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Reasons Why Little Girls Need Rules:
Posted:May 24, 2019 5:27 am
Last Updated:May 24, 2019 6:01 am
1. Rules give structure which is very comforting to a submissive mind. To be able to see what is expected, and what is forbidden, allows a little girl to navigate the relationship easily, and with less stress.

2. Rules remind a submissive who is in charge. Whether she is obeying them, or breaking them, put them there, and she is reminded that every time she navigates around them, or takes one off the shelf and breaks it.

3. Rules are useful tools to improve your submissive’s life and make her a better person. Don’t like that she keeps a messy room? Make a rule that changes that. Don’t like that she eats sweets before bed and that it makes it hard for her to fall asleep? It must be a rule. Rules help Dominants take care of their littles because we can’t expect them to take care of themselves all the time.

One Man’s Perspective: Body Types & What Really is Sexy
Posted:May 23, 2019 4:43 am
Last Updated:May 24, 2019 3:56 am
So, as promised, you are going to get an earful of what I find to be absolutely sexy as fuck and what is just downright repulsive. And guess what ladies - most of it has little to do with what you look like.

Now I’m not speaking for all men.

I wouldn’t dare do that, because too many men are fucking idiots, especially on this topic, yet there are plenty that sees things like me, so don’t give up hope just yet.

Nope, there are some shallow fuckers out there; they are the same assholes that guilt their girls into getting boobs jobs or humiliate them for eating when they are hungry. Now, before the Boob Job Demo blows up my inbox, just know I am not saying there is anything wrong with implants by the way; just do it for yourself if that makes you feel better inside. Not for some fuckin’ guy.

Nah. Fuck those guys that make it all about appearance - you don’t want those shallow idiots in your life anyways because their issues run deep.

Yet still, I’m speaking for me on what I find sexy. What I find to be downright unbelievably irresistible. The qualities in women that I just cannot live without. What makes me so fucking weak that it is just downright pathetic. And I’ll touch on some topics that stick in your heads all the time,

First up - Brains, Confidence, and the Ability to Laugh. I’ve realized that I am a sapiosexual, and to add to that, I am extremely turned on by self-confidence and wit. To me, nothing is hotter than a woman who believes in herself, brings something to a conversation, and can laugh with you. Without those things, I just would never be able to get past it.

Do you know how fucking annoying it is to crack some wise ass remark for it all to fall on deaf ears? Or to constantly have conversations about the fucking Kardashian’s some other dumb Us magazine topic when I’d rather hear about Tolstoy’s War and Peace because I just don’t have the patience to read it.

Fuck yes. Cliffs Note me, you sexy bitch.

All this “is my ass too big” shit is so damn unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Women beat themselves up relentlessly and it is sad to see because the things that matter to the kinds of men you want to attract are not superficial, to begin with.

And I am not saying don’t take care of your body.

The hottest thing about a woman who takes care of her figure is a simple fact that she is not lazy and gets off her ass to do it. Results are not nearly as important the act of trying. Spin class and smoothie rituals and a general disdain for the Golden Arches are just downright hot because it says one thing loud and clear - I care about myself.

Same with work ethic. You can be a stay at home mom or a career woman but lazy doesn’t fly no matter what you do - lazy is just downright hideous.

So, I guess I’ll dive full-fledged into each little thing I can think of right away and let the chips fall where they may.

Weight. This topic just sucks to write about, but it’s a reality that we all deal with this concept in some ways, so I decided to hit on it first, and rip the band-aid off. Maybe we’ll all will find solace knowing that “Nearly three-quarters of American men and more than 60% of women are obese (BMI > 30) or overweight (BMI > 25).” So, at least our fat asses are not alone, right? Life is too damn short to hurt your body more by stressing out over this crap - there are a lot worse things in life you can be than a bit chubby. Fuck, as soon as do I side profile in the mirror I tell myself “dude, wtf?”. Yeah, I could stand to lose quite a bit too, but this post isn’t about me. Whew. That would be uncomfortable.

Sometimes I wish I could reach into the minds of the readership and plant a seed, and right now that seed would carry with it the idea to stop fuckin’ beating yourselves up over this one. It really is more in your head than ours. Some of the sexiest people I have ever seen or known were way past that of the Ideal Weight Calculators, which are pretty hard to get to. If I hit my recommended weight I’d look like a boy. Fuck that. I’ll eat healthier and work out and always reach for better health. Be happy and proud of who you are and develop habits to be healthy. That is so much more sexy than hitting some dumb number.

The Ughs. I don’t know what to call this group of things that trouble so many of you, but it’s basically stretch marks, wrinkles, and all those little stupid things, whatever they are, that every human has. Any guy that doesn’t see these as accents of your overall beauty as a person is an idiot. Stretch marks tell me you lived. Wrinkles tell me you lived. Scars tell me that you lived.

And your life - is what is hooking me in. It is your essence as an individual - the beauty in your stories. The mind that you have. The hard times and the good ones. That is what is so damn sexy.

Ass & Boobs. Seriously tits and ass should matter as much as hair color, which is not at all. What the fuck is wrong with our society that this somehow has gotten into women’s heads as a matter of importance. Don’t get me wrong - I love tits and ass - I just love them all. Little A cup tits and big double Ds - to me it is just representation of your feminine form.

You ladies are so fucking sexy just being ladies.

You don’t need a huge rack or a Kardashian ass to improve your sexy rating. Not in the least. Remember - it’s all about your attitude, sweetheart. It always was.

Being a Lady. There is just something so unbelievably debilitating to us men about you embracing your feminine side. I think it is what separates you from us Neanderthals with the Y chromosome - that essence of being a woman.

Fuck, it weakens me to even write about it.

Your scent. Your perfume. You soft bat of the eyes. Your giggle. You're waking up in the morning and doing your hair and makeup. When you shower - it’s that feminine soap you buy. That lotion and oil you apply afterward when I know you are naked, just being a woman.

Most idiots never take the time to even tell their own women how sexy this part of you really is, so here I am, telling you - all those little things you do to be a woman fucking matter. And you when you get into the habit of not doing them - it really fucking matters. Sorry but daily sweatpants and a bun gets old as shit real fast and tells me you don’t care, so why the fuck should I.

Real Sexiness. As mentioned above, 99% of what is so damn hot about you women is what you do - not what dress or cup size you rock.

Read a fucking book and shut off Bravo. The Real Housewives are rotting your brain. Netflix and Chill should be seen as a slippery slope.

Read. Learn. Grow, as a human being. For fuck’s sake - evolve.

Work like you mean it. Parent like you is trying to outdo everyone else. No matter what “it” is - give a fuck.

Effort in life, making people laugh, being happy, caring, and having a sense of self-confidence about you. That is what is sexy.

At least to me.


Posted:May 23, 2019 4:19 am
Last Updated:May 24, 2019 6:02 am
Posted:May 21, 2019 5:54 am
Last Updated:May 23, 2019 4:48 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 23, 2019 3:45 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 22, 2019 9:28 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

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