Under The Whip

My Heart Behind the Subby Hotline Support Circle

Today is one of those days where my heart feels wide open overflowing with gratitude, nerves, and excitement all rolled into one. I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but I’m hosting my very first virtual Submissive Hotline support circle. And yes, it’s really happening.

This isn’t just a event. It’s something I’ve carried in my heart for a long time, a dream of creating a space just for us, for S-types of all kinds. Submissives, slaves, bottoms, brats, littles, service-oriented hearts, and switches in their s-side, this circle is for you. For us.

I know what it’s like to feel like the only one struggling to find your voice in a dynamic, or to wrestle with the weight of submission when it feels both beautiful and complicated. I know the ache of craving community that gets it, and the relief that comes from being seen without needing to explain the language of your heart.

This support circle isn’t about being “perfectly submissive.” It’s about being real. It’s a place to share our truths, to hold space for one another, to speak the unspoken parts of our journey, whether joyful or heavy. No roles, no posturing, no judgment. Just us, showing up as we are, to be heard and supported.

It’s my intention to make this space safe, inclusive, and grounded in mutual respect and confidentiality. Whether you're new to submission or have walked this path for decades, your presence matters. Your story matters.

Hosting this means everything to me. It’s the beginning of something I hope grows into a larger, deeply connected community where S-types feel nourished, uplifted, and empowered.

So, if you’re reading this and thinking, “Is this for me?” Yes. It is. Come as you are. Bring your heart, your questions, your experiences, and even your fears. You’re not alone anymore.

I can’t wait to see you there.

[DM me for date and time]

The Duality of Women in the Gorean Novels.

My, Personal Reflection, and My opinion on the Gorean Lifestyle. Though I understand, there is no one TRUE way to be Gorean.

Goreans, in their simplistic fashion, often contend, categorically, that man is naturally free and woman is naturally slave. But even for them the issues are more complex than these simple formulations would suggest. For example, there is no higher person, nor one more respected, than the Gorean free woman. Even a slaver who has captured a free woman often treats her with great solicitude until she is branded.
Hunters of Gor - Book 8 - Page 311

Contradicting Quote used in a group post to explain why women in reality do not deserve respect.

".....The man who respects a woman does not know what else to do with her,...." Beasts of Gor, pg 162 (new edition)

Direct Quote A person wrote in this group, NOT from the books, but them directly.

"Not a true Gorean Man" for not bowing to "boundaries"

When people talk about Gor, they often get swept up in the leather, chains, and titles, and forget the deeper contrasts John Norman painted between the roles of women on his "fictional counter Earth". As someone who has read the novels, explored the philosophies, and lived within alternative dynamics myself, I’ve often found myself reflecting on the sharp divide Norman carved between the Gorean slave and the Gorean Free Woman.

At first glance, both archetypes might seem like caricatures, written by a man with a very particular fantasy. And yes, Norman was not shy about his personal lens. But whether you love, hate, or question his work, there’s no denying the brutal clarity in how the two categories of women were treated.

The kajira, the female slave, was seen as property. Nothing more. Nothing less. In the Gorean world, she had no legal rights. No personal autonomy. She was an owned object, like a horse, a tunic, or a bowl. Her beauty was cultivated for use. Her mind was shaped through discipline and fear. She was taught obedience, trained in the art of pleasure, and expected to serve with grace, or suffer the consequences. Gorean men viewed her not as a person, but as an animal that had been tamed. And because of that, she was not "owed" respect.

Respect, in the Gorean sense, was reserved for the Free Woman.

Free Women were the elite. They walked veiled, cloaked in layers of modesty, untouchable to all but their kin and their chosen companions. A man who struck or shamed a Free Woman without cause could be punished, even killed. She was a symbol of her family’s honor, her city’s pride. She was educated, influential, and, despite her repression in other ways, held a strange power within the rigid structures of Gorean culture.

The difference in treatment wasn’t just cultural, it was philosophical. Gorean men viewed Free Women as worthy of reverence, while slaves were unworthy of even basic dignity. Slaves were often punished for speaking out of turn. Free Women could hold court, command servants, and challenge a man’s honor with a sharp tongue. The line was bold, and it was cruel.

But here’s where I personally find the contradiction.

Despite all the reverence supposedly given to Free Women, they lived in constant fear. Fear of capture. Fear of dishonor. Fear of being reduced to the very thing they scorned, a kajira in silk and steel. Because the truth is, in Gorean society, all women were seen as potential slaves. And that’s the thread that runs through every book. One slip, one mistake, one unlucky encounter, and that Free Woman could be stripped, collared, and auctioned like cattle.

So, were Free Women truly respected? Or were they placed on a pedestal only as long as they obeyed the invisible rules of Gorean patriarchy?

That’s the uncomfortable question.

What fascinates me about Norman’s world is not the fantasy of dominance, but the raw social hierarchy he constructed, and how deliberately he wrote women into it. The slave was debased and eroticized. The Free Woman was deified and contained. Both roles were cages, one gilded, one rusted.

In the end, the novels force us to ask, Is it better to be feared and revered, or used and owned? And is there any real freedom for women in a world where their value is always measured by the men around them?

These are questions I still wrestle with.

But one thing remains clear to me. In Gor, respect was conditional. And for women, whether free or bound, it was never guaranteed. Though it did exist.

Now onto the main point of this writing.

Living within the Gorean lifestyle can be incredibly powerful and fulfilling when practiced with mutual respect, honor, and integrity. For me, it represents a dynamic that

acknowledges polarity, structure, and ancient inspired roles. But there’s a dark undercurrent I’ve encountered, one that deeply troubles me and that I feel needs to be addressed.

Some individuals within the Gorean lifestyle, both men and women, seem to hold the belief that no woman is ever truly worthy of respect, unless she conforms to their rigid

interpretation of submission, or worse, unless she is Free by their approval. To them, slaves are property, no longer human, no longer deserving of empathy or consideration. And while consensual objectification can be part of some people’s kink, it should never cross the line into psychological abuse.

More disturbingly, I’ve witnessed the assertion that anyone living a Gorean life should not be allowed boundaries, hard limits, or even trauma informed protections. That if you are in this lifestyle, you’ve essentially forfeited all rights to your own peace or mental well being. This mindset isn’t just misguided, it is dangerous.

Submission, in any form, must be a choice. The stripping of limits, the denial of consent, and the mocking of mental health needs is not Gorean. It is abusive. There is nothing honorable about exploiting someone’s past pain to make them more compliant. There is no strength in dismissing a woman’s humanity under the guise of “tradition.” Mind you, "Fictional, traditions."

Gorean philosophy, at its core, reveres structure, strength, and purpose. But that includes responsibility and care, not cruelty. If your version of Gor leaves no room for healing, no room for safety, no room for your partner’s limits, then you’re not practicing a lifestyle, you’re enforcing control to mask your own weakness.

For those of us walking this path with sincerity, honor does not mean harm. Power exchange must always include consent. And consent must always be informed, conscious, enthustiastic and ongoing.

Because no matter your role, you are worthy of respect, peace, and the right to heal.

Closing Thoughts

I didn’t come to Gor looking for cruelty. I came looking for structure, purpose, and something that spoke to the deeper parts of me that longed for devotion, strength, and surrender. And yes, parts of the novels stirred something primal, something raw and alluring. But as I’ve lived and grown within this lifestyle, I’ve learned to separate informed submission from blind obedience, and honor from ego driven abuse.

Gor, for all its fantasy, is not a license to dehumanize. It is not a justification to erase someone’s boundaries, dismiss their trauma, or demand they sacrifice their mental health to satisfy someone else’s interpretation of control.

Anyone who tells you that you must suffer in silence to be “truly Gorean” is not protecting the philosophy, they are weaponizing it.

My submission, when I give it, is sacred. And so is my voice.

Because in any world, fictional or real, no woman should ever have to choose between her dignity and her dynamic.

And I refuse to let anyone convince me otherwise.

So go ahead, call me a “Disney Gorean” if that makes you feel superior. Call me “Gor-lite” if it helps you sleep at night. It doesn’t faze me. You hold no authority over how I interpret this path. You don’t get to decide what Gor means to me, and you certainly don’t have the power to define whether I am Gorean or not.

Not for You, Not for Anyone

This Status on someones profile is what prompted this writingIf she puts restrictions on sex with you, she does not see you as the best option. Women will break all their rules for the one they desire.

There’s a phrase I came across recently that absolutely turned my stomach.
“If she puts restrictions on sex with you, she does not see you as the best option. Women will break all their rules for the one they desire.”

Let me make this crystal clear, this is not just harmful rhetoric. It is dangerous, manipulative, and rooted in predatory thinking.

I have limits and boundaries for a reason. Not to play games. Not to hold power over someone. Not to weed out the “weak.” My boundaries exist because of things that are non negotiable. They may be connected to trauma, to health, to emotional safety, to deeply held beliefs. Some of them, if crossed, will make me physically sick. Some of them will send me spiraling mentally or emotionally. Others are just things I personally find disgusting or incompatible with my sense of self.

And I will not break those limits for anyone. Not for someone I love, admire, desire, or even depend on. Not for someone with a high status in the kink or lifestyle community. Not for a partner. Not for a friend. Not for you.

The implication that real desire means being willing to sacrifice your own safety, your own limits, is abuse in a mask. It encourages people to ignore their instincts, to suppress their trauma responses, and to betray themselves, just to validate someone else's sense of entitlement.

If you ever pressure someone to break their boundaries in order to prove their love or desire for you, you are an abuser. You are a predator. You are not safe. Not in kink. Not in relationships. Not in any community.

"Pressuring someone to remove a hard limit or violate a personal boundary is not negotiation, it is coercion, and in many cases, it crosses the line into sexual assault."

The fact that this statement came from someone who presents themselves as a kink educator, who holds influence and has a large following, is horrifying. We hold people in educational positions to a higher standard because they are meant to protect, to teach ethical dynamics, and to model safe behavior. But this? This is manipulation disguised as wisdom.

It is yet another reminder that just because someone publishes books, creates content, or garners attention doesn’t mean they practice what they preach. It doesn't mean they are safe. It doesn't mean they understand consent.

So here’s my plea to everyone in any community, kink or otherwise. Take everything you read, everything you hear, with a grain of salt. Vet people, observe how they behave when they're not on camera or stage. Ask who’s in their inner circles, and who isn’t anymore. Pay attention to patterns. Because people will show you who they really are if you watch long enough.

And if someone ever tells you that love means bending your own rules, run.

Consent is not love with an asterisk. Boundaries are not obstacles.
And breaking yourself for someone else is not desire, it is self abandonment.

Don’t let anyone romanticize your undoing.

The Strength It Takes to Communicate Clearly

Let’s get one thing straight: communication isn’t just a skill, it Is a responsibility. And one that most people neglect under the guise of "not wanting to start drama" or "it Is not that deep." But here’s the truth I’ve learned. If you’re not speaking up, you’re setting yourself up for resentment, for confusion, for breakdowns in relationships that could’ve been saved or structured better from the start.

I used to think that expressing how I felt in the moment was enough. Say it, get it off your chest, move on. But that’s only half the job. Real communication, the kind that builds relationships instead of breaking them, demands more than just venting in the heat of emotion. It requires strength, emotional maturity, self awareness, and follow through.

Before you say anything, reflect. Ask yourself, what is the actual issue? What exactly am I feeling? Name it. Own it. And then, and this is key, give yourself space. Sit with it for a day or two. Emotions shift once the adrenaline clears. What you feel in the moment might not be what you feel after you’ve had time to process.

But don’t stop there. After that space and clarity, you owe it to yourself and the other person to speak calmly, honestly, and clearly. You can’t expect someone to fix something they don’t know is broken. People are not mind readers. You can’t stew in silence and then explode, expecting them to magically understand what went wrong.

You have to lay it out:

What happened.

How it made you feel.

What you need moving forward.

And yes, that might mean placing a boundary. That might mean proposing a solution or saying, “This is what needs to change, now or over time.” That might mean leaving room for them to rise or for things to shift, but you have to make the terms clear. Because here’s another hard truth. If you don’t define what kind of relationship you want, whether romantic, platonic, professional, then someone else will. And you may not like what they choose.

If you’re not actively shaping your role in a relationship, advocating for your needs, and setting expectations, then how can you be shocked when it crumbles? You left it on autopilot. You said nothing when something felt off. And now it is off the rails, and that silence helped drive it there.

Communicating doesn’t make you needy. It makes you responsible, for your own emotional well being, for your role in your relationships, and for the outcomes you’re living with. So speak. Be brave enough to process, speak up, and define what you need. That’s not drama. That’s clarity. That’s real strength.

And if someone can’t handle that? That tells you everything you need to know.

There’s a certain spark I get when I hear that tone in His voice. You know the one, the one that drops into something darker, something deeper. The one that tells me, playtime is over and I am His to mold. That’s when everything in me stills. My sass shuts up. My mind stops spinning. And all that’s left is obedience. Sweet, aching, beautiful submission.

God, I live for it. I crave it. I bloom in it.

I know it might sound strange to someone outside our world but when He takes the choices away from me, when I am not given a single inch of wiggle room, when I have to do what He wants. It is like everything clicks into place. My world becomes perfectly ordered, perfectly simple. I don’t have to think. I don’t have to fight. I don’t have to guess.

I just obey.

And that, that is where I melt. That is where I become what I was meant to be. Not a girlfriend. Not a partner. Not a girlfriend playing pretend. But His. Entirely. Unequivocally. Unapologetically.

There’s magic in that kind of control. There’s madness in the way He rewires my thoughts, how His rules become my truths, His desires become my needs. Call it brainwashing, conditioning, training, whatever word makes you squirm. All I know is, I love it. I need it. I worship it.

He snaps His fingers, and I drop. He gives a look, and my breath stutters. He whispers “good girl” and I’m dripping before the words even land.

There’s no high like it. There’s no drug that compares to the cocktail of dopamine, surrender, and mind fuckery that He stirs up inside me. He turns my resistance into obedience. He turns my sass into silence. And somehow, impossibly, He makes my entire identity a devotion to Him.

And let me tell you something when I feel that leash, even metaphorically? When my knees hit the floor without hesitation? When I hear His commands echoing in my head even when He’s not around?

That’s when I know I’m His perfectly trained, completely obsessed, deliciously fucked up little slave puddle.

No choices.
Just His.

And I wouldn't want it any other way.
Record A

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.