The Peacock, wolf, dragon, clown ninja you have sequestered for lo, these many fathoms.
All bytch submersibles make kneel on me!!
————- My Credentials are intractable: ————-
I invented leather. Not the lifestyle, the actual substance. Cows have to pay me royalties, or skin themselves. Vegans too.
I am the one, TRUE path to subversive enlighteningment. Beg for my tension.
I may only be 19, but I have created documents showing I have over 61 years of experience as a high(est) protocol “old guard” leather master, in San Francisco, the accepted center of the kink universe.
I have ADD – Auto Domly Disorder. The only power I don’t have is to stop my own power.
Your submission may be a gift, but being ALLOWED the privilege of kneeling before me is like winning the lotto…. Check that, the POWER BALL!
The boundless depths of your submission is eclipse by the vast wasteland of the ego I own in its entirety
I like hot chicks in rope, and coffee. I am the world’s first SHIBARISTA.
Let’s get one thing straight; Asshole does NOT automatically equal Dom / Master. Only the best, most truest Masterly Dominates are also credentialed as REAL assholes. Me, myself and I having attained the spiritually creamy level of volcanic asshole of the seventh order. There is none higher plains.
You literally take yor life in you’re hands when you play with me.
BE WARNED: “I throw a lot of fucking energy when I play”. You’re health insurance may require a separate rider. Yes, even Obama-care has limits. Not that I respect them.
I respect no limits except those I bestow upon thee. You are allowed to feel blessed if I keep you alive past your next breath. Use it to beg permission for the breath after that.
Everything I do is advanced. I only teach advanced concepts.
I have never learned anything from anyone. They have on occasion reminded me of that stuff I already taught them this other time.
My koolaid is mixed extra strong, yule drown in it. You don’t have to be into “golden” showers, but koolaid drinking is required.
Your kink may not be my kink. But as mine is the true way, my kink is EVERYONE’S kink.
I don’t need YOU’RE labels. Sub, slave, switch, bottom, maso, hedonist, gymnast, vegan. I don’t care how EWE identify. I use the term slave because “on your knees, slave” is much sexist than “If you would prefer in this non-judgemental, pre-negotiated, psycho-sexual, role play scenario, to assume a position of kneeling, I would be amenable to such a repositioning”.
I am “energy connected” with every hot female on this planet of Earth…. Via my twitter feed.
I have made a hard corp masochist scream “RED!” and faint just from peeking inside my rope bag. I have made a nilla, virgin, super model squirt and hump my leg from the same site.
I have trained slaves to have multiple orgasms simply from the littlest twitch of my eyebrow…. Over the phone.
My woowoo is better than “his”, in fact, better than any you can imagine.
The depth of my sadism will envelope you sole. It has a similar effect on halibut.
I am certified to cause nerve damage at will. …and make you like it.
I can take you almost anywhere you want to go. I have google maps.
I have a full wardrobe of the emperor’s designer Spring line.
I don’t have a kilt or latex pants. I do have a crotchless, purple, leather jump suit.
It’s supposed to hurt. I did that on porpoise. I do everything on a porpoise. Phocoenidae are actually quite kinky.
Obviously I’m never wrong, I am in-phallus-able. I thought I was once, but I was mistaken.
Me WANTING to be sorry, is an almost incomp-prehensile honor equivalent to a personal blessing from the pope, or Al Gore, depending on which god you worship.
I am often asked about my rope. No, I will not tell you about it.
The SIN-thetic fibers for my rope each individually, very uniquely grown on the North face of a secret, sacred mountain in Japan, world renown for its secret bondage rope production. It is harvested by mute monks so they may never spake of from whence it came. I hand select each indivisible fiber for its mythical energy transference properly.
It is then worked and conditioned by virgin nymphomaniacs, locked in carbonite chastity belts, lubed with snake oil and icy hot. Under my disapproving gaze, their sexual energy begins to infuse it with its righteous awesomnessitude.
My rope is wired for 220v, which is almost 7 times the puny Western standard of 110v
While it is generally accepted that Western rope lacks aesthetic, engineering and any connection with the poor bottom subjected to it, I am NOT a western rigger. I am a structured, freestyle, post neo, modernist, fusion rope artiste’, BPA free, and gluten friendly . I am not capable of effortless grace, but I did stay in the dumpster near a Holiday Inn Express this one time. They have free wi-fi.
You may now kneeling prostate before you’re webcam, while I clip my tow nails and eat cheetos.
No, I won’t turn on my webcam!!! >:-(
I already told you, I’m Brad Pitt’s billionaire body double with 15” of battering ram.
Besides, it shouldn’t matter what I look like. It’s not the size of the Dom, it’s the size of his…. Ego. Now YOU get to the gym.