In the weeks following Donald Trump's election to the White House, things have been rather tumultuous here with Ms. Julia.
I think that overall, there is a backlash from feminists who feel repulsed at the idea that Hillary Clinton lost, and that a misogynist won. But, I'm not sure that that Donald Trump is a misogynist. I think the left wing media painted him that way, and somehow left wingers believed it.
I mean, John F. Kennedy was a misogynist. So was Bill Clinton. And that didn't seem to bother Democrats.
Either way, it hasn't helped my situation.
I totally feel for Ms. Julia. She had so much riding on Hillary Clinton to win, even though ironically, she didn't really like her. But that's beside the point. A "so called" misogynist won, and the token feminist lost. That doesn't mean that America is not ready for a female president. Heck, women have held many positions of power in the United States. It was just the wrong woman that came up. I mean, I think we need to give us Americans some credit in that we elected a black president last time around.
I'm sure writing this is only to get me trouble with Ms. Julia, but then again, the last several weeks she has not been shy in letting me know how she feels. At this point, it can't get much worse. And besides, she's often told me that she wants to know what I really think, and this blog is the only avenue I have to express.
But all being said, the past year that I've been here serving her, I've struggled to find that delicate balance between obedience and independence. I think that ultimately, that's the goal of male submission these days. It's knowing your place in the relationship, while still maintaining some sense of self. Yet for me, the need to maintain my sense of self often makes it difficult for me to fully submit to Ms. Julia's demands.
I can actually appreciate being the receiving end of the strap-on, and knowing that I'm just as an important part of the dom/sub relationship as she is. But there are times when a certain part of me makes me grimace when she gives me an order. And when I grimace, she sees it and expresses her dissatisfaction with me.
I suppose a couple thousand years ago, within the Roman Empire, slaves didn't see themselves as having any margin for self expression. Although, I don't necessarily have that margin, I've of course pushed those boundaries, knowing the fine lines of Ms. Julia's tolerance. I think that doms/dommes today, actually appreciate knowing that a sub willingly submits, instead of forcibly submits.
Though honestly, there's a part of me that wants to be forcibly dominated.
So today is Christmas. Ms. Julia doesn't actually celebrate Christmas, but then again, it's difficult to ignore what's going on around the world at this time. I don't have anything to give but my body, mind, and spirit. It's not easy to give everything away like this and still maintain some sense of self.
And therein lies the conflict of submission.
How does one submit themselves fully? To have no opinion, no judgement, and no internal conflict?
I mean, I live in her household, with no possessions of my own, no clothing to speak of, no money, no transportation, no nothing. I'm just a body forced to submit to her will. Yet, I still have a mind, a conscience, a soul.
I actually want to be a good servant. But it's hard to set aside the sense of independence that we Americans were raised with. It's even harder when your domme appreciates you having a conscience.
Do I just need another year of living naked? Do I just need another year of waiting on her, serving her, and submitting to her? Do I need another year of submitting to her terms and conditions?
How does a sub truly submit oneself, and relinquish all sense of self?
Donald Trump and Male Chastity
Events of the past several weeks have brought chaos into the world I live in.
Perhaps it's no surprise that the election of Donald Trump as President of the United States has left Ms. Julia quite angered. She's no Hillary Clinton supporter mind you, but certainly no Trump supporter. She's been glued to the television news channels for about a month now, following the election coverage, and now, the election fallout.
She's also been getting a lot of mileage out of me lately as well.
I guess all this has caused her to assert her feminism with me, in a more aggressive manner. There have been spanks with paddles and crops, restraints with cuffs and rope, some pretty tight arm twisting, pushing my head down into the mattress, and pegging of the most inconsiderate nature.
My nights have been spent laying in bed with her while she peruses the news channels and YouTube clips. I remain quiet while she watches, and then must listen attentively afterwards when she opines on each segment. I've learned how to respond in such ways to support her feelings, much of which she has taught me how to do.
But while all this has gone on, I've felt too worn out to update this blog, at least until now. Lingering in my thoughts is a malaise towards expressing my feelings. I'm trying hard to remove myself from the conversation, and instead respond only to Ms. Julia's input. For the most part, it's an intellectual exercise of remembering what to do, and letting it become part of my natural habit.
Meanwhile, there's an emotional side that drains me.
I still have this boy inside of me that wants to grow up into a man. I can feel him trying to put his foot down and demand a more dignified treatment. Yet, my existence here is not about me, but about her. I'm here to serve her. I exist to accompany her, to comfort her, to pamper her, and be used in any way she pleases. How do I reconcile this want for dignity?
When I was entering my first year of High School, my mother was going to accompany me to the registration event. I begged her not to go. I knew the other students would be there without their parents, and I didn't want them to think I still needed my mom's help to register me.
She was puzzled. It never dawned on her that I wanted to become self-sufficient. She still assumed that I was a kid who needed to be taken care of. She kept insisting on going with me, and I kept begging her not to go. She finally relented.
Sure enough at the registration event, there was not a single parent in sight. I was so glad I persisted!
But the point is that my mother actually believed I still needed to be treated like a helpless child, and thus far, had rarely allowed me to take responsibility for my own welfare. Somewhere in all that, my mind translated that into being incapable, or defective.
I still have that voice of doubt in me. "I can't do it", "I'm not good enough", I'm going to fail". Phrases like that bring about an emotional response of despondency. And even today, I often resign myself to moving out of the way of someone else's path, just because something keeps telling me that I'm the one who should give way.
If I am to remain here with Ms. Julia, I have to abandon this urge to put my foot down. Otherwise, I have to leave, and I don't how I am going to do that without any clothes, money, transportation, or any other place to go to.
There's one last interesting piece of news to share, however. Ms. Julia decided to remove the chastity cage. She mentioned that it now looks too masculine, which I think somehow has to do with her disgust over a male chauvinist President.
"I don't like seeing that cock flopping about, however", she added, after removing the device. "I'll have to figure out what to do."
Perhaps it's no surprise that the election of Donald Trump as President of the United States has left Ms. Julia quite angered. She's no Hillary Clinton supporter mind you, but certainly no Trump supporter. She's been glued to the television news channels for about a month now, following the election coverage, and now, the election fallout.
She's also been getting a lot of mileage out of me lately as well.
I guess all this has caused her to assert her feminism with me, in a more aggressive manner. There have been spanks with paddles and crops, restraints with cuffs and rope, some pretty tight arm twisting, pushing my head down into the mattress, and pegging of the most inconsiderate nature.
My nights have been spent laying in bed with her while she peruses the news channels and YouTube clips. I remain quiet while she watches, and then must listen attentively afterwards when she opines on each segment. I've learned how to respond in such ways to support her feelings, much of which she has taught me how to do.
But while all this has gone on, I've felt too worn out to update this blog, at least until now. Lingering in my thoughts is a malaise towards expressing my feelings. I'm trying hard to remove myself from the conversation, and instead respond only to Ms. Julia's input. For the most part, it's an intellectual exercise of remembering what to do, and letting it become part of my natural habit.
Meanwhile, there's an emotional side that drains me.
I still have this boy inside of me that wants to grow up into a man. I can feel him trying to put his foot down and demand a more dignified treatment. Yet, my existence here is not about me, but about her. I'm here to serve her. I exist to accompany her, to comfort her, to pamper her, and be used in any way she pleases. How do I reconcile this want for dignity?
When I was entering my first year of High School, my mother was going to accompany me to the registration event. I begged her not to go. I knew the other students would be there without their parents, and I didn't want them to think I still needed my mom's help to register me.
She was puzzled. It never dawned on her that I wanted to become self-sufficient. She still assumed that I was a kid who needed to be taken care of. She kept insisting on going with me, and I kept begging her not to go. She finally relented.
Sure enough at the registration event, there was not a single parent in sight. I was so glad I persisted!
But the point is that my mother actually believed I still needed to be treated like a helpless child, and thus far, had rarely allowed me to take responsibility for my own welfare. Somewhere in all that, my mind translated that into being incapable, or defective.
I still have that voice of doubt in me. "I can't do it", "I'm not good enough", I'm going to fail". Phrases like that bring about an emotional response of despondency. And even today, I often resign myself to moving out of the way of someone else's path, just because something keeps telling me that I'm the one who should give way.
If I am to remain here with Ms. Julia, I have to abandon this urge to put my foot down. Otherwise, I have to leave, and I don't how I am going to do that without any clothes, money, transportation, or any other place to go to.
There's one last interesting piece of news to share, however. Ms. Julia decided to remove the chastity cage. She mentioned that it now looks too masculine, which I think somehow has to do with her disgust over a male chauvinist President.
"I don't like seeing that cock flopping about, however", she added, after removing the device. "I'll have to figure out what to do."
Deserving Only of Dominance
As Ms. Julia held me down by my neck, she grabbed my balls and squeezed them hard, to the point that I yelled in fear of injury. Then she grunted into my face with a vengeful look that only a holiday shopper would reserve for a Wal-Mart melee...
"You think you got things figured out? You think you have ME figured out? You think you're so smart with your blog?"
"I'm sorry Ms Julia!" I cried out in pain. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Letting me go, she only reached for a leather paddle and slapped my ass with it several times. The pain was agonizing. All the while, she spoke out phrases like, "You don't know me!", "You better wise up", and "That's right, Bitch!"
The thing is that only a few hours earlier we were laughing at the television watching road rage videos on YouTube. We were like friends, lovers, partners. We were connected.
The unpredictability and the constant roller-coaster ride of emotions has weakened my character. I'm used to living on more of a flat line, even if the line is down in the dumps, it's still steady, and that means I can feel certain of myself. But when I don't know what's coming next, I'm constantly worried.
My emotions have been out of control lately because I don't have any sense of certainty. I don't know if I'm doing something wrong or right, I don't know if Ms Julia is pleased with me or displeased. I'm afraid to answer questions from her because half the time she responds positively and other half she puts on a look of dissatisfaction.
Feeling hopeless and depressed, on the other hand, feels right at home for me.
When you grow up in the shadow of a dominant mother yielding a sure-handed whipping stick, you end up seeing yourself as defective and disappointing.
I don't even feel worthy to take initiative. I mean, who am I to step up and express my love? What qualifies a useless piece of shit as myself to have anything of value to give? I only have my body, my labor, to offer. I'm only a dog to point a bad finger at.
I suppose, therefore, I should welcome the shame and humiliation that Ms. Julia is known to dish out. I shouldn't really worry if she's pleased with me or not. Instead, I should offer up vulnerable underside no matter what her reaction is. I mean, right? That's all I'm good for.
But there's this part of me that can't accept shame and blame. It wants to put my foot down and stand up for myself.
But what foot do I have to stand on? I can never seem to win an argument. And when my emotions blow out of control, people point their finger at me for yelling and screaming. Where else is there love but in the clutches of forgiving arms?
If there should be no forgiveness for me, then there should be no love.
Living in the shadow of a dominant figure seems at home to me. Naked, penniless, with nothing to offer but my submission, seems to be all that anyone wants of me.
"You think you got things figured out? You think you have ME figured out? You think you're so smart with your blog?"
"I'm sorry Ms Julia!" I cried out in pain. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Letting me go, she only reached for a leather paddle and slapped my ass with it several times. The pain was agonizing. All the while, she spoke out phrases like, "You don't know me!", "You better wise up", and "That's right, Bitch!"
The thing is that only a few hours earlier we were laughing at the television watching road rage videos on YouTube. We were like friends, lovers, partners. We were connected.
The unpredictability and the constant roller-coaster ride of emotions has weakened my character. I'm used to living on more of a flat line, even if the line is down in the dumps, it's still steady, and that means I can feel certain of myself. But when I don't know what's coming next, I'm constantly worried.
My emotions have been out of control lately because I don't have any sense of certainty. I don't know if I'm doing something wrong or right, I don't know if Ms Julia is pleased with me or displeased. I'm afraid to answer questions from her because half the time she responds positively and other half she puts on a look of dissatisfaction.
Feeling hopeless and depressed, on the other hand, feels right at home for me.
When you grow up in the shadow of a dominant mother yielding a sure-handed whipping stick, you end up seeing yourself as defective and disappointing.
I don't even feel worthy to take initiative. I mean, who am I to step up and express my love? What qualifies a useless piece of shit as myself to have anything of value to give? I only have my body, my labor, to offer. I'm only a dog to point a bad finger at.
I suppose, therefore, I should welcome the shame and humiliation that Ms. Julia is known to dish out. I shouldn't really worry if she's pleased with me or not. Instead, I should offer up vulnerable underside no matter what her reaction is. I mean, right? That's all I'm good for.
But there's this part of me that can't accept shame and blame. It wants to put my foot down and stand up for myself.
But what foot do I have to stand on? I can never seem to win an argument. And when my emotions blow out of control, people point their finger at me for yelling and screaming. Where else is there love but in the clutches of forgiving arms?
If there should be no forgiveness for me, then there should be no love.
Living in the shadow of a dominant figure seems at home to me. Naked, penniless, with nothing to offer but my submission, seems to be all that anyone wants of me.
Naked, Locked, and Feeling Depressed
Today I sat on the floor with my knees pulled up, leaning against the wall, crying.
The loneliness seems to bring it on, but it's not really the loneliness. It's not having my cock locked up either, nor having all my possessions stripped, and nor having to live permanently nude. It isn't even being confined to this guest house, and it isn't even being kept as a woman's slave, servant, and pet.
It's this hurt that continues to linger within me. I miss my mom and dad. I miss the time when we were actually a family. I miss being loved and cherished by them.
In my memories I can see myself sitting on my dad's shoulders as he walked through the park. I had reached up to grab a Eucalyptus leaf. It was a brief memory, but it was real. There was so much joy and innocence in that little boy. I can see my mom cuddling and kissing me while I laughed. Her body smothering me in love felt safe and warm.
Where did it all go?
It was like my dad left far too early, off to live someplace new, start a new life, and a new family. It was like my mom found a new husband, gave birth to a new son, and found a new beginning. I felt like a child-support check to my mom and a financial burden to my dad. I became that painful reminder of a failed marriage, and now baggage that neither parent wanted to tow.
I remember running away from home at 16, only to find myself returning sometime after midnight. I sat on the porch crying. My mom came out to find me, telling me how worried she was. Sometimes I wonder if I should have never come back.
Today, as I looked down upon my naked body, I saw the same human being that came into this world just as naked and penniless, except with scars that haven't healed.
I long for the touch of a warm, loving hand. A friend who truly wants to be with me, who understands the trauma of abandonment and the shame of being the unwanted step-child, is really all I want in this world.
I love the moments that Ms Julia and I have together. Even in this capacity, as her plaything, as her pet, as her confidant, the touch of her hand on my skin seems to smooth out all the wrinkles. It doesn't matter if she's kissing me softly on the forehead or pegging me hard from behind. It's the physical feel of one body on another that makes me the way I felt when I was a little boy.
Sometimes I wonder if what I'm experiencing now is part of Ms Julia's design. Is this some kind of method of retraining? Is this a way to break down my spirit and cognizance and rebuild me?
Not having any items to my name, no clothing to wear, and just crumbs of humanity, is like being a zoo animal. A caged elephant will remain mostly docile, but every so often feels that fit of rage.
But then, it doesn't really matter to me. I'm happy to be whatever she wants and in whatever capacity. I just need that loving touch of skin upon skin that lets me know that I'm trusted and that I can trust back.
The loneliness seems to bring it on, but it's not really the loneliness. It's not having my cock locked up either, nor having all my possessions stripped, and nor having to live permanently nude. It isn't even being confined to this guest house, and it isn't even being kept as a woman's slave, servant, and pet.
It's this hurt that continues to linger within me. I miss my mom and dad. I miss the time when we were actually a family. I miss being loved and cherished by them.
In my memories I can see myself sitting on my dad's shoulders as he walked through the park. I had reached up to grab a Eucalyptus leaf. It was a brief memory, but it was real. There was so much joy and innocence in that little boy. I can see my mom cuddling and kissing me while I laughed. Her body smothering me in love felt safe and warm.
Where did it all go?
It was like my dad left far too early, off to live someplace new, start a new life, and a new family. It was like my mom found a new husband, gave birth to a new son, and found a new beginning. I felt like a child-support check to my mom and a financial burden to my dad. I became that painful reminder of a failed marriage, and now baggage that neither parent wanted to tow.
I remember running away from home at 16, only to find myself returning sometime after midnight. I sat on the porch crying. My mom came out to find me, telling me how worried she was. Sometimes I wonder if I should have never come back.
Today, as I looked down upon my naked body, I saw the same human being that came into this world just as naked and penniless, except with scars that haven't healed.
I long for the touch of a warm, loving hand. A friend who truly wants to be with me, who understands the trauma of abandonment and the shame of being the unwanted step-child, is really all I want in this world.
I love the moments that Ms Julia and I have together. Even in this capacity, as her plaything, as her pet, as her confidant, the touch of her hand on my skin seems to smooth out all the wrinkles. It doesn't matter if she's kissing me softly on the forehead or pegging me hard from behind. It's the physical feel of one body on another that makes me the way I felt when I was a little boy.
Sometimes I wonder if what I'm experiencing now is part of Ms Julia's design. Is this some kind of method of retraining? Is this a way to break down my spirit and cognizance and rebuild me?
Not having any items to my name, no clothing to wear, and just crumbs of humanity, is like being a zoo animal. A caged elephant will remain mostly docile, but every so often feels that fit of rage.
But then, it doesn't really matter to me. I'm happy to be whatever she wants and in whatever capacity. I just need that loving touch of skin upon skin that lets me know that I'm trusted and that I can trust back.
Longing For Her Touch
Ms Julia left yesterday for another business trip. This one won't have her returning until the 12th of this month. Its going to mean more loneliness for me.
The good news is that she seems concerned for my well being and has allowed me to venture out of the guest house during her trip to use the pool, spa, and patio. On top of that, she wants to video chat with me each night on this laptop.
I'm pleased to know that she's genuinely concerned for my comfort and happiness. Using the spa and patio will be a relief from the confines of the guest house. However, I'm not much of a video chatter.
I enjoy one on one interactions, but doing so by chat seems to put pressure on me to respond right away. I prefer the conversations we have in bed because I can snuggle up to her, touch her, or have her touch me.
Physical touch is something I tend to respond to over speech. Someone could praise me repeatedly and my low self esteem would never believe it. But when I'm touched, stroked, held, or kissed, I feel loved and wanted.
Ms Julia could tie me down, spank my ass, and peg me violently, and in the end, I'd still feel a sense of intimacy and connection. But calling me names like "bitch" or "whore" doesn't affect me.
I remember my mother used to beat me frequently and for awhile that was only time she'd touch me. I'm convinced that I acted unruly just because I knew I would feel her hand slapping me. It was getting banished to the closet or my bedroom, without interaction, that I hated the most.
Staying here in this guest house for days and weeks at a time is almost like being banished.
As much as I'm kept as a slave, servant, or pet, I am actually impatient for Ms Julia's return. I long to feel her and for her to feel me. I could happily remain as her subservient companion as long as she strokes my skin frequently.
The good news is that she seems concerned for my well being and has allowed me to venture out of the guest house during her trip to use the pool, spa, and patio. On top of that, she wants to video chat with me each night on this laptop.
I'm pleased to know that she's genuinely concerned for my comfort and happiness. Using the spa and patio will be a relief from the confines of the guest house. However, I'm not much of a video chatter.
I enjoy one on one interactions, but doing so by chat seems to put pressure on me to respond right away. I prefer the conversations we have in bed because I can snuggle up to her, touch her, or have her touch me.
Physical touch is something I tend to respond to over speech. Someone could praise me repeatedly and my low self esteem would never believe it. But when I'm touched, stroked, held, or kissed, I feel loved and wanted.
Ms Julia could tie me down, spank my ass, and peg me violently, and in the end, I'd still feel a sense of intimacy and connection. But calling me names like "bitch" or "whore" doesn't affect me.
I remember my mother used to beat me frequently and for awhile that was only time she'd touch me. I'm convinced that I acted unruly just because I knew I would feel her hand slapping me. It was getting banished to the closet or my bedroom, without interaction, that I hated the most.
Staying here in this guest house for days and weeks at a time is almost like being banished.
As much as I'm kept as a slave, servant, or pet, I am actually impatient for Ms Julia's return. I long to feel her and for her to feel me. I could happily remain as her subservient companion as long as she strokes my skin frequently.
The Ideal Man
Ms Julia came home from work yesterday feeling upset. She had a bad day which seemingly had to do with a few of the male directors that report to her.
At work, she has a reputation of being tough, cold as steel at times, and a stickler for details. But then again, she takes a lot of heat, and shoulders a lot of responsibility.
Yet, as a woman, people simply label her as a "bitch" while men of similar character have the benefit of being regarded as effective managers.
"Men simply suck at multitasking", she said as we laid in bed, discussing the details of her day.
"And it's not a fault of theirs. Their brains are just not wired to manage multiple fronts concurrently."
"What if you replaced all the male managers with females?", I asked
"I'm working on it!", she assured me. "But you can't just fire people for no good reason."
Ms Julia went on to say that she's keeping a paper trail on her male directors and managers. She has females she is grooming as replacements.
She also said that men are exceptional at focusing on one task at a time, and completing it to the end. Women on the other hand, are better at managing groups of people, putting out multiple fires at once, and keeping things in balance.
"Think of it like a soap opera", she explained. "Girls can follow multiple plots at the same time, which is why men typically don't watch them."
Ms Julia has this vision that one day women will take over the management of businesses and organizations, while men gravitate towards tasks. She said that women will become the dominant gender and will be in a position of dictating what the ideal man should be.
She said the reason why so many women are getting breast implants now is because men have defined big boobs as part of the ideal female form. But what if men found themselves having to please women for their own survival? How would the ideal male form be defined?
Strong, muscular, tall bodies are desired by women today because they need to feel protected and provided for. But what if women could protect and provide for themselves? Would they still desire a strong man?
Ms Julia thinks that men will instead evolve into sex objects, not so much as protectors and providers. Basically, they will be valued in the way women have been valued historically, for their sexual qualities.
Men will be judged by their youth, their good looks, their hot bodies, and their big cocks.
It's not to say, however, that I possess all of those characteristics. Ms Julia has her own ideas of what her ideal male companion should look like, and how he should be treated. She prefers men with boyish appearance and boyish demeanor. She prefers men physically smaller and weaker than she.
Also important to her is loyal he is, and how well he obeys. She demands immediate compliance without any questioning or doubt. She needs to know that I am on her side 100%, and would do anything she asked.
It seems I'm often tested too.
I remember the first time I learned how important it is not to question her. She parked the car in the parking lot of a shopping center, then opened my door.
"Come on" she said, asking me to step out. Considering I am fully nude, I expected to remain in the car.
"But I can't go out there." I said to her.
She made an upset expression, and then yanked my arm and dragged me out of the car. I fell to the ground. She grabbed my face and spoke in a very angry tone that I was to never question her and must always comply right away. I got up and saw people looking at me. We walked into a financial planning office which is run by one of her domme friends. She had brought me there to test me.
Anyway, there was a time, perhaps still is, when men demanded absolute loyalty and compliance from their women. Ms Julia is effectively demanding the same.
At work, she has a reputation of being tough, cold as steel at times, and a stickler for details. But then again, she takes a lot of heat, and shoulders a lot of responsibility.
Yet, as a woman, people simply label her as a "bitch" while men of similar character have the benefit of being regarded as effective managers.
"Men simply suck at multitasking", she said as we laid in bed, discussing the details of her day.
"And it's not a fault of theirs. Their brains are just not wired to manage multiple fronts concurrently."
"What if you replaced all the male managers with females?", I asked
"I'm working on it!", she assured me. "But you can't just fire people for no good reason."
Ms Julia went on to say that she's keeping a paper trail on her male directors and managers. She has females she is grooming as replacements.
She also said that men are exceptional at focusing on one task at a time, and completing it to the end. Women on the other hand, are better at managing groups of people, putting out multiple fires at once, and keeping things in balance.
"Think of it like a soap opera", she explained. "Girls can follow multiple plots at the same time, which is why men typically don't watch them."
Ms Julia has this vision that one day women will take over the management of businesses and organizations, while men gravitate towards tasks. She said that women will become the dominant gender and will be in a position of dictating what the ideal man should be.
She said the reason why so many women are getting breast implants now is because men have defined big boobs as part of the ideal female form. But what if men found themselves having to please women for their own survival? How would the ideal male form be defined?
Strong, muscular, tall bodies are desired by women today because they need to feel protected and provided for. But what if women could protect and provide for themselves? Would they still desire a strong man?
Ms Julia thinks that men will instead evolve into sex objects, not so much as protectors and providers. Basically, they will be valued in the way women have been valued historically, for their sexual qualities.
Men will be judged by their youth, their good looks, their hot bodies, and their big cocks.
It's not to say, however, that I possess all of those characteristics. Ms Julia has her own ideas of what her ideal male companion should look like, and how he should be treated. She prefers men with boyish appearance and boyish demeanor. She prefers men physically smaller and weaker than she.
Also important to her is loyal he is, and how well he obeys. She demands immediate compliance without any questioning or doubt. She needs to know that I am on her side 100%, and would do anything she asked.
It seems I'm often tested too.
I remember the first time I learned how important it is not to question her. She parked the car in the parking lot of a shopping center, then opened my door.
"Come on" she said, asking me to step out. Considering I am fully nude, I expected to remain in the car.
"But I can't go out there." I said to her.
She made an upset expression, and then yanked my arm and dragged me out of the car. I fell to the ground. She grabbed my face and spoke in a very angry tone that I was to never question her and must always comply right away. I got up and saw people looking at me. We walked into a financial planning office which is run by one of her domme friends. She had brought me there to test me.
Anyway, there was a time, perhaps still is, when men demanded absolute loyalty and compliance from their women. Ms Julia is effectively demanding the same.
Making a New Sub Friend
It's not often I get to speak freely, but last night I had a rare opportunity.
Ms Julia and I drove to pick up one of her domme friends and sub, and from there we drove on to a fetish club in another town. Ms Julia and her friend sat up front while us subs sat in the back seat.
The other sub is a girl whom I described in an earlier post as Sub Female 2. She's quite social while her domme is more quiet and intellectual. She's not bound by a, "speak only when spoken to" rule like I am, and started conversing with me.
Ms Julia allowed me to speak freely with her, while she and her friend remained engaged in their own dialog.
"Don't you ever get cold?" Sub Female 2 asked me, referring to my 24/7 state of nudity.
"You learn to deal with it when you have no other option." I said.
She found it fascinating, and we continued to compare our lifestyles as subs.
I learned that she and her domme both own their home. Meanwhile, Ms Julia owns our home herself, while I own zero belongings. Sub Female 2 still makes her own decisions, like what to wear, what to eat, what to buy. Meanwhile, I have nothing to wear, eat only what is brought to me, and have no money at all.
I learned that she and her domme both own their home. Meanwhile, Ms Julia owns our home herself, while I own zero belongings. Sub Female 2 still makes her own decisions, like what to wear, what to eat, what to buy. Meanwhile, I have nothing to wear, eat only what is brought to me, and have no money at all.
Even though I've met other subs in the domme group that Ms Julia belongs to, and in the fetish club we go to, I haven't been able to compare lifestyles with other subs.
Her life as a sub sounds much less structured than mine. For one, she and her domme are married to each other. Their D/S lifestyle is more of a partnership whereas Ms Julia is quite the master and I'm her pet, slave, and boy. But Sub Female 2 is much more of a masochist than I. She enjoys pain and punishment. Myself, I do take some spankings and some aggressive handling from Ms Julia, but she hasn't taken sadism to the level that Sub Female 2 wants.
Which makes me question who's really running their lifestyle, Sub Female 2, or her domme?
Not that I am to judge. They both have fun with it, and that's all that matters.
However, I found myself really enjoying the ride with her. Sub Female 2 was very kind and sweet, something that really made me feel good inside, and made me feel good about myself. I hope we get more opportunities like this.
Investing Myself In Another Person's Happiness
Dana visited today to touch up on any regrowth that occurred from the last treatment a month ago,
For the most part, very little has grown back, but there's still some nagging hairs in the pubic area that come back, along with some on my legs. Otherwise, she's done a pretty good job of lasering them away.
Apparently, Ms. Julia reminded her of the area that she hasn't been able to do very well.
"It's just tough to get into that space" Dana said.
Laying on my belly the whole time, I felt very much like a piece of property that Ms. Julia was having customized, like a dog getting its ears cropped, or its tail docked. It was permanent, and without my consent.
There's a part of me that says its OK, because I will be Ms. Julia's property forever, and there's no need to think about the future. On the other hand, this hair removal is permanent, and I'm now 100% bare. Is it wise for me to put all my eggs into this basket?
I've lived my life believing that there's only now, and no such thing as the past or future. That is, preparing for the future is futile because there's no way to know what the future holds. I may as well go all in right now, in everything I do.
I mean, just a year ago I could never have predicted I would be living with a woman, as some kind of boy slave, servant, or pet. I was certain to spend my life dating men, trying to earn a living in the music industry. Yet here I am, painting a woman's toenails, offering her companionship, and being her sex toy.
The truth is that we each build on top of what we are now. There are no wrong turns in life. There's only what we make of it. If you're on your deathbed, and you can look back on your life and feel content that you lived a good one, that's all that matters.
It's some kind of feminization to have all body hair removed, because I strangely feel feminine in the way bed sheets drape against my skin. I feel more naked in the sunshine and in the breeze. The way Ms. Julia runs her hand across my body makes me feel more submissive.
I feel myself desiring her happiness. I want her to be pleased with how soft and smooth my cock feels in her hands. I suppose most straight guys couldn't give a shot what a woman thinks of them. But yet, I find myself hoping and praying that Ms. Julia will be satisfied.
For the most part, very little has grown back, but there's still some nagging hairs in the pubic area that come back, along with some on my legs. Otherwise, she's done a pretty good job of lasering them away.
Apparently, Ms. Julia reminded her of the area that she hasn't been able to do very well.
"It's just tough to get into that space" Dana said.
Laying on my belly the whole time, I felt very much like a piece of property that Ms. Julia was having customized, like a dog getting its ears cropped, or its tail docked. It was permanent, and without my consent.
There's a part of me that says its OK, because I will be Ms. Julia's property forever, and there's no need to think about the future. On the other hand, this hair removal is permanent, and I'm now 100% bare. Is it wise for me to put all my eggs into this basket?
I've lived my life believing that there's only now, and no such thing as the past or future. That is, preparing for the future is futile because there's no way to know what the future holds. I may as well go all in right now, in everything I do.
I mean, just a year ago I could never have predicted I would be living with a woman, as some kind of boy slave, servant, or pet. I was certain to spend my life dating men, trying to earn a living in the music industry. Yet here I am, painting a woman's toenails, offering her companionship, and being her sex toy.
The truth is that we each build on top of what we are now. There are no wrong turns in life. There's only what we make of it. If you're on your deathbed, and you can look back on your life and feel content that you lived a good one, that's all that matters.
It's some kind of feminization to have all body hair removed, because I strangely feel feminine in the way bed sheets drape against my skin. I feel more naked in the sunshine and in the breeze. The way Ms. Julia runs her hand across my body makes me feel more submissive.
I feel myself desiring her happiness. I want her to be pleased with how soft and smooth my cock feels in her hands. I suppose most straight guys couldn't give a shot what a woman thinks of them. But yet, I find myself hoping and praying that Ms. Julia will be satisfied.
She Has Friends But I Don't
The whole Facebook friends issue that I wrote about earlier is still on my mind.
The thing is that I don't have any friends at this point. I'm being kept by Ms. Julia in this guest house all day long with no one to see or speak to, other than Fatima who comes in to bring me my breakfast and lunch. Certainly, I can consider Ms. Julia to be a friend, but I need someone else to talk to, a third person who I can confide in, open up to, express to, trust and know who loves me back.
Ms. Julia already knows about my loneliness, but she knows what she wants and is emphatic about getting it. I suppose I can't blame someone for sticking to their guns. And considering I'm already getting a lot back in exchange for the dedication I've committed to, it's hard for me to complain.
On this laptop, I can only be a ghost. I can read what others have written but not communicate back. I can leave my thoughts on this blog, but not I'm not allowed to interact with my readers. It's what she wants, complete dedication and no input from others.
But what does that do to a human being over time?
Ms. Julia has friends professionally and socially. She has a domme group she's a part of. She goes on business trips, goes to conventions, has a staff of employees, and numerous people she confides in.
I only have what she gives me.
She reads what I write here, and for the most part, this is my only avenue for speaking to her. Otherwise, I'm only allowed to speak when spoken to.
I wonder what took place in her past that shaped her in the way she is today. Did a man abuse her? Did highschool girls make fun of her? Did a mother steal her childhood?
Because I can understand. I know what it's like to be isolated, neglected, disrespected, and angry. But where I tend to run away from confrontation, Ms. Julia tends to fight. Somewhere in our pasts, our neural pathways took different turns to make me who I am and to make her who she is.
You could say that we're a good fit together in this regards. I'm still dedicated to be what she wants, but struggling to get what I need. Perhaps it's all part of her long term plans for me. I'm just glad that I can at least write.
The thing is that I don't have any friends at this point. I'm being kept by Ms. Julia in this guest house all day long with no one to see or speak to, other than Fatima who comes in to bring me my breakfast and lunch. Certainly, I can consider Ms. Julia to be a friend, but I need someone else to talk to, a third person who I can confide in, open up to, express to, trust and know who loves me back.
Ms. Julia already knows about my loneliness, but she knows what she wants and is emphatic about getting it. I suppose I can't blame someone for sticking to their guns. And considering I'm already getting a lot back in exchange for the dedication I've committed to, it's hard for me to complain.
On this laptop, I can only be a ghost. I can read what others have written but not communicate back. I can leave my thoughts on this blog, but not I'm not allowed to interact with my readers. It's what she wants, complete dedication and no input from others.
But what does that do to a human being over time?
Ms. Julia has friends professionally and socially. She has a domme group she's a part of. She goes on business trips, goes to conventions, has a staff of employees, and numerous people she confides in.
I only have what she gives me.
She reads what I write here, and for the most part, this is my only avenue for speaking to her. Otherwise, I'm only allowed to speak when spoken to.
I wonder what took place in her past that shaped her in the way she is today. Did a man abuse her? Did highschool girls make fun of her? Did a mother steal her childhood?
Because I can understand. I know what it's like to be isolated, neglected, disrespected, and angry. But where I tend to run away from confrontation, Ms. Julia tends to fight. Somewhere in our pasts, our neural pathways took different turns to make me who I am and to make her who she is.
You could say that we're a good fit together in this regards. I'm still dedicated to be what she wants, but struggling to get what I need. Perhaps it's all part of her long term plans for me. I'm just glad that I can at least write.
Banned From Using Facebook
I've been banned from using Facebook.
After posting my last article about what people say about me on Facebook, Ms. Julia became angry about me being on Facebook, or any social network for that matter. Her original instruction was that I am not allowed to connect with other people with this laptop. I initially thought it meant e-mailing, or chatting. I hadn't considered social networks, even though I was using a new Facebook account under a name no one would recognize.
Ms. Julia likes the idea of her sending me e-mails when she's out, and of me reading articles, watching videos, and writing this blog. She just doesn't want me building relationships with others.
At first, I felt this want to stand up for myself, and had actually did when she asked why I had disobeyed her orders. I had asked back why I couldn't just limit my interaction to just Facebook, and do so as a complete stranger. She had responded back asking if she wasn't enough for me, and if I needed more than being her companion. Of course, I knew that I could be replaced with another boy. It's certainly not my desire to make her feel inadequate or unimportant.
There was some punishment in the form of whipping from her crop, followed by having to sit in a coat closet, in total darkness, for 12 hours.
But that wasn't all. Ms. Julia remained rather disappointed for the next several days, and somehow that felt worse for me. Even though I was still having dinner with her, and still sleeping in bed with her, her anger kept me feeling nervous. It was only this weekend that she seemed to have gotten over it.
"It hurts me that you turn to other people for your needs", she said. "That's what I am having trouble with. If am not enough for you, then you cannot stay here."
I apologized again, and assured her that she is all that I could ever need and want.
After posting my last article about what people say about me on Facebook, Ms. Julia became angry about me being on Facebook, or any social network for that matter. Her original instruction was that I am not allowed to connect with other people with this laptop. I initially thought it meant e-mailing, or chatting. I hadn't considered social networks, even though I was using a new Facebook account under a name no one would recognize.
Ms. Julia likes the idea of her sending me e-mails when she's out, and of me reading articles, watching videos, and writing this blog. She just doesn't want me building relationships with others.
At first, I felt this want to stand up for myself, and had actually did when she asked why I had disobeyed her orders. I had asked back why I couldn't just limit my interaction to just Facebook, and do so as a complete stranger. She had responded back asking if she wasn't enough for me, and if I needed more than being her companion. Of course, I knew that I could be replaced with another boy. It's certainly not my desire to make her feel inadequate or unimportant.
There was some punishment in the form of whipping from her crop, followed by having to sit in a coat closet, in total darkness, for 12 hours.
But that wasn't all. Ms. Julia remained rather disappointed for the next several days, and somehow that felt worse for me. Even though I was still having dinner with her, and still sleeping in bed with her, her anger kept me feeling nervous. It was only this weekend that she seemed to have gotten over it.
"It hurts me that you turn to other people for your needs", she said. "That's what I am having trouble with. If am not enough for you, then you cannot stay here."
I apologized again, and assured her that she is all that I could ever need and want.
What They Say On Facebook About Me
Facebook can be a real let down.
I discovered that a couple of friends I had, or thought I had, never thought much of me.
Over the past few weeks that I've had this laptop, I created a new Facebook account under a pseudonym, and had followed many of my old friends. Quite a few of them friended me back, not knowing who I really am. Someone mentioned in a comment about not having heard from me for many months, and wondered what happened.
"His last post was on August 28, 2015", commented one person.
"WTF?" commented another
"Are you talking about that dipshit?" someone else chimed in.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" answered another
"Yeah, that dude was weird", one person answered.
I guess maybe, I'm just sensitive. Maybe I shouldn't be looking at Facebook if I can't handle what people say behind by back. I can only imagine what they will say when I die.
I feel like such a ghost now, haunting social media. I get to hear what people say about me when I'm not around.
But what about other people who now know me as Ms. Julia's "boy" or "personal servant"? Do they think I'm weird too? Am I a dipshit to them also?
If anything, Ms. Julia and the other dommes and subs that associate with her see me as the true soul that I am. This person who struggles with co-dependency, low self-esteem, shame, and self-pity, somehow feels right at home being subservient to a much superior domme. I can be my real self to her and her fellow dommes, I can show my true colors to their subs, and feel comfortable about being low on the totem pole. Strangely, it actually feels good.
On the one hand, you cannot go through life worrying about what other people think about you. But saying it is one thing, and doing it is another. I can't help but want to confirm what I already believe about myself.
It makes me feel more safe being Ms. Julia's boy. I get to hide from the world while being totally exposed to her and her friends. It's like confirming my pity to those who accept me as subservient, and not having to confront those who make a mockery of me.
I discovered that a couple of friends I had, or thought I had, never thought much of me.
Over the past few weeks that I've had this laptop, I created a new Facebook account under a pseudonym, and had followed many of my old friends. Quite a few of them friended me back, not knowing who I really am. Someone mentioned in a comment about not having heard from me for many months, and wondered what happened.
"His last post was on August 28, 2015", commented one person.
"WTF?" commented another
"Are you talking about that dipshit?" someone else chimed in.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" answered another
"Yeah, that dude was weird", one person answered.
I guess maybe, I'm just sensitive. Maybe I shouldn't be looking at Facebook if I can't handle what people say behind by back. I can only imagine what they will say when I die.
I feel like such a ghost now, haunting social media. I get to hear what people say about me when I'm not around.
But what about other people who now know me as Ms. Julia's "boy" or "personal servant"? Do they think I'm weird too? Am I a dipshit to them also?
If anything, Ms. Julia and the other dommes and subs that associate with her see me as the true soul that I am. This person who struggles with co-dependency, low self-esteem, shame, and self-pity, somehow feels right at home being subservient to a much superior domme. I can be my real self to her and her fellow dommes, I can show my true colors to their subs, and feel comfortable about being low on the totem pole. Strangely, it actually feels good.
On the one hand, you cannot go through life worrying about what other people think about you. But saying it is one thing, and doing it is another. I can't help but want to confirm what I already believe about myself.
It makes me feel more safe being Ms. Julia's boy. I get to hide from the world while being totally exposed to her and her friends. It's like confirming my pity to those who accept me as subservient, and not having to confront those who make a mockery of me.
Second Thursday of the Month
The femdom group that Ms. Julia participates meets every second Thursday night of the month. Last night we traveled to another domme's home as it was her time to host.
One would think that traveling in car would offer me the opportunity to wear clothing, but the tinted windows in the back seat keep me well concealed.
Most bring their subs with them, often adorning them in arm bands, hair pieces, and draped in cloths that are more humiliating than anything. Some dommes take the time to dress themselves up as well, in leather or other tight fitting garments of dominance.
There's a 50/50 mix of sub males and sub females.
Only myself remains fully nude, except for a collar. One other female wears a sheer white tunic that fails to hide anything at all.
We gather around in the living room, with dommes seated in chairs, and subs kneeling on the carpet next to their masters. They mostly talk about their experiences in training their subjects. Often time, the discussion gets side tracked into topics of gossip about whichever domme failed to show up. Ms. Julia is often calm and quiet, and therefore always gets attention when she speaks.
I'm often amazed at how diverse the group is.
Sub Female 1: Lives separately from her domme, and chooses to participate in this kind of relationship, allowing herself to be swatted with a stick.
Sub Female 2: Married to her domme, and is quite social while her other half is more intellectual and quiet.
Male Sub 1: Appears to be as young as I am, but a more tall and muscular. He could easily overpower his domme and make a mockery of her, but she manages to keep him placated with motherly strokes of her hand and gentle words of praise.
Male Sub 2: In his 40s it appears, wears this pink, lacy negligee with his body hair sticking out. He totally doesn't look at all submissive, and perhaps is doing it just to make his wife happy.
Male Sub 3: Younger guy, thin, is the only other sub, who like me, lives with his domme but is not married to her. He's caged as well, but is always overly anxious, like he's constantly worried about doing something wrong.
Male Sub 4: Young, very well built and proportioned, and very handsome. He's very obedient, follows his domme perfectly, opens the door for her, knows when to refill her cup, and never seems to care what other people are thinking.
Male Sub 5: Wears leather straps and what appears to be some kind of Mexican wrestling mask. He's more beefy built, and appears to act more as her bodyguard than a sub.
And then there's me.
Male Sub 3 always intrigues me. I see him as most like myself. However, he's more co-dependent. Not saying that I'm not, I know I have co-dependency issues too. It's just too easy to tell that he's constantly tripping over himself to get her approval. I feel sorry, genuinely sorry, that people submit themselves to a more dominant person out of feelings of worthlessness. I guess I often go through that issue myself.
I get the sense that he too lives with his domme under some kind of situation where he's better off with her than without. That is, we both have the freedom to leave, but realizing that the situation is much better if we stayed.
In other words, freedom is just another set of responsibilities. You can choose to accept them and learn to become self-sufficient, so that you can protect yourself and care for your needs. Or, you can choose to give up that freedom, live under someone else's rule, even to the point of becoming brainwashed, just for that same protection and care. You can become proud of your independence, but so can you be proud of your servitude. Both are just means of survival.
One of the dommes last night pointed out, "I think a sub should be proud to serve."
Back Home with a Vengeance
Ms. Julia finally returned home from her business trip late last Saturday night. I was finally called in from spending the last several weeks isolated in the guest home.
That night Ms. Julia was expectedly exhausted after a long day of flights and stopovers. I was sure she just wanted to go right to bed, but it seemed, somehow, that she was too happy to.
I had to admit, I was really happy to see her too. I mean, spending the past few weeks in the small confines of the guest house, with no one to talk to other than Fatima browsing in to bring me my meals and do some light clean up, felt like prison. At least now, I was with my master who wanted nothing more than to lay in bed with me, tell me about her trip, and show me some photos on her cellphone.
These homecomings seems like the best of times because I feel more like a friend to her, and less like a slave, or personal servant. She talks to me with great excitement about the people she met, the business prospects she collected, and strange new places she visited. In these moments, I congratulate her, praise her, and listen in awe to help keep the elation going. It's just part of why she keeps me.
Afterwards, there was some intense pegging due to her starved sexual appetite. There were moments when I considered using my safeword because the intensity was getting too much for me, but I never did. I wanted her to get everything she wanted from me. We finished the session with me helping her achieve an orgasm. We fell asleep soon after.
The following day, Ms. Julia only wanted to lay in bed and watch television all afternoon and evening long. She had Fatima prepare light lunches and dinners with snacks in between. That night again, there more was intense pegging, following up another orgasm for her.
And then next night, she actually removed the cage and fucked me from atop.
This afternoon, I find myself back in the guest house. She had returned to her office to resume work.
So now, I feel regenerated too. Yes, we're back to a routine, but it's a better routine than just being isolated all day and night. Otherwise, it's the loneliness that makes this life suck. But, the interaction with my master, as intense and aggressive it can sometimes be, is quite rewarding.
That night Ms. Julia was expectedly exhausted after a long day of flights and stopovers. I was sure she just wanted to go right to bed, but it seemed, somehow, that she was too happy to.
I had to admit, I was really happy to see her too. I mean, spending the past few weeks in the small confines of the guest house, with no one to talk to other than Fatima browsing in to bring me my meals and do some light clean up, felt like prison. At least now, I was with my master who wanted nothing more than to lay in bed with me, tell me about her trip, and show me some photos on her cellphone.
These homecomings seems like the best of times because I feel more like a friend to her, and less like a slave, or personal servant. She talks to me with great excitement about the people she met, the business prospects she collected, and strange new places she visited. In these moments, I congratulate her, praise her, and listen in awe to help keep the elation going. It's just part of why she keeps me.
Afterwards, there was some intense pegging due to her starved sexual appetite. There were moments when I considered using my safeword because the intensity was getting too much for me, but I never did. I wanted her to get everything she wanted from me. We finished the session with me helping her achieve an orgasm. We fell asleep soon after.
The following day, Ms. Julia only wanted to lay in bed and watch television all afternoon and evening long. She had Fatima prepare light lunches and dinners with snacks in between. That night again, there more was intense pegging, following up another orgasm for her.
And then next night, she actually removed the cage and fucked me from atop.
This afternoon, I find myself back in the guest house. She had returned to her office to resume work.
So now, I feel regenerated too. Yes, we're back to a routine, but it's a better routine than just being isolated all day and night. Otherwise, it's the loneliness that makes this life suck. But, the interaction with my master, as intense and aggressive it can sometimes be, is quite rewarding.
It Gets Lonely Without Her
Ms. Julia has been gone for three days now on some kind of business trip, and it's really boring here.
I can't help but wonder that I'm being watched and recorded.
Often I stare at the air conditioning vents up by the ceiling and wonder if there's a tiny camera mounted in there. Considering how meticulous Ms. Julia can be about details, and how strict she can be about sticking to the rules, it doesn't seem beyond her to have this guest house rigged up.
She has the money to do it. And her property is already set up with security monitoring.
There are three smoke detectors in here, along with a carbon monoxide detector, I wonder if there's anything else hiding in there. There's a very large mirror mounted on the wall too, and it's fastened very securely that I can't lift it or see behind it. It makes me wonder if it's one-way glass with a camera behind it.
I guess when I'm stuck in this little place for several days straight, my mind wanders and thinks about stuff like this.
"Don't even ATTEMPT to take this cage off!" she said to me when she put it on. "If I catch you fucking with this, you be will kicked out, just as you are!"
Which is why I wonder how she might know if I was fucking with it.
She can already monitor her house from her cellphone because the security company gives her an app that lets her view the cameras remotely. But in her house, you can see the cameras mounted on the ceilings, even though they are small.
But I gotta believe they can also make very tiny cameras that can be cleverly hidden from view. Even though Ms. Julia puts a lot of trust in me, she's not a fool.
Fatima brings me three meals a day, albeit light. I do the treadmill. I watch television, and plays games on this laptop. There are books here to read, but they don't interest me right now. Otherwise, time is very monotonous when Ms. Julia is gone for days at a time.
I miss being with her, even as strict and demanding that she can be.
I can't help but wonder that I'm being watched and recorded.
Often I stare at the air conditioning vents up by the ceiling and wonder if there's a tiny camera mounted in there. Considering how meticulous Ms. Julia can be about details, and how strict she can be about sticking to the rules, it doesn't seem beyond her to have this guest house rigged up.
She has the money to do it. And her property is already set up with security monitoring.
There are three smoke detectors in here, along with a carbon monoxide detector, I wonder if there's anything else hiding in there. There's a very large mirror mounted on the wall too, and it's fastened very securely that I can't lift it or see behind it. It makes me wonder if it's one-way glass with a camera behind it.
I guess when I'm stuck in this little place for several days straight, my mind wanders and thinks about stuff like this.
"Don't even ATTEMPT to take this cage off!" she said to me when she put it on. "If I catch you fucking with this, you be will kicked out, just as you are!"
Which is why I wonder how she might know if I was fucking with it.
She can already monitor her house from her cellphone because the security company gives her an app that lets her view the cameras remotely. But in her house, you can see the cameras mounted on the ceilings, even though they are small.
But I gotta believe they can also make very tiny cameras that can be cleverly hidden from view. Even though Ms. Julia puts a lot of trust in me, she's not a fool.
Fatima brings me three meals a day, albeit light. I do the treadmill. I watch television, and plays games on this laptop. There are books here to read, but they don't interest me right now. Otherwise, time is very monotonous when Ms. Julia is gone for days at a time.
I miss being with her, even as strict and demanding that she can be.
The Utopian Fantasy She's Created
Ms. Julia lays in bed on her side and falls quickly into a snoreful slumber after her usual bedtime orgasm.
It's not the snoring that keeps me awake, however. It's spooning her with my locked cock nudged up against her crack. I don't fall so easily to sleep. I guess I spend so much of my thoughts worrying that I'm doing everything right, just the way she wants it, as perfectly as she demands. Knowing that she wants me spooning her, that she wants my arm and legs in the perfect spot, and that she doesn't want me to move, keeps me from falling asleep.
In some regards, I'm her pet. She grooms me, primps me, decorates me. In other regards I'm her servant. I paint her toenails, massage her, cut her hair, comfort her, and help her cum to sleep. But there's something greater going on. She's redefined me into a symbol of subservience.
It's not just a kink that she wants me permanently collared, nude, hairless, and kneeled at her side. She truly believes that this is where men really should be. She's convinced that women have a more superior psychology in balancing their intellect with emotions. She believes women make better managers and leaders. She believes that if the tables were turned 180 degrees, where we all lived in a woman's world, humanity would have advanced much farther than we have today.
"Did you know that before the Roman Empire, there were societies where women did all the leading?" she asked me once. She went on to say that men were still valued and respected; they just had their place, the same way women have had theirs, barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen.
I realize that I'm just part of a utopian fantasy that she has managed to create between her home, her work, and her friends.
I know that most men would only entertain this concept as sexual play, knowing that the man's world is still reality. And I also know that in today's world of gender equality, I should stand up for my freedom and rights. On the other hand, this life I find myself in feels right for me. Its how I spent my years growing up. Its exactly how I see myself.
Perhaps it's a coincidence that we found each other. Although, I'm reminded by both Fatima and her friends that I didn't just land in her lap, and there were other men/boys who preceded me here.
In some strange way, I want to be the last.
Almost Completely Bare
"How was your visit with Dana, today?" Ms. Julia asked me last evening.
"Fine", I started. "She said probably just a few more treatments and I'll be done."
"Good. Show me", she ordered.
I stood before her while she handled my cock. She put on her reading glasses to get a better look. She moved my cock and balls to the left and to the right. She felt gently between the side of my balls and my thighs, fishing for any kind of hair or regrowth. Then she ran her hand across my abs, down my thighs and down my calves.
"It's looking much better!"
Strangely, I felt proud.
"Turn around", she ordered.
Ms. Julia spread my cheeks apart.
"There are still some fine hairs in there. Make sure she gets all of that!"
"I think now you'll understand what it's like for Fatima to have to shave her body just to live up to some crazy idea of what a woman should look like", Ms. Julia went on.
I wondered to myself, when I get old and wrinkled, will I still look as boyish? How many years do I have left where I can fully satisfy her vision of a "real man"?
Ms. Julia has this obsession with macro photography. She has me pose in various ways, with lighting placed specific ways to that let her create stunning works of nude photos. Close-ups of my nipple, close-ups of my navel, close-ups of my cock.
Which is one reason why she continues to obsess with my weight and body shape. I'm not overweight by any means, I'm actually quite slender. There are certain areas she wants to sculp, however. She wants this very boyish, yet tight abdomen. Not a six pack, just smooth, flat, but tight abs. She wants skinny arms, delicate shoulder, and a beautifully arched back when I sit. I still fall into the habit of slouching.
She also wants more meat on my butt. She says I have a gorgeous looking ass, but that it could use a touch more roundness. She has me walk and run on a treadmill every other night, gradually increasing the speed and elevation. It's supposed to keep my ass tight, knock off any bit of fat that might accrue, and keep me at this idyllic body shape she wants.
Ms. Julia has me eating no more and no less than 2,000 calories per day on days that I work on the treadmill. On other days, it comes down to 1,400 calories. She has Fatima preparing very specific meals for me. Much of it is high protein in the form of turkey breast, almonds, hard boiled eggs, and quinoa. There's always blanched vegetables like carrots, brussels sprouts, and bell peppers. Breakfasts are usually unflavored greek yogurt with chia seeds.
Considering it was Sunday night, Ms. Julia wants to get to bed before 9:00 PM so that she's well rested for Monday morning. Sex at this time becomes predictable. I go down and give her a good licking, which is followed by rigorous clitoral massage with one of her vibrators. After she cums, she lays on her side and I spoon her from behind. She falls fast asleep.
My cock normally stays locked up.
Usually at this time, I think about things. It's not until hours later, that I fall asleep too.
"Fine", I started. "She said probably just a few more treatments and I'll be done."
"Good. Show me", she ordered.
I stood before her while she handled my cock. She put on her reading glasses to get a better look. She moved my cock and balls to the left and to the right. She felt gently between the side of my balls and my thighs, fishing for any kind of hair or regrowth. Then she ran her hand across my abs, down my thighs and down my calves.
"It's looking much better!"
Strangely, I felt proud.
"Turn around", she ordered.
Ms. Julia spread my cheeks apart.
"There are still some fine hairs in there. Make sure she gets all of that!"
I wondered to myself, when I get old and wrinkled, will I still look as boyish? How many years do I have left where I can fully satisfy her vision of a "real man"?
Which is one reason why she continues to obsess with my weight and body shape. I'm not overweight by any means, I'm actually quite slender. There are certain areas she wants to sculp, however. She wants this very boyish, yet tight abdomen. Not a six pack, just smooth, flat, but tight abs. She wants skinny arms, delicate shoulder, and a beautifully arched back when I sit. I still fall into the habit of slouching.
She also wants more meat on my butt. She says I have a gorgeous looking ass, but that it could use a touch more roundness. She has me walk and run on a treadmill every other night, gradually increasing the speed and elevation. It's supposed to keep my ass tight, knock off any bit of fat that might accrue, and keep me at this idyllic body shape she wants.
Ms. Julia has me eating no more and no less than 2,000 calories per day on days that I work on the treadmill. On other days, it comes down to 1,400 calories. She has Fatima preparing very specific meals for me. Much of it is high protein in the form of turkey breast, almonds, hard boiled eggs, and quinoa. There's always blanched vegetables like carrots, brussels sprouts, and bell peppers. Breakfasts are usually unflavored greek yogurt with chia seeds.
Considering it was Sunday night, Ms. Julia wants to get to bed before 9:00 PM so that she's well rested for Monday morning. Sex at this time becomes predictable. I go down and give her a good licking, which is followed by rigorous clitoral massage with one of her vibrators. After she cums, she lays on her side and I spoon her from behind. She falls fast asleep.
My cock normally stays locked up.
Usually at this time, I think about things. It's not until hours later, that I fall asleep too.
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