The fact of the matter is that my life is no longer entirely my own. I now live in the ideal world of the superior female, I must make no mistake. She has allowed me to enter her domain only because I have agree to abide by all of her many terms and conditions. I must obey and comply with a wide variety of her rules and requirements and most of all, I must submit myself before her as her naked, kneeling slave. She is very skilled at using bondage and discipline to control me, body and mind. We do have a very well defined dominant/submissive arrangement. She is a sexually sadistic female, and I am a masochistic male but this just begins to tell the story.
If she wishes to make me suck her long rubber cock, then that is exactly what I will do.If she wishes to strap me to the rack and torture my erection until I scream, then she will do just that. If she wishes to blindfold me and lock me up in her cage, then this is how I will spend my day while she ignores me. The control in our relationship is all hers, no exceptions made.
Over the course of time and within the context of absolute female control, I have learned that this is certainly not all about whips and chains and kinky sex. We have long conversations about everything from kinky ideas to our lives’ events to sports, etc., etc., etc. She now has in depth, fully intimate knowledge of her little rubber slave’s innermost thoughts and fantasies. The longer we remain together, the more exciting and emotionally staggering our time together becomes. Although she humiliates me relentlessly; although she teases and tortures me mercilessly; she cares for me. She does not degrade me. She builds me up and manages my state of mental and physical health meticulously. She encourages me to express my deepest desires and explore my undeniably kinky nature. I might even dare to say at this point that I think she might even like me a little bit!
I have memories of many experiences that I regard not as rewards for good behaviour, but more as the evolution of a beautiful friendship.Two instances in particular jump to my mind as perfect examples of this. The first that I will describe happened about eight or nine years ago, when I had not yet met my Mistress. At the time I was serving another truly dominant Female. The second instance is a more recent event while serving my beautiful rubber Goddess. I would like to present these as very short stories, then I will try to analyze them and try to show how each one made me feel and how I internalized it.
Memory One – “Morning Chores”
It is key to remember here Rule Number One: Mistress may touch the slave in any way she likes. The slave, however, is never allowed to touch Mistress unless she demands it.
I don’t know why but my Mistress has ordered me to come to her home for an early session this morning. I must arrive at 9am precisely. My heart pounds as I approach her apartment door and ring the bell. The door opens, and I enter to find Mistress barefoot, wearing a long black silk, semi-see-through nightgown. She smiles and hands me my black latex panties.
“Take your clothes off and put on the panties,” she orders me. “Then I want you to run me a hot bubble bath. When you are finishes, you will find me in the living room.”
She walks away with no further explanation. As I proceed to follow her directions, I experience an increasing sense of apprehension. Obviously she is going to have a hot bath but what part in this does she expect me to play? I just don’t know. I decide it best to simply do as I am told; I mean, I know that she will have it no other way anyway.
What is she up to? Is she going to tie me up and make me wait for her to have her bath? I press on with my task with these questions in my head before crawling out to find her. As I approach she gives me a butt plug covered with a pre-lubricated condom.
“You know what to do with this… don’t you, slave?”
I took the evil little plug and push it into my asshole until it seats itself with a little “thunk” and a whimpering groan from me. Mistress pulled me up to my knees and quickly has me securely hooded, gagged, and blindfolded with tightly stretched black latex. She then buckles a wide leather collar around my neck and attaches a heavy chain leash. She leads me crawling blindly — right back into the bathroom!
“Remove my gown!” I hear her command me.
As the words leave her mouth I feel instant panic, my face flushed under the layers of rubber that cover it. I try to reach out for her but I stop dead. I am terrified to touch her.
“Hurry up, slut,” my Mistress snapped. “Just loosen the tie and pull it off of my shoulders. I don’t know how you expect to bathe me if you are afraid to touch me!”
Oh. My. God. Really?! Oh. My. GOD.
As she settles in to the tub, Mistress instructs me in how to proceed. “You will start,” she began, “by washing each toe individually. You may then begin to work your way up. Let’s be perfectly clear, slave… You will slowly and very thoroughly wash everything except my face and my hair. Do you understand me, slut?”
I nod my head, and begin as directed.
Before she let me go that day, we had a long talk about our session as I cleaned her perfect black leather boots with my tongue. Her final words on the subject remain etched in my mind to this day.
“I am proud of you, slave. You did very well today! Your naïveté is refreshing and quite enjoyable. Surely you must realize that it all makes perfect sense for Mistress to have one or two specially trained slaves, trusted to serve all of her most private, most personal needs and desires. You may consider today’s session as a taste of what it would be like to be my full time slave. This would be part of your everyday routine. Every morning,” she repeated for emphasis, “before you went to work!”
I have learned over the years that it is critical for me to worship the Mistress – not all the props and toys. I do love all latex-involved activities and clothing. I do love her perfect shiny black boots, but none of these things are any fun without her bringing them to life. Mistress wears whatever she wants, and I am always naked in her presence.
Memory Two: “Under the Weather“
Her text message simply reads, “Call Me.”
Always the diligent slave, I call her up as soon as possible. I worry because today is the day we have arranged for a visit.
When she answers her phone I immediately hear that her voice is scratchy and weak, and she pauses frequently to cough. As required, I politely ask for permission to speak to my beautiful Goddess. I have a sinking feeling that she will be cancelling our little get-together. What she said instead surprised me.
“I am not feeling well today my slave. I don’t really have the energy to play hard so maybe we should postpone our appointment. Unless, that is, you would like to come over and take care of me for a while. The choice is yours.”
Now what kind of slave would refuse such an offer?? The idea that she would even consider having me come and look after some of her needs really honours me. So, of course, I eagerly accept her invitation, thanking her profusely for the opportunity to see her.
When I arrive, I let myself in as directed, and call up the stairs.
“Hello Mistress! May I please be allowed to come up, Mistress?”
Her answer is preceded by a nasty sounding cough. “Yes, you may!”
I leave my shoes and proceed to climb the stairs. I kneel down before her and lower my head as required.
“Why are you still dressed, slave?” my Mistress says gruffly. “Take off your clothes!. Put them over there on the chair.”
Having completed my task by neatly folding and stowing my clothes, she hands me the key to the dungeon to fetch her cuffs and the flexible steel collar. Buck naked now, I go downstairs and collect the desired items, making sure not to dawdle in her dungeon. When I return, I sit on the floor and offer her my feet. Domina proceeds to buckle the cuffs snugly around my ankles. Next, I kneed and offer her my hands, palms up, as she trained me. Mistress secures each wrist in the cuffs. Placing my head on her knees, she buckles and locks my collar into position, adjusting it to her satisfaction. She whispers gently in my ear:
“It is nice to see you, boy. Thank you for coming today.”
Mistress only ever calls me “boy” when she is either really pissed at me, or when she is really pleased with me.
“I want you to sweep the floor my slave. Then you can vacuum the stairs and when that’s all done, I have some laundry for you to fold. Get to work.” She chuckles to herself as I pick up the broom, and begin my chores just a little self-consciously.
She sits in her comfy chair with her feet up. She is wearing her pajamas and wool slippers, and I see her wrap herself up in a snuggly blanket, watching TV.
“Bring me a fresh cup of tea, slave,” she calls to me as I work, “and make sure it is hot!”
Hmm… This doesn’t quite fit into the stereotype, does it? I mean, here she is, resting comfortably while I work for her – naked, cuffed, and collared. She does not wear a leather catsuit or her elaborate thigh-high boots. She does not whip me or torture me mercilessly, yet I feel completely and helplessly dominated. Our visit together was a wonderful afternoon of intimate conversation and warm fuzzy feelings. In the end, when I tell her that it was my privilege to serve her in this or any other way, her words sounded eerily familiar.
“Let this be your first lesson in life as a live-in slave. I wouldn’t do this with just anyone… and to think that you are now the only slave to see my bedroom. You had better not have been nosy when you were fetching my laundry.” Mistress stares down at me. “Nosy slaves get punished… don’t they?”
Before I wrap this all up, there is one more crucial aspect that I feel I need to shed some light on.
My strict and beautiful Goddess is not, now or ever, an easy woman to please. To harbour any kind of expectation for preferential treatment would be a very dangerous game for me to play. I am a well-trained rubber slave and I know my place is only to accept whatever she may have in store for me. I am allowed to get away with nothing and I must simply seek to please her, regardless of her mood or agenda, on any given occasion. Her moods can change in the blink of an eye and so can my circumstances. She decides.
I have tried to use examples from my own experiences to illustrate the more sensual and intimate side of a BDSM relationship. Whether it be a soft, squishy feeling or a cold, hard discipline session, there is one common theme. The one thing that brings this all together. Her control is the strong cord that binds me but it is also my source of comfort. Her control is the tight blindfold that renders me unable to anticipate or prepare, yet it is my contentment. Her control holds me wide open and fully vulnerable yet it supports me. Her control is everywhere. Her control is everything.
All metaphors aside though, there is an element of trust between Mistress and slave that is undeniable and essential. I trust only her with every single one of my deepest, darkest desires, ideas, and fears. She trusts me to submit to her with authenticity, and to worship her as my very strict and beautiful, latex-clad Goddess. I have never felt more happy or safe. So, within her world, I find a wide variety of ironies, but one stands out above all others. Imagine… I actually feel great relief and liberation when she has me tightly bound and humiliated on the floor at her feed. This is when I can finally escape from the cage that is my own mind and my lifelong fear of public opinion. I can now explore and truly enjoy my kinky nature as well as hers. To be at her side is my pride and my joy. Mistress is a most amazing woman, multidimensional and intelligent. She alone allows me to actually be myself. Nothing to hide, nothing held secret in my dark, dingy closet. I can actually share everything with her.
I am now no longer alone, trapped in my thoughts and ashamed of them. She knows me, the whole package. I have shown her everything that I have always kept hidden. This to me is the essence of intimacy.
So now I wait patiently, biding my time until our next meeting. I am required to call her once every week to check in and assure her that I am working hard and diligently proceeding with whatever tasks she has assigned me. If she does not wish to speak to me she simply doesn’t. I must leave a very polite, to-the-point message and then try again some other time. She never tells me about what she may or may not be planning for me at upcoming sessions. She doesn’t have to. I must just wait and find out when she sees fit.
My mind is always full of possibilities. Inescapable rubber bondage. Boot worship. Sexual torture. Humiliation. Or maybe she will come up with something completely different. With her, everything is possible, but nothing is predictable. For me, it always seems to come back around to the cruel, endless blindfold. The absolute greatest, most wonderful thing is that she is very well aware of this fact, and is only too happy to oblige. Mistress takes pleasure in fully penetrating my kinky little imagination and in taking full advantage of what she finds there. She fucks my mind, and why wouldn’t she?
Her naked, blindfolded rubberslave
Hers to torture and tease
Hers to frustrate, manipulate
Hers to enlighted
Hers to teach