The MasterClass Experience

”What is it that you truly want” I asked, looking deep into her eyes.

"Just use and wreck me," she begged, her voice a sultry whisper, echoing with a blend of impatience and desire. Her body writhed against the firm pressure of my hand, a tantalising dance of need and anticipation. I savoured this moment of control, letting the seconds stretch into an eternity. Her breath hitched, eyes ablaze with raw hunger, as I traced my fingers slowly, deliberately, down her quivering form.

With a calculated roughness, I penetrated the tight, welcoming confines of her. Her gasp, sharp and unguarded, was a melody to my ears. Repeating the motion, I explored her depths, my fingers parting her with a possessive intent. My touch sought her most sensitive spots, with her clit now a beacon of her arousal. Rolling it between my fingertips, I alternated between a gentle caress and a torturous pinch, orchestrating a symphony of her cries and moans.

The taste of her lingered on my lips, an intoxicating blend of sweetness and sin. Her scent, a heady perfume of lust and longing, filled my senses, drowning out the world. The feel of her, skin against skin, flesh on flesh, was electric, a connection so primal and profound that it transcended the bounds of everything around us, including time and space.

When I looked at her, everything about her consumed me. The way she reacted to my touch, my smell, my stature, bringing out the siren call of her desire. With a surge of primal need, I pinned her against the wall, my body a shield and a claim. Every inch of her belonged to me in this moment, surrendered willingly to my will and whim.

I gazed into her eyes, which were now mirrors of the storm within us, and whispered,

"You are mine."

The words were not just a statement. They were a vow, a promise of pleasure and pain, of Domination and submission. In those simple yet profoundly intimate words lay the essence of our unspoken bond, the dance of power and surrender that defined us.

My hands roamed her body, staking my claim with every touch, every kiss, every bite. I mapped her curves and valleys, learning the language of her body, becoming fluent in the whispers of her pleasure and the screams of her ecstasy. Her responses, a mix of gasps and pleas, fuelled my desire, urging me to push her to the edge and beyond.

Our rhythm began as a slow, intoxicating burn, a crescendo of sensations that built with each movement, each moment. The world outside our cocoon ceased to exist. There was only her and I, Dominant and submissive, hunter and prey.

Her eyes, mirrors of the sexual storm raging within me, came alive as I took her brutally and entirely. At that moment she understood the promise of pleasure and pain, the dance of power and surrender. In this dance of Dominance and submission, every touch was a word, every kiss a sentence, weaving a story of passion and power.

As the tempo increased and the brutality became all consuming, we moved together, as one, lost in the tempest of our desires. This is where the vanilla world fades and the beautiful raw connection in kink allows the discovery of depths of pleasure and pain, a journey where every rule was ours to make and every boundary ours to explore.

She had searched a lifetime for a paradox of violence without harm. I delivered to her the violence she so desperately needed, hurting her, but never harming her. A paradox that allows for a breathtaking union only found in the most beautiful of consensually driven kink unions, where connection is king and trust is unquestionable.

She was mine. I was hers. Together we discovered Us…

After you are gone, she cherishes the signs of where you still remained.

The pillow you lay on, she places her head, inhaling the scent left by you.

Runs her hands through the sheets you stained together with your combined mess of sweat, love and lust.

The small bruises on her skin, where you had roughly manhandled her. Her fingertips pressing into each of those bruises and feeling the remnants of a transcendent pain curated by your lust and love for her.

The divots in her skin, where your teeth had taken purchase with her flesh, and you had left your very individual, semi permanent ownership marks.

The taste of your spent cock in her mouth. Spent because she had made love to it with her mouth, tongue and lips and had felt you passionately erupt inside of her, emptying your ropes of love that coated the inside of her mouth and trickled down her throat.

She lies on her back, eyes closed with her hand resting on her owned cunt. She feels you vicariously through her own touch. Her touch of her tender vagina that has been so brutally used, where pleasure and pain collide as memories flood back of how you fucked her relentlessly.

Her pubic bone aches from you physically grinding against her.

The lips of her cunt swollen and red raw from being fucked incessantly for hours on end.

Her eyes remained closed, but she smiles as she feels that need, lust and desire of her swollen cunt as it begins to get wet once again.

She reaches for her phone to send you a message asking your permission to make herself cum again.

Her touch, her cunt, her need, her lust, her orgasms. Owned and controlled by you.

She smiles as she reads your short but simple reply.

”Yes my little whore, you may make your owned cunt cum again…”

She places the phone down, propped upright on a pillow, the camera facing her needy cunt, presses record and prepares to give you proof of her happily owned orgasm…

Exodus 21:5 “But if the slave declares ‘I love my master, and my wife and children: I do not wish to go free' his master shall take him before G-d. He shall be brought to the door or the doorpost, and his master shall pierce his ear with an awl; and he shall then remain his slave for life.”Dominant: Today we are here to formalize our commitment to each other, but in doing so we must acknowledge its place amongst the other commitments of our lives. I am asking you to commit yourself to me and make me one of the highest priorities in your life, but your children and your marriage must always come first. Do you accept these terms?

submissive: I accept.

Dominant: And I am promising you that I am committing myself to you and making you one of the highest priorities in my life, second only to my children and my marriage. Do you accept this promise?

submissive: I accept.

Genesis 16:7 An Angel of the Lord found her by a spring of water in the wilderness, the spring on the road to Shur, and said, “Hagar, slave of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?” And she said “I am running away from my mistress, Sarai.” And the angel of the Lord said to her “Go back to your mistress and submit to her domination.”

Dominant: Today I offer you a collar and with it my love. I will [insert vows here].
In return I ask that you [insert requests here]
Do you accept my collar?

submissive: I accept.

submissive: Today I offer you the key and with it my loyalty. I will [insert vows here]
In return I ask that you [insert requests here]
Do you accept my key?

Dominant: I accept.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 Two are better than one; because they have good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up. Again, if two lie together, they have heat: but how can one be warm alone? And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

Dominant: In binding ourselves to each other, we recognize that we are not merely making a commitment between two individuals. Each of us have families of our own and, as we intertwine our lives, so too do we intertwine theirs. In recognition of this, we now invite our spouses to speak.

[His wife reads something or gives a toast.]
[My husband reads something or gives a toast.]

Dominant: Talmudic law requires that any legal contract or act of acquisition be concluded through an act of kinyan. For the acquisition of a person, the deal may be sealed by having the individual perform chazakah — an act of service for their new master. Let us now seal this contract.

[He carries me into the building]

In kink, she doesn’t search for someone to make her feel all cute and cuddly. Of course that can be encompassed in part of the ritualistic methodology delivered in aftercare, however she doesn’t search for cuddles when traversing the rabbit holes of kink.

The search in kink is about breaking limits and barriers that have been embedded by a lifetime of peer pressure and social conditioning. To discover a world of pleasure that can only be delivered when she finally finds a way to break free from the shackles of a vanilla centric and driven existence.

Some love the cathartic release found in rope play, where they can float on a world delivered by the loss of control that comes from being bound and in some cases, suspended in that bind. The caress of the rope on their skin as it is applied, contrasted with the tightness of the bind and the float of the suspension. The ability for the feel of that rope to begin the path to subspace that only a rope bunny will ever experience and understand.

Some love the delivery of pain that allows them to transform to a different sphere, that pain bringing them to life and allowing them to feel catharsis through pleasure derived from the pushing of limits, comfort zones and the feeling of connection with themselves and another, that can only occur from the delivery of kink induced pain.

Some love the delivery of tasks and structure that comes with submission to a Dominant. The control that comes with structured tasks, embedded often into their daily lives, almost becoming ritualistic between the two parties involved. The need to submit by the submissive matching the energy and flow of the need to subjugate by the Dominant.

Psychological edge play is the plane of existence where she visits that even pushes the boundary of a normal kinkster. That place where she can be mentally subjugated with extremities of play that make some simply shudder and others openly wonder why the fuck she would willingly want that treatment. It is a play style that few understand, but the ones that do find true release from the shackles and restraints of existence that have kept them prisoner for their entire life.

The ones that delve into psychological kink play, want control taken from them. Not just physical control, but mental and psychological control. Entire control, that should never be confused with 24/7 TPE. Psychological play can still be simply a role based temporary play that only occurs during the play sessions, or it can become a 24/7 way of life.

In psychological play, the most common path to begin is humiliation and degradation. Whether light or heavy, this encompasses a special type of play that needs to be handled with extreme care, delivered only from those experienced enough to understand the difference between the beauty of kink based play, as opposed to crossing the line of vanilla based toxicity.

When searching for psychological play, she wants more than the average connection. She wants you to use her. Abuse her. To have the ability to fight back taken brutally from her. To be humiliated and degraded in ways that send shivers down the spine of most. To spit on her as you make her scream. To force her mouth open and spit in her mouth to make her understand how the fluid bond creates that unique method of ownership.

To do things to her that others only secretly fantasise about and vanillas fear to even whisper about. To pull her fucking holes open wide as you piss into them. To collar her or perhaps brand her in ways that openly display her debauched ownership needs to others that know how to see and recognise those lifestyle choices. To run the edge of a blade along her most tender parts as you control her entire being. To choke her and cut of the blood supply to her brain and your very grip around her throat is the existence of life or death for her.

To exert mental control on her, that creates an unbreakable bond of need and desire to please and pleasure as required. Where her own pleasure no longer is her priority. Where your pleasure takes precedence and she learns to derive pleasure from delivery of that pleasure to you. Where the need to complete a task given becomes her entire focus and if unable to deliver or complete the task, that transfers into mental and physical pain from the internal turmoil she feels from inability to complete said task.

Her entire world becomes focused on only one thing. Her chosen one and his world of needs. The one that can give her what no one else can. The perfect match to her implicit and extreme needs. The ability to be dragged down into his darkness and be forced to play in the pitch black pools of his nasty. To finally find someone who’s darkness entirely dwarfs her own dark world she finds herself living in. To find that one that can push her to the point of her limits that once existed, no longer existing, as she melts into his existence and begins to align with his needs, wants, desires and kinks.

She searches for that one special human that can take her safely into a place where danger exists at every turn, where fear thrives and monsters roam freely. The place where she openly chooses to play in a mental and physical world that at any moment can create trauma of extreme levels, yet because of the unquestionable and entire trust of her partner, she fears only fear itself and no longer fears being harmed by herself, or the actions of others. Yet with that level of danger present, she has never felt safer in the hands of another human being. A connection so implicitly real, raw and rare.

She searches for the one that can make her scream for you to stop and with the same breath, beg for fucking more...

We are emotional beings.

Emotions create all sorts of positive and negative thoughts.

Positive ones, such as happiness, elation, amazement, wonder, joy.

Negative ones, such as sadness, anger, resentment, hatred, loathing and self doubt.

As a submissive, you will stumble, you will falter, you will fall.

This is just part of the journey of kink mixed with human emotion.

And naturally you will blame yourself.

Your emotions will ebb and flow back and forth between positive and negative.

A plethora of emotions.

Happy, sad, excited, wonder, amazement, anxiety, angst.

The list goes on.

As Dominants, we cannot stop those emotions flooding you, confusing you, consuming you.

That’s not our role as your Dominant.

Our role is to be there to assist you through that conflict.

We always watch. We always listen. We always prepare.

Sometimes we walk ahead and let you catch up yourself, sometimes we walk hand in hand with you, sometimes we walk behind you, picking you up while you are kicking and screaming and stomping your feet.

Either way, we are always there for you.

Because inevitably, being your Sir comes with great responsibility.

A responsibility that is priceless.

Your welfare and wellbeing.

"Does it tingle in your special place?” He asked. She nodded, and his right hand searched through her body to find her special place, her clit. When he reached it, She got shivers all over her, goosebumps on her thighs and arms. He continued, ”How does your special place feel right now?” Her answer was a little delayed by a couple of seconds. She closed her eyes and took it all in. He rubbed her special place so fast now while going fast but soft in and out. And Daddy was hard, so so hard.

"It feels like I’m on a rainbow Daddy!” She said after the first wave of pleasure had entered her body. He continued, faster and harder. ”How does it feel when your special place explodes? Use your words now; be a big girl.” She moaned softly, and her hands took a grip on his chest, her long nails pinched his skin. ”It feels like an explosion of purple and pink glitter in my special place. That’s spreading up in my tummy, my boobies, my arms and my legs.”

Now he fucked and fingered her so hard it was almost hard to stay on top of him. She had to pinch her nails into his skin just to keep herself up and not get tossed away from his hard thrusts. She continued. "My toes and fingers curl.” She had to stop to let a loud moan out. "My stomach cramps and my head gets dizzy!”

Now She let out a moan and couldn’t for her life keep it in anymore. I was almost there. She started screaming: "Oh, daddy, yes, faster, daddy, keep going, daddy!" She came in an explosion of sweet love that squirted out of her. Forcing Daddy out of her special spot from the powerful squirt and covering his whole crotch in her cum. She was shaking, from pleasure and arousal. She started to ride him violently and immediately, but He took a grip of her waist, forcing her to stop. ”That’s good for now, sweetheart,” he said and kissed her on the forehead.

Adolescent boys spend an inordinate amount amount of time during puberty trying to unlock the mystery of the Vagina.

It's a highly mysterious but bogglingly attractive thing to think about. From what I read over and over, many women they feel like their vagina is a meat-flappy, funky-smelling, discharging pit of weirdness or even hideous shame.
For a young man who is experiencing the full-grip of testosterone and male attractions, the vagina is a temple, a beautiful orchid, told to waft perfumes and rumored to be a source of sacred nectar and honey.

There is really no real good way to describe how and why a certain part of a body can elicit these feelings, a tightening in the pit of the stomach, an anxiousness and excitement that replaces anything we ever felt as boy being taken to a toy store by a hundred fold.
It makes as little sense to me as it probably does to most women when I really think about it, but those several million years of deep programming are not easy to ignore nor define.

This means that almost anything related to the vagina is also part of this beautiful mystery. Panties are physical accessory to it, a concept we can fully relate to, as a fellow underwear clad creature ourselves, but there is something wholly different about women's underwear, as if made to be attractive. Men's underwear is utilitarian and rarely meant to be seen, much less enjoyed in any way. But a woman's underwear, even its most basic form, almost always has some kind of superfluous design or accessory that makes it cute. Lace trim, pink coloration, soft or whimsical patterns...

some kind of twisted taunt that it's covering such a mysterious organ that inspires such dirty thoughts. Panty fetishism is easy to develop, and most guys at least have an appreciation for that article of clothing, if for no other reason than the panty in the enviable position of being in close physical contact with the vagina, the last barrier.

And also something needs to be said about the smell of a vagina. It's part of the mystery from the day we realize that boys and girls have different parts that look, feel and smell differently.

It's a scent fundamentally different than anything we as men experience in life, it's electric at times, odd or funky in this strange way that causes all those instant, uncontrollable responses to well up. There are exceptions always, but most men are wired to respond to this smell and are rewarded with little shots of some kind of pleasure-chemical in the brain. Combine that with the whole idea that women's bodies are idealized as these clean, pure and sacred things, that the idea of a dirty, nasty panty can be alluring to some guys, like a glimpse into the secret world of female sexuality. A substitute for intimacy almost.

I love to watch you.

The way you respond to my fucking nasty and my fucking filth.

Such a prim and proper girl in your little world.

Yet when at my service, you become the epitome of a fucking slut.

Willing and able to perform on demand and complete tasks on command.

The way your cunt comes alive when degraded and humiliated.

The need to be treated badly. How that slowly becomes more important to you than the oxygen you breath.

The way you enjoy being used by Daddy like a piece of fuckmeat.

Treated like an object.

Touching yourself for me and only for me.

Your pussy no longer owned by you.

Your orgasms, your choices, your cunt, your entirety surrendered to Daddy.

To be used as he sees fit.

There you are little pink rainbow girl

Peering over those glasses that are too big for you. Like your clothes.

A little girl in a little girl’s body.

Always so Excited and eager to please.

The true whore within bouncing to life.

Needing to perform.

Wanting to please.

Yearning to provide.

The filthier the task, the more you come to life, the harder you squirt and orgasm.

The way your cunt leaks passion as you listen to me.

Looking around and wondering if others can smell your leaking vagina.

So constantly wet with desire and the need to please.

Cumming from just a nipple suck or spanking. Or from a long dedicated choking.

You are my little girl and you will always surrender to Daddy.

She wants your softness and caring until she doesn’t. When that change occurs, she wants the total opposite of softness.

She wants your fire. Your fury. Your relentless lust. She wants to be driven back against wall. To be left physically breathless from the impact.

To feel the weight of your body and your passion. Your body slamming into hers. Wedging her between you and the wall. Forceful. Unabated. Controlling.

She wants to feel helpless. Out of control. To be taken. Again and fucking again. She wants to feel your open mouth on hers. Devouring her.

She wants lewd. She wants salacious. She wants to feel the indecency of your lascivious and vulgar assault on her body and soul.

She wants your strength. Those hands grabbing and twisting fistfuls of her hair. To feel her body impacted as you grope at her flesh.

She wants to feel you take her. Force her. Fuck her. Own her.

She doesn’t want to submit her body gently.

She wants to have her choice taken from her.

Her submission thrives on your Domination...

I placed her on the bed.

Naked. Exposed. Bare.

On her back. Spread eagled.

Arms wide, legs wide.

I restrained each wrist, pulling her arms tight.

Restrained each ankle. Firm and secure.

She lay there, spread bare to myself and the world.

Truly vulnerable.

She struggled within herself.

Struggled with being exposed.

Her eyes closed in shame of self.

Shame caused by incessant self doubt.

Shame caused by toxic actions of those in her past.

I looked at her and smiled.

She was so beautiful inside and out.

A beauty that shined at others, but she could never see herself.

It was time to break her cycle of self shame.

I could see that doubt eating into her.

See it grip hold of her, biting into her very core.

A solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

A tear born from fear of being so vulnerable.

A tear born from lack of confidence.

A tear created from the heart felt hurt inside.

I leaned forward, knowing the moment was right.

I kissed the tear, gently caressing her skin with my lips.

Whispered in her ear to relax her.

Whispering to her and telling her how beautiful she was to me.

Asked her if she trusted me.

She nodded.

That was what she needed.

It changed right there and then.

I watched her relax.

The muscles that were taught against her restraints relaxed.

She still wouldn’t open her eyes.

She was still struggling with self.

She was scared.

Scared of looking into my eyes and seeing potential disappointment.

Scared of me seeing the real her.

The vulnerable her.

Scared of seeing me displeased.

Scared that I would think less of her.

I needed to teach her.

Teach her that the real her is what I desired.

The vulnerable her.

It made her so beautiful.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

It was time to make her see how beautiful she truly was.

She had looked at herself through her own condescending eyes for too long,

It was time to make her look through mine.....