Vulnerability has to happen for love to be real.

It's like an itch, isn't it? You can feel it in your throat. You want to scream for me.

She’s a natural submissive and she doesn’t have a clue.

My sub doesn't pay for me,” he says, pulling me to my feet. “That just doesn't happen.”“But we ordered so much,” I say helpl

I participate in BDSM, but I wasn't abused as a child. I don't hate women, or particularly enjoy hurting women. Sometimes I make them feel pain, but it's consensual, it serves a purpose—to get them off—and they can indicate that they wish me to stop at any time. I do like the power I get from total submission, and the trust that my partner puts in me to give me everything, from her mind to her body, while expecting nothing in return—except the understanding that I won't violate that trust.

In my experience, the romance novels written about BDSM have about as much in common with actual BDSM relationships as a child playing with a jump rope.

A Dom never takes away. He only builds.

I am pleased," he said with a rich throaty accent. My heart melted. Simple as they were, those three little words meant the world to me.

I feel a deep sense of responsibility when I awaken a submissive. I know the imposters who prowl hoping to pounce on the untried.

He was responsible for my peaks and valleys, the pulsating waves and earth-shattering releases. It didn’t matter if I was bound or not, whether we fucked or made love, he was in control. The reality was he was always in control.

Papa, you were right. Love did come after security.

She said my glasses made me look like a butch jock's locker room bitch.

D/s can be dangerous, because it explores the most primitive sides of ourselves. Those involved must have a high degree of trust and very, very healthy devotion to one another. Like religion, it can be a spiritually enlightening experience, or it an expression of psychosis. And somewhere in between, it can be tremendously fun.

Sensuality is beautiful, and dominance and submission in the right context is a passionate art. A muse which ignites the flame of femininity, which enraptures both partners in complete euphoria, magnifying both the masculine and the feminine in one tantalizing unit.

This wasn’t romance. This was a hardcore Master out and out driving her to the upper level of madness, where her body was going to come completely to pieces before he was done. Cruel, but she craved his brand of cruelty.