I Go All In, So That You Can Fly
These words are for You, the one who entrusts me with your faith.
I feel a deep urge to speak.
Something you may never hear.
Something often hidden behind glances, gestures, touches...
But You deserve to know.
When you come and surrender to me, you see me calm. Steady. Certain.
You look at a woman who holds the reins, sets the rhythm, and creates a safe space where you can be truly yourself.
And maybe you believe that when you let go of control and I take over, we both recharge our energy.
But that's only one side of the coin.
I go all in. All the time.
And I do it so that You can fly.
Dominance is not my relaxation.
It is, first and foremost, a responsibility—for both of us.
In the moment you take off all the protective masks you wear in the world,
when you give yourself to me as you truly are,
I receive your trust with reverence.
And with that, I accept the weight of responsibility for You.
With every look, I tell you:
"I'm here. I'll lead you. I won't let go. You can take off with me."
But in order for you to let go of the reins, I must hold them all the more tightly in my hands.
I must be present. Focused. Aware of your every breath, every movement, every emotion I read in you.
I don't switch off.
I stay tuned in.
I go full throttle.
And I do it so that you can disappear for a while—yet remain safe.
I love what I do.
But I pay a price for it. To myself...
I love guiding you.
I love creating a space where you can shed everything that weighs you down.
I love being the one who shows you how powerful your own fall—and your rise—can be.
But that doesn't mean it doesn't cost me strength.
My dominance is not a game.
It's conscious care.
It's the work of two souls—mine and yours.
And after each session, I need time to restore myself.
I don't ask that from You.
I don't seek it through You.
I simply feel the need to be alone in my own silence.
In a space where I can let go of the role I held for you.
Your flight is my work. My joy. But it is still an effort.
When you surrender to me, I don't expect it to give me energy or strength.
I don't hope to be healed by your submission or your surrender.
This is not an exchange.
I am here because I know how to lead you.
And because I want to lead you.
But while you float, I must stay grounded.
While you dive deep, I must remain alert.
Your flight is my job.
And even though it fulfills me, it takes a part of my own energy.
We can't recharge at the same time. And that's exactly how it should be.
I know this might sound different than what you expected.
But I don't want you to live under the illusion that we're fueling each other equally.
You replenish yourself.
I give you mine.
And that's okay.
Because what I get in return isn't strength.
It's the expression on your face when you leave with a quiet mind.
It's the moment I know you've forgotten your burdens for a while.
It's when I see you've discovered something better in yourself.
And that's worth it.
Dominance is a burden. Because at the end of the night, I am the one who remains.
Maybe no one has ever told you this.
Dominance is like a weight.
It doesn't press on the body, but it can weigh heavily on the mind—and sometimes, the heart.
How can I stay strong when there are moments I long for support myself?
How can I lead, when sometimes I wish to rest my head on someone else's shoulder?
And sometimes, when we're done… there is only me.
Tired. Empty. Quiet.
But never regretful.
Because I was the one holding you.
And that is where my strength lies.
And my joy.
After a session, my greatest reward is seeing you satisfied.
Recharged. At peace.
When I know you've set aside the pain you came with.
When I see I've helped you touch a better version of yourself.
Your smile.
The calm in your eyes.
That silent moment when I know, with certainty, that you're okay...
That's my fulfillment.
Even when I'm exhausted.
And I do it over and over again, with humility and joy.
And I always give a piece of myself.
Because I am still the one
who goes all in, so that you can fly.
With reverence,
Yours,
Iris