Glossary | The Rituals Index

A refined lexicon of kink, fetish, and power exchange. These are not services—they are tools of transformation. I choose what is used. You surrender to the experience.

Armpit Worship

A quiet, feral hunger. You crave the scent, the warmth, the intimacy. When I press your face into the crook of my arm, you disappear into the most primal submission: inhaling, nuzzling, addicted.

Ball Busting

Brutal. Beautiful. Direct. When I strike, it’s not just about pain—it’s about power. A single kick, stomp, or slap becomes ritual. Your breath leaves. Your mind breaks. And still... you beg for more. Because you know: I decide how much you can take.

Caning Discipline

Caning is not chaotic—it’s rhythmic, ritualistic, earned. The lines it leaves are artwork. And you? My favorite canvas.

CBT (Cock & Ball Torture)

This isn’t for shock—it’s for surrender. I take your most sensitive parts and make them mine. The pleasure hides beneath the pain, and you beg for both.

Chastity

Lock it up. Let it ache. Every hour you spend caged is a prayer to my power. You don’t get release. You get restraint. And your suffering? Delicious.

Clothed Face Sitting

You don’t just get smothered—you get silenced.Pressed beneath me, your breath becomes mine to ration.Your thoughts? Irrelevant.Your name? Forgotten.

You’re not a throne.You’re a surface.A warm, obedient nothing beneath me.

I don’t acknowledge you. I use you.And when I rise, your purpose ends.

Corner Time

Stillness is a tool. Silence is punishment. Standing there, nose to the wall, stripped of purpose, you feel my absence louder than a slap. You are learning your place.

Crotch & Thigh-High Boots

Each heel is a command. Each step a warning. My boots don’t just elevate me—they crush your pride beneath them. Lust becomes reverence the moment I step on your chest.

Degradation

You crave to be taken down. Stripped of titles, ego, and dignity until what remains is raw, obedient, and real. This isn’t cruelty. It’s clarity.

Financial Devotion

Tribute is not payment. It’s proof of understanding. You give not to buy, but to beg, to honor, to be noticed. Each offering is a reminder that your value lies in pleasing me.

Fishnets

They’re not decoration. They’re entrapment. Every diamond of mesh is a portal into obsession. When stretched across my thighs, they become your weakness, snagged, helpless, and hypnotized.

Flogging

A dance of discipline. Leather arcs. Breath stills. Each strike a stanza.

You don’t brace—you bloom.

Foot Worship

You don’t just kneel for feet. You kneel for power. My arch becomes your altar. Each toe, a lesson. Every glance downward is a reminder: you were made to serve at my feet.

Glove Worship

My hands in leather or satin—untouchable elegance. When they graze your cheek, you flinch. When they grab your jaw, you melt. You don't love the gloves. You love the distance they create between us.

Goddess Worship

I am not your fantasy—I am your religion. You don’t just desire me. You revere me. Eyes, lace, lips, scent, voice… every inch of me becomes your altar. And you? A silent, breathless devotee.

Golden Nectar Drink

To taste it is to be marked. Intimate. Humbling. Offered not because you deserve it—but because I decide you will be changed by it.

Hairbrush Discipline

Vintage pain. Maternal authority. When I wield the hairbrush, it’s not playful—it’s personal. You don’t just feel it in your skin. You feel it in your shame.

High Heels

Not just shoes symbols. Each stiletto press is a reminder of your place. My steps echo through your chest, and every inch I rise above you deepens your need to serve below me.

Humiliation

I don't humiliate to hurt. I'm humiliate to own. A well-timed word, a mocking smile, a cold truth whispered when you're most vulnerable, these are my tools. And you? You thank me for each one.

Latex

It clings to me like worship should. Tight, glistening, unforgiving. You don’t just admire latex—you submit to it. Every curve wrapped in control. Every inch of it... yours to beg for.

Leather

The scent. The sound. The authority. Leather doesn’t ask for attention—it demands it. When I wear it, I’m not dressing. I’m declaring war on your self-control.

Lingerie

I don’t wear lingerie for you. I wear it because I like to be admired while you ache. Lace is a weapon. Silk is a command. And my curves? Your undoing.

N-Torture

Your buttons were made for me. I press, twist, and tease until you’re squirming under my gaze. Pain dances with arousal and I lead the rhythm.

Obedience

Not just rule-following—this is alignment. The greatest submissives serve before they’re told. When you anticipate my needs, you don’t just follow, you become worthy of my control.

Over-the-Knee Spanking

The oldest ritual. The most intimate correction. Draped across my lap, every smack becomes a conversation, about respect, control, and exactly who you belong to.

Pantyhose Worship

Sheer. Silky. Spellbinding. You’ll never look at legs the same way again. My nylons are not clothing, they’re confinement for your mind. And you’ll worship every inch they wrap.

Paddle

Blunt. Final. Undeniable. The paddle doesn’t flirt, it enforces. One strike and you remember who you belong to. Ten? You never forget.

Riding Crop

Sharp. Elegant. Precise. The crop doesn’t miss. It leaves little marks and massive messages. You exist to be corrected and I enjoy the reminder.

Ruined Orgasm

You thought pleasure was the reward. It isn’t. The moment you think you’re allowed to finish—I take it away. What’s left is a twitch, a gasp, and a lesson: even your climax belongs to me.

Slave Training

This is discipline with devotion. I don’t just command—I refine. From posture to protocol, your purpose becomes precision. When I’m done, you won’t just obey—you’ll exist to please.

Slapping

Sudden. Stinging. Intimate. A slap isn’t rage—it’s ritual. It resets your ego and sends you reeling back to where you belong: beneath me.

SPH (Small Penis Humiliation)

It’s not just size—it’s identity. I reduce you with precision. Every joke cuts. Every comparison stings. And yet… you keep coming back. Because deep down, it’s exactly what you want.

Spitting

A gesture of pure hierarchy. You exist beneath me, and when my spit lands on your face, the message is clear: you asked for this. And you’ll thank me for it.

Strap-On Play

Penetration isn’t just physical—it’s psychological. My hips own your shame, your pleasure, your fear.

Tantric Presence

You may feel it in my breath, in the pause before a command, in how I hold the moment open. It’s not Tantra. It’s presence. And when I decide to focus on you… you disappear into something wordless.

Tease & Denial

This is not cruelty. This is curation. I lead you to the brink—not for your satisfaction, but for my amusement. You don't get what you want. You get what I allow.

This may or may not be a complete list. You may inquire about other fetishes, but nothing is guaranteed. I do not perform requests—I decide what you experience. And only if you’ve earned it.

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