How to Write an FLR Marriage Contract

Everything you have discussed so far in the kitchen and in bed lives in the air — and dissolves in the air the moment he is tired, hurt or "didn't understand it that way". A contract puts it on paper.

A word he signed weighs more than a word he said, and that is the only reason a contract is needed. Not for lawyers. For him.

Don't be put off by the word "contract". It isn't a legal document but a ritual and a reminder: two or three pages that state, point by point, how you live. You write it — yourself, by hand or on your phone — and it doesn't have to be pretty. It has to be exact.

What goes in it

1. Who is who. You are the Mistress; he is your slave (your dog, your boy — whatever you call him), and this isn't a game for one evening — it's how this house runs. How he addresses you, how you address him.

2. The key. He wears the cage at all times. The key is yours. It comes off only by your hand and your decision; hygiene on a schedule you set. Orgasm only with your permission; masturbation without it is a violation and a punishment.

3. Service. What he does every day without being reminded: the house, the food, your feet in the evening, everything you write in. The morning and evening rituals, if you have them.

4. Punishments. For what and with what: a counted spanking, extra time in the cage, the loss of something he loves. He doesn't argue with a punishment — he accepts it and thanks you.

5. Your sexual freedom. This clause is written plainly, with no softening: you are free. Flirting, dates, a massage, a lover — as you wish, with no report and no permission from him; he learns exactly as much as you decide to tell him. His desire belongs to you alone, and he has no other freedom. This is the clause he will reread more often than any other — let him.

6. Your right. Your "no" needs no explanation. You may be tired, put everything on pause, change any rule — the contract exists for you, not the other way round. He has no such right.

7. Health and the safeword. One word after which everything really stops — for pain that has gone wrong, and for situations that have nothing to do with play. It isn't a loophole but insurance: he must know you will stop — then he can take far more.

8. Term. Indefinite. Reviewed once a year, at your initiative. You may change the contract; he may ask.

How to discuss it

Give it to him to read in advance, a few days before — every clause can be discussed, and you will hear him out. This matters: he has to sign what he understood, not what he was afraid of. But discussing is not bargaining: he speaks, you decide, and the final wording is yours. If he asks to remove the clause about your freedom — that is precisely the clause that stays.

The signing

Not at the table, not in passing. In the evening, in silence, with him on his knees, the contract in front of him on the floor or on your lap. He reads it aloud — all of it, from the first clause to the last — and signs and dates it. Then you sign. One sentence from you — short, your own: "Now you are mine." And whatever he is thinking at that moment, let him understand there is no going back: not because you won't let him go, but because a man who signed this and read it aloud is no longer the man he was that morning.

The contract lives in the same drawer as everything else — under your lock. When he talks back, pushes or "forgot", don't argue: bring it out and have him reread the relevant clause aloud. That ends any argument. Once a year, reread it together, add something, put a new date. The first signature is never rewritten.

The point: the contract isn’t paperwork; it is the memory of what he agreed to himself, on his knees and with a signature. While it lies in the drawer there is nothing to argue about: everything has already been decided — by him.