Some girls want to be chased.

Some girls want to be spoiled.

Me?

I want to be owned.

I want the kind of control that feels like a hand at the back of my neck—gentle, steady… impossible to ignore.

I want the kind of voice that turns my thoughts soft and pliant, like my body knows what’s coming before I do.

Because when I’m with my Master… I don’t have to pretend I’m in charge.

I don’t have to make decisions.

I don’t have to be brave.

I just get to be good.

There’s something so filthy about that, isn’t there?

The way my whole world narrows down to one simple truth: please Him.

I love the moment He speaks and my body reacts like it’s trained to listen.

I love the way a single order can make my stomach flip, heat pooling low and needy even when I’m trying to act composed.

“Come here.”

Two words… and I’m already melting.

Not because I’m weak.

Because I’m chosen.

I crave the rules—sharp and simple. I crave the structure that makes me feel safe enough to fall apart.

It’s intoxicating, knowing I can give up everything… and be held tighter for it.

I want to be told where to put my hands.

I want to be made to wait when I’m desperate.

I want to be praised when I behave… and corrected when I get greedy.

And I get greedy, don’t I?

I get greedy for attention.

Greedy for approval.

Greedy for that look—cold, amused, hungry—when He’s deciding exactly how far He’s going to push me.

Because that’s my favorite part.

That edge.

The delicious ache of wanting more than I’m allowed to take.

I love the way submission turns into a high.

The way it makes me feel pretty and filthy at the same time.

The way my voice gets softer without me meaning to… like my body knows it’s safer to ask sweetly.

And when He gives me permission?

When He finally decides I’ve earned it?

I swear it feels like fireworks under my skin.

Because I don’t want “normal.”

I want devotion.

I want discipline that makes my eyes sting and my thighs tighten.

I want obedience that turns me into a shaking, grateful mess.

I want to be reminded—again and again—exactly what I am to Him.

His girl.

His good little submission.

His favorite thing to control.

And the best part?

I don’t submit because I have to.

I submit because it makes me feel perfect.

So if you want a woman who knows how to listen…

A woman who craves direction, correction, and that slow, sinful feeling of being guided exactly where you want her…

Then come claim my attention.

Just don’t be surprised when I moan your title like it belongs in my mouth.