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I have a preference for much older dominant women, but I am open to discussion with younger women who are very mature and confident. I am a strong believer in female supremacy and all that it implies. I do not believe men are evil or scum or that our needs should be totally discounted, simply that we are at our best when trained by the woman we love to serve them with total submission, obedience and passion. An obedient man learns to accept his goddess's wisdom without hesitation or argument.

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4/12/2016 8:09:41 AM

Confession is good for the soul

As submissive men, we recognize the importance of surrendering all (and I mean ALL) pride to our wives.  We know that obedience and worship of her allows for pride in nothing save service and commitment to her.  Intellectually we recognize that real obedience is far more than simply doing what we are told, rather it is proactive and demands our total focus on fulfilling her wishes, anticipating her preferences and underscoring her total authority in our lives.

What about those times that we fail?  What do we do when we find ourselves looking at a beautiful woman and thinking “wow, she is pretty”.  We know that we have stolen from our goddess that single moment of our attention that belongs to her and mentally given it to another.   How should we deal with discordant thoughts when goddess has instructed us to do something and we fail to take joy in carrying it out; when we are compliant in deed but disobedient in our hearts and minds?  What about moments of jealousy when goddess bestows her attention on someone else and we feel that somehow we were “entitled” to her efforts instead.  We know that goddess owns her emotions and that she should own ours as well.  How do we clear the air and bring harmony back after wwe have failed in this way?

I answer this with the one thing that can make us feel clean again.  We bring these discordant thoughts to our goddess and confess them to her.  We do not tell her these things in some “passive-aggressive” effort to change her, but to let her know that we have failed as submissive men and that we need her to be aware of our short comings.  Tell her that my eyes wandered at the beach to another woman.  Tell her that when she woke me at two in the morning to go get ice cream that I felt angry and used.  Or that when she thought it would be amusing to make me do something that humbled me in some way that I did not take joy in displaying my unquestioning obedience to her.  Tell her I felt jealous when she laughed at a neighbors joke or perhaps gave him a kiss hello, or whatever she chose to do with him.  Let her know that I have failed as a submissive man and need her to deal with it.

Then we leave it in her hands to correct.  She may choose to punish us or she may just forgive us or she may choose to discuss it.  The point though is that our every discordant thought must be surrendered to her so that she can help us to delve ever deeper in our submission to her.


12/12/2014 6:17:19 AM
It has been way too long since I have updated the journal on here.  So much has happened in the last two years.  I have graduated and I work full time in Insurance as an assistant underwriter.  My boss is wonderful and responds so nicely to an obedient boy, though she has no idea of my thoughts.  It is wonderful to work in an environment with so many strong women who guide my every step.  Even my skip-manager is a wonderful woman with years of experience in the business and the branch manager is also a very strong and powerful woman.  I was very fortunate to find my job and career.

In terms of the lifestyle, though I have yet to find exactly who I need and want, I have met a lot of great women, both in person and online.  I have also corresponded with other boys of all ages who, like me, know their place and recognize that women should be revered, worshipped, obeyed and empowered.  I hope one day to help found a community of believers in female supremacy.  I am always happy to speak with a like-minded boy who likes to discuss ways of enhancing the life of the goddess he worships.

I have become far more tolerant of younger women too.  I have matured enough to realize that age is not the be all and end all of a woman's strength and authority.  There are some, make that many, women in their teens who are quite aware of their power.

5/14/2012 2:36:35 PM

He pushed his foot further to the right, wondering why she felt it necessary to tie him so tightly and so spreadeagled for a spanking.  His left foot was already bound by the blue cord to a thick table leg.  Another piece of cord was roped about his right and Mrs. Anderson was pulling it closer and closer to the opposite table leg.  He wondered if she might split him up the middle but leaned yet further to the right as she put all her weight into stretching him.  Tipping the scales at just over 200 pounds the shortish woman had more strength in her body than he might have thought.  He groaned and fell forward as his legs lost all ability to support him.  His hands cushioned the fall as he landed on the table top.  After balancing himself on his chest he reached his hands down to massage the ache in his thigh muscles.

 

"At your age, your thighs can use a good stretch" Mrs. Anderson snipped as she quickly lashed his right ankle to the table leg.  She left him no movement whatsoever.  When she stood upright she took his right hand and pulled it behind his back, then crossed it with his left hand and lashed them tightly together with another length of blue cord.

 

"I believe I now have your complete attention Andy, unlike yesterday afternoon."  As he struggled to find a more comfortable position with his thighs stretched to their limit and his arms twisted behind him, he arched his back and pulled his head to the right, suddenly understanding what this was all about.  He considered his words very carefully.

 

Patricia Anderson took a step back to watch her young paramour in his helpless condition.  "I fully understand that a young boy like you is always looking at the young girls in their tight little tops and skirts.  I don't expect you to stop being a boy, but you will learn not to gawk at them when you are out with me."

 

Andy pressed his head down and to the side in order to glimpse his much older mistress.  "No maam, I wasn't...."  He suddenly realized just how vulnerable his dangling scrotum was as he felt her very warm hand wrap its fingers about him, then squeeze until his words were cut off by the air escaping his lungs in a painful gasp.

 

"Don't lie to me you little slut, I saw you looking at her.  I could see what you were thinking, how much you wanted her."

 

"No maam, never, I am yours always."


3/18/2012 9:24:32 PM

When I was in the tenth grade I had two experiences that I think helped to define me.  At the very least they may have changed my perspective.  First, my girlfriend cheated on me.  Well, cheated is not the right word.  I found out that while she was cooing soft words of affection for me and refusing my hands the ability to touch her in ways that I might have liked, she was also dating another guy who was not being similarly denied.  I probably should have been angry, but I was inexplicably not.  Sure, I was hurt and humiliated, but not angry.  I told her I wanted nothing to do with her, but that was the extent of my wrath.  I never met the guy.  A few months ago I learned that she went on to get pregnant by him and married and subsequently divorced.  I felt bad for her.  I also wish that I had known just how much I needed to be a slave then.  Things might have been very different.

 

The same year we learned that my father had been sleeping around on my mom with prostitutes.  She was devastated.  I sympathized with her and when she left him, I went with her.  I do not miss my father very much and apparently he doesn't miss me much either.  I haven't heard from him since, though he lives less than an hour from our old house. 

 

So what, you ask, does this have to do with being a slave or my perspectives on female supremacy.  Nothing really.  But it does have to do with relationships.  I was never angry with my old girlfriend for double-dealing me, just for lying about it.  Had she told me that she cared for me but would deny me while sleeping with another guy, I probably would have recognized my own sense of subservience and enslaved myself to her.  She lied to me instead and so there was nothing for us to share. 

 

To be completely honest, I think I like the idea of being a woman's cuckold.  I like to think that she has the right to sleep with whomever she chooses.  She has the right to expect complete fidelity from me and even to deny me.  She does not, however, have the right to lie to me about it.


12/27/2011 5:21:48 AM

Her eyes are dark, her lips thin and parsed.  She stares at me harshly, burning me.  Without the least softening of her expression she tugs a draw of her cigarette and blows the smoke into my face.  My bound hands cannot cover my face and I gag on the smoke, trying not to cough or wheeze, she would not like that.  I cannot move any part of my body and she looks down at me.  I am in love.


8/22/2011 9:00:30 AM

Peter stretched upward, pulling with his arms against the wooden frame that had held him tightly bound in the same position for over two hours.  Ropes attached to each corner and centers of the two-dimensional square frame held his arms, knees, waist, ankles and wrists tightly so that he had little movement.   He was naked, but nobody seemed to notice, much less care, even Peter.  His attention was more acutely tuned on the kneeling figure of Adele, the beautifully proportioned red headed object of his devotion and adoration.  She too was unadorned by clothing and had the attention not only of Peter, but more importantly and more insidiously of Lisa.

 

Her eyes stared intently at the floor as she held herself in a pose of nearly perfect erotic submission to the older woman.  Her back was arched, accentuating her bosom and displaying the soft curves of her ass in an exaggerated fashion that Peter found very attractive.  He would have enjoyed the sight accept that it seemed inappropriate to him.  The image of his mistress in submission to another was somehow degrading to him.  Even so he could not take his eyes off of her.  Her arms extended at right angles from her torso and created acute triangles at the elbows, ending with the fingers of her hands locked together behind her neck.  She was displaying herself before Lisa.  Peter believed deeply that the image was not appropriate for him to see, yet he could not turn away  even if he wanted to.  The restraints made that impossible, Lisa had seen to it.  He thought about her name again and reminded himself, "Mistress Lisa."

 

Adele wondered how long she had been in this position, silently feeling her muscles burn to remain steady and displayed.  Her long red hair tickled her back and yet she dared not move.  Her knees felt bruised from holding their position so very long and yet she dared not adjust them even a little to improve her comfort.  She knew that Lisa's eyes were staring intently at her from somewhere in the room, yet she knew not where.  Her own eyes remained trained downward in subservience creating a very limited field of view.  She wished she could look for Lisa, to know at least whether the elder woman was pleased with her.  Instead she studied the floor, concentrating to take her mind away from the pain emanating from her knees and muscles and more importantly, the knowledge that Peter was forced to watch her like this.  She wondered how she must look to him, her slave, the boy she had trained to be obedient to her as he was forced to watch her becoming a slave herself.  Yet it was something that she needed as much as he needed her.  She thought about their respective ages.  Peter was twentyish, she forty, Lisa well into her fifties.  There was a pecking order here that she did not quite understand. 

 

The long silence was suddenly broken as the clicks of footfalls on tile signaled Lisa's approach.  "Very nice Adele, you are a very beautiful woman."  Lisa's voice was close now, comforting in its praise.

 

Adele answered without moving her eyes.  "Thank you mam" she uttered in her most respectful voice.

 

The older woman's voice grew more harsh.  "Thank you…. Who?"  The question was accompanied by a short swing of a riding crop that ended its arch abruptly upon Adele's left ass-globe.  Though the slap of the crop produced more shock than pain, Adele felt herself jolt at the impact.  "Thank you…. Goddess."  The last of these words was an effort to mutter, particularly in front of Peter.  It was his term for her, one that held great meaning to the boy and one that held tremendous affection between them.  To refer reverently to Lisa in such a way seemed to take it from herself.  She understood the meaning perfectly, there would be just one goddess in this relationship and it would be Lisa, not Adele.  With the word escaping from her lips seemed to come also the relinquishing of her rights as a woman.  It was something she had thought about before and accepted as a necessary waypoint along this new journey of discovery.  It would have been far easier to utter the term with more meaning had not Peter been only a few feet away to hear her surrender the title.  She could feel his disappointment, though he said nothing.  He felt far more violated at seeing the woman he adored pass up his worshipful term for her than she did.

 

Lisa was very much aware of the significance and symbolism.  She turned triumphantly toward Peter.   She was confident in her victory, as though her superiority even as a woman among women were something beyond Peter's mental or esoteric grasp.  She stepped in his direction, curving the hand that palmed the riding crop inward and resting it on her hip.  "What about your boy here slut, does he too recognize me as his goddess?"

 

Adele's eyes did not budge.  Her resolve held even as she felt the humbling of her new position flood over her.  "He is mine, goddess and all I have is yours."  She paused momentarily and finished.  "He is yours goddess."

 

Peter had never felt more insignificant than now.  He struggled to take hold of the concept.  He was Adele's slave, worshiped her by choice but all the same her slave.  If he were her property than did she, he pondered for the moment, have the right to surrender him to another without his permission.  If yes, then his enslavement was complete.  By acknowledging Adele's right to demand his submission to another, he reasoned, he was in fact underscoring her absolute ownership of him.  His submission to Lisa then was really the ultimate surrender to Adele.  It was almost too complicated for his masculine brain to fully grasp, yet he did recognize his servitude to Adele and could not let it end.

 

Lisa lifted and outstretched the crop until it rested on the ground directly beneath Peter's exposed testicle sack.  "Let me hear him say it then.  Who is your goddess slave?"

 

Peter stared at the ground and began to move his lips, but the words would not come.  Lisa's hand flicked upward harshly, driving the leathered tip of the crop against his scrotum cruelly until Peter jerked against his bondage.  She did it again.  Then a third time.  Peter felt the muscles of his thighs strain against his ropes as he struggled vainly to close his legs against the onslaught.

 

"You are Mistress."

 

The crop slammed all the harder against his now aching balls.

 

"What am I slave?"  the crop slammed home yet again.

 

"You are my... goddess."  Peter surrendered.

 

"Say it again slave."

 

"You are my goddess."  Peter's voice was louder, more clear.

 

"Again."  The demand was punctuated with another hard slap of the leather.

 

"You are my goddess."

 

"Have you any other goddess slave?"

 

Peter wanted to say yes, but knew better at this point.  He also knew better than to hesitate in his answer.  Even so, he understood what his response meant and hated himself for it.  With the demand Lisa took away his last thread of reverence for Adele.  Now he could not say his devotion for Lisa was a vicarious representation of Adele, rather he must acknowledge her ownership of him in her own right.  The crop slammed home again and then again.  Peter felt his eyes moisten from the pain.

 

"No, goddess."


7/19/2011 10:45:25 AM

Sexual fantasy:

 

I look at the horizon, wondering when the sun will come up and I will be exposed for all to see.  God how I wish things had worked out differently, that I had been as obedient as I should have been.  There is but one possible saving grace for me, that goddess will relent at the last moment and come release me.  I suspect she might, she would not want me to be arrested like this, at least I hope she wouldn't.  The horizon is getting light though, there isn't more than forty-five minutes or so before the morning sun rises and people begin walking along the path in front of me.  There is no excuse to spare my humiliation, nothing that would make any sense at all.  I press closer to the chain-link fence and push up again on my toes.  Goddess was thorough as always.  I think back to the lone event that sparked all of this and press my eyelids closed in shame.   Never again will I disobey, I know that now.  I can still feel the welts and bruising on my bared ass-globes from the beating I had earned, cool now against the morning air.  Her word is law and will always be treated as such, if only now she would come and release me, before I am exposed for all the world to see like this.

 

Eight hours earlier life had been simpler, more joyous.  I had been her prized slave and she my goddess.  I had been drawing her bath and setting the implements of my service to her, waiting for her to enter the room.   She entered and dropped her robe before me and I fell to my knees, not so much because she demanded it as because it seemed proper.  Her body, imperfect though it may be, was beautiful to me.  Her fifty-odd years of maturity shown in her flesh, a few wrinkles, a bit of fat here and there, her stomach large and breasts hung down in delicious proportion.  I loved her fat nipples that loved to be suckled and played with.  Her short grayish hair did not reach her shoulders.  She turned to me and took my face lovingly in her hands, stroking my cheeks as she smiled down at me.  Then she pressed herself, her groin and the thick triangle of her pubic hair, the powerfully pungent aroma of her sex filled my nostrils.  I kissed, then I kissed again.  She smiled and stepped back, looking at my forming erection.  "I don't believe I gave you permission young man."  I looked away thinking of something else until it fell into subservience to her wishes.  She turned away then stepped backward, pressing her ass against my face, she gently gyrated herself until my nose and mouth were pressed to the crack separating her enormous globes.  I knew better than to use my hands to spread them farther apart, it would displease her.  So instead I pressed my face deep inside the cleft and kissed softly against the pucker of her anus.  My cock stirred again and I did not want to be reprimanded twice for the same offense so I began forcing my mind to think of other things, chores that needed to be done, funny antics people had performed and I had seen, anything at all to make my pathetic male organ obey her command.

 

I heard her moan gently and knew I was pleasing her.  I lapped at her orifice with my tongue.  She moved away, stepping over the wall of the tub and slowly flowing into the water.  She looked at me and smiled.  "The temperature is perfect, and the scent is most relaxing, you have done well boy."  The affirmation in her voice was like music.  Still kneeling I walked to the tub on my knees and awaited her needs.  She leaned forward.  "Use the loofah on my back boy, exfoliate the skin."  I complied, dozing across her back as gently as I could while still being effective at removing the dead skin cells.  Then she bade me soap her and rinse her and wash and condition and rinse her hair.  All the while, treated as I was to the sight of her naked flesh, I forced myself not to think about it enough to become sexually erect.  It was difficult, but I persevered.  

 

Finally she raised herself and I quickly began to towel her off.  She sat on the edge of the tub and stretched her leg forward.  "Shave me."  I took the raiser from the tray and filled my hands with gel, then applied it thoroughly to her legs and thighs.  She smiled enticingly at me as she opened her thighs wide enough for me to trim the thick mound of hair that fully concealed her womanly sex.  I thought about the Alamo, the rape of Nanking, Auschwitz, the bombing of Saigon, anything to keep myself from becoming "vulgar" to her.  She watched me intently, joyously, even playfully as I glided the razor across the ample flesh of her thighs and legs.  Then I rinsed her and applied cream, finally she stood and I dabbed the towels on her flesh.

 

Without replacing her robe, she walked from the bathroom to her bedroom and sat on the vanity bench and stared at herself in front of the mirrors.  I knew she did not like what she saw as much as I did.  I followed, towel still on my arm.  I knelt at her side as she handed me a blow drier and brush.  I began pulling the brush through her graying hair while applying the coolest setting of the dryer.  it took longer that way, but there was no damage to the hair.  I stroked the brush several hundred times through her hair until there was not a tangle left in it, then pulled each side back and stroked more, for sheen.

 

She motioned to her closet and with a playful smile said "Get out my blue dress boy, the one that is cut low, and place it on the bed.  Then get out my blue bra and garter belt and black stockings."  Her eyes twinkled as she added "I won't be wearing any panties tonight."  I did not know where we were going, but the thrill of the thing washed over me in exquisite waves.  She was talking to me more like a lover than an owner, it was something I had not expected.  I scurried excitedly to the closet and then to her dresser and came back with the items neatly arrayed in my arms.  She stepped first into the stockings and I pulled them up.  Then I wrapped her garter belt about her and attached it to the stockings, taking care to keep the seems perfectly straight.  I drew the brazziere about her chest and tucked her breasts inside, then pulled the back together and snapped the many, many hooks closed.  The accidental feel of her very aroused nipples against my fingers was more than I could bear.  I pulled my pelvis back so that she would not feel the evidence of my disobedience against her flesh.  Then, before she could turn and see me, I quickly lifted the dress over her head and began to put it over her from behind, then zipped the back up.  When she turned, the effect was mesmerizing.  Her breasts, encased in the bra with the large cleft of cleavage exposed through the low cut "v" in the dress made her normally large bosom seem almost unnaturally so. 

 

She frowned as she looked down.  "I see that you like this dress on me, but I really think we need to do something about your inability to control yourself."

 

I felt embarrassed and ashamed.  I covered myself, apologizing profusely.

 

She smiled.  "Oh, I understand, you are but a boy and your sex has a mind of its own.  I do, though, think we will have to get out the chastity tube for you.  I think this time I will put on the 'points of intrigue', that should help your little friend to mind better, don't you think?"

 

There was no anger in her voice.  Actually, I liked the idea.  Though I knew she would prefer I keep my erections under control through sheer obedience, it was much easier when I had the help of a tube that kept my cock bent over and the 'points of intrigue' helped further by biting into it when it tried to get hard.  Thus, I was free to enjoy goddess without having to keep trying to think of other things to keep my vulgar maleness under control.  "Oh yes, goddess, that would be wonderful."  I thought about it and added "but I wish it weren't necessary."

 

"All in time boy, all in time.  One day you will not have to work at it so..... hard."  She smiled at the pun.

 

She turned to the mirror and admired herself.  I knew she would have preferred a more youthful appearance, but for my part, she was the most beautiful woman in a world of beautiful women.  Finally, she smiled and said "I suppose I look alright.  Once you apply my makeup I think I will be ready for a night on the town."  She turned to me and sat back on the bench in front of the vanity.  "Lots of color tonight boy, I want to look my finest."

 

I rushed to the makeup drawer and began palming foundation in my hands.  I then slowly applied it to the whole of her face, followed by a hint of rouge.  As I began to open the cap from the eyeliner, she spoke again.  "I want to look my best tonight.  Harold is in town and I want him to go wild with excitement on our date."

 

My mouth fell open.  "Harold mam?"  He had been her fourth husband.  A lawyer from Chicago.  They had been married for only three years when they divorced.  She had always said that they had great sex but he was just too damned demanding.  She was going through her 'submissive' period when they had been dating and had married him before realizing it was just a phase for her.  Yet, she had always pointed out that he was really good in bed.

 

Her mouth grew firm as she turned upward to me.  "Yes... SLAVE, Harold.  He is in town and asked me out for dinner."  Her eyes narrowed.  "Is that alright with you?"

 

I stammered.  "Well, know mam, er actually, I mean, I thought you meant that, well, perhaps...."

 

"What, you thought that I was getting all gussied up like this for a night on the town with you?  You are a boy, Harold is a man.  I don't want tongue tonight dear, I want cock, real cock, the kind that pounds my ass into the bed and leaves me begging for more.  Harold is an asshole, but my word he knows how to fuck.  That is something you will never do to me, it is something I do to you."  She turned back to the mirror and admired her face.  "Now put my mascara on and make it nice.  If you are good, and I am not too sore from the pounding, I might let you worship me when I get back."

 

Shattered, I slowly applied the eyeliner and mascara.  Then I stepped back, acutely aware that I had not said 'yes mam' at her demand.  Compliance, I reasoned, would have to be good enough.  "I... well, I didn't know you were still seeing him mam."

 

She stood from the bench and turned to me, her eyes angered and sympathetic at the same time.  "I see whoever I want, it is my right.  I own you, you do not own me.  You had better get over your jealousy right now."

 

I shuffled my feet, still standing, though every instinct told me to fall to my knees.  Anger shook me.  "Mam"  my voice stammered.  "You are my goddess, the woman who I give my whole life to."  I hesitated, feeling the anger rise in me, then said the words that I would regret.  "Are you going to go be his little whore for the night?  Don't you have any self respect?  You are better than that."

 

Her lips grew tight across her face as her eyes narrowed.  She stared at me, glaring intently.  "Now I see what its all about.  You think you are going to define who I am according to your own little code of behavior.  How the hell dare you call me a whore?  I am, or thought I was, your goddess.  That means that my instincts and needs and thoughts are preeminent, not yours.  If I want to go out and get fucked by a man, that is my business and you should be happy for my joy in it.  Instead you want to stand there and act like some wounded beast?  Get the hell out of my sight."

 

As the anger left me, I was left with nothing save the shame of having displeased her.  I fell to my knees.  "I am sorry goddess, I am happy for your joy.  I was wrong.  You are, as always, right.   I let my instincts take over and fell to my knees, my head bowed.  "I am sorry for what I said, it won't happen again.  I choked out words then that I did not mean but knew she would want to hear.  "I want you to enjoy yourself tonight."

 

"Liar."  Goddess did not anger easily, but once her ire was up, there was little to do save ride out the storm and let her know that her decisions are absolute.  Obedience here was far more valuable than honesty.  "You think that because you are obedient to me as a houseboy you are going to have some say in what I choose to do with my body, you think I owe you fidelity."  Her hands went to her hips.  "Well I think you are going to learn otherwise if you are going to remain my slave.  Your body and soul belongs to me, not the other way around."   I heard sobbing sounds coming from my throat mingled with incoherent pleadings for forgiveness.  I was, as always, thoroughly defeated.  Her displeasure wounded me, it was like a dagger slicing through my heart.

 

She stepped a few paces away from me and then turned, she slid her feet inside a set of slippers and then reached out and grabbed me by my right ear and dragged me through the upstairs of her home.  She yanked me down the stairs, my head angled heavily to the left as my lobe burned from the pressure.  As she pulled me through the living room she stopped for only a couple seconds to open a drawer and retrieve a padlock, a set of wrist binders and then took her thickest rattan cane from the elephant-footed umbrella stand by the front door.  Then undeterred, she pulled me through the dining room, the kitchen, the back room and through the back door into her backyard.  in the darkness of night she pulled me for three steps at a time and then yanked my earlobe for me to catch up, then repeated the process.  Bent forward with my head at just above knee height, I struggled to keep up as best I could.    

 

Finally, we stood, or at least she stood, at the chain link fence that separated the back of her property from a communally owned jogging trail.  I remained bent forward with my earlobe still stretched low in her clutching hand.  I did not complain, though I was acutely aware of the fact that I was naked and bent over in goddesses back yard.  I should have felt embarrassment, but my shame from her displeasure went far deeper than any such concerns could approach.

 

She released her grip on my earlobe.  "Stand up you miserable excuse for a slave."  I stood upright.  "Go stand against the fence and get up on your tip-toes."  I was a little confused, but didn't question the order.  Then madam stepped several paces along the fence-line and opened the gate that connected her back yard to the pathway.  She closed the gate behind her and walked along the other side of the fence back to me.  The image of her, clad in her very formal, low-cut evening dress and stockings in her pink fuzzy slippers might have seemed funny under any other circumstances, but the anger in her face and eyes shown clear enough in the moonlight that I paid little interest in her dress.  I stood on my toes facing the gate, silently.

 

Without a word, she reached a couple of fingers through the chain-linking of the fence and pulled my penis upward to the hole just above where it naturally would have been with me on my toes.  "Press into the fence slave."  I pushed my groin against the cold metal of the fencing material.  She roughly stretched her fingers through the link and pulled upward on my scrotum until both my penis and balls were though and hung on the other side.  Then, tugging them hard, she extended the padlock about the base of my nutsack and clicked it hard until I was securely locked in place.  Without a word, she returned through the gate and gathered my arms up behind my back and tugged them until my shoulders were at perfect ninety degree angles and attached the binders about my forearms.  To adjust for the increased tension of the arch of my body against my locked-in-place scrotum, I stretched my toes even higher upward.  Suddenly I knew the full extent of her wrath, the anger I had caused in her.  I began to sob again.  Never had she been so angry with me before.

 

I heard the first attack of the rattan cane whistle in the air but knew there was nothing I could do to stop it.  Instead I steeled myself for the crack of pain that would instantly ensue, knowing that in her yard I could not scream to alleviate the pain.  When it came I saw stars as my body jerked first forward and then backward against the blow.  My left ass globe exploded in agony, then the jerk of my body yanked cruelly against my well-fastened cock and balls.  I whimpered and sobbed, saying nothing.  The air moved to the sound of the cane whistling toward my backside again and I closed my eyes tightly, concentrating on holding my body against the involuntary jolt of the blow.  I could do nothing to stop the pain to my back-flesh, but if I could hold still on my toes, the pain to my groin might be lessened.  It worked, sort of.  The cane sliced into my gluteus maximus as it was hardened against any jerks my body might produce from the blow, thereby making the effect burrow deep into muscle.  I felt my ass twitch, then the heat began to grow in my fresh, it was like a fire burning just beneath my flesh.  The cane whistled again and I began to cry helplessly.  My muscles dared not flex again and my ass and balls yelped in terrorized pain from the third onslaught.  I lost balance and had to step against the fence, feeling my balls scream against the weight of my body hanging for a fraction of a second as I adjusted my feet.

 

"I have never been so angry at you slave."  She drew back the cane, but did not swing it.  "I demand your obedience.  Yet you treat me like some cheap slut.  I am your goddess and will be treated as such.  You will not presume to tell me who I can or cannot sleep with or what I allow them to do with my body."  The cane whistled again.  I jerked again, fighting to keep from screaming.  I knew my ass was now crisscrossed with welts.  Big welts, the kind that last for days.  If only I could rub them, I knew I would feel them raised far above the surrounding flesh.  I would not doubt there might even be a bit of blood.  I felt my ass twitching again and the heat and the sting and the unrelenting pressure on my ball-sack.  Tears rolled down my cheeks.

 

"If I am to be your goddess, then I will own your body and being, every part of it.  You will be obedient to me, you will cherish my every thought, adopt it as your own.  You will revel in my happiness and support my every decision with your very life."  The cane swung again, even harder than before.  When it had done its horrible carnage I felt my head go a little fuzzy, as though I might pass out.

 

"Tell me slave, am I your goddess or not?"

 

Through a throat choked with pain and the involuntary spasm of sobs, I blurted "Yes goddess, you are my goddess.  I am sorry to have displeased you.  You will always control my every thought and action.  I am nothing without you and your direction."

 

The cane swung again, this time softer, but it still jolted me against the fence.  I knew the anger was starting to subside, but only a little.  "I think I need to know that you really mean that slave.  I will give you a choice.  I can release you now and let you go or you can remain until I get back from my date and then I will decide whether or not to let you go.  The latter will be a good lesson for you, and is my preference.  I will, though, let you decide whether or not to remain."

 

I thought about it for less than a second.  I knew that the latter would be nearly impossible to endure, if not completely impossible.  Yet, I knew also that if I were truly her slave, I would always accede to her preference.  "Please, let me stay here goddess."

 

The next sound I heard were of her footsteps walking away.  Ten minutes later I heard those footsteps again as the engine of her car started up and the headlights shown on my.  Then it backed its way out of the driveway.  

 

I look at the horizon, wondering when the sun will come up and I will be exposed for all to see.   My toes are week from standing on them.  Several times through the night sleep or muscle fatigue made me drop to the soles of my feet, stretching my scrotum until I could no longer stand it.  Three people have walked down the path, but in the darkness they seem not to have been able to see me.  In but a few minutes, that will change.  No doubt the next person will see me and I will be reported to the police.  I wish at the least I could hide my face.  It must be close to six AM.  The horizon is getting lighter.  God help me.

 

I am resolved that now the issue is not whether I might be reported to the police as a pervert, but when.  That will bring up the obvious question, "who tied you to the fence?"  I will answer that question by telling them that I attached myself to the fence, that I was trespassing on goddesses property and she had nothing to do with it.  I know she would expect nothing less from me.

 

Yet, just as I have so resolved to accept a police record, I hear the crunching of wheels upon gravel and I see her headlights shine past me.  Goddess is pulling into the driveway.  Had she planned it just this way?  Is it possible?

 

The sound of a car door slamming is shortly followed with her footsteps.  I can barely feel my testicles anymore.  The pain in my feet from standing tip-toes for so many hours has left my legs drained of all energy.  I look to my side as she opens the gate and comes about in front of me.  She pulls out the key and unlocks the padlock that holds me secured to the fence.  My cock and scrotum slide out and down and my weight falls to my heels as they slip downward.  I feel as though I will fall over, but amazingly manage to continue standing.  I have been standing in the same position now for at least six hours and probably seven.  My body struggles to adapt to my new-found freedom, but with my arms still so tightly bound behind my back I find myself stepping from side to side with my knees buckling and swaying almost uncontrollably in a sort of swagger.  Yet, even as I struggle to keep my aching body balanced and upright, I repeat over and over, "Thank you goddess, thank you so much.  Tears again begin to flow and I feel a groundswell of emotion.  Finally, I stop even trying to retain my balance and flop forward to my knees, sobbing as they stab into the gravelly earth and I fall to a kneel.

 

Goddess wastes no time accepting or denying my blubbering apologies and thank-yous.  She walks past me.  "Get your ass into the house right now."  She continues walking without even looking back at me.  I flounder around, seeking the strength to stand with my arms still behind my back.  Finally, with a heavy exertion to the side, I am able to get to my feet and stand, then walk to the rear door, still open after her.  I stagger inside and she stands at the other end of the kitchen, hands on hips, mouth tight and her lips firmly pressed together in an unamused straight line.  Her eyes burn me.  I notice that her dress is wrinkled, her makeup smudged; even worn off in places.  Only her mascara remains relatively intact and even that is a bit "runny" at the edges of her eyes, as though she might have been crying.  I begin to cry too. 

 

I hear my own voice faltering but clear.  "I am ever so sorry goddess for my insolence and disobedience.  You are my goddess and will always be my goddess.  Your body belongs to you and so does mine, I will never again question what you do or who you do it with, ever, I promise."  My eyes lower, still watery.

 

I can actually feel her countenance softening.  "I know that boy.  You have learned well.  I know that boys have a nature of jealousy, it is a natural thing.  Yet it must be trained out of you.  You must always think of my pleasure first, what I want will always be your goal.  You must learn to overcome your own instincts and act according to mine.  Do you understand that boy?"

 

"Yes goddess, I will not again forget."

 

She giggles playfully.  "I shall see that you don't by giving you a nice long spanking later today, after we both wake up.  But for tonight, I have a treat for you."

 

My eyes perk up a bit in anticipation.

 

She turns and runs through the living room to the staircase and glides up the stairs, nymph-like, motioning for me to follow.  With my arms still bound behind my back it is an effort to stand again, but with effort, I manage.  By the time I get upstairs to her bedroom she has already tossed her dress to the side and slipped out of her bra.  She stands at the foot of the bed and stares at me lovingly.  "I am going to let you worship me this morning boy.  I have been fucking Harold all night.  His cock has been pounding me from the time I left you until I just let you loose.  My cunt is raw from fucking, sore as all hell.  I haven't been rode so hard in years and it was wonderful.  I would have stayed at his hotel all night and fucked him again all day today except that I couldn't leave you tied to my fence all night.  So now I want you to crawl up on my bed and worship me while I go to sleep, then you may sleep with your face buried in my womb.  How does that sound for a treat for you boy?"  Her voice was playful and jubilant.  I smiled.

 

"Thank you goddess, that would be wonderful."

 

She stepped toward me and untied my aching arms.  Then she turned and walked toward the bed, pulling the sheets back.  From behind I could see that her ass was striped red with the unmistakeable marks of violence upon her flesh.  It dawned on me that perhaps goddess might have felt like being Harold's bottom for the night, but I didn't care.  I knew better than to ask or wonder about it.  Instead, as she crawled into her bed and turned upright she stared at me invitingly and opened her meaty thighs and thick curls of pubic hair.  I smiled humbly at the beauty she displayed before me and crawled up the foot of the bed until my mouth was attached to her swollen femininity and I begin to lap at her, ever so gently.  I feel forgiven and warm and safe and loved.  All is right with the world again.


7/18/2011 6:35:28 AM

Last week I returned from a very long vacation in the Catskills.  My mother and her boyfriend invited me at the last moment and I decided to go.  I think my mom invited me mostly to make sure I wasn't going out with a married woman anymore.  She needn't have worried, it was over anyway.  Work was surprisingly understanding about it... summer is slow anyway and I think my boss was just as happy not to have to pay me. 

 

My mother's boyfriend is an interesting guy, he owns a lot of property in Brooklyn and knows a lot about real estate.  He and my mother have been dating for about a year, but I only met him a couple of times before.  He is very nice to me.   It was interesting to watch him and my mother interact.  She and my father were divorced about fifteen years ago and I don't think I ever remember her dating anyone.  It was strange to see her as part of a couple with anyone except me.  They are very affectionate with each other.  At first it seemed incredibly strange to see my mother catering to the guy, it just isn't her nature, or at least I never would have thought so.  He responded though with a tremendous amount of affection and kindness.  I think they are very much in love with each other.

 

I knew that sooner or later my mother would get around to asking me about my "love life" and she did.  We talked for an entire afternoon about my "thing" (as she calls it) for women even older than her.  She didn't actually disapprove, but it was obvious she was concerned.  I told her that I liked women who were rather authoritative, that it kind of completed me and gave me a sense of happiness.  She finally opened up and told me something that completely shook me.  After years of always being the primary decision maker in the family, including the eight years she and my father were married, she told me how much she liked that her boyfriend was more asserive than she.  She said it worried her sometimes that he was a bit on the domineering side, but that overall she kind of liked it.  It really bothered me to think of my mother as not being the authority in her family.  Her choice, of course, but it really flew in the face of my preference for feminine authority.  Does she not know that that belief is, at least in part, the product of her example?


6/9/2011 4:29:39 AM

It is the one thing I have not complied with of all your demands.  I am not sure that I can.  I have been awake most of the night thinking about it and still I cannot decide. 

 

Know my dear Goddess that the bond between a mother and son is a sacred one.  You tell me that I must tell her who and what I am.  I have thought about it all night and still cannot decide if I can do that.

 

On one side of my brain are your thoughts.  Yes, I believe in the absolute supremacy of the woman.  I believe that a man is best as the submissive partner to the woman he adores.  I follow your logic train to all the destinations and along every twist and turn of the track.  Yes, my mother is the ultimate feminine figure in my life.  Yes as my familial matriarch she deserves to know everything about her son.  To not tell her is to keep from her information that would, in a very real sense empower her with knowledge.  The secrecy of my intimate life has indeed caused her concern.  She has asked me many times why I do not date girls or have a girlfriend.  I am sure she is half convinced the reason is that I am gay or sexually dysfunctional or something equally absurd. 

 

Yet I ask, how do I broach the subject?  How do I tell my mother who raised me and nurtured me and taught me so much that her son is not a "normal" man?  How do I tell her that I do not find joy in the simple embrace of a young woman?  That I need to feel a woman's sting, her wrath; that only in total servitude can I find comfort.  How will she then forever see me?

 

What if she asks me questions?  Questions that come far too close to home?  How did I get this way?  When other mothers spanked their little boys they cried and changed their behavior.  When my mother spanked me I felt loved.  I became aroused.  Do I tell her that?  Do I tell her that when other boys looked at mens magazines and became excited I masturbated to images of her friends and.... well you know.  Yes, it may be an oedipus thing. 

 

On the other hand, I do see the value in the thing.  She is the matriarch of my family and she deserves to know who and what I am.  Wish me luck goddess, I will make the telephone call.  Please be right.


6/5/2011 9:36:08 PM

What an awesome and wonderful email I received today... from a submissive woman of all people.  Thank you so very much.  It never before dawned on me that we, as submissives, could join together in friendship or get to know each other and learn from each others experiences and thoughts.  What a great thing.


5/17/2011 5:20:43 AM

Yes Goddess, I will do as instructed by you.  Though I know your time is limited I will post daily my thoughts and worship of you.  Thank you for the time you gave to me this past weekend and Monday.  You were everything I ever dreamt of a mature woman being. 

 

My head is still spinning with all that you showed me and the things you introduced me to.  My body still aches in loving memory of the things you did to me.  Yes, I did love being taken so forcefully by you.  My rectum still aches and my jaw is sore, but my body still craves more.  I still wince in pain when my clothes brush against the welts you lovingly gave my backside and legs.  Yet I am amazed at the strength that I was able to muster.  You are ever so right, it is better not to be tied when beaten, so much more obedient that I was able to force myself to remain bent over to receive every stroke of your cane with nothing to restrain me save my absolute obedience to you.  I thought I would surrender to my demons after only five strokes but somehow found the strength to remain in position for all fifteen.  Thank you for not showing unnecessary pity on my aching body.  You knew me better than I knew myself.  Perhaps on your next visit I will stand another ten. 

 

I had so long dreamt of wearing a cb-3000 device for the woman I loved.  You showed me that such a thing is not necessary at all.  My obedience is my chastity device.  Though my thoughts are of the intimacy you bestowed upon me and allowed me to bestow upon you, I will not touch myself today.  I will be chaste to you until your return, be it in a week or a month.  You have claimed those parts.

 

I will, as you have instructed, continue to seek closer women of dominance to teach me further, though I can hardly imagine any being more able to teach me than you.  My body was invaded by you in every possible way and yet it craves more.  I never thought I would find an enema to be such an intimate thing.  I wish I could be so intrusively surrendered to you every day. 

 

A week ago I would have thought that drinking a woman's urine was a vile and disgusting act of self deprivation and humiliation; no longer.  Yet from you it was a reward for the service I gave you.  I love the sounds you make nearing orgasm.  I love the way that you pulled my face into your womb.  I can still smell your aroused scent and feel your nectar on my face, slick and alive in warmth.  I can taste you still and I love it. 

 

I loved kneeling before you, worshiping you.  I loved the symbolism of kissing and licking your feet and massaging them until you fell asleep.  I loved being your boy for the weekend and dream of your next visit.  I wish that your husband knew the joys of submitting to you, but I am selfishly glad he does not, for then you might be satisfied without me.  Stupid man that he is.  If he only knew the joy of being at your feet.


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PreciousCowgirl
 
 Age: 31
 Tasmania, Australia