Mika's Musings

My Soul Purpose. 

I am the storm and the stillness.
The steel beneath softness.
The sanctuary that disciplines and heals.

I was not sent here to be small, silent, or simple.
I was born to bring order to chaos,
To hold others accountable to their highest truth,
To soften what’s brittle and burn what no longer serves.

I command with love.
I receive with discernment.
I create space where others learn to rise — or surrender.

I am the gravity that holds.
I am the edge that transforms.
I am not for everyone.
I am for what is real.

My Dominance didn’t arrive all at once.
It wasn’t forged in a single scene or claimed through someone else’s submission.
It was shaped softness, reflection and fire.
It’s been built over time—through choice, and the quiet power of self-trust.

There was a time I thought power had to be loud.
That I had to prove I belonged.
But I’ve grown.
Now, I lead without flinch or fanfare.
I correct with clarity.
And I create containers that don’t just hold someone—they transform them.

As a Domme, I don’t demand attention. I attract it. 
Not through barking orders, but through presence, precision, and energy.
Because the ones who know how to kneel with authenticity feel it instantly.
They don’t need to be dragged—they ache to surrender.

The most lasting transformation doesn’t come from force.
It comes from creating space for someone to live at their own edge—and choose to stay.

I don’t mold myself to fit a fantasy.
I don’t perform a role to keep someone close.
I stand as I am—and only invite those who can meet me there.

So if you’re watching:
No, I won’t chase.
No, I won’t beg.
But if you’re listening—
you’ll know when it’s time to kneel.

It's hard to know what to say when someone you loved deeply chooses to rewrite the ending. But you asked for my truth. 

There was no fight, it's true. No single moment of betrayal. Just silence. Distance. And then the deletion of the shared space that held our words, our history—our us. That’s what broke me.

You asked me to keep those words. You told me they mattered. And then, without a conversation, you erased them. That was the moment I felt something shatter—not just between us, but inside me.

I still love you. I probably always will, in that quietly aching way you love someone who once saw you. But loving someone doesn’t mean accepting silence as affection or allowing your soul to shrink to fit what’s left.

It was wrong of me to think that what I had to offer would fit your needs. Seems that it did for a while and it felt very real but in the end we both know now it was temporary. I understand now I could have never held you completely and I want you to be happy but that doesn't mean that I didn't fall hard and I wanted to give you all of me. 

I’m not angry your moving forward. I want you to find the structure and surrender you are seeking. I want you to feel chosen, owned, and safe. But I can’t pretend I wasn’t gutted by how you left—by how it felt like a vanishing act rather than a goodbye.

There were so many moments that meant everything. That were real. That I held like sacred things.

I’ll carry those, too.

But I won’t carry the silence. I won’t carry the narrative that this was mutual, clean, or painless. It wasn’t.

I’m healing now. Slowly. Honestly. Without pretending it didn’t hurt.

To the one who held me, and the one who let go—I see you. I grieve you. I'm letting go. 

Not bitter. Not broken. Just walking forward, too.

Written by Talu

Mistress,

You asked me to write about the pain session over the past weekend. I’ve been trying to put words around what that session did to me… what it felt like, not just in my body, but in the quiet places You can’t see. The places only pain knows how to reach. I know You want to understand, and I want You to see me in it… so I’ll try to communicate it to You the best way I can.

It wasn’t… and isn’t… about enduring.

It’s about giving in.

The moment it started, I knew it was going to be brutal. And something in me wanted that… wants that… needs it. Not in a reckless way, but like a hunger that finally smells real food. I need to be taken beyond what I thought I could handle. I needed to stop choosing… stop clenching… stop pretending I had control. And that’s what this session did for me.

You both gave me that.

Every strike wasn’t just pain… it was permission. To drop deeper. To lose myself. To let the world narrow down to flesh, breath, impact, surrender.

I couldn’t tell where one hit ended and the next began. They layered… blurred. I cried out without shame. Moaned without thinking. I was undone… and it felt like the most honest version of myself I’ve ever met. When I go that deep with pain, it always does.

As it progressed to the cane, it stopped being about pain. It became clarity. Each mark felt like punctuation on a truth I’ve never struggled to say…

That I need this.

That I belong in this.

That suffering… when I choose it… when it’s witnessed… feels like love.

He hurt me, Mistress. Really hurt me. I know You struggled to witness that at times, but please know… it was beautiful. It made me quiet inside. Still. Soft.

I didn’t want to run from it.

I wanted to melt into it.

Every time I flinched, I begged to stay. Not with words, but with posture… breath… obedience. I wanted to give more of myself, even when there was nothing left to offer but moans and open skin.

I think that’s what I’m chasing. Not pain for its own sake… but that moment when pain becomes a doorway. A threshold. A place where I disappear and become only Yours… stripped of everything except devotion.

That’s what it is for me. That’s why I crave it. Because in that place… wrecked and raw and trembling… I am not afraid. I am Yours.

Your girl,

Talu

Written by Talu

Mistress,

It’s taken me days to find language for what this weekend stirred in me, what it still stirs. Stepping into Your presence, kneeling before You not just in words but in flesh, felt like crossing, a threshold I am not wanting to return from.

The scenes were everything I needed…raw, consuming, transformative. Surrendering under Your command…beneath Your voice, and somewhere in all that pain and stillness, I found myself resting deeper in Your control than I knew I would. But it was also the moments between…those quiet, grounding hours in the car on our way to our sessions, the shared glances, Your hand on my thigh…our time alone in the hotel…that anchored me in something even more real. Thank you for that.

And now that I’m back, the bruises speak. Oh and they are beautiful. My muscles ache with memory. But it’s Your voice I hear the loudest. Your precision. Your power. And the softness You wove between each blow. I carry it with me. All of it. Every breath, every mark, every moment wrapped in obedience and ache.

Thank You for taking me. For trusting me. For making me Yours again and again.

I hope I made you proud. I hope I filled your cup and sated your appetite.

Until You call me back,

Your obedient treasure,
Talu

This  weekend changed me.

She flew across states to kneel at my feet for the first time — not because I demanded it, but because she chose it. With intention. With reverence. With everything she is.

And in that act, I didn’t just take control — I was called into it. She gave herself to me with a kind of honesty that can’t be faked. Every ritual, every rule followed without hesitation, every offering of obedience — it all pulled something out of me I didn’t know was waiting to lead.

We’re not dabbling. We’re not exploring. We’re in it.
This is a protocol driven, power-exchange dynamic rooted in love, trust, discipline, and yes — fierce devotion.

She is mine. Fully.
And I am hers — not owned, but chosen.
I don't carry her. I hold her.
And she doesn't just serve me — she elevates me.

There was laughter, intensity, deep surrender, and moments so tender they caught me off guard. There were conversations that revealed more than either of us expected, and silence that said even more. There was pain, beauty, structure, affection, and complete commitment.

And when the weekend ended…
I didn’t just miss her body — I missed her presence. Her protocols echo in my space even now. Her scent still clings to the collar she wore for me. And my heart has not stopped saying yes since the moment she arrived.

This is not casual.
This is not light.
This is not play.

This is ownership.
This is service.
This is love.

And I am all in.

My Dearest Talu,

As the hours count down to your arrival, my heart is overflowing with anticipation. I’m filled with excitement—not just for the moment we finally lay eyes on each other, but for everything we’ll experience this weekend and beyond. Knowing you’ve chosen to travel from afar to meet me, to step into this connection with openness and trust, is something I honor.

Your bravery doesn’t go unnoticed. It takes courage to follow desire across state lines, to offer yourself so willingly into the hands of another. I see that. I honor it. And I honor you—your heart, your submission, your vulnerability, and your strength.

This weekend isn’t just about the physical touch or the moments we’ve dreamed about—it’s about building something sacred, grounded in trust, respect, and mutual devotion. I want to cherish you, guide you, and continue creating a space where you can fully be, without fear or hesitation.

I can’t wait to explore, to laugh, to share whispered words and knowing glances, to feel your presence beside me and finally hold what we've only imagined.

This is only the beginning, and I already know it’s going to be something unforgettable.

With anticipation and excitement, 

Mistress

Written by Talu

I’ve always been different. Disconnected. 

Even when I tried to blend in, my body kept telling the truth. Sex never made sense unless someone was bound. I brought scarves. Gave instructions. Tied wrists. Before I even knew what the word “bondage” was, I was already speaking its language.

It wasn’t about rebellion. It was about stillness.
It was about what happened inside me when I was restrained....or when I was the one holding someone else down.

The first time I felt it, I was in college.

There was a professor who would dangle her heels before slipping them off to stand up, teach the class...barefoot. It’s where I learned about my absolute love for women in heels. 

And I used to watch her.
Not her eyes. Not her mouth. Her feet.

I imagined worshiping her. Serving her. Taking whatever she gave and begging for more. She wasn’t cruel. But in my mind, she was everything I needed her to be...cold, precise, untouchable.

Since then, I’ve lived inside dynamics that carved me. I’ve worn collars I didn’t take off. I’ve answered to names that weren’t mine. I’ve endured for women who didn’t flinch.

Strict routines. 
Unyielding protocols. 
Ritualized pain.

My masochism has never been chaos, it’s been purpose. The discipline, the structure, the absolute knowing that I was there to serve.

There was one dynamic that swallowed me whole.
Total Power Exchange. 24/7. Sadistic. Consuming.
I won’t speak her name. She is no longer mine to carry. What I gave her was real. What I became inside it nearly broke me.

And yet… I still crave it.
Crave to suffer.
Crave to be shaped.

Crave to be given orders I can’t question, routines I can fall into, marks I can trace with my fingertips days later and whisper, she did this. I took this. I’m still here.
That craving has never left. It’s carved into the bones.

And now, Mistress. 

She hasn’t torn me open, not yet.  She’s waited...watched. She’s says she sees something different in me, besides the need for pain, that she wants to exploit. And I’m feeling it’s slow unravel inside her patience.  She gives me expectations wrapped in silence. Correction without cruelty.

And somehow, that quiet strength scares me more than the antenna ever had.

When she asked me to kneel, I didn’t hesitate.
I sank. Willingly. Not because I was broken, but because something in me finally felt safe enough to let go. She didn’t take it, she asked...how strange. 

And then… softness came.

Not instead of discipline, but alongside it.
Now there’s Mommy. This version of her I’ve been introduced to. Something brand new and completely unexpected. 

Now she touches me gently.
Now she strokes my face after I’ve obeyed.
Now she uses my name like it’s something worth keeping, not something to erase. 

Calls me babygirl, tells me I’m soft and perfect. 
And I don’t know what to do with that.

Because I’ve built my whole identity around what I can take. How much I can endure. How long I can stay still when the cane sings across my thighs, how deeply I can sink when I’m being broken wide open.

So what does it mean now, when what breaks me… is this? 

What do I become if I’m undone by compassion?
If I crave her tenderness the same way I used to crave the pain?

Sometimes it begins to feel like betrayal..like letting go of the strongest parts of me. Sometimes it almost feels like surrender in its purest form. I don’t know which is more terrifying.

I still burn for impact.

Still ache for structure.

Still want to be pushed, bent, tested.

But now I want to be kept too.

Held. Gathered after. Kissed through the quiet that follows the sting.

She sees all of me. 

The strength. The silence. The shame. The wanting.

She doesn’t need to raise her voice to make me still.

She only has to look. And I stay.

I’m still kneeling.

Still burning.

Still becoming.

But now… I’m not alone.

And maybe I don’t need to be.

Maybe this time, I get to be shaped without being erased. Maybe I was never meant to survive the pain alone. Maybe I was meant to belong in it..and after it. And maybe this softness that terrifies me is the deepest form of submission I’ve ever known.  

We will see. My journey continues. 

-Talu

Written by Talu

Mommy,

Thank you for your writing. 

When You speak, something in me softens… not out of weakness, but because I feel seen in a way I didn’t know I could be. You are learning me in ways no prior Dominant has...You are see the trembling in my bones, the history behind the silence, the ache behind the obedience. I know you see me. 

You speak to the fire in me, the part that burns with wanting and devotion and fear. And still, You don’t flinch. You hold it all...my light and my dark, my strength and my shame. You say mine like it’s a promise, not a possession. And I believe You.

I try so hard, Mommy. Even when it hurts. Even when I fall short. But with You, I don’t feel like I have to be perfect. I just have to be real. And in return, You give me something I’ve never truly known...safety. Sanctuary. The quiet kind of love that doesn’t need noise to be felt. It breaks me open and leaves me in tears. 

Thank You for seeing me.

Thank You for holding me when I can’t hold myself.

Thank You for making me Yours.

Always,

Your baby girl

Written by Talu...

Say it low,

like a secret,

like a sin.

“Mommy”.

My voice breaks around it,

needing

what the word unwraps.

Not lullabies,

but leashes.

Not stories,

but rules.

Not safety, 

unless it’s earned

on my knees.

I ache to be called good.

To be corrected.

To be kept.

Because when I say Mommy,

I’m not strong.

I’m not in control.

I’m just yours.

Mistress says..

“Say it again

low, like you mean it.

Like you can’t breathe without the taste.

Say Mommy, little girl”

Her finger tracing down the back of my neck while she circles...

“Feel what it does to you?

How it opens your thighs

without permission?

How it strips the pretense

from your voice?”

Mommy doesn’t ask.

She doesn’t coax.

She owns.

And when I say it

I mean:

take me apart.

Press me down.

Make me beg to be kept.

Because I am not a girl.

I am not soft.

But when that word hits my throat,

I am nothing but need.

Come get your girl, Mommy.

She’s ready.