Stellar

The Lens, Like the Leash

They say the camera never lies — but that's only true if the one behind it doesn't lie either. My camera is an extension of my dominance. I do not press the shutter by accident, just as I do not lay my hand on a body without intention. There is a current in every power exchange, and that current runs through the lens when I work. I do not capture people to possess them. I guide them. I honor them. I frame their surrender with the same care and reverence I would in any scene — because this *is* a scene. The same rules apply. Respect. Honesty. Safety. I do not want a submissive who kneels because they feel small. I want someone who kneels because they know their worth and choose to offer it — not as a sacrifice, but as a gift. That is the posture of true strength, and I will meet it with my own. The power I hold behind the camera is not about hierarchy. It is not about reducing anyone to parts or poses. It is about seeing someone as a whole — radiant, complex, and full of contradiction. My dominance does not flatten you. It lifts the hidden parts into view, then holds them steady. Submission does not make you less. It is not a symptom of weakness or a sign of shame. It is the audacity to say: "Here I am. This is real. I trust you to hold it." When someone offers me their truth — their edge, their softness, their stillness — I do not take. I accept. With presence. With clarity. With restraint. The same dominance that holds a flogger with care also holds a camera with intention. I lead. I guide. I protect the container. And I listen — not just to words, but to breath, to posture, to energy. I will not build a scene on self-erasure. I will not shoot someone who wants to disappear. My work is not to validate your wounds. It is to call forth your power. If you believe you are nothing, I will not step on you. I will ask why you think that. And then I will wait, calmly, until you remember your fire. I want the version of you that kneels without shrinking. That says, "I am here." That knows this act — this offering — is sacred. And I will shoot it not as a conquest, but as a covenant. The lens obeys me. But only because I have earned its trust. Just like anyone who gives me theirs.

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