I don’t just want surrender I crave it like a ritual.
Collared in daylight, bound and denied in the dark, I ache for the sting of punishment, the silence of tape over my mouth, and the exquisite of being reminded I’m nothing but yours. Bratty enough to push, only because I worship the consequences the reminder my body is never mine.
At your boots is where I belong: kissing leather, worshipping every step, begging to be used. Tie me down, gag me, me, ruin me, leave me trembling in the shadows until you decide I’ve earned release.
This isn’t fantasy. It’s devotion. I exist to serve, to suffer, to be broken and rebuilt by a dark, powerful goddess who thrives on control an empress of cruelty and beauty who makes me crawl.
Outside of devotion, I live for Star Wars marathons, fast cars, late-night drives with music blasting, and conversations that last until sunrise.
If you are her the gothic goddess who delights in power and ruin I’m ready to kneel, beg, and surrender as your devoted plaything, your filthy offering, your creature of the night.
, , maybe ***