Entrance exam required to join submissiveness lessons at the Cumslut College Although the submissiveness lessons at the Cumslut College are facultative, I have decided all students that want to participate will need to pass an entrance exam. The scene shown here needs to be regarded as a visual metaphor of such an exam. In the dark auditorium your fellow students observe what they will endure after you; you will be denied, degraded, push, ravaged and ruined. Until you break. Until you cry. Until you beg. Until you have been pushed beyond your limits. It is your goal to never give up. To never lose you focus, to never back down. To never stop pursuing your ambition to become a good cum slut. I only accept highly motivated, extremely focused aspiring cum sluts. girls that are able to withstand the humiliation of the entrance exam have proven quality and ability to successfully graduate from the Cumslut College. Want to apply for submissiveness lessons? Instead of a physical entrance exam, which most often is not possible since participants come from all over the world, I invite you to write Me a clear, complete and detailed admission letter. Preferably by sending Me an email ([email protected]) or by sending fan mail (because you can write longer messages). All applications will be read and judged by Me and headmistress cumonsteph and, when applicable other teachers from the Cumslut College. In your application you should clearly, elaborate and detailed explain why you think you should be allowed to participate in the submissiveness lessons.
Cumslut College students, attend to our submissiveness course for at least two semesters.
Cumslut skill: submissiveness -I recommend every student to attend the additional submissiveness course at least for one semester. Don’t be discouraged by the tone of our degrading prof:
What else did you expect? Did you expect Me to tenderly kiss you? To cuddle you? To comfort you, saying it is OK to waste My sperm? It is not OK. Kissing, cuddling or comforting you would be equal to rewarding and encouraging bad, disrespectful behavior. Kissing, cuddling and comforting you would not motivate you to improve yourself. It would give you wrong stimuli. So do not think of Me as being a bad, mean Man. Appreciate the fact that I am honest, that I properly educate you and that I trust you to take responsibility for your own behavior like big girls do. After all, were you not fed up with people who still treated you as that little princess you once were?
“I love being treated like a piece of worthless shit by you, I cannot imagine what else my cunt was created for if not to help him go deep into my ass… When you tell me that I’m beautiful it means that you don’t need anything from me despite female submissive nature, when you tell that you like my outfit, it means just that you would fuck me now in every fucking hole as rough as I can jiust imagine, till screaming and moaning… And the more dominant and dehumanizing you are, the more beautiful I wanna be next time to let you open yourself even more than before. My perfect love to you is giving you full freedom in expressing your feelings. Total submissiveness, highest level of being attractive for you, that you could think about nothing else, but just fucking everything out of your prideless whore… And to feel your perfect love is my only goal, and my only happiness =*”
— His beloved piece of shit to her beloved Lord in January 2012
“I’m so happy to be the woman who can give you enough freedom for expressing all what you want and what you love. This is so unique feeling when you treat me like the lowest valued creature, but at the same time I feel your enormous love. If not humiliation and total destroying of a woman are the best ways to express feelings, what else it could be? If not total submissiveness and being a dehuminized whore are perfect ways to show my Lord how much I love him, what else could do it better??”
— His beloved piece of shit to her beloved Lord in January 2012
“What can show the real place of a real woman better than pushing her to the ground with her hairs, pushing her to the feet of her Lord, forcing her to lick every finger, spit on her, treating her like she is nothing.
The cheaper shit she is in sex, the more honor she’s feeling when her Lord is treating her like a real Lady during the day. This is a natural contrast. Between day and night. Between Lady and a slut. Between a perfect man and a perfect woman.
Man can be happy just when he’s owning both sides of woman. Ons is never enough. Perfect intelligent Lady should become a worthless dirty, fully submissive piece of shit during sexual interaction. Gentleman should be able to treat his Lady as shit. Because everything what a woman needs in her life - is a happiness of her Lord.”
— His beloved piece of shit to her beloved Lord in January 2012
“When I wanted to be slaped by you, roughly, strongly… with all your forces - I was just showing you how much I love when your hand is slapping my face, breasts… The harder, the more turning on.
When I stay in front of you on my knees, I wanna get a slap from you. I want that my Lord would show me a real value of a whore. I’m asking for that. And I’m sure that you will understand it right. You will not consider me weird. You will think that I am a woman, a real woman who just wants to be degraded by her perfect man…
Our minds are not low developed - so we can take every moment of mental pleasure from humiliating. Because it’s pleasant. It’s natural.
But how strong I want you, your body, your cum, aaaaaaaaaaall your tastes…
That’s not just culture, it’s because we’re having minds that are getting pleasure, huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge pleasure from the natural process of woman’s humiliation by the man. This is why I always want more slaps, this is why, when I’m laying on the floor, plessed with your feet to the dog’s bowl, with the ass up to the air and with your spit on my face, I would always try to say to you how much I love you and want mooooooooooore of the spit of my Lord. Mind fill of dirty thoughts and wishes - and how you see, we both have this mind ;). Maybe you’ve read it in my eyes when we met first time… God proves, even there I was ready to get all the tastes of my amaizing Lord in one cocktail. I would love tasting you, licking you everywhere…
By the way, even now I would love to spend the evening just with licking all the body of my Lord, like a worthless piece of shit like a faithfull dog who would be honoured just to have an opportunity to lick every part of the body of its owner…
You would spit on the parts you want to be licked first… I would add some of my spit… You could control my head, press me to your wonderful body…
And your whore just would moan while being pleased with the honor to lick her Lord. To show him her full endless respect and show at the same time what a shit she is. Just a cheap dirty piece of shit.”
— His beloved piece of shit to her beloved Lord in January 2012
Making decisions can be hard, particularly so if you’re not used to making them or if you don’t really have a preference in the things you are being asked to decide. Decide anyways. Think about what is actually happening beneath the question you’re being asked by your sub and make a decision. Formulate reasons for your decision and explain them. In the end, whichever thing you chose may not make any real difference, but the level of thought and consideration you put into the choice, and the time and attention you devoted to making this decision, will absolutely make all the difference in the world.
@misty-girl loves to feel the tug of the leash. She wants to know that she has my attention. She likes to think about the choices that I make and draw lessons from them about the kind of person that I am and about the way I think. When I make choices for her, I’m doing more than deciding what she’s going to wear or what she’s going to have for lunch, I’m telling her about her place in my life and about my personal preferences. In addition, she wants to be freed from the burden of choice and given direction as to how I would like her to serve. To her, there is no such thing as a small decision.
As a Dom, when you’re asked to make a decision, the first thing to realize is that being asked to choose is a demonstration of trust. You’re being entrusted with someone’s power to choose - they are handing it to you because they trust that you’re going to use it wisely. Do not disappoint them, and do not take this act lightly.
The second thing to realize is that this is an act of respect. They are demonstrating that they acknowledge your place in their life and they deem you worthy of this position. Being thoughtful, judicious, and considerate reaffirms this faith that they’ve placed in you and strengthens the bond between you and your sub.
The third thing to realize is that they are craving your leadership and your presence. They want to feel connected to you, and allowing you to make these decisions allows them to feel your guiding hand in even the most mundane corners of their existence. True dominance neither begins nor ends in the bedroom.
Fourth, your submissive wants to feel owned. They want to feel that they are your prized possession and that you care about every part of their life. They want to know that what happens to them matters to you, and what better way to demonstrate this than by making informed decisions on even the most inane aspects of their existence?
Fifth, your submissive is watching you and listening to you in all things. They want to know you inside and out. They want to know what you like, what you dislike, how you go about making your decisions, and what things you consider important. All of these things help them to find ways to serve you and gives them a greater idea of the vision you have for them and for your relationship.
Do not ever treat any decision as a small decision, and don’t overlook the value and importance of the day-to-day choices you’re allowed to make. There is so much going on beneath the surface, and keeping your focus on the little things ensures that you don’t miss the big ones. After all, how could be entrusted with the really important choices when you can’t be bothered with the seemingly unimportant ones? When they hand you the leash, use it. The worst thing you could ever do is to set it down.
Verona looked at Anne Marie and began, “Just how did Roissy begin, what is the purpose, and how did you become its head pimp?’
A.M. “I find the word ‘pimp’ distasteful. I prefer on site manager. Roissy began in the Middle Ages. In fact, there is a young lady who comes and does research here periodically about its beginnings. She can give you more information. But in today’s world Roissy performs an important function. It gives rich and powerful men a place they can relax and discretely indulge their fantasies. While becoming a ‘Master of Roissy Society’ is rather rare, a temporary membership in the society can be obtained rather easily, provided one has 25,000 Euros. For this membership, a man, you might refer to him as a customer, can enjoy our five-star restaurant and bar, take a lavish room and, of course, enjoy the company of one of our girls.”
V.F. “By ‘girls’ I assume you mean ‘slaves’? Sex slaves?”
A.M. “Semantics, my dear.” And we have two types of girls, slaves if you wish, here. Those who have come to work here rather than on the streets or with some escort agency. Later you will be allowed to interview Niobe. She is in this category. And we have girls who are brought by their lovers. Usually, they wish to demonstrate their devotion to their lovers by allowing themselves to be taken by other men. Julianne, who you will also interview is one of these girls. In fact, she was trained here several years ago; her lover took her away and has only recently returned her to Roissy while he is away out of the country.” Anne Marie did not mention to the Arte Television interviewer that there was a third category: Slaves who were the actual property of Roissy; girls that Anne Marie had actually ’bought.’ Nena, Eurydice, Udranka and a few others were in this category, but they had been sequestered in a distant part of the Roissy dungeon and would not be visible to the television crew.
V.F. “So, what I sit exactly that these girls do for the Masters and customers?”
A.M. laughed and said, “Just what you might expect. They satisfy their lust. And if need be their anger.”
V.F. “I’m not sure I understand.” A.M. “Some men enjoy punishing a woman.” Then she added, “And some women enjoy being punished. Am I correct, Yvette? You may speak now.”
Yvette, “Yes, Mistress. Sometimes I want to be flogged. To get that feeling of surrendering myself to a greater power. Honestly, after I’m flogged the sex is better. Pain and submissiveness can be great aphrodisiacs. And later if the marks remain it shows proof that someone desired you enough to mark you.”
V.F. “Incredible!”
Devotional Training: “Pain and submissiveness can be powerful aphrodisiacs.”
“I for one don’t believe in having my Bell kneel for me. After 18 years together I know her devotion to me is absolute. When see these posts, it makes me want to say “your submission is your choice. Your gift to the one that has earned it. It can cant be demanded. Only earned. Kneeling is not a requirement for being submissive. Your body. Your life. Your choice. Make it be earned.“
Beast from @bellandherbeast said this in the comments of this post.With his permission to share, I wanted to respond publicly because I agree with the sentiment of what he’s saying and want to clarify a few things:
Exploration is personal. I am not offering advice in any of my posts. I am exploring my options. I am literally 3 months into claiming my submissive. I am the definition of a newbie. I love that people connect with me, I love that I get to interact, and I love exchanging growth, but my blog isn’t a prescription or a “how to” guide for submission. I am nota mentor. I’m just researching the options, discovering the data, making meaning of myself, and documenting it here.
The blogs that I gather data from are the ones that present their opinion and provide options without prescription. @fantasies-of-a-dominant framed the link above (or click here) “for anyone wanting to learn.” @instructor144 has stated many times that all of his advice is his opinion and it’s for us to make sense of that opinion for ourselves. @submissive-seeking has provided information from her expertise as recommendation, not requirement. I am so thankful to them and others in this community for providing me the data for my exploration, and know that it is my (and Sir’s) responsibility to make meaning out of that data, and how it applies to who my submissive is.
And I have learned that my submissive is represented by kneeling.
I kneel because it feels right. It helps me shift into a submissive mindset. It helps me embrace my body. It brings me peace and stillness that I usually only get out in the secluded wilderness. It makes me feel like a me I never knew I always was.
Some poses I can’t do, or can’t hold for long because I have bad knees. Embracing the ones I can, makes me feel like everything is going to be alright.
I choose to send Sir surprise kneeling photos because it is a calming AND connective way to start the day. He knows I have absolute devotion, because that part was already there, but now I’m also leaning into absolute submission.
I am embracing anything that puts us into a D/s space, and then discerning whether it’s something I want to continue or not. I am trying to follow commands that I may not like, to challenge myself to accept his dominance. I am trying to help him lean into being Sir, because he is also new at making his natural dominance into a formal role.
I speak up against unsafe and unclear limits, but I also lean into uncomfortability. This is who I am, and what I want, and in some ways I am unlearning my resistance and stubbornness. And I see that as as a good thing, because there are a lot of it is borne from my walls, my fight, my experiences in society. Wrestling with the tension within myself is how I grow. I’m unlearning some of my damage through kneeling, through my submission, through exploring what full spectrum means to me, and to us.
Beast is right, “your submission is your choice.” My submission is my choice, and I choose to kneel. You may not. Always remember that there is no such thing as one type of submissive. I am not more or less devoted than you because I choose to kneel and you do not.
A piece of data for you to consider: Don’t try to be a submissive, be yoursubmissive. Take your time, explore your options, lean into uncomfortability, wrestle with the tension, grow into your submissive, and keep yourself safe, sane and consensual, always.
Oh, and please, try to enjoy the ride, because amidst the pain of transition and the hurt of becoming, it’s good to remember that submission is magic!
So the other night I reblogged this post that basically alluded (not at all subtly) to my giant kink for being put in my place. Specifically, the post asked that if I ever got out of line or forgot my place that my Dom remind me of who’s in charge with a slap and a sharp reprimand. I was surprised by the response. Both the overwhelmingly positive response and how many people felt a need to either receive or administer that sort of treatment - but, more so, the number of people who were fixated on the reference to a slap to the face.
So I wanted to dig into this waffle a lil’ bit!
First, I want to say that I am so completely in support of limits. You guys know that! I’m a big advocate of knowing your limits and sharing your limits and sticking to your limits and making sure your partner is aware of your limits and not feeling like you have to back down on your limits or doubt your limits and all of that good stuff. Yay limits! So if face slapping is a limit for you then I think it’s good that you know that and good that you share that and good that you feel comfortable standing firm on that. You go!
However, the location of the slap wasn’t really the point of the post. And I think if that’s the fixation then you may be missing the larger magic of the moment when the Dom reminds the sub of their place.
To be clear, I love face slapping. Love it. I love being slapped in the face. It makes me wet. It makes me moan. It makes my eyes light up. It makes me all melty and happy and squirmy and basically turns me into a giant puddle of liquid sub writhing happily at your feet.
But you know what I love more? The dynamic. Being dominated. Having a Dom who makes the decisions. Having someone I trust enough that I can defer to Him and trust him to make the call as to what I need or what’s best for me. Having someone who is in control. Having structure.
Seriously, I crave structure. I crave someone to give me that structure. I crave being able to hand myself over into his hands and trust that he’ll stick to the limits and rules and protocols and dynamic that we agree upon and put into effect.
And you know what, for me, is a huge part of that? Casual and immediate reminders of who is in charge.
Why? For two reasons. First, because it makes me feel safe and loved and at peace. And second, because to be perfectly fucking honest - it makes me wet as a girl can be.
But it’s not the arousal that makes me crave it. Not really. It’s the first part. It’s that feeling of being safe and loved and at peace. It’s feeling calm. It’s the reassurance that the structure will be there - is there - always. The reassurance that the structure isn’t going to disappear just because we’re around other people or because we’re busy or because we’re not at home or whatever.
And to that end - it doesn’t have to be a slap. A firm grip on a handful of my hair. A firm grip on the back of my neck. A casual, soft hand around my throat - you don’t even have to apply pressure. Just the reminder that I’ve given you the okay to decide whether or not I get to breathe…
It’s not about the pain. True, I love the pain, I crave the pain, I need the pain to balance me - but I love and crave and need the structure and the dominance even more.
So putting me in my place? I need it. I don’t really care how you do it - I just care that you do. I need to feel safe. I need the reminder that you’re in charge. I wantthe reminder that you’re in charge. I want the calm, comforting embrace of your dominance. And I want it as a constant. And I want it on the big things and the small.
So please - please- even if it’s not with a slap, don’t ever stop reminding me that you’re in charge. I love the slap, but I needthe casual display of dominance. It’s not about the physical tool used to give me structure - it’s about making sure I have the structure at all.
Other ways of this that don’t involve face slapping:
Wrap my ponytail around your hand and give it a quick tug.
Lean over and whisper in my ear that “you don’t give the orders here”.
Place your hand on the back of my neck and give it a firm squeeze.
If we’re at a table where no one can see what’s going on underneath it then cup my cunt with your hand and give IT a firm squeeze.
Give me The Look.
Say “Excuse me?” in That Tone Of Voice (you know exactly the one I’m talking about).
If you’re holding my hand then give it a firm squeeze.
Grab a handful of my hair and tug my head back so I’m forced to look up at you. Don’t let go until I apologize.
Place your hand over my mouth and tell me that little girls who don’t mind their manners are better off keeping their mouth shut.
Stick your fingers in my mouth and tell me that if I can’t speak to you appropriately then you’ll find something else to do with my mouth.
There are so many options. It is NOT about the face slapping. It’s about the casual display of dominance and the reminder that we’re going to maintain the structure to which we agreed. THAT’s what I need. THAT’s what I’m looking for.
This like a million times. Like many things, casual dominance looks casual only if you work at it. To me, it is so rewarding that someone allows me to be that way. Because I have doubts, too, but that we can live and work and play within that structure? It helps everyone.
Question: Are you saying you want to be my good girl?
Answer: Yes and anything else you want me to be
Like I stated in my story “How it all began” little did I know what my answer would lead to. All I knew was the need to please Him had only gotten stronger. I felt He was offering me something I never knew I needed. Something I secretly and unknowingly desired but my life was missing. In that moment, still confused by this new desire of mine and how it conflicted with the daily life I led I accepted my inner self, my true self: The little cum hungry sub slut I had locked up a long time ago.
This decision taught me the greatest lesson I think I will ever learn: acceptance, more importantly self-acceptance. YOU must accept and love yourself because there will be many in your life that don’t and won’t accept or understand the life you want to live. It is only through truly accepting who you are and what you want that you can begin to submit to another.
To be true to who you are you must first accept yourself. And I mean truly accept yourself. There is a reason and purpose for your desires and needs and until you embrace them you cannot be truly happy or free. For me, this was accepting that I belonged at the feet of a man, submitting to His will/superiority/pleasure, becoming the mindless sex obsessed, cum hungry bimbo He wanted. With my answer I allowed Him to see the real me and I allowed me to be me.
Later Stephanie would be forced to admit it was the alcohol that gave her the bravery to broach the subject with Matt, but it was her own secret desires that forced things to end the way they did.
Stephanie had gone out with a few friends that night to celebrate her 40th birthday, hitting up a few bars to say goodbye to her youth by drowning it in margaritas. Her celebratory bash mostly consisted of her girlfriends from work at the brokerage firm, but a few of the men came as well. And, to nobody’s surprise, Matt showed up before the night was over, much to everyone’s delight.
No one quite knew how Matt had become such a normal sight in their group. They all knew the story of how he had met Stephanie — she’d drunkenly approached him in a bar almost 10 years ago, propositioned him and then threw up on his shoes. Instead of growing angry, he only laughed, took her home, cleaned her up and tucked her into bed, then called her the next morning to check up on her. Mortified, she nonetheless met with him that evening and soon a thwarted sexual fling turned into a deep friendship.
That wasn’t the weird part, granted. The weird part was Matt was a slaver and Stephanie, who had long looked askance at the slave trade in willing female flesh, had never once felt he was going to collar her. After all, if he didn’t enslave her for passing out at the foot of his barstool on their first meeting, why would he bother any other time?
Slaver or no, Matt was considered a friend by everyone in the group by this point. He knew all the best jokes, was able to get past the bouncers at all the best clubs, was happy to come out and help someone move or just lend a couch to sleep off a hangover. He was probably a decade older than anyone else in the ensemble, but he’d become sort of an elder statesman to the rest of them, a dependable rock they all leaned on at one point or another.
Stephanie considered him her best friend. She’d been at a low point that night when she first met him in the most embarrassing way possible, frustrated with her career, with her lack of romantic partners, with the entire direction of her life. Since meeting Matt, she’d found a ready ear to pour her troubles into, and advice that often helped her find her way out of those problems as well. She might have earned her promotions and turned things around without his aid, but she was sure glad he had been there when she needed him.
Still, one unspoken rule between them was no sex. Matt, after all, reduced women to property for a living, collaring and training slutgirls for the auction block. He got plenty of sex from naked, willing fucksluts who needed tutoring in the ways of their new life as chattel. Stephanie had never managed to keep a steady boyfriend for long, but still she had a healthy sex life of relatively vanilla sexual encounters. Neither’s lifestyles in that arena interested the other, so why complicate things more than necessary?
By the time the bars turned everyone out, the group was happy to head home to sleep it off, everyone piling into ride-share vehicles to return to apartments or the train to reach suburban enclaves. As usual, Matt and Stephanie left together, saying they were headed to his place for one final nightcap. Stephanie often slept in Matt’s spare room on such nights and no one gave it a second thought.
It was a quiet, introspective Stephanie who sat on Matt’s couch half an hour later, nursing her coffee as she and Matt relaxed in the early dawn hours. Stephanie remained a bit tipsy, which often made her daring. A decade before, it had led a lonely stock broker to approach a man who intimidated her and she’d found her best friend. Now, she broached the subject they never talked about.
“Matt, why do you do it?”
“Do what?” he asked in a lazy drawl.
“Why did you decide to become a slaver?”
Matt looked at Stephanie. “So I could fuck lots of women who can’t say no, of course.”
Stephanie snorted. “Well, obviously. But there are public rape racks all across the city for guys who just want free pussy at a moment’s notice. Why go into the business?”
Matt looked at the ceiling for a moment in silent thought. “I guess I just knew I had a knack for it. I collared my girlfriend at 18 and kept her for five years. I followed all the rules and had her kneeling at my feet in grateful submission in no time. And I loved that feeling, not just of domination of another person’s will, but of shaping them into a new person, a better person.”
“Being a naked slutgirl was better?”
“For her, it was. She was smart, real smart, but she had a lot of anxiety and didn’t deal well with pressure. Being kept and protected was what she wanted most in life and being my slave provided her with just that. It was her idea to be my slutgirl, after all. We never regretted it.” “What happened to her?”
“She got a rare form of cancer and died. It almost killed me to lose her. But she was happy to be mine until the very end and I knew I wanted to provide that for others. I had just graduated from college with a business degree but instead of heading out to some fancy firm, I went down to the nearest slaving office and applied to be a slaver. I’ve never regretted it.”
Stephanie nodded slowly. “So, what exactly do you do? You’re not part of the slave patrol.”
“No, I’m independent,” Matt said. “I like the specialty cases. Anyone can pick up a former cheerleader from a collection pole and slaverape her into compliance. I take on assignments where people want advanced training for their property, not just a slutgirl fresh off the auction block.”
Stephanie looked at Matt curiously. They’d avoided these specific questions and much of this was new to her.
“Like what?” she asked.
“Well, a month ago, I got a request from a man who’d just collared his wife. They’d been married 10 years and the spark was almost gone, so he decided to enslave her. That improved their sex, certainly, but adjusting from equal partner to collared slave is hard on some women. He hired me to teach her the ground rules, to impress on her her new status as chattel. I kept her here for a week or two, slaveraping her constantly, never letting her stand up, forcing to crawl around with objects shoved in her wet holes. I never let her cum. I made her do all her chores by hand, or sometimes holding brushes and rags in her mouth, as her hands were chained behind her.
“By the end of her training, she was eager to do anything I asked. Then I returned her to her master. She was the happiest fuckslut in the world. He insisted on her submission, of course, but he let her move around normally, let her enjoy sexual release. Instead of relaxing her into old habits, she was so grateful she became more devoted to him and was happy to be his slutgirl.”
“Wow,” was all Stephanie said, trying to shift surreptitiously to rub her thighs together as her pussy pulsed with unexpected arousal.
“Or take the order I got from a man a year earlier,” Matt continued. “He wanted a girl in his neighborhood, some teen tart who had been flaunting herself at him ever since she turned 18. But he knew the slut’s father would never sell and didn’t want to antagonize a neighbor by collaring her on the sly. Instead, he hired me to take her somewhere else.
“So I followed her around a bit, finally found her alone in the park on the way home, and took her right there on a lonely path. I had her stripped and bound in less than 30 seconds and squealing in shocked lust as I slaveraped her on a bed of pine needles right after. Then I visited his house as if I was just a normal slave broker, bringing new merchandise for his consideration. He obviously bought her on the spot, on top of my previous capture fee, and soon had her happily riding his cock as he knocked her up. Now he’s got a plausible story for how he happened to buy his object of desire, keeping everyone happy — he’s got the slutgirl he wanted, she’s got a man to fuck her silly like she wanted, and the parents are just glad she’s nearby so they can spend time with what is sure to be a passel of grandchildren.”
“So, you enjoy this sort of work,” Stephanie said.
“Yeah, for the most part,” he said. “I mean, it is work. Ravishing an 18-year-old trollop is never burdensome, but she wasn’t my type and I wouldn’t have looked twice at her had I not been hired. My favorite jobs are the ones I initiate. I see a woman who looks like she belongs in a collar, I find my opportunity and take her, then I train her into the best possible slutgirl she can be. That transformation, that is where I truly find my satisfaction.”
“But you never keep them.”
Matt’s face shuttered. “No,” he said. “Selling them as fully-trained slaves is the bulk of my income, after all. And… well, honestly, I haven’t had a live-in slave of my own since Annie died. She was my everything. I often wished I’d bred her, so I’d at least have a kid or two when she went, but we wanted to wait a while, enjoy life as master and slave without children complicating things, let me finish college first, that sort of thing. And now, well, I’m used to living alone.”
“Do you ever think about getting a new slutgirl of your own?”
“Sometimes” Matt said. “But it can’t just be some sorority girl I caught in a parking garage or a teenybopper who looks like she needs a good dicking. I’m happy to slaverape them silly, to make them the perfect slutgirls for someone else, but for some woman to be my personal slutgirl, they would have to be something really special.”
Stephanie, her fog of alcoholic bravery gone, nevertheless looked at Matt and asked the question she’d wondered for nearly a decade.
“Matt, why have you never collared me?”
Matt groaned a bit and tried to look away, but Stephanie’s gaze did not waver, even as her body stiffened with expected humiliation. But his response surprised her.
“Because I’m afraid,” he said, then went on even as her eyes widened in confused shock. “I know you’d made a great slutgirl for someone, if you’d just let go of your fears and truly submit to your innermost feelings. And I like you a lot, Stephanie, more than any woman since Annie passed away. But I’m afraid of making such a connection again. I’m afraid to let a woman, even a slutgirl, into my life as someone I care for, and then to lose her as I did Annie.”
Stephanie swallowed a bit.
“And I’m not sure if you’re ready even now. You’re afraid to let go of your control. You only do when you’re drunk, and I don’t collar drunk women. It’s not sporting. That’s why I took you home that first night. And when I met you the next day, fully expecting to collar you, if only as repayment for the shoes you ruined, I realized I liked you a lot when you’re sober. I held off, interested in getting to know you. And now here we are.”
Stephanie looked away and started to speak haltingly. “I sometimes dream of being collared, of what that might be like. For the past few years, I’ve had that dream a lot. And instead of being some anonymous dream slaver, it’s always you on the other end of my leash.”
Matt nodded. “I know. But you’d have to be sure, Stephanie. I’m not interested in playtime, in role-playing master and slave for a bored woman looking to lived up her midlife crisis. If I put a collar on you, it would never come off. You would be kept naked and ready at all times and I would use you in ways you can hardly imagine. And I would breed you. I won’t make that mistake again. I would pump you full of seed from day one and keep you so full of my cum you’ll be having triplets before we’re done.
“I would expect true submission. You would serve me as your master, cooking, cleaning, keeping the house running, caring for the children we’d have. You would not do anything without my permission. You would be my property, to do with as I see fit. I could sell you at any moment if I so desired, just like I sold my old car to trade in for a newer, sleeker model last year.” “Would you?” Stephanie whispered, her eyes wide, her cunt drenched.
“No,” he said. “If I collar you, you’ll be mine and mine alone. But I could. If I died, you’d be sold off as an asset of the estate, just another piece of property to distribute like this couch. Slavery is permanent, Stephanie.
“I’ll admit it at last. I want you. Annie had been gone for years and I can’t get her back. But you’re not Annie and I want you in a way the young punk who owned her couldn’t imagine. But you’re my friend, Stephanie, and I won’t take you against your will. If I collar you, I’ll make every decision for you the rest of your life. But I won’t take that choice from you. That’s your decision to make.”
Stephanie looked at Matt. Her drunken haze was long gone. She felt more sober than she ever had before, yet also slightly drunk on a different substance, the very idea of submitting as a slutgirl to Matt coursing thorugh her veins. Her nipples were hard as rock, her breasts high and tight, her pussy leaking like a sieve.
Could she do this?
“Maybe we should sleep on this and forget it happened,” Matt said, taking her silence for rejection.
“No!” Stephanie shouted. If they did that, they might never find the future best for both of them. Her vision of being collared and chained in Matt’s home, of being swollen with his children, of nursing them even as she cared for his needs, was incredibly vivid now and she realized she wanted that more than anything in the world.
Stephanie slid to her knees, kneeling on the hardwood floor with her thighs spread wide and held her hands above her head, wrists crossed to beg for binding. “Take me, master,” she said.
Matt did not hesitate. Stephanie squealed involuntarily as she felt her clothes shred around her, pulled off her body in seconds, until she was naked and exposed before her best friend. Then her hands were wrenched behind her back and locked together with the shackles he always seemed to carry on his belt, even at home.
“Mine!” Matt growled and Stephanie moaned in surrender as he brought out the collar, the silver circlet which would transform her life into sexual property of the man she realized she’d loved for years now. Then he locked the collar around her neck, a gesture more intimate than any wedding ceremony, and Stephanie looked up at the man she would call owner.
“Thank you, master,” she said.
“It’s far from over, slave,” he said and Stephanie quivered in anticipation.
He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, throwing her onto the bed. She lay there, hands pressed against the mattress behind her back, and watched as he slowly removed his clothes, his patience making her write in frustrated lust.
“Please, master, take me,” she said. “Rape me into your slutgirl.”
Matt smiled. “With pleasure,” he said.
Stephanie — Steffie, as her master would often call her amusement in the future — would remember that night for the rest of her life. He threw her legs open and stabbed his cock right into her eager slavecunt, grinning as she squealed in pleasure. Then he was pounding away, wringing orgasms from her steadily until he flooded her eager body with his seed. Then he did the same thing three more times before they finally drifted to sleep in the early dawn light.
When Steffie woke, sore and contented, she took a moment to realize where she was, naked and bound still in the arms of her master on his wide bed. Her head ached a bit from the hangover she’d acquired and her slavecunt ached from the thorough ravishing she’d received. But as she snuggled into her owner’s embrace, her mind filled with the future of breeding and fucking her beloved master would provide her with, she smiled in contentment. Sometimes, she thought, all it took to reach happiness was to ask the right questions.
Several months ago, I felt like I was drowning. I was on a steep learning curve at a new job where I felt completely lost, and I was rebuilding my personal life on several levels. Every little decision felt heavy. But I kept trudging through, hoping one day the struggle would end.
In the midst of this, my Dominant gave me a daily task. It felt nearly impossible some days. I’d get my daughter in bed and think about the task. I’d watch the minutes tick away before bedtime and try to summon up the energy to complete it. Once I completed it, I felt better. Proud. Accomplished. Connected to him. But before doing it, all I could feel was the exhaustion.
One night I asked permission to skip the task. My boss had completely scrapped my work product—a new experience for this perfectionist overachiever who was used to things coming easily. Suddenly, I felt incompetent. Then my daughter, sensing my stress, argued with me all night. It was all I could do to get her in bed before I collapsed in tears.
So I asked permission to skip the task. And he said no. I was furious. I told him if he loved me, he wouldn’t make me follow through. He calmly told me that he wanted me to follow through because he loved me. I called him selfish and insensitive. I refused to do it. He reminded me that I always have a choice: complete the task or accept punishment.
I sat for about 20 minutes, just staring at the wall. I felt empty. I reached inside and felt nothing. No energy, no worth. Just nothing. And then I got up, and I completed my task. I didn’t do it to avoid the belt; when I initially refused, I knew I’d take the belt for it. But the idea of intentionally disobeying him…that was too much to bear. I couldn’t. So I took my nothingness and made it something. I made it into service.
A few days later when the clouds had cleared, we talked about it. “You know I couldn’t let you off the hook,” he said. “You know it would have been the worst thing for you. It would have left you feeling alone and untethered.” He was right. There were other times when he did give me permission to skip the task, but that night it would have made everything worse. I was so grateful that he held the leash tight in that moment. He reached out to me in my darkness, and he didn’t let go. And neither did I.
I thanked him for the opportunity to submit. Then he said four words that made my heart swell. “I knew you would.”
It’s easy to submit when you have all the time and energy to devote yourself to it. But it’s much harder to submit when everything is going wrong. Dominance and submission aren’t just for when it’s easy. Many people are capable of putting on the role for short bursts. Months, even. But the moment it gets hard, they toss it aside. And they wait for a more convenient time to pick it back up again. It’s not about whether you can play the role; it’s about whether you are the role. Anything less is just D/s dress-up.
A deep D/s connection is about where you find your sanctuary. It’s about what feeds your soul. It’s about what replenishes you when you are stressed or sad or lost or returning home from battle to lick your wounds. If you can only give or take control when it’s easy, then it’s never going to be real or sustainable. You can’t build a relationship on that. But if you ache for D/s all the way down to your bones, then you show up no matter what. You follow through when it’s hard. You meet your partner’s needs, and in doing so, you meet your own. The dynamic can be so powerful that way. Especially when it’s hard.
All of this ^^^. Essence of D/s, real D/s, in a nutshell: “ Dominance and submission aren’t just for when it’s easy.”
Do you kneel enough? Kneeling is a sign of respect and obeisance. Every time a girl kneels before a man, it reinforces her position (and those of all other girls) as the inferior sex since she kneels for no other reason than that she is female. Do this more often, drop to your knees just because. You don`t need a reason to kneel before a man, being a girl is reason enough.It will not instantly make the world a better place. But it is kind of like recycling and waste separation - the more people that are doing it, the more difference it makes. Someone has to start and why shouldn`t this someone be you?
