• Goddess Tiffany Kay

The Big BDSM Bang Theory

The original purpose of this poetic take of my journey into BDSM via Self Destruction is to share how beautifully traumatizing and transforming heartache and betrayal in kink can be. I'm currently sharing this origin story to give some insight to who I am as a Single Black Woman, a tethered lover, and as a Survivor.

A word of advice: Fight for love... It is always worth it. So am I. and So are you.


Thoughts of Deleting Part 8: “The Dance of A Thousand Deaths” August 8th 2019. Written 7:30pm.


I heard love is a battlefield and I have seen myself die at war for others. I have lived and I have loved and then, I died... And I’m beginning to realize my sacrifice is usually in vain if not for the lessons gained. At heart, I am a lover not a fighter. But all my life I’ve had to fight: for my family’s approval, recognition from my peers, to prove my loyalty, or to protect my heart... Nothing has ever been given to me. I earn everything: my education, my respect, my thoughts, my access, my peace, my love... I especially have to earn the love in my life... And tonight I’m realizing phrases like “All is fair in love and war” genuinely confuse me. Love ain’t ever been fair to me and why are we even fighting? We may disagree and I will pout. I may throw temper tantrums but I always get the attitude fucked out of me and my ass spanked until I compromise. I may not be perfect, but who is right?... And loving me isn’t like being at war at all... Very low drama and high maintenance type of gyal... Just communicate with me and I’m happy. I believe in manifesting alignment aka keeping the peace amongst lovers with intention aka ETHICAL POLYAMORY. Cuz y’all be cheating so much I don’t even believe in monogamy anymore but that’s a different journal entry on a different emotional night.

When love leaves me immobilized and injured, I forgive the strangers of my past and only remember what it feels like to be stabbed in the back. I would practice telepathy so (“if”) next time my feelings get caught in a drive by, my mind would know how to tell my heart that our body is gasping for her last breath. I trained myself to recognize treacherous traits of those who look good but do bad, and I isolated myself away from anyone I could sense evil from. This often leaves me lonely and wishing for a safety zone delivered to me in the arms of a lover who would respect, appreciate and recognize my damaged past as a valuable asset. I follow directions, I play nicely with others, and I’m extremely submissive to the man who deserves this Goddess to bow in his honor... And truthfully, I need(ed) the protection because nobody believes unicorns are real until they actually find one...


See, the assassins would watch me in the night, steal my jerseys, and infiltrate my sanctum. They made me breakfast in bed, they rubbed my back after a long day of work, and ultimately they earned my trust. After a few months of sleeping in my bed, they would leave me for dead with a shot to the third eye. Shit, some of these motherfuckas was bold as hell and just ran up snatching a piece of my little mended heart right out my chest. It’s almost like niggas see me and say “Oh my gooch! that stallion is young, intelligent, and super kinky! That’s such a rare commodity and she’s so ambitious too! Let’s capture her, feed her until she’s thick & skin her alive! She’s been through a lot but she’s still so beautiful! that means she’s strong and has tough skin so she’ll be worth a little trouble. let’s sale her magical organs on the black market! or let’s just take turns riding her, or ya know what: let’s just drain her sexually, emotionally, mentally and literally, then leave her for dead!” And instead of beg them for first aid, I would be prepared to transcend, yet again. Still I rise to the Heavens, recognizing where I can fault myself for my downfall. And always forgiving them ALL as I rationalized their behaviors toward me as “lessons” and I moved on to live, love, and die again...


Plus the lessons are always the same... “Don’t assume: Ask questions.” “Seek clarity, not exclusivity.” “Be honest, not sneaky” “Practice safe consensual sex” “Be intentional and learn your roles” “Play safely” Blah blah blah. Still, here I am. 9 years into Kink and BDSM: no primary partner, no consistent play partners and very few long term friendships to keep my broken heart from growing cold while I await romantic rescue. Of course I have kink friends and local support groups that have helped me navigate my personal mess. Shameless plug And even if a love with no strings may exist in my life: if the connection is invisible, is it really there? Meanwhile, I am wounded, but still capable. Insecure but welcoming... Starving for trust and honesty. Now that I’m actually processing my emotional journey through the years, tonight is the first night I accept I was born to die in love. I accept that I’m alone in the field and without official protection. But a hopeless romantic, I accept I’ll always let them kill the pussy...


Tonight is also the first night I’m accepting a lot of things about my Kink life. I recently experienced the worst subdrop I’ve ever felt, inspiring the worst depression of my life. And you’ll read on to learn what originally caused my love for advocating & educating on the topic of emotional and mental health in kink. For now just know this subdrop encouraged insecurities that I haven’t been able to recognize within myself for years. Because in order to experience subdrop, you must submit and my submissive nature has been dead for quite sometime... This subdrop was hard because this was a time I really needed to vent, cry, be held, be reassured, feel valued, and be included in my lovers happiness. Instead, I felt like an annoying burden for begging for the opportunity to share... Anyways, I accept I did this particularly dark episode of subdrop to myself because I have high standards and low patience.... I expect people to appreciate my readiness to prove my worthiness. I ask for commitment to noncommittal boundaries before some ppl are ready to define the lines of what we’ll become and I tend to run when I feel my energy isn’t being returned... I mean, without fences the wildest horses tend to roam so... I’m working on it. How do I trust again When almost every single person I have ever loved or had a true connection with has murdered me at least once for demanding the truth about their fears, their bad habits, his/her ex or their next or some trashy ass unequivocal thrill of the night. And I accept that this must be the part where I accidentally declare war because I never even ask to be the only one. I only ask I be the priority for transparency about however many multiple partnerships exist elsewhere. But instead of hearing the unpretty truth: I live, I love, I’m killed, and I die in beautiful lies...


I, Tiffany Kay “the persona” was created On my 18th birthday: the day I gave my first strip show. It was a 5 minute teaser set and audition for amateur night at a local “Live Nude Girls” club located about 8 miles from my tiny college campus in boring ass Dover, DE. The interview was for a traveling urban entertainment and promotions company that had branches all along the east coast. If the club hired me, so would the Entertainment company. So instead of coming home for 3 day weekends or holidays, I would get to travel and make money being a stripper hoe. I danced to “Practice” by Drake and some other mildly up-tempo song I don’t remember. I wore a natural face with a slicked back pineapple curly hairstyle with an all black jumpsuit that had my boobs and ass cut out with straps attached that would wrap around my legs and my arms. I wore silver XXX pasties. metallic silver thigh high stockings and 6” Black Stilettos with silver buckles. I was nervous and stiff but my aesthetic commanded attention... So much so, I got the job. I danced at the club one weekend every month and traveled with the company 2 weekends every month. I fell in love with moving my body seductively and sensually sharing my omnipresence energy with my admirers. I wasn’t much of a pole dancer but I can give a helluva strip tease... I felt empowered, I was dominate and always in control. I say you can touch, I say we can dance. I move slooow, and make eye contact as I take my clothes off and revealed my beautiful curves to whoever I wanted, when I wanted. I felt desired and even when I knew it was just for the lustful enjoyment of my patrons, I knew it was for the selfish desires of me too. I felt free... Vanilla me had died and a very classily slutty woman was born...


2 years later, I got booked to work a rappers birthday bash and there I met my very first Sugardaddy Dom. I’ll call him “Keys” This would not be the first time I saw myself die but at 20 years old, it would be the first time I killed myself. He introduced himself as a “regular” of mine, saying that he had been to at least four events in a row trying to meet my acquaintance before we would eventually meet at the bday party. I thought okay stalker. Wassup w the coinz tho? He emphasized he wasn’t a Sugardaddy our first few phone conversations in-between greetings... But when we finally met in person again, it was a completely different song... Our first date, he took me to Tabu in Maryland and that was the very first “dungeon/playhouse/swingers club” I’d ever been to.. We went back every weekend after that for 6 months. Did not miss one weekend and he made sure I wanted for nothing. I will never forget the way he persuaded me to commit suicide. He carefully planned his attack with self-inflicted poison. He learned my loved languages and used them against me. He learned I like contractual rules so I can stay in my place.. He was Handsome, charming, financially stable, professionally successful, well respected in the streets, and he didn’t miss. All the things I didn’t like about him didn’t matter to me, my mistake to ignore red flags in hindsight. He picked me up when I didn’t have no ends and he held me down when my head was getting too big. He made me feel like his number one not because I was but because I wasn’t last. And I wasn’t the last to know that I'm not first... That type of honesty goes a long way...


We became best friends, we told each other everything and the dick was craaaazy. He learned how to use me as a weapon against me. He learned I have more stamina than one person can handle in a night. He learned I love women and I love pleasing women and I love watching other women pleasing MY man... He learned that even when I felt insecure about sharing, I just wanted to see what he likes so I can watch him use them to teach me... Shit, we learned that together... And after I passed my test, we released them back to their lives. It worked for me because at the time, I’d let him know many secrets about my attachment issues. So he learned what triggers would get me to use these newly acquired skills for his advantage. Keys would write letters with our actions. And I was just the pen, the prettiest one he could find with the most beautiful ink. Leaving the stain of our crazy love stories on the pages of my life. He would bring home a chocolate thang and next thing you know: cocaine cowgirls all night on the balcony. He would fulfill my first kinky fantasy, three beautiful black men at one time. Worshipping me, touching and caressing me, blessing me, appreciating me, waaaaaaaaaaanting ME. That night, there was no where to run... The gentlemen came to him, then came to me separately one at a time and then we all went upstairs. The host, Sunshine, was a Lifestyle promoter on the east coast. Apparently she’s a big deal in the kink world. “look her up on Facebook” they told me but that’s another adventurous journal entry for another not so emotional night.


Anywho, Sunshine required showers before play so after we all were clean: Keys had his way with me. Then he steps back to watch his brother have his way with me, the gentleman who came to me second. Then he joins again as he invites my soon to be second Dom into the scene, the gentleman who came to me last. Our connection, as a group, was undeniable, uninterrupted, and hypnotic as fuck. It was such a messy wet long sexy high as fuck night. Dick in my ass, dick deep in my guts, gagging down my throat. I was not breathing but I had so much air... My lungs full of a small moment of regret, my brain dead, my heart blinded by lust and my body full of long juicy wet beautiful thick veiny BLACK D I C K 🤤 And even after that, I felt... transformed. He created a version of me: she was free like Tiffany but she was not like Tiffany. She was so free that she became a slave to her desires. She became unpredictable, addicted and insatiable. Wacked out on sleep deprivation, ODing on dick and dope. He was dangerous because he got in her mind and she was in her feelings. You can read more about that night as a #TooMuchFunTale in my Moments on Twitter.


This version of me was something Tiffany had never known, she was willing to do anything, feel anything, go anywhere, pop anything. And she did because that’s what he wanted her to do, with no pressure. And she, overly obedient, wanted to do whatever he wanted her to do... He let her believe she was the boss. And she was a boss then too. Owning her own traveling modeling agency now, he brought her good business and he was proud of her professional endeavors. So he loved fucking her until she couldn’t move. Sometimes he talked shit. Sometimes his eyes spoke for him... Screaming to me “You are so strong all the time... I’m going to break you and make you search for the strength to breathe” And if I happened to catch that glance with the same intensity, I was silently accepting the challenge... Tiffany loved women but this version of me loved to share women, with her man. She loved watching Keys fucking his second string line ups because no matter how many people were in the bed or the room, SHE was in the room. Even though she was someone I didn’t really know too well, he acknowledged the submissive woman he created and showed appreciation for her contribution to his pleasure. This became her weakness...

He learned three important things about me and used them to give life to this submissive woman.

  • He learned how to use me against me. Example, -words of affirmation: “Tiffy baby you never have to be jealous because any woman can have a pussy, but I want YOUR pussy. say it with me, ‘PAPA WANTS MY PUSSY, the one attached to me.’ i repeat or rebel, he’d spank or ignore, depending on the day Thats Papa’s good girl...” -the rule: Now, behave and be rewarded.


  • He learned I loved rules... Example, -words of affirmation & the rule: “I want us to be pleased by each other before you or I touch anyone else. They ask permission if they want to play with you alone, if I don’t approve YOU decline pleasantly and refer to rule number 1.


  • He learned I was needy.. Example, -words of affirmation & the rule “I promise not to play without you Babygirl and if Papa breaks his rule, you can take the next weekend off to do whatever you want without me. Now smile sweetly, say ‘Yes Papa’ and refer to rule number 1...”


But he never broke the rules. At least not to my face. So I never misbehaved. He let me fly free as long as we were always on the same page... Afterwhile I realized, he ain’t know shit. No matter the scene, where or how many people were involved, he never gave me aftercare. He started to encourage my addictions to party drugs, adoring my irresponsible behaviors. Each person around him was caught up in reckless behaviors and he himself begun to spin out control... It spun me out control. He could not guide me as a partner in love or in life, and eventually he wouldn’t try. As amazing as I thought it was, I should’ve known he would kill me the night he told me so. Not with his words, but with his actions. He fulfilled my fantasies, dicked me down, watched these beautiful black men dick me down and then dicked me down some more. And then, he left me. For hours. And took his brother with him. There actually were many nights like this one before and after this particular night but I was too blinded by the façade of freedom to see I was living in shackles. Hobby, my soon to be second Dom, made me feel safe and stayed with me until he returned. This night being important for the shift in both dynamics because Keys had created someone who would love you until it killed themselves. Of course I loved him until it killed me and Hobby had front row seats to the funeral... But again, when was love ever fair and why are we even fighting? For the first time tonight, I accept that we’re fighting because of unfair shit like that.


Now Hobby was much younger then Keys, a few years older than me so we got along a little better. I was 22 when we met and he was around 30. Keys was well groomed, firm and white collar type of street savvy. Hobby was rough around the edges and hadn’t got there in his manhood yet. Half as many kids, half as many accolades and honestly, half as much brain but twice as much dick and just as deep of pockets. He would bring me back to life from a deadly coma a few months after Keys and I dissolve, arranging for me to see him in Baltimore every other weekend. Nursing me back to health by learning from Keys mistakes: we created memories, not moments. We spent our birthdays together, turning girls out and having sex in extremely public places. He became my protector on weekends I visited him but had Kink clients scheduled. Rules were set in place by default because he had a girl at home, which he initially lied about. And a newborn baby, which he paraded proudly about. But I didn’t mind because it meant we could play at the nice hotels downtown so he was always 5-10 minutes from me and my clients tipped extra for 4+ star hotels. Since Hobby was a threesome king, it was a win win. He was pressed to dive into some pussy... It was cute at first because it felt like WE (my “Dom” and I) were a team of lovers. Then it became clear that he wasn’t a “Dom” at all. He was just a swinger with a sex addiction and I was just “the threesome go to girl” because duh, I’m an unicorn.


We rocked solid for about 16 months total and I flew freely for a while... He created a wiser but looser version of me, an exhibitionist. Though the classy slut version of me had been killed, a more educated and sexually liberated version of me had been born. I didn’t understand her but It felt good to be able to relate to my Dom and that’s how he killed me, with trust. We liked the same things, we took pics together, we also became best friends... He let me express my emotional hesitations to him without making me feel bad for not letting them die with my last heart... He’d always say “Baby, even gangstas cry sometimes. It’s alright to be a little hurt...” He groomed my appetite for patience and where I once had none at all, I now have enough to wait for my true knight in rusted armor.... We got money together and we was fucking like dawgs in heat... He would stroke my cheeks when I deep throated him... When he was too deep into my lungs and I could no longer breathe: He would let me take a 5 sec inhale, slowly moving my face away from him so he can see the sloppy wetness of me pulling away from him and then he would shove himself back into my mouth... gentler but deeper. More intentional... He would fuck me like he loved me... He let me be whoever this submissive woman was that I was becoming because he was in love with her. It seemed fitting for me but he also knew nothing about the protocols of this journey and well, sometimes you meet people who’ll ride or die for you.. And sometimes, you ride and you die...


One day, he accused me of giving him an STD. Making a point to say “the clinic told me I'm experiencing three day old symptoms” I was selling pussy at the time, so I was (and still do) getting tested the first of the month, every four months. I had just been tested only one month ago and could you believe I hadn’t seen that nigga in 3 weeks. But my stupid ass let him convince me to come get tested with him. Again, ignoring the red flags to get that fix of satisfaction when hearing “Good girl...” I did go see him and I fucked him only after I looked him in his eyes while he used beautiful lies to stab me in my back. “Nobody just sucked my dick, lor dummy let me borrow some lotion cuz I told her my dick was ashy. But anyways I got treated on Wednesday so we good baby...” This killed me slowly the last 5 months of our dynamic because as I asked for the truth repeatedly, I was igniting a battle that would lead to war... After noticing a series of events, it took me almost a year to realize he was a liar and it actually took him a year to admit he was fucking around with at least 5 other women and wasn’t being honest with me about any of them... He didn’t even remember which one may have gave him the itch... So when the bomb finally dropped, it blew me up. It scattered every fiber of my being across this vastly confusing universe. Not because he was lying to me, I knew he wasn’t telling the truth. But because I never asked to be the only one and when I saw the explosion happening I didn’t even yell out for help... I just watched as the aftershock separated me from the bleeding heart I thought I was protecting and the body I’m allowing to be abused... So tell me again, when was love ever fair and why are we even fighting? For the second time tonight, I accept that we’re fighting because of unfair shit like that.


Soon, I just floated in the dating while kinky abyss for awhile. I watched myself become a zombie... Relating to my past lives and fiending to trust someone so much that I’ll endure any pain, pleasure, or fetish in order to please them... But never fully reincarnating, I manifested my Dominatrix side and became the living dead. Not eating, not sleeping, just existing and regurgitating my very spirit with the souls I steal from meaningless lovers so that whatever little life I have left in me, is always left with me... And then there was Tony. My last and final vanilla dynamic. He bought me back to life from my past with swift and immediate action. When we met, I was 23 and he was 33. Our age bothering him at first but regardless of his wariness, he did not hesitate to show me how badly he wanted me too... He noticed I needed words of affirmation so every Friday he wrote me a letter expressing how much his love for me has evolved from the week before. He recognized I needed rules so he only let me stay the night on the weekends or when I ugly cried hard enough to bring him a bucket full of my lonely tears. And he didn’t care much about sex... Tony did not cater to this submissive woman my previous Doms did so offering him an abundance of ass and ménage à trois was useless. He knew nothing about power dynamics or BDSM and he had no desire to... He simply catered to Tiffany.


He fucked me so good, for so long, the first time we had sex he literally put a hole in my pussy.... (Bartholin cyst- a weird uncomfortable bump that pops up inside the vagina walls along your cum glands when either you’ve been fucked too hard for too long or you were fucked too hard for too long without busting enough nuts). It had to be drained so I had a catheter surgically stuck in my pussy and was bed ridden with no sex for 2 weeks. But he fucked my face everyday and let me stay the night every night of my recovery. I was traumatized to be honest and again, ignoring red flags, he allowed me to be healed on my own time and I allowed him to kill the pussy as soon as she had a pulse again. He admired Tiffany’s strength and ironically, he mentally trained her to refuse death: The opposite of the telepathy work she had been mastering all these years to protect herself... And that’s how he killed me, by abusing my love. He was attentive and dominant with my body. Knowing I came from a life of Kink, he let me decide what I wanted to do with myself in the name of pleasing him. It was never about another woman. It was never about having options or needing them... I finally felt like I was enough. He washed up on the sand, collected all of my pieces, even the ones I was too damaged to admit I thought I’d never find again and he put me back together... or so I thought.


I woke up an hour earlier before he did everyday to have breakfast prepared for him in the mornings even though he left for work an hour before I even needed to be awake. I got off an hour earlier than he did so he always came home to a hot dinner ready for him, a warm healing bath drawn for him, and me in lingerie waiting for him... He loved Yeungling so I kept a cold 24 pack in the fridge. I even picked up an extra shift at the strip club so I can afford to treat him to nice surprises from Touch of Modern once or twice a month. This version of me, domestically submissive, was dead to the world already... She was killed after my first vanilla boyfriend ran off with my heart after a 5 year relationship that also ended in lies and Deceit but yes that’s also another blog post for another emotional night.... This version of me was so submissive she allowed herself to be abused until she was dust but Tiffany felt alive. Tiffany put in work to see him smile and at first he did so she didn’t mind that she was being taken advantage of. He seemed grateful and it showed, but eventually he wouldn’t even say hello to me... He seemed hurt and it showed... He had anger issues. He had poor communication skills and he was dishonest about mundane things... He yelled at me and made everything my fault even when I took responsibility for his mistakes. I was foolish and naïve. I was so eager to make him happy, I allowed him to beat me with verbal attacks and slap me across my face with the idea that I was ready to ride for someone as damaged as he was... I was a version of me who had become uneasy with my sexual desires and I lost the confidence to ask they be fulfilled. He saw this and he guilt tripped me for it... Hiding his separation from me, misdirecting the animosity for his ex wife to me and I realized he was not ready to fight for real love. As anyone who’d I’d interviewed prior had only been imposters, Assassins with my jersey on, he hid himself from me. The details on the night Tony killed me with abusive love are much too personal to share but it is a lesson that people will lie to you when they don’t have to, they will steal from you what you would humbly give them for free and even kill you when they realize you‘ll live your life for them... And I ask again, when was love ever fair and why are we even fighting? For the third time tonight, I accept that we’re fighting because of unfair shit like that.


Anyways, tonight I also accept why my past has made me reluctant. Recently finding someone who lights me up, I accept that I ignored red flags and I allowed myself to be broken rather than just a little bent out of shape. Tonight I accept that this someone bends me into positions I desire to live a new life in, holding my pose with pride for a man deserving of my un-comfortability. And as exciting as it feels, I can just feel my eyes rolling into the back of my head as my mind tells my heart we’re taking our last breath all over again. Although I haven’t been able to express my true feelings for this lover to this lover, I know he can sense they are there.... And tonight, I accept I’m terrified of dying alone... I thought I put pillars into place so I can learn to live again while dating cautiously and dying slowly, in love... I no longer date vanilla, I prefer to have an experienced dominant male primary partner/protector and s-type girlfriend but those high standards for intentionally Day 1 authenticity seem to cancel people out far too quickly. Nobody wants to put in work anymore. I accept that it’s been 2 full years almost 3, since ending things with Tony and my 27th birthday is 81 days away. Yet, I’m still living single and dying alone, in love.


Tonight, I am truly accepting my BDSM journey. I educate navigating this life safely, slowly, and surely because I have personally been battered, used, mistreated, forgotten, sacrificed, and assassinated so that others can live on in lust, peace and chicken grease. I accept I fall hard, expecting my genuine efforts to be matched but naively knowing they won’t... I stay when I should run... I accept that the rebirth of my love life will probably never exist Because no one wants someone who wants to love you until you die but everyone does want someone... As long as that someone isn’t a hopelessly romantic poly friendly sadomasochist sex zombie because that’s just too much pressure. Even when I learn my lesson, I still have to sit and watch me fail yet another test of submission because I simply prefer to have ethical honesty or nothing at all... Perhaps my high standards are a reflection of Tiffany refusing to ever kill or be killed again... or perhaps that’s this submissive woman refusing to love or to live again.... Perhaps she is refusing the mistakes of my past: not trusting anyone who looks good and refusing jerseys be allowed to be worn for her at all.


To be honest, I accepted the metaphysical journey Tiffany is about to embark so this submissive woman could be reborn. This time, she was not created by man to serve a man, she was created as a manifestation of herself. She approached him, she was declined. She took notes and watched from afar. She waited for her chance to beg his permission to grant her access to his life. She waits for approval, she asks before acting, she plays her role accordingly... She wanted to sacrifice her control of herself so that he can be sure who she belonged to... She caters to his needs, and made a habit of spoiling him like she’d do for no other before him... So I suppose she has learned many things from Tiffany... She’s learned she can be free as a slave to her desires, as long as she is protected by the person fulfilling them. She’s learned the rules Tiffany has to protect herself: no casual “NSA” play and no vanillas. She’s learned this means being okay with others leaving her in the morning because she wants longevity and positions that reflect a hierarchy in her dynamics and most people want “a good time right now”


This time, the submissive woman has learned to be proud when she kneels before a man, not because of how she feels about him but because he deserves to reap the benefits of the fruits from her deeply rooted past. Tonight, I accept that someone new deserves to be the one I feed my grapes too but I suppose this submissive woman has learned a bit of telepathy too... But turning a blind eye to any red flags she wouldn’t allow her mind to warn her heart, while now it feels like she’s dying all over again and cannot warn herself. Ironic and iconically: Tiffany Kay was born dancing to a song about rehearsing for love and all these other men feel like practice for this final battle. She has learned to accept her natural role is at the feet of God, on the bottom of her man, on top of her emotions, her career and their lady. She has learned to love herself, even more than I do... She has learned what Tiffany has always known: there will be pain, heartache and rumbles of the ego but you will fly freely once more... She has learned she has a name, “Purrrsie” and she has learned she is deserving of a Dom who overstands her: who she is, the battles she has survived and when she surfaces... Purrrsie learned that she deserved a Dom who sees who she becomes when she’s all dressed up in character but he loves who she is in her barest skin...


So please, come to me naked and honestly, or not at all... Because this part of Tiffany, though a submissive woman, she is proud of her many deaths. She is not confused by hearing “All is fair in love and war” Because she is a solider of love... She has learned to reincarnate as a Phoenix. Though she falls in the fire many times: out of the ashes, she will always rise again... To live, to fly freely and to die in love...

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