Under The Whip

A kajira in service, with purpose and pleasure.

Being a kajira isn’t always what people think it is. It is not all chains, moans, and the erotic poetry of surrender. Sure, those moments exist, and they can be deeply powerful. But there’s a whole other side to submission, one that feels quiet, repetitive, and sometimes, painfully mundane.

I used to really struggle with that part.

Washing dishes, scrubbing toilets, doing laundry, it all felt so far removed from the sacredness of my submission. These were just chores. Boring, dull, vanilla tasks that I could do for anyone, anywhere. And that started to eat away at me. I felt disconnected from my role, and from the pleasure of serving. I’d go through the motions with resentment bubbling under the surface, wondering how wiping down a counter could possibly feed my submissive heart.

But then I discovered Ritual Intent,

It started as an experiment. Before cleaning the bathroom, I paused. I knelt. I closed my eyes and whispered, “This girl cleans the bathroom in pleasure of her Masters, so they may sit upon a clean throne and take a clean shower.” And something clicked.  The task hadn’t changed, but I had. My mindset shifted. I wasn’t just doing a chore, I was offering my submission. My submission wasn’t lost in the boring parts of the day, it was waiting to be awakened by my intent.

Now, before each task, I ground myself with small mantras. When I serve a drink, I think (or say), “I bring this offer of hydration to my Masters, so they might quench their thirst and sustain their lives.” It sounds poetic, maybe even silly to some, but to me, it means something. It transforms the moment. Sometimes I kneel first. Sometimes I place my hand over my heart or my collar. Sometimes I just take a breath and say it in my mind. It doesn’t have to be big or dramatic. It just has to be intentional.

Because for me, being a kajira isn’t just about the power exchange. It is about the dance we do, the balance between Dominance and submission that plays out in the ordinary spaces of life. When I choose to be of use, when I give with love and devotion, when I align my actions with my purpose, that is where my submission thrives.

This path isn’t always easy. There are days I still forget, when I fall back into routine and grumble about the same tasks. But Ritual Intent pulls me back. It anchors me in my collar, reminds me of my why, and makes me feel deeply fulfilled.  ecause ultimately, submission isn’t about the task itself, it is about the heart behind it. And when my heart is aligned, even scrubbing a floor becomes a prayer.

A Personal Reflection on Accessibility and Respect

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to attend a truly special event, something that felt monumental and meaningful. I was genuinely honored to be invited, and I want to start by saying how grateful I was to witness it. Moments like those are rare and deserve to be cherished. That said, I want to talk about something that left a sour taste in an otherwise beautiful experience: the way accessibility, and basic respect, was handled.

To be clear, I understand that issues happen. I was informed that the event organizers were hacked, and as a result, the original link was not sent out in the typical way. While that’s an unfortunate situation, let’s be honest, replacing a Zoom link is not impossible. There are always ways to securely share new access information.

What was most disappointing to me wasn’t the tech hiccup, it was how the situation was handled in regard to accessibility. As someone who is blind, I rely on screen readers and accessible design to navigate the digital world. Clicking a Zoom link is something I can do independently. Typing in long meeting IDs and passcodes? Not so much. I was lucky that I had someone nearby who could help me input the information, or else I would have missed the entire event.

Afterward, I sent a polite and heartfelt message of thanks for the opportunity to attend. I also added a small note, just a kind suggestion to consider accessibility when planning future events. I pointed out that inclusive spaces need to actually be inclusive, and that something as simple as sending a clickable link can make a world of difference for someone with a disability.

Unfortunately, what I received in response was not openness or appreciation, but hostility. The message I got back was rude and dismissive. It made me feel unheard, unvalued, and, quite frankly, unwelcome.

And that’s the hardest part. I want to show up in spaces that are welcoming and inclusive, not just in name, but in action. Spaces that acknowledge that people with impairments exist, and that being inclusive means considering our needs without defensiveness or disdain. The response I received made it abundantly clear that my presence, and my perspective, weren’t truly welcome.

So, I’ve made the difficult decision not to return to future events by that group or organization. I won’t force myself into spaces that only claim inclusivity while actively excluding people like me through their actions (and reactions).

This isn’t just about me. It is about the many people with disabilities who are constantly expected to “figure it out” while others make no effort to meet us halfway. True inclusivity requires more than just a mission statement, it requires empathy, adaptability, and a willingness to listen when someone says, This doesn’t work for me.

To anyone planning events, online or in person. Please think about accessibility. Please consider what it means to be truly inclusive. And most of all, if someone offers feedback with grace and gratitude, don’t respond with hostility. Respond with humanity. We all deserve to feel welcome.

I don’t usually write posts like this, but I think it’s time I let some of this out. Lately, I’ve been carrying around a kind of heaviness that just won’t go away, and honestly, I’m tired.

I’m tired of being the one who always shows up. The one who listens. The one who gives.
The one who tries, again and again, to be kind, uplifting, generous, despite the fact that I rarely, if ever, feel like I am those things. I do it because that’s who I want to be. That’s who I choose to be. Not because I’m chasing praise or recognition, but because I believe in being a good person. I believe in being there for people when they need someone. That’s always been a core value of mine, but what happens when that kindness turns into currency people just spend on you?

Because that’s what it’s starting to feel like.

I’m not a therapist. I’m not a bank. I’m not a dumping ground. And yet, time after time, I find myself being treated like I am. People come into my life needing help, comfort, money, time and I give it. Not because I have an abundance of any of those things, but because I genuinely care. And far too often, once they’ve gotten what they wanted, they vanish. Or worse, they stay just long enough to keep taking more. They don't ask how I'm doing. They don’t notice when I’m burning out. They don’t even realize the emotional labor I’m doing to hold space for them.

No, they just ghost me, or make excuses as to why they no longer come around!

It makes me feel disposable. Like I’m just a pit stop on someone else’s journey to feeling better. And here’s the part that really hurts: I know it is not everyone. I know there are good people out there. I know the whole community isn’t like this. But right now, it is hard to see the forest through the smoke. Because when you’ve been burned enough times, even the trees start to look like matches.

So I’m pulling back.

I’m done bending over backward to accommodate people who only want what they can take. I’m done absorbing other people’s trauma while mine sits quietly in the corner, ignored. I’m done being the strong one while I fall apart behind the scenes.

If you’re carrying something heavy and need to unload it please, go to a therapist. Go journal. Go scream into a pillow. But don’t come to me expecting free emotional labor just because I’ve always said yes in the past. That door is closing.

I still believe in kindness. I still believe in community. But I’m learning that those things have to be mutual not transactional. So for the ones who’ve been genuine, who have checked in, who do see me, I appreciate you more than you know. Truly.  But for the rest? I’m out of energy. Out of patience. Out of bandwidth. And I think that’s okay. I deserve boundaries too.

1. “What’s your most deliciously embarrassing sub moment… the kind that made you blush and drip at the same time?”

2. “If your Dom gave you a free-use pass for 24 hours, what would you secretly hope they’d do to you?”

3. “What’s one kinky scene you’ve always wanted to do, but haven’t had the courage (or chance) to try yet?”

4. “Which punishment has secretly turned you on the most... even if you pretended to hate it?”

5. “If your collar or dynamic had a flavor, what would it taste like, and why?”

6. “Tell me about the last time you got totally wrecked by a single word or command. What did they say and what did it do to you?”

7. “If you could build your perfect kinky alter ego, name, vibe, outfit, toys of choice, who would she be and what would she do?”

8. “What’s one boundary you used to have that you’ve since begged to cross?”

9. “What’s your favorite way to tease yourself when you’re not allowed to touch?”

10. “If your submission could be described as a song, what would the lyrics sound like?”

A Response to the Attacks on a Trad-Wife Creator

Lately, my feed has been flooded with videos targeting a specific Trad-Wife content creator. She's a woman who openly shares her life as a submissive wife. Yes, including wearing a beautiful day collar for her husband. And honestly? I’m disgusted by the flood of negativity she’s receiving. The comments, the mocking duets and stitches, it is nothing short of cruel.

One creator in particular stitched her video just to ridicule her. She accused her of “exploiting kink,” called her names, and had the audacity to say that if she’s truly submissive, she shouldn’t be using a platform to speak out at all. That submissive women should be silent and invisible.

Let me make something crystal clear: those are her words, not mine, and they are absolutely vile.

First and foremost, there is no one right way to practice BDSM or kink. That’s one of the foundational truths of this lifestyle. What works for one dynamic may not work for another. And that’s okay. That’s beautiful, actually.

Just because this creator identifies as a Trad-Wife does not mean she’s excluded from the world of BDSM or power exchange. People seem to assume that because she embraces a traditional household role, she can’t possibly be kinky or submissive in a meaningful way. That assumption is not only wrong, it is ignorant.

In fact, Trad-Wife dynamics often do intersect with power exchange. Sometimes quite deeply. As someone who lives a similar life and would proudly be a Trad-Wife if I ever marry my Masters, I can tell you firsthand that caring for a home, cooking, and nurturing isn’t about oppression, it is about fulfillment. My fulfillment.

There is nothing wrong with a woman choosing to be a housewife. There is nothing wrong with choosing submission, or motherhood, or traditional values, especially when it is her choice. That’s what empowerment really looks like.

What truly bothers me is watching people within our own community attack others simply because their version of kink doesn’t match their own. I don’t need to practice BDSM your way for us to coexist peacefully. But what I cannot stand is bullying. These so called “critiques” are nothing more than verbal abuse disguised as discourse. And let’s be honest, they’re just bullies.

Let me make something else very clear, I am a submissive woman. I use platforms like this, to educate, uplift, and build community. I have never been silent. And I will never be silent.

Being submissive does not mean being voiceless. It does not mean invisibility. And it absolutely does not mean weakness.

Anyone who believes submission is synonymous with silence clearly misunderstands the depth and strength of what it truly means to serve with intention and love. A Trad-Wife can be all those things and more, and maybe the real issue isn’t her lifestyle, but your discomfort with a woman boldly living on her terms, not yours.

So instead of tearing others down for how they live, maybe it is time to reflect. You don’t have to understand her choices, but you do need to respect them, or at the very least, mind your own business.

Because honestly? Your judgment is not only irrelevant, it is deeply unattractive.

There’s a fire inside me tonight, burning low and hot, and it has only one name, Yours.

I feel needy for You, my Master. Not in a passing way, not in some shallow flicker of want, but in the way a starving soul craves air, in the way my body aches just knowing I belong to You and yet, right now, You are not wrapped around me. I am restless with yearning, with this deep ache that pulses through me like a heartbeat. It is more than physical. It is something primal, spiritual, all consuming.

I am lusting for You. My thoughts circle endlessly around the image of Your hands, the sound of Your voice, the weight of Your body pressing into mine. My skin tingles at the thought of Your fingers trailing across it, slow and possessive, reminding me exactly who I belong to. I crave Your roughness, the way You take me, claim me, leave me wrecked and remade in the same moment. I ache to be undone by You.

I need Your attention. Not just a glance or a word, but that intense, focused gaze that strips me bare and sees the real me, the one that kneels for You, the one that flourishes under Your will. I hunger for Your presence, Your energy, Your Dominance enveloping me like a second skin. When I feel overlooked, I wither. But when You turn Your full attention on me. I bloom. I come alive.

I yearn for Your Mastery. I need Your structure, Your guidance, the discipline that keeps me tethered to purpose. I want You to lead me, direct me, correct me, control me. It brings me peace to surrender into Your control. There’s comfort in knowing I don’t have to hold everything, You hold me. And I trust You with everything I am.

Your Dominance isn’t just something I respond to, it is something I thirst for. It calls to something deep inside of me, something feral and feminine and submissive. I ache to be claimed, used, treasured, owned. I want to feel that overwhelming sense of You, Your strength, Your control, Your authority, wrapped around me like chains I never want to break.

And Your touch, Master, I crave it. I dream of Your hands on me, rough and unrelenting, leaving marks that say “mine.” I want Your kisses, hard and hungry, that make my knees weak. I want to feel You push me down, lift me up, pull me in close. I need to feel Your skin against mine, Your breath in my ear, Your command in my soul.

I miss You. I ache for You. I am ready to be taken, used, praised, punished, broken down and built back up by You.

Please, my Master, this is what it means to need you.

I totally love Friday's Submissive Confessions Nights. They are so much fun.  Feel free to take these questions and use them to write blogs or answer them yourself. 

"If your Dom gave you a 'punishment-free pass' for one night, what naughty thing would you definitely try?"
"What's the most deliciously embarrassing task you've ever been assigned?"
"Which word instantly makes your knees weak when your Dominant says it?"
"Do you have a secret brat move you're proud of... but would never admit to your Dom?"
"If you could swap collars with any fictional character for one day, who would it be and why?"
"What’s one rule you secretly love breaking just to see what happens?"
"If your kink life was a playlist, what would your anthem be?"
"Describe your favorite kind of aftercare in three sensual words… go!"
"Have you ever 'accidentally' left a toy out just to see if someone noticed?"
"If you could design a new protocol or ritual just for fun, what would it be and how would it make you feel?"

When You Imagine Surrender, What Do You See?

For many, surrender might conjure images of weakness, of giving up, giving in, or being defeated. But for me, as a Gorean Kajira, specifically, a first girl in a Gorean Leather household, surrender is anything but that.

To me, surrender is a sacred act. It is not collapse; it is opening. It is not being conquered. It is choosing to kneel. It is not about being less, it is about becoming more by releasing the illusion of control and aligning myself with the will of my Masters and the rhythm of their House.

Surrender is active. It is not passive or weak. Every day I rise and choose, again and again, to surrender my pride, my resistance, my fear. I lay them at the feet of my Masters, and in return, I receive something far more powerful, purpose, clarity, structure, and the deep satisfaction of being exactly where I was born to be.

As the first girl in a Gorean Leather House, my surrender carries weight, not just for me, but for those who serve beside me. My example sets the tone. I am a mirror for the newer slaves. My obedience is a guidepost. My grace under pressure, my devotion, and my willingness to be corrected, all of it flows outward into the fabric of our household.

Surrender, for me, isn’t just kneeling with lowered eyes. It is standing tall when my Masters need me to lead. It is knowing when to step back and when to step forward. It is biting my tongue when ego flares and speaking gently when others need correction. It is remembering that I am here not for my own comfort, but to serve, to uphold the beauty and order of Gorean structure, and to do so with joy.

When I imagine surrender, I see my collar. I feel it against my skin, warm, grounding, unshakable. I see the eyes of the other house slaves, as they look to me for direction. I see the way my Masters watch me, measuring not only my movements, but my heart. I see firelight flickering across the polished floor as I kneel in presentation, not with shame, but with pride.

Because surrender, in this life, is not a loss. It is a becoming. It is the moment I step out of the noise of the world and into the still, powerful silence of service. It is where I find myself, not as the world wants me to be, but as I truly am.

And in that space... I am home.

I want to begin this post by saying something that cannot wait another moment: I am sorry.

From the deepest place in my heart, I apologize for the way I let my temper get the best of me during our recent disagreement. I know that I acted in a way that was unkind, reactive, and hurtful, not just to You, but to the foundation of trust, respect, and love we’ve worked so hard to build together.

In the heat of the moment, I allowed my emotions to take control. Instead of pausing, breathing, or choosing humility, I lashed out. I raised my voice, spoke words that weren’t grounded in truth but in frustration, and let my pride overshadow my submission. That was not the behavior of the kajira I strive to be, not the woman I know You believe in and have nurtured with Your patience, guidance, and Dominance.

This isn’t about justifying my actions, it is about owning them. I didn’t handle myself with the grace or respect that You both deserve, especially during moments of tension when my obedience, softness, and honesty matter most. I recognize that disagreements will happen, but how I respond is a direct reflection of the values You’ve instilled in me, and in that moment, I fell short.

I am not proud of the way I acted. But I am committed to learning from it. I’m committed to doing the inner work, regulating my emotions better, and finding healthier ways to express discomfort or fear without turning it into aggression. I want to show You, not just say, that I understand the weight of my actions, and that I am capable of better.

You both have given me so much, structure, love, safety, correction, and devotion. In return, I want to honor You not just when things are easy, but especially when they’re hard. That is where true growth happens. That is where my submission is tested, and where I must rise.

Thank You for Your patience. Thank You for still choosing to lead me even when I falter. I do not take Your forgiveness for granted, and I do not take this dynamic lightly. You are both worthy of so much more than what I showed You in that moment.

Please accept my apology. Not just in words, but in the changes I will now make to be better for You, for our dynamic, and for myself. With deepest remorse and renewed commitment.

I want to take a moment to share something that's been on my heart, both as a reminder of personal boundaries and as a reflection on how deeply our past experiences can shape our reactions.

I’m very protective of my dynamic and relationship. It is incredibly important to me that others respect that what works for one couple may not work for another. I often hear people say things like, “I would never do that as a Dominant,” or “I wouldn’t expect my submissive to do those things,” and honestly, good for them. But here’s the thing: they’re not me. They’re not part of my dynamic, and they’re not living my experience. We all build our relationships based on mutual consent, trust, and the specific needs of those involved.

Yes, just like any relationship, mine isn’t perfect. I occasionally vent to fellow submissive friends when I need support or clarity, and most of the time, they lovingly tell me I’m overthinking it. That’s part of community, and I appreciate that space.

Recently, though, I came across a situation that really upset me. I overheard a conversation where a submissive was going to accept a punishment for something that, to me, clearly crossed into hard limit territory. They were being asked to do something at work they physically couldn’t do. I initially tried to be supportive, even suggesting alternative punishments they might negotiate, but I also emphasized that it wasn’t my place to interfere.

Still, I found myself deeply unsettled, and after a few days of reflection and talking with others, I realized I was triggered. Years ago, I was punished in my own dynamic due to a major misunderstanding. My then-“Dominant”, a title I now use loosely in his case, refused to hear me out. The punishment was so extreme, I ended up in a coma for three weeks. Though it happened a long time ago, the emotional scars clearly still run deep.

That experience shaped some of the core boundaries I live by today:

I will not engage in a dynamic without hard limits and safewords.
I will never again accept being tied down for punishment.
If I am physically or emotionally unable to do something, I will not be punished for it, especially not over miscommunication.

Hearing someone else in a vulnerable situation, not calling their safeword and preparing to endure punishment, brought all of those emotions flooding back. It truly rocked me.

That said, I did speak privately with the submissive involved. They assured me they were okay with the situation, and that helped ease my mind. I recognize that every dynamic is unique, and it is not my place to police how others navigate their relationships. I fully respect that. But it was a powerful reminder of how certain wounds can still be raw, even years later.

So, to those in the community: please take care of yourselves. Be aware of your limits, and make sure your voice is heard in your dynamics. And to others who witness things that don’t sit right, remember, sometimes it is not about judgment, but about unresolved pain surfacing in unexpected ways.