My thoughts on being a women, do you agree or disagree?

[Jen Dvorak]

I guess you could say I was raised to know my place, not in some harsh way, but just… naturally. Growing up on a farm in rural Nebraska, things were simple. My dad worked the land, my mom kept the house, and that was just how it was. No one had to explain it, you could see it in the way the cows needed tending, the way the crops had to be planted on time, the way my mom’s hands were always busy but her smile was easiest when my dad walked in the door. She’d drop whatever she was doing just to bring him a cold ******* or warm his plate. And I never thought much of it, because it made sense. That’s just what women did.

My late husband… well, he understood me in a way no one else ever has. He saw that part of me that needed to serve, to be used, to be owned—not just in the kitchen or the laundry room, but in bed, on my knees, whenever and however he wanted. And he didn’t just take it; he cultivated it. He’d wake me up with his cock in my mouth, or have me waiting naked by the door when he got home from work. Sometimes, he’d bring a friend over, and I’d serve them both, because why wouldn’t I? If he trusted them, then so did I. There was something so right about it, like the way a well-trained horse moves with its rider. No resistance, just… harmony.

I miss that. Not just the sex, though god, I miss that, but the clarity of it. Knowing exactly what was expected of me. The way my body would hum when I was on my knees for him, or when I’d feel his hands on my hips while I was folding laundry, pulling me back against him without a word. The way he’d sometimes just take me, right there in the kitchen or pressed up against the wall, because he could. Because I was his. And if he wanted to share me? That was his right. His gift to me, really, letting me be useful to more than just him.

I don’t know how to explain it to women who bristle at the idea. To me, it’s not about being less, it’s about being exactly what I’m meant to be. A warm body to come home to. A soft place to land. A hole to use whenever he’s hard, whether that’s first thing in the morning or last thing at night, whether he’s alone or with his friends. There’s a peace in that. A purpose.

I just want that again. A man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take it. Who’ll let me cook his meals, clean his house, raise his *******,
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and also spread my legs whenever he feels like it, or pass me around if that’s what he’s in the mood for. Because at the end of the day, I don’t want choices. I want orders. I want to be used. And I want to be cherished for it.

Maybe that makes me old-fashioned. Or maybe it just makes me honest. All I know is, it’s the only way I’ve ever felt truly at peace

 

[Werner75]

Hallo Lady,
Ganz einfach, du bist perfekt ...
How old are you of allowed to ask?

 

[Ne1man]

From meeting many ladies there is often a primal instinct for this dynamic and there are even books about it
For most women it gives calm and purpose
I don't in any way feel this is a derogatory way or to belittle ladies that need independence and liberation.
But it's an alternative scenario favoured by many and sounds like perfection for many men
I wish you happiness

 

[cocoluv]

Perfect Black Banger.

 

[Jen Dvorak]

From meeting many ladies there is often a primal instinct for this dynamic and there are even books about it
For most women it gives calm and purpose
I don't in any way feel this is a derogatory way or to belittle ladies that need independence and liberation.
But it's an alternative scenario favoured by many and sounds like perfection for many men
I wish you happiness

Your reply was so perfectly understood, thank you.

It is primal, isn’t it? Like a quiet truth we’ve been taught to ignore. There’s a book that put words to what I’ve always felt, The Surrendered Wife by Laura Doyle. I read it years ago, and it was like someone had finally named the thing inside me that craved submission. One line in particular stuck with me: "A woman’s power lies not in control, but in her willingness to be led. When she trusts her man to take the reins financially, emotionally, physically she finds a peace she never knew she was missing."

For me, real fulfillment comes from belonging to a man. Not as a slave, but as his treasure, something to be used, protected, and cherished in return. When he’d have me waiting naked for him, or let his friends enjoy me because he wanted to share his favorite toy.

 

[Ne1man]

Your reply was so perfectly understood, thank you.

It is primal, isn’t it? Like a quiet truth we’ve been taught to ignore. There’s a book that put words to what I’ve always felt, The Surrendered Wife by Laura Doyle. I read it years ago, and it was like someone had finally named the thing inside me that craved submission. One line in particular stuck with me: "A woman’s power lies not in control, but in her willingness to be led. When she trusts her man to take the reins financially, emotionally, physically she finds a peace she never knew she was missing."

For me, real fulfillment comes from belonging to a man. Not as a slave, but as his treasure, something to be used, protected, and cherished in return. When he’d have me waiting naked for him, or let his friends enjoy me because he wanted to share his favorite toy.

Exactly that
His princess and most treasured person
To adore and praise
To take everything from her when neeided

 

[BLK_LOOKER]

Honest, old fashioned, very feminine or however you are characterized by others, I am sure that you are liked by many, just the way you are.

 

[Karthwf]

I guess you could say I was raised to know my place, not in some harsh way, but just… naturally. Growing up on a farm in rural Nebraska, things were simple. My dad worked the land, my mom kept the house, and that was just how it was. No one had to explain it, you could see it in the way the cows needed tending, the way the crops had to be planted on time, the way my mom’s hands were always busy but her smile was easiest when my dad walked in the door. She’d drop whatever she was doing just to bring him a cold ******* or warm his plate. And I never thought much of it, because it made sense. That’s just what women did.

My late husband… well, he understood me in a way no one else ever has. He saw that part of me that needed to serve, to be used, to be owned—not just in the kitchen or the laundry room, but in bed, on my knees, whenever and however he wanted. And he didn’t just take it; he cultivated it. He’d wake me up with his cock in my mouth, or have me waiting naked by the door when he got home from work. Sometimes, he’d bring a friend over, and I’d serve them both, because why wouldn’t I? If he trusted them, then so did I. There was something so right about it, like the way a well-trained horse moves with its rider. No resistance, just… harmony.

I miss that. Not just the sex, though god, I miss that, but the clarity of it. Knowing exactly what was expected of me. The way my body would hum when I was on my knees for him, or when I’d feel his hands on my hips while I was folding laundry, pulling me back against him without a word. The way he’d sometimes just take me, right there in the kitchen or pressed up against the wall, because he could. Because I was his. And if he wanted to share me? That was his right. His gift to me, really, letting me be useful to more than just him.

I don’t know how to explain it to women who bristle at the idea. To me, it’s not about being less, it’s about being exactly what I’m meant to be. A warm body to come home to. A soft place to land. A hole to use whenever he’s hard, whether that’s first thing in the morning or last thing at night, whether he’s alone or with his friends. There’s a peace in that. A purpose.

I just want that again. A man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take it. Who’ll let me cook his meals, clean his house, raise his *******,
View media item 895600
View media item 895599
and also spread my legs whenever he feels like it, or pass me around if that’s what he’s in the mood for. Because at the end of the day, I don’t want choices. I want orders. I want to be used. And I want to be cherished for it.

Maybe that makes me old-fashioned. Or maybe it just makes me honest. All I know is, it’s the only way I’ve ever felt truly at peace

I totally agree with your thoughts on being a woman. The description that you laid out is exactly what I look for and fits My natural Dominant character. I would like to DM you, but your privacy settings are blocking Me. Check My profile and reach out to Me if you would like to connect.

 

[Ne1man]

Your reply was so perfectly understood, thank you.

It is primal, isn’t it? Like a quiet truth we’ve been taught to ignore. There’s a book that put words to what I’ve always felt, The Surrendered Wife by Laura Doyle. I read it years ago, and it was like someone had finally named the thing inside me that craved submission. One line in particular stuck with me: "A woman’s power lies not in control, but in her willingness to be led. When she trusts her man to take the reins financially, emotionally, physically she finds a peace she never knew she was missing."

For me, real fulfillment comes from belonging to a man. Not as a slave, but as his treasure, something to be used, protected, and cherished in return. When he’d have me waiting naked for him, or let his friends enjoy me because he wanted to share his favorite toy.

Please message me Jen

 

[slimdick1]

I guess you could say I was raised to know my place, not in some harsh way, but just… naturally. Growing up on a farm in rural Nebraska, things were simple. My dad worked the land, my mom kept the house, and that was just how it was. No one had to explain it, you could see it in the way the cows needed tending, the way the crops had to be planted on time, the way my mom’s hands were always busy but her smile was easiest when my dad walked in the door. She’d drop whatever she was doing just to bring him a cold ******* or warm his plate. And I never thought much of it, because it made sense. That’s just what women did.

My late husband… well, he understood me in a way no one else ever has. He saw that part of me that needed to serve, to be used, to be owned—not just in the kitchen or the laundry room, but in bed, on my knees, whenever and however he wanted. And he didn’t just take it; he cultivated it. He’d wake me up with his cock in my mouth, or have me waiting naked by the door when he got home from work. Sometimes, he’d bring a friend over, and I’d serve them both, because why wouldn’t I? If he trusted them, then so did I. There was something so right about it, like the way a well-trained horse moves with its rider. No resistance, just… harmony.

I miss that. Not just the sex, though god, I miss that, but the clarity of it. Knowing exactly what was expected of me. The way my body would hum when I was on my knees for him, or when I’d feel his hands on my hips while I was folding laundry, pulling me back against him without a word. The way he’d sometimes just take me, right there in the kitchen or pressed up against the wall, because he could. Because I was his. And if he wanted to share me? That was his right. His gift to me, really, letting me be useful to more than just him.

I don’t know how to explain it to women who bristle at the idea. To me, it’s not about being less, it’s about being exactly what I’m meant to be. A warm body to come home to. A soft place to land. A hole to use whenever he’s hard, whether that’s first thing in the morning or last thing at night, whether he’s alone or with his friends. There’s a peace in that. A purpose.

I just want that again. A man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take it. Who’ll let me cook his meals, clean his house, raise his *******,
View media item 895600
View media item 895599
and also spread my legs whenever he feels like it, or pass me around if that’s what he’s in the mood for. Because at the end of the day, I don’t want choices. I want orders. I want to be used. And I want to be cherished for it.

Maybe that makes me old-fashioned. Or maybe it just makes me honest. All I know is, it’s the only way I’ve ever felt truly at peace

Stunning lady, and more women should think like you there would certainly be less trouble in the world, would love to set up with you mmm

 

[MBINDY]

I guess you could say I was raised to know my place, not in some harsh way, but just… naturally. Growing up on a farm in rural Nebraska, things were simple. My dad worked the land, my mom kept the house, and that was just how it was. No one had to explain it, you could see it in the way the cows needed tending, the way the crops had to be planted on time, the way my mom’s hands were always busy but her smile was easiest when my dad walked in the door. She’d drop whatever she was doing just to bring him a cold ******* or warm his plate. And I never thought much of it, because it made sense. That’s just what women did.

My late husband… well, he understood me in a way no one else ever has. He saw that part of me that needed to serve, to be used, to be owned—not just in the kitchen or the laundry room, but in bed, on my knees, whenever and however he wanted. And he didn’t just take it; he cultivated it. He’d wake me up with his cock in my mouth, or have me waiting naked by the door when he got home from work. Sometimes, he’d bring a friend over, and I’d serve them both, because why wouldn’t I? If he trusted them, then so did I. There was something so right about it, like the way a well-trained horse moves with its rider. No resistance, just… harmony.

I miss that. Not just the sex, though god, I miss that, but the clarity of it. Knowing exactly what was expected of me. The way my body would hum when I was on my knees for him, or when I’d feel his hands on my hips while I was folding laundry, pulling me back against him without a word. The way he’d sometimes just take me, right there in the kitchen or pressed up against the wall, because he could. Because I was his. And if he wanted to share me? That was his right. His gift to me, really, letting me be useful to more than just him.

I don’t know how to explain it to women who bristle at the idea. To me, it’s not about being less, it’s about being exactly what I’m meant to be. A warm body to come home to. A soft place to land. A hole to use whenever he’s hard, whether that’s first thing in the morning or last thing at night, whether he’s alone or with his friends. There’s a peace in that. A purpose.

I just want that again. A man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take it. Who’ll let me cook his meals, clean his house, raise his *******,
View media item 895600
View media item 895599
and also spread my legs whenever he feels like it, or pass me around if that’s what he’s in the mood for. Because at the end of the day, I don’t want choices. I want orders. I want to be used. And I want to be cherished for it.

Maybe that makes me old-fashioned. Or maybe it just makes me honest. All I know is, it’s the only way I’ve ever felt truly at peace

I very much relate to this.