On three hundred and sixty hours naked before me, eight years of surrender, and the luxury of being chosen again and again.
I wrote this a few hours after a session with one of my favourite clients.
Yes. I have favourites. Unapologetically, unequivocally, and without hesitation.
Know that I never do anything I do not absolutely want to do. Nor do I spend my time with people I do not enjoy. So when I tell you this particular man has served me for eight years, understand what that signifies. It is not a casual observation. It is a declaration.
Meeting with him always feels like slipping between my favourite silk sheets. Familiar, luxurious, decadent, effortless. We can pass hours discussing absolutely nothing of consequence while simultaneously descending into the filthy, depraved corners a deviant mind can construct. The transition is seamless. One moment we are laughing; the next, he is naked before me, cock hard and leaking, waiting to discover which dark little fantasy I have decided to make a reality.
It is always effortless. Always charged. Always delicious.
Over eight years, I have had the pleasure of exploring every part of him. His aches, his deepest desires, his contradictions, his humour, his tenderness, his politics, his worldview… I know the fantasies he returns to and the ones that surprise him. I know when he wants to be pushed and when he wants to be indulged. I know when the deepest pleasure comes from simply being understood.
I never forget that every pet who enters my orbit is a whole human being. Some arrive guarded. Some make themselves transparent. Most reveal themselves slowly, layer by layer, session after session. Knowing the person only amplifies the connection on every level; it gives the surrender more meaning, the desire more charge, and every shared experience a depth that could never be manufactured between strangers.
That is absolutely my favourite part: the exquisite privilege of being trusted with the most secret parts of a person and creating a connection so singular it could belong only to us.
But let us be precise about where the privilege truly lies.
You do not orbit me for eight years by accident. You do not accumulate nearly four hundred orgasms, more than two thousand three hundred ropes, and three hundred and sixty hours of naked, devoted attention simply by requesting access.
You earn that place by arriving as yourself, respecting the boundaries that hold the connection safely, and rising to meet everything it makes possible.
Again. And again.
A favourite is not merely someone who has remained within reach. He is someone who has made the experience of choosing him pleasurable, again and again, for eight years and counting…
The privilege is not simply that I allow him access to me. The privilege is that he has made himself someone I never tire of selecting.
Mid-session, we found ourselves musing over the mathematics of it all.
Eight years.
Nearly four hundred orgasms taken under my command.
More than two thousand three hundred ropes of cum.
At least three hundred and sixty hours of cam-to-cam connection.
Three hundred and sixty hours of him naked before me. Cock hard, leaking, exposed, and attentive. Three hundred and sixty hours spent responding to my voice, satisfying my curiosity, indulging my whims, allowing me to turn his most private desires over in my hands, and occasionally capturing them artfully…
That is fifteen entire days.
Fifteen days, twenty-four hours a day, of naked devotion.
Fifteen days of filthy commands, intimate conversations, unexpected confessions, helpless laughter, carefully prolonged pleasure, and dark desires brought vividly to life for us to indulge in together.
Fifteen days accumulated moment by moment, choice by choice, across the better part of a decade.
And my favourite statistic of all?
More of his orgasms belong to me than to any other person on this planet. Let’s say that again for the people in the back:
Any. Other. Person. On. This. Planet.
More times brought to the edge by my voice. More releases granted, delayed, or timed precisely to my satisfaction. More moments in which his body waited for my decision and found pleasure in belonging there.
I sat with that thought after our session and, metaphorically, straightened my crown. I shifted my weight upon my throne and sat a little taller.
The number makes every engine I possess purr in the most erotic, seductive way.
But it also reminds me what it means to collect devotion. Not to demand it all at once. Not to force something meaningful into existence through urgency or pressure.
To create a connection so pleasurable, so charged, and so richly rewarding that surrender continues to deepen because both people genuinely desire to return.
To gather time, orgasms, trust, laughter, chemistry, and unguarded moments from across the years, then suddenly discover that you are holding something rare.
Fifteen days of a man entirely exposed before me.
Fifteen days of being invited beyond the polished surface and into the private places he does not reveal to the rest of the world.
Fifteen days of learning what happens when a capable, intelligent, beautiful man allows himself to stop managing every moment and places something real into my hands. His desire. His fear. His fantasies. All of it safe, secret, protected, and held.
There is a particular luxury in being known this way.
In discovering that surrender can expand without consuming you. That depth can feel exhilarating rather than heavy. That devotion can become part of a life already full of ambition, responsibility, joy, and accomplishment, adding pleasure and meaning rather than asking you to abandon any part of yourself.
Perhaps that is the most decadent possibility of all.
To be stripped of your clothes, certainly, but also of performance. Of careful calculation. Of the quiet habit of offering only the parts of yourself you already understand.
To be given enough time and safety to become curious about what else might exist within you.
To reveal yourself slowly, layer by layer, and discover that each new truth only makes the connection more compelling.
To enrich another life while your own is simultaneously elevated.
Devotion with ease. Connection with charge. Surrender with intention.
Life, enriched. Be still, my heart, while I swoon… That is the reason I am here.
So I ask you this: If I chose you often enough that, years from now, we looked back and discovered I had collected fifteen entire days of your naked devotion, what would those hours contain?
What might you allow yourself to explore once you understood that you were known, enjoyed, safe, and still being chosen?
What private part of you might finally emerge when surrender ceased to be something you had to perform perfectly and became something we could unfold, unpack, and discover together?
And how fully might you rise… if being chosen became proof that your unguarded self was never a liability, but the very part of you I had been reaching for all along?
You do not have to arrive knowing how to submit. You only have to be willing to step closer.
