Turn On
Obedience without question. Eyes lowered. Hands still. Your need to please me—silently, fully—turns me on. I crave control: of your pleasure, your breath, your thoughts. Whisper “Yes, Mistress” like a prayer, and feel my voice slide under your skin.
Turn Off
Disrespect bores me. Disobedience without purpose irritates me. Desperation without elegance? Pathetic. I won’t beg to be worshipped. If you speak over me, rush me, or forget who’s in control—you’ll be dismissed. I demand grace in submission.