daddy very happy. You were my perfect, pleasant, beautiful girl. I love you.”

I was good. I was valued. I belonged to him.

I sighed. Fix achieved. Addiction satisfied… for now.

“Now get over here, and let me make you dirty again.” He growled.

And just like that, I was back to the needy girl chasing another fix. They said I was pleasant, but they only saw my surface… only Daddy gets to see how pleasing I can really be.

Daddy’s slutty little love junkie.

Life is short
Posted:May 21, 2019 3:53 am
Last Updated:May 21, 2019 8:01 pm
It is an ironic and cruel joke that as we figure out who we are, as we find our people, as we become more secure in ourselves and them, we also become closer to death.

I am a submissive, and sometimes it feels like time will run out before I know fully what that means.

I am an activist, and sometimes it feels like time will run out before the change I’m working towards happens.

I am a mom, and sometimes it feels like time will run out before I have the chance to make that true with actual children.

So much of what we are is about hope and drive, even if what we are hoping for and driving towards never happens.

The point is the journey, not the destination.

So every second a call to action. To take care of our minds and bodies and hearts so that we can prolong it. To be and do as much as we can in the short time we have. To love fiercely and deeply. To be good to other people and help them along in their journey too.

To change the world into a better, kinder, more equitable place. Because regardless of what anyone says or does, this world belongs to all of us… and we belong in it.

To learn from our mistakes and try to cause as little harm as possible. To figure out who we are so that we can be them, and to remember that who we are isn’t stagnant, so the changing shouldn’t stop until the end.

I do not believe in the afterlife, at least not the kind where I continue to be me. So I think we need to make this life matter because it is all we’ve got.

To grow and help others grow. That is how I make my life matter.

Life is short.

Make the most of it. For yourself AND others.

Posted:May 20, 2019 4:49 pm
Last Updated:May 21, 2019 9:11 am
(noun): the act of setting someone free from imprisonment, slavery, or oppression; release.

In Alabama, Georgia, and Ohio, r8pists now have more rights than their victims. Corpses have more bodily autonomy than anyone with a uterus (inclusive of women, trans men, non-binary folks). If you think this doesn’t affect you, you are wrong. It affects EVERYONE. Because it is only one example of the ways that oppression exists within our society.

If you think you’re free, you’re not. You may not feel your shackles as much as others, but they are still there. Oppression doesn’t just target one group of people, it STARTS with one group of people. It is how the middle class disappears, how democracy becomes theocracy, oligarchy, dictatorships.

Is it really freedom if it is at the expense of others? What about when you become the expendable one?

The word is out, privilege is no longer a secret, and there is ignorance is no longer viable. If you’re still ignorant, it is a stick your head in the sand and pretend it doesn’t exist kind of ignorance. Willful ignorance. You are making the choice and it is a choice that we cannot afford, and many of us do not have the ability to make.

I know many of you speak up and speak out. But some of you don’t, even when it is safer for you to do so. So this is for you:

If you believe the government/society shouldn’t be able to tell you what you can and can’t do with your penis, or how you raise your kids, or what you do in the privacy of your own home, or whether your relationship is abusive because it includes BDSM, then you should speak up.

If you’re having sex, but wouldn’t want to raise a child born with extreme pain, who will only have an existence of suffering, then you should speak up.

If you believe life starts at conception but would support abortion in cases of sexual assault and incest, you should speak up.

If you believe abortion would be a viable option if someone you were with got pregnant, you should speak up.

If you say you support someone’s right to choose, even if you wouldn’t choose it yourself, you should speak up.

If you want people to speak up against the oppression of your skin color, disability, religion, age, nationality, body shape, sex, gender, or class- you should speak up.

See, the extremism of these bills make the pro-birth/life/choice argument obsolete. The ends DO NOT justify the means. This isn’t really about supporting abortion vs. not, it is about freedom. Do you want to be free? Speak up.

Because if you’re not speaking up for others, will there be anyone left to speak up for you?
Sunday Vinyl
Posted:May 19, 2019 6:59 am
Last Updated:May 21, 2019 7:45 am
* Cold Little Heart ~Michael Kiwanuka
* River ~ Leon Bridges ~ Coming Home
* Victim Of Love ~Charles Bradley
* Grass Is Greener ~ St Paul & The Broken Bones~ Half The City
* Fast As You Can ~ Fiona Apple ~When The Pawn.....
* You're A Big Girl Now ~Take 2 ~ Bob Dylan ~ More Blood More Tracks
* Losing My Touch ~ Keith Richards ~ Forty Licks
* Keys To Your Love ~ The Rolling Stones ~ Forty Licks
* 4 Days 4 Nights ~ Kitty ~ Nights

Happy Sunday
Female Orgasms
Posted:May 19, 2019 3:48 am
Last Updated:May 20, 2019 7:01 am

Make Them Count
Posted:May 18, 2019 5:24 am
Last Updated:May 18, 2019 9:06 am
Strike One was a reminder of your impact, the satisfying collision of the belt hitting my unspoiled skin mimicking the way you crash into my heart.

Strike Two was a reminder of your stability, the way you landed another blow on the exact same spot because you knew one wasn’t enough to cause equilibrium.

Strikes Three through Six were a reminder of your patience, building intensity slowly, methodically, meticulously, turning tears into sobs into a body shaking with need for more… rougher… deeper…. violent.

Strike Seven was a reminder of your generosity, giving me exactly what I needed in a violent triple tap, making me scream from the agony of jerking my emotions from me.

Strike Eight was a reminder of your love, a light tap followed by your voice helping guide me through a deep breath, preparing me for the final two, for the culmination of your devotion to my needs.

Strike Nine was a reminder of your sadism, both of us groaning in pleasure as you hit me harder than you ever have before, reaching into my pain, yanking it out of me with a moan, and releasing it into the universe.

Strike Ten was a reminder of your ownership, your hand providing the last blow, skin to skin, your possession massaging my marks, my bruises, my soul, demanding me to let you in, punctuating my release with a quick, dirty, violent fucking release of your own.

Strikes are a reminder of our connection, of knowing you make them count because I can always count on you.

Own me.
Posted:May 18, 2019 1:19 am
Last Updated:May 19, 2019 1:47 am
Talk to me.

Get to know me.

Learn my favorites and least favorites.

Tell me yours.

Laugh with me.

Flirt with me.

Kiss me.

Kiss me some more.

Talk to me.

Talk to me.

Let’s talk about everything.

Laugh with me.

Miss me.

Make plans with me.

Spend time with me.

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Think about me.

Tell me you’re thinking about me.

See me every chance you get.

Talk to me.

Get in my head.

Kiss me.

Put your hands on me.

Fuck me, frantically.

Fuck me, slowly.

Fuck me, hard.

Cuddle with me.

Talk to me.

Sleep with me.

Talk, cuddle, laugh, kiss, flirt, spank, fuck, repeat.

Lead me.

Take control.

Bit by bit.

Lead me.

Praise me.

Punish me.

Adore me.

Encourage me.

Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.

Spank me.

Hurt me.

Love me.

Keep me.

Own me.

Photo By: Craig Morrey Studios

~ collaredinpearls
"Why I choose to be kinky" Lillie's Blog Challenge.
Posted:May 16, 2019 11:34 pm
Last Updated:May 18, 2019 2:58 am
I, for one, don't believe it was ever really a choice for me. I was naturally this way for as long as I can remember. My very first experience with this lifestyle was with a man twenty years my senior. He was very Dominant and I was naturally very submissive when I was with him. It's also when I discovered my masochistic side. That relationship ended abruptly and I found myself chasing the high I felt in that relationship for years. No one came close to him until about twenty years later. I fell in love with my best friend who happened to be a Dominant. He would take me on a Kink ride of my life for the next fifteen years. We lived the lifestyle daily. I believe I was born with this kink in my genes. It was never a choice. Thank you again for another interesting topic. Please excuse the terrible edit, as I was on my phone early this morning when I first posted this.

Posted:May 16, 2019 5:25 am
Last Updated:May 17, 2019 5:42 am
I’m obsessed with your hands…..strong, calloused, veined, rough, soft, big……hands that grab for me in the kitchen as I make coffee holding my hips and pulling me close, brushing the hair away from my neck to suck on my neck…….hands that reach under my PJs to cup my breasts and pinch my nipples……hands that grab my hair, wrapping your fingers around it and pulling my face toward you searching for my tongue……hands that lay me down, grabbing my panties and slowly peeling them off as your fingertips run goosebumps over my skin…….hands that open, expose, tease, search, invade, and bring me to messy ecstasy over and over and over again

Posted:May 15, 2019 7:00 am
Last Updated:May 16, 2019 5:33 am


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