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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
