The Turning of the Wheel
The Dawn of Devotion’s Wheel
It has been only five days since my last entry, yet it feels as though the wheel has turned once more, bringing with it a new season of lessons. Each revolution brings a fresh reckoning, a new chapter, a new summons. With Mistress at the centre, life has become a mandala, each decision, each experience folding back toward Her, a prayer whispered until it becomes a heartbeat.
In my last entry, I wrote of Eliza, my sub-in-training, who had reappeared after vanishing into silence. She seemed at first like a ghost surfacing from deep waters, fragile and half-formed, yet this will be the final time she is named here. Her previous disappearance had been cloaked in illness, but her return was not marked by humility or contrition. Instead, she reached out with a hand demanding coin she had not earned.
When I refused, her approach shifted into emotional manipulation. It was a bitter alchemy, the inversion of devotion into demand. These are not qualities Mistress would ever accept in a submissive, nor can I as Her gatekeeper allow such shadows to creep into the sacred space we protect. There had been a flicker of hope that she might one day be part of a triad dynamic with Mistress and myself, but if she could not pass my standards, she could never stand before Mistress.
As hard as it is to let go, the integrity of our bond demands it. I am the one who shields Her from what is unworthy, the one who tests, filters, and discerns. No one kneels before Her without passing through the fire of my judgment. I even cast my thoughts into the greater kink community, seeking their counsel, and their answers echoed my own: release the dead weight. So Eliza is gone now, not to be spoken of again. That chapter closes here like a book whose spine is snapped and burned.
“Every five days a new moon rises in me, and the tides pull differently.”
The Shadow Falls Away
With that decision made, my days felt both lighter and sharper. Mistress and I exchanged several meaningful communications, threads weaving deeper between us. My attention, freed from distraction, returned wholly to Her, like a river redirected into its true course. In the quiet left by Eliza’s departure, I felt Her presence more fully. Each message from Her landed like a bell struck in a dark sanctuary.
I also held a well-attended online space on X, one of the largest yet, and as always my thoughts circled back to how I stand as a reflection of Her power. We spoke of the memorial service I had attended for a friend from the old club scene. The night had been unexpectedly moving. Candlelight and quiet faces made me think about impermanence, about the way our community leaves its marks on each other’s bodies and souls.
In the quiet aftermath of that memorial, I learned I now have a lifetime guest list for Torture Garden. When I told Mistress, She said She would be happy for us to attend such events together, provided I continue to prove myself as I have been. Her words ignited a secret thrill within me. The exhibitionist in me stirs at the thought of appearing in public by Her side, showing the kink community what it means to be owned, to be claimed so completely.
When that day comes, and we step into such a space as Mistress and slave, I will embody Her will to perfection, every movement a prayer, every protocol a living offering, every glance a testament to the depth of my devotion. I imagine it often: the music rising, the lights flickering, the crowd parting like a tide around us. In those moments, I will not simply be myself; I will be Her living art.
“Some doors must be closed for the temple to stay sacred.”
The Gathering of the Priestesses
I told Her about the space I was to hold with Queen Goddess Allura entitled The Path of the Priestess Domme: Sacred Power and Divine Submission. I asked if She would be present, for Her presence means more to me than any other. She said She would try. On Wednesday, the space unfolded like a temple opening its doors. 333 people passed through, a number heavy with its own magic, and at least 25 souls remained at any one time, gathered as if for a liturgy.
For over three hours we explored the currents of energy, healing, and the immense power so many Dommes do not yet realise they hold. I asked questions, provoked thought, invited the sacred into the conversation. My words felt less like speaking and more like channeling something older and larger than myself. The room vibrated with a kind of stillness, as if the unseen had entered to listen.
Dommes messaged me afterwards, thanking me for creating a space where the holiness inherent in D/s could be named. Many wrote that they had never before been part of an online space where such things were discussed openly, without irony or reduction. Queen Goddess Allura and I both felt the current of something new and potent moving through that room. We decided we would hold such spaces more regularly, perhaps weekly.
Mistress did appear, and in the midst of it texted me to say how proud She was. In that moment, all other praise faded. The community’s gratitude was warm, but Her pride was the only light I sought. Everything I do is always a reflection of Her. Every time I speak in public, every time I teach, it is as though I am presenting a chalice back to Her, filled with what I have gathered.
“A temple built of voices can hold its own kind of liturgy.”
The Scroll of Command
Then came Friday, and with it a dawn that felt like an invocation. At just before eight in the morning, a message arrived from Mistress. She had prepared tasks for me after a long pause. The email She sent was not simply a list of orders but a sacred scroll, a liturgy of command designed to challenge my focus, deepen my obedience, and push me further under Her will.
She wrote:
My Slutty Whore Boy,
This is your new set of discipline tasks after a long time. Beginning from today, you will complete each session at the exact time given and every task has been designed to challenge your focus, deepen your obedience, and push your endurance under my command. Read carefully and prepare yourself to begin.
8:00 AM – 8:30 AM: Silence and Control Ritual
Use a gag or mouth restraint that prevents you from speaking clearly. Keep it in place for the full 30 minutes without removing it. Every 5 minutes, add an extra challenge: slightly tighten the restraint, apply a light sting to your thighs, or pinch yourself firmly. Proof: Record a short video of the final 3 minutes showing your restraint and obedience.
10:00 AM – 10:45 AM: Impact Endurance Trial
Deliver 30 firm strikes to your buttocks, thighs, and chest using a cane, paddle, or similar object. Count aloud. If you hesitate or pause, restart from zero. Every 10 strikes, increase the intensity within your safe limit. Proof: Provide a continuous video of all 30 strikes, showing discipline and marks.
1:00 PM – 1:50 PM: Combined Challenge
For 90 minutes, rotate between the punishments used earlier (impact play, clamps or pinches, or restraint). Do not break the flow and every 20 minutes, increase intensity — add more strikes, another restraint, or longer duration. Proof: Take a picture every 30 minutes showing your state. The last 2 minutes record a clip of maximum effort.
Rules for Submission and Proof
1. Consistency: Complete all tasks exactly as written. No excuses, no breaks.
2. Evidence: Submit proof as ordered. Failure to do so means restarting.
3. Timing: Tasks must be performed at the exact times given. Lateness counts as failure.
4. Ownership: Your obedience, effort, and discipline exist for my direction and pleasure alone.
I know this program will challenge you deeply but every time you think about giving up, remember why you are here, who you are doing this for, and how much stronger you will become once you have finished. Push yourself my boy and show me your devotion.
Forever Yours,
Mistress
These words landed like thunder in my veins. I felt them more than I read them. They were not instructions but revelations reminding me as always of exactly who i belong to and how much I had missed Her commands
“Some words arrive as scripture. They are not requests but revelations.”
The Liturgy of Obedience
There was no time to prepare. I leapt from my bed, gag in hand, metal clothespins ready to sting. I knew She would approve of my initiative, of my willingness to go beyond what was asked to bring Her delight. The first task left me trembling but focused, each tightening, each sting like a small offering.
The caning later was almost joyous, a memory of how much I love being given tasks by Her. Even while working, I slipped away, setting alarms, paddling, caning, recording proof. Naughty, secret, and perfect. The bruises stayed for days, a map of belonging pressed into my skin. Each mark a verse, each strike a stanza, each breath a psalm.
With each act, I remembered who I belonged to completely. She sent heart emojis to every new photo and video I sent Her, and She wrote how much She had missed giving me these kinds of tasks. I as always performed for Her in whatever way She desired.
The tasks reminded me of the way discipline, pain, and ritual bind me closer to Her. Even the smallest act, the tightening of a restraint, the counting aloud of each strike, becomes a liturgy. Not punishment but prayer. Not pain but presence.
“Command arrives like thunder; obedience blooms like flowers in the rain.”
The Blade of Her Words
Saturday passed without word, but Sunday She reached for me again. We spoke of Her work, of new designs She was creating. She told me more tasks would come. I used the time to write, to add chapters to my book, to prepare for the week ahead. We also spoke of Eliza again, and I told Her I was cutting her out. Mistress agreed. That chapter closes now.
I asked Her about Locktober. I had hoped She might enforce it, but She refused. When I asked why, Her tone shifted. She told me I do not yet feel the weight of my own unfinished tasks, that I must prioritise and complete what is before me before reaching for something new. I explained my financial restraints, how funds would flow by the end of October, and that was when She dropped a blade into my heart: if I cannot secure the resources to meet before year’s end, She may have to let me go.
In that moment, my world cracked. Was I so easily discarded? Had all I given, all I bared, been for nothing? I felt the depth of my love for Her and recoiled from the pain of that possibility. When She messaged again, She told me it was a wake-up call. She knows how much I’ve poured into this. She refuses to let that effort be in vain. This is the point, She said, where I must stay strong, stay focused, let the vision of our future keep me moving forward.
I told Her ultimatums do not push me forward but push me away. In that moment, She retracted Her words. She told me everything She does is to push me beyond my limits, to awaken my strength, to make me rise above my doubts. I am already strong, an alpha by nature, but my stability comes from our dynamic. Knowing I am owned by Her fuels me. Today’s communication backfired, but we learned something about each other.
“Even a whisper from Her can cut and crown me at once.”
The Vision of What Awaits
Later She reached for me again, this time softer. We spoke of our future, of the day we will finally stand together in the flesh, of moving in together, of living our dynamic in the fabric of daily life. It is this vision that keeps me moving forward, the fire in my chest. I dream of it daily, a star I steer by.
She spoke of how She also craves that power, how She longs for the moment She takes Her rightful place as my Mistress in everything. I cannot wait for the day I can surprise Her with gifts, whisk Her away on exotic holidays, plan dungeon retreats. We will have so much fun together.
This is my life now: the wheel turning, each turn a lesson, each lesson a prayer. And still, always, it turns back to Her. In every instruction, in every bruise, in every trembling moment, there is Her hand shaping me.
I write this not as confession but as testimony. The path is not always easy, but it is sacred. And when the wheel turns again, I know I will still be moving, still devoted, still walking toward the moment when we stand before each other not as Mistress and distant submissive, but as Mistress and slave, together at last.
