Hope for the Seekers: The Journey of Iris and Alex

The beginning of a journey that could change the rules of the game

It all started with a single decision, though Iris didn't fully realize at the time how much it would come to influence.
Maybe it was a little impulsive in that moment—maybe even rash.
But in the end, it turned out to be pivotal.

It came after a friendly nudge from Alex.
It wasn't just an empty remark, but a serious impulse toward action—something Iris needed to finally make a definite choice after endless hesitation.
Alex knew Iris too well.
She knew exactly when and where to prod her to reignite the inner fire of ambition.

"Why don't you finally go to university?
Talking about it won't get you in. Find the courage and enroll—you've got what it takes!
You keep talking about it over and over, but you still haven't managed to summon the inner strength to follow through with your plans," Alex said.
Her eyes glinted with that familiar mix of challenge and sincerity.

Iris suddenly stopped looking for reasons why it couldn't work—and found a way to move forward toward her goal.

"I'll do it," she said at the time.

Maybe out of defiance.
Maybe because Alex was right.

That step was the first of many...

Six months later, during her first cybersecurity lecture, Iris's rose-colored glasses fell away.
Until then, she had believed anonymity in cyberspace was achievable—and that with a little caution, one could remain invisible.
It took only a few hours to shatter that belief.
Just a few sentences from the lecturer, who revealed how easily someone could be found, tracked, and decoded...

Iris went quiet. She focused.
She began to learn—and what she understood, she started passing on.
Carefully. Consistently. Precisely.

It was a time when she began thinking differently about the cyberspace she had until then navigated without fear.
But more importantly—about security, which she had always taken for granted.

Then came the day that shook her entire inner world.

After a session with a client in the studio, just as they had finished aftercare, her phone rang.
Iris hadn't even said goodbye yet, nor seen the gentleman off, when she glanced at the screen.
Unknown number.

She answered automatically—professional, calm, as she always had been.

"Do you do hard crush fetish?" asked a man bluntly on the other end.

She hesitated for a moment. She wasn't sure exactly what he meant.
But her professional face remained.
She quickly switched the phone to speaker, set it down on the table, and her fingers flew over the keyboard.

The search took only a few seconds.
What she found hit her like a punch to the stomach.

Crushing. Killing.
Piercing a living animal with stiletto heels.

She had to take a breath to suppress the surge of anger and revulsion.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked, clenching her teeth—even though she already knew the answer.
But she needed to hear it aloud.
Maybe the man had confused the terms. Maybe there was still a chance to explain.

"Heels. Needles. Living creature," the man replied curtly, with icy calm.

That was the moment her blood ran cold.
But she still held her composure.

"Are you aware that what you're asking for is illegal animal cruelty?" she said firmly.

Then—silence.
The caller ended the conversation abruptly.

Iris stood frozen in the middle of the studio.
She doesn't remember how long she stood there.
Her thoughts were scattering in all directions, fists clenched.
Her head swirled with a mix of professional discipline and uncontrollable rage.

She knew one thing:
This would take a long time to process…

As soon as she got a hold of her emotions, she called a taxi and went straight to Alex.

The moment Alex saw her in the doorway, it only took a single glance to know something was wrong.
Iris had a look on her face that Alex had only ever seen in the most extreme situations.
Her eyes were burning, and the muscles in her face were trembling—as if she were fighting a volcano inside.

She told her everything.

Alex listened calmly.
Without interruption.
Without rushing to conclusions.

When she finished, Alex stood up and hugged her without a word.
Then she quietly made coffee and said, with compassion but conviction:

"Some people are lost.
But that's exactly why we have to do what we do.
Only now—with much more consistency."

They talked for a long time.

They reflected on what drives people to such desires.
How it's even possible that someone could lose respect for life—how they fail to see the line between play and real harm.

Alex was the voice of reason.
Iris—the one who felt a duty to act.

Together, they were the perfect balance for each other.

At the next cybersecurity lecture, Iris finally asked the question she had been holding in for so long:

"Why isn't it clearly stated in legislation that animal cruelty committed in online spaces is also a criminal offense? Why isn't this serious issue being addressed?"

The answer was brief.

"Without evidence, no one will deal with it. Where there's no proven perpetrator, there's no punishment."

That day, she sat down at her computer and began searching. Forums, photos, videos.
But she couldn't find any concrete evidence or facts related to the Czech Republic.
The frustration and helplessness kept gnawing at her mind.

Time passed.
Iris felt an urgent need to move forward.
And yet the relentless feeling that she couldn't do more remained deeply rooted inside her.

Then came another moment—just as piercing and merciless.

A year later, a new client made an appointment.
A man who, between the lines, hinted at an attraction to children.

This time, Iris remained perfectly composed.
She let him talk.
She listened carefully.

Then, without hesitation, she referred him to a specialist.
But just like before, she was overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness and futility.

"Could I have done more?"

Then she realized she hadn't made a mistake.
By contacting her, even with a reprehensible intention, the man had not committed a crime.

And yet, Iris again felt that familiar tightness in her chest—that unbearable powerlessness she had already tasted once before.

Alex didn't leave her alone in it.
Once again, she became her anchor—not by offering advice or solutions, but simply by being there.
By holding her when she needed it.

After that fateful encounter, the two of them remained stuck for a while.
But deep down, they both knew stagnation wasn't the answer.

They started putting their heads together.
Both were medical professionals.
Both had profound insight into the inner workings of a surgical team.

And that's how the concept of an operating room for BDSM clinical practices was born.

It became a new standard in the country—safety, sterility, professional knowledge, and expertise.
They earned respect and trust.

But, as is often the case, opening the door meant more than just welcoming the right people.
Others came through too—amateurs, lacking knowledge of anatomy, physiology, or the principles of SSC and RACK.

That's when the chaos began.

Messages started coming in.
Men reached out to them with troubling experiences, sharing their concerns:

"It burns when I pee after catheter play."
"I'm bleeding after fisting."
"My hand is numb after bondage."
"Why don't you do castrations? They do."
"Where and for how much can I get my testicles removed?"
"Why won't you do it if I sign a consent form?"

It was madness.

And yet, Alex and Iris responded to everyone.
Patiently.
Without charging.
Without judgment.

They knew someone had to do it.

But it wasn't enough.

Iris and Alex reassessed their approach.

Answering individuals one by one wasn't enough anymore.
Warning them personally—by phone or email—wasn't enough either.

They had to go public.
Openly.
Clearly.
Systematically.

They began to consistently point out what was wrong—where play ended and recklessness began.
They spoke about the risks of unprofessional interventions, where people underestimated both preparation and aftercare.

They emphasized that doing "everything the client wants" is not okay.

But the reach was minimal.
They felt it.
They needed a new strategy.

It was time to focus on education.

And then came the moment.

It started on the day Iris received an invitation to appear on a well-known podcast, where she was given the opportunity to answer questions about the clinic.
After watching the episode, Alex had an idea:

"We could create our own podcast.
Why not bring education to the public on a broader scale?"

It was a plan that seemed simple at first.
But the truth was quite the opposite.

What followed was meticulous, detailed work.
Hours of planning, searching for answers:
How do you even make a podcast?
How do you edit it?
Where do you upload it?
What equipment will we need?
What kind of budget do we have to consider?
What kind of business license does this fall under?
And what about legal questions?

Alex was the one who came up with the name.
She composed the intro theme—simple, yet fitting.
She was the one who learned how to edit and work with sound.

The scripts were born through brainstorming.
Long evenings spent sitting over topics.
An idea would come—then criticism would follow.

"Not like this. Let's scrap it and start over."
And they would.

They were meticulous.
Both Alex and Iris had a clear standard:

It would either be good—or it wouldn't be at all.

It took dozens of hours before the first episode was ready.
It was recorded several times.

The first try?
Nervousness.
Shaky voices. No real presence.

The second?
Better—but still not right.

It wasn't until the eighth recording that they felt they had something they were ready to release into the world.

Then came the first subscriber.
Then the second.
The third. The tenth.
But then... it stopped.

After three episodes, Iris and Alex sat down to evaluate.

"Let's give it time. If it doesn't find its audience, we'll shut the whole thing down."

They were realists.
They didn't build castles in the sky.

But then something shifted—and the first real responses came.
And with them, came the long-awaited motivation to continue.

Despite the fact that the promotion was virtually nonexistent—based only on recommendations and word of mouth—more and more people began to hear about the project.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, they both felt…
It still wasn't enough.

They had to do more.

Iris kept thinking tirelessly—until an idea for another, much more complex project was born:
A publication.

But even that wasn't easy.
They knew that many platforms refused to publish anything that even touched alternative intimacy.

So how could they make sure their voices reached not only those who already knew the world of BDSM, but also those who were just beginning to explore it?
Those who often didn't know where or how to start?
Or those who were searching for answers to questions they didn't dare ask out loud?

"Let's create our own space," Iris suggested.

A blog—where they could write whatever they wanted.
No censorship.
No limits.

Iris threw herself into the work.
She built the blog.
But it wasn't quite right.

It wasn't what she had imagined.
Something was missing.

For guidance, she went where she always did—to Alex.
Her unwavering support. Her helping hand.
She brought balance to the entire concept.

Where Iris built the system, Alex brought empathy.
Where Iris was technically precise, Alex thought about what the reader would feel.

And so, after dozens of hours of work, the SafetyKink website was born.

It was complete.
Functional.
Exactly what they had both envisioned.

Now, they stood before the next decision:
What topics should they open up?
How should they shape the publication so that it made sense—and had true value?

They started writing.
One article.
Then another.

And with each new piece, they felt a growing urge to write more and more—because the burning topics were surfacing on their own.

They both had something to say.
And they did it because they had heard the pleas.
The questions.
And sometimes the silent—but all the more urgent—calls for help that had until then gone unanswered…