Slavish Devotion
"I want a woman who will use me as she sees fit, take control of my finances and force me to serve her on a daily basis."
He was asking me if I wanted a real life slave. I looked at the words on my computer screen in irritated disgust. They offer their slavery as easily as they would promise fidelity and devotion and in reality, it is all perfectly meaningless drivel.
"I can cook for you and clean for you Mistress!", is always their defense when I ask them what they offer in exchange for such constant life management. The meager rewards from these groveling dogs carry far too high a price tag for me.
They say slavery but what they mean is pre-1960's marriage, with their role as a disempowered housewife. In reality, what they are proposing is an opportunity for them to be a needy, clingy perverted freeloader on my blood and sweat. Not surprisingly, I can see their limitations far more clearly than they can see mine. This, of course, begs the questions; would I own a slave and what would constitute a proper slave for me?
Let me describe a day in the life.
It is a Saturday morning and I am laying in bed, enjoying the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Long fingers of sunlight reach into the room and tentatively touch the bed where I am laying, slowly reaching up to caress my face and warn me that the day has already begun.
I can hear a newspaper rustling in another room and the low drone of something broadcasting news information. He is padding around silently making sure that the world is still spinning as when he left it the night before. A contented smile plays across my lips and I consider hiding from the world for another few hours when he appears silently with coffee cup in hand. He kneels by the bed and raises both hands to offer me the cup. This is his gesture to indicate that he is ready to be punished for losing his self control and sniffing my panties while masturbating, without my permission. I look at him and find myself wondering where and when he has done this between the time I fell asleep and and, now, awakened.
I bring myself to the side of the bed and sit with my legs spread open before him. I know that he cannot help but gaze directly at the dark wedge of my sex where those tempting panties once were. I sip my coffee and emit a delicious moan of delight as it enters my mouth and washes over my tongue. I swallow the warm liquid and enjoy the feel of it traveling through me like a hot bullet of comforting sensation. I can see a dark tattletale stain on his pants where his cock is straining and beginning to drip as it reaches in vain for the dark nether regions it wants to call home. I slip my hand down into the soft hairs of my pubis and give my sleepy cunt a good morning brush, knowing that it will release the fragrance of my sex and cripple his self control. I can see the agony building on his face but it only incites me more. His attempts at sexual self control are like an aphrodisiac for my jaded appetites.
I slip a finger in just slightly enough to wet it and just slowly enough to let his imagination break free of the reins of his self control. His mouth falls open slightly, begging to be used but not daring to ask. Licking his lip nervously, he looks up at me for some indication of shared inspiration. I hold his gaze steadily and place my wet finger across his lips, silencing his question before he can ask. His expression becomes pleading and I can't hold back the smirk traveling across my face. My sadistic mischieviousness lights up my eyes and I lean forward to look more intensely at him.
"Open up." I tell him and he responds carefully, trying not to offend me with his eagerness. I slide my finger down across his lip and slip it inside, resting it against his tongue. His mouth remains in an inviting O shape while he waits for further instruction.
"You want it, don't you?", I ask softly. He responds by nodding his head slightly and imploring me with his eyes. His mouth begins weeping with frustrated desire and a wet pool of saliva begins to form on his lip where it touches my finger.
"Lick it.", I demand. His eager mouth begins sucking greedily on the finger like a parched man in the desert trying to extract enough morning dew to slake his thirst. His enthusiasm was becoming sloppy and obscene.
"Enough.", I tell him flatly and retrieve my finger from his mouth. Taking his jaw firmly between my thumb and fingers, I pull his face closer.
"You have been bad, haven't you?", I ask him rhetorically.
"Yes, ma'am.", he offers weakly, looking away in shame.
"I know.", I respond sarcastically and abruptly release his face from my controlling grasp. Standing up to walk around him, I head toward the shower. "Are my things ready?", I ask expectantly. He replies that they are and stands up to follow me out of the room.
~
Hot, soapy water cascades down my shoulders and back. Along my breasts and ass, however, it transforms into teasing rivulets along the length of my nakedness that mock his inability to touch and explore my body with the same wandering freedom. He is also nude, standing near the shower with a folded towel and a shaving razor piled on his outstretched arms. His cock is also happily standing at attention, offering itself in hopeful service. The enthusiastic ignorance of his cock never ceases to amuse me. After I finish my bathing, I place the used washcloth on the bobbing peg between his leg to hide its insistent presence.
Taking the razor, I tell him to get on his knees, facing away from me. He does as requested making special effort not to drop the towel or the washcloth. Placing my foot on his back, I begin shaving my leg. I can see the water as it runs off my skin and races down his back to tickle his ass and balls, further tormenting him. Even the water of my shower has become a sadistic co-conspirator this morning and I am filled with exquisite glee by it. I finish shaving my other leg in the same manner and call out, "Towel". He stands up and turns to face me. The washcloth has not left its post and I am quite pleased. "Very good!", I coo and pat the head of his cock patronizingly. I know he is expecting a reward since I am in so obviously a generous mood. I have not forgotten, however, that he has sneaked off with my panties and masturbated so his hoped for reward continues to remain a vague consideration but not an imminent possibility.
I give him the razor to dispose of and take the towel from him. Its plush softness absorbs the rapidly cooling water on my skin and leaves a delighted blush on my skin. He disposes of the razor and the washcloth and returns to his position near me. I hand him the damp towel and wrap my long, wet hair into a temporary bun before I stand in front of the sink to brush my teeth. He hangs the towel over a bar and then kneels on the oval rug on the floor behind me, attempting to suggest a possible punishment or reward for him before I evacuate the potential play area.
I ignore him and begin brushing my teeth but I can feel his silent begging as forcefully as if he had given into verbalizing it for me. I interrupt my actions and spit into the sink sharply. Standing there silently, I consider what would be best suited for this moment considering his misbehavior. Should I make him clean my asshole with his tongue while I brush my teeth? Should I use him as a toilet for my morning expression? I turn to look at him and think about the slavish devotion he has offered me thus far and the amazing gift he has been in my life until now. I decide on both.
"Clean it!", I snap at him and return to my toothbrush. He knows exactly what I mean and he enthusiastically takes his position behind me. He gently opens the cleavage of my ass and holds it apart with his hands. I am momentarily frozen by the first contact of his hot tongue brushing against the bud of my asshole and I shudder slightly. Composing myself, I return to brushing my teeth while his tongue sensously and thoroughly explores the well hidden, hot button between the cheeks of my ass. I can feel myself becoming aroused but it is not until I can hear the familiar sounds of his masturbation that I call an end to his duty. He has forgotten himself and lost control again and I simply would not reward that kind of behavior. I reach around and grab him by the hair, pulling his head away from any contact with me. "What do you think you are doing?!", I demand. He looks at me in a curious expression of confusion between guilty shame and blind animal lust. Before he can answer me, I order him to lay on the floor; leading him by the hair into a supine position. Incensed, I squat over his face so that his nose is buried in my ass and place my cunt over his mouth. "Open your mouth and keep that filthy tongue to yourself!", I tell him. He does exactly as he his told with his hands dropping to his sides in dutiful, well trained obedience.
Sitting over him, I can feel him straining to resist the urge to push his tongue up into me. His entire body is a tensile band of self discipline in the face of overwhelming desire. I take a deep breath and relax. Only a moment passes before the morning rain of my body pours down into him. He swallows in gulps, trying to keep up with the demand placed on him. He knows that spilling one drop will result in far worse punishment and severe re-training. I can feel him struggling but refuse to slow down the flow. Once I am empty, I straighten my legs so that I can bend forward to look at him. My wet cunt hovers over him like a luscious fruit just beyond reach.
"You want to clean this too, don't you?", I ask him innocently.
"Oh god. Yes! Please ma'am! I would do anythi..." he responds before I interrupt him.
"Maybe next time," I snap angrily, "you will show some self control during your duties and you will have the privilege!"
I dry myself and move away from him while he looks on in abject disappointment and self disapproval as his cock lays against him, bobbing slightly as if waving a sad good-bye.
~
Walking through our space, I feel a sense of peace and contentment. My needs are more than adequately provided for and his devotion to me is beyond reproach or question. Our private life sits in discrete juxtaposition to our public appearance. We are the perfect couple to the outside world. He is the intellectual and professional Alpha male and I am his exotic, indulged Alpha female who compliments him perfectly.
In our private world, he is my slave and I am the Goddess he devotes himself to.
~
What is the difference between slavery and marriage? None really. At their highest, it is living for someone else knowing that they will always put your best interests first. At its worst, it is exploitation and abuse. I don't want a doormat or an emotional punching bag in my life. I have no tolerance for micro-management, liars, cowards and self-serving people. Unfortunately, many people who approach me and want to be slaves fall under these categories far too often.
Men are good for many things and should be good at them. Slave/Owner is not about the sex. It really is about feeling safe in a dangerous world and knowing that when you come home at night, at least one person is in your corner and you are their highest priority at every moment of their day. And just like vanilla marriages, people often forget that this is one of the key ingredients for success and longevity. Happiness is optional.
So you think you want to be my slave?
Here are my requirements:
Only if you have passed these first requirements, can we discuss anything else. Don't waste my time and I won't waste yours.
Now, are you worthy?
Empress~
He was asking me if I wanted a real life slave. I looked at the words on my computer screen in irritated disgust. They offer their slavery as easily as they would promise fidelity and devotion and in reality, it is all perfectly meaningless drivel.
"I can cook for you and clean for you Mistress!", is always their defense when I ask them what they offer in exchange for such constant life management. The meager rewards from these groveling dogs carry far too high a price tag for me.
They say slavery but what they mean is pre-1960's marriage, with their role as a disempowered housewife. In reality, what they are proposing is an opportunity for them to be a needy, clingy perverted freeloader on my blood and sweat. Not surprisingly, I can see their limitations far more clearly than they can see mine. This, of course, begs the questions; would I own a slave and what would constitute a proper slave for me?
Let me describe a day in the life.
It is a Saturday morning and I am laying in bed, enjoying the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Long fingers of sunlight reach into the room and tentatively touch the bed where I am laying, slowly reaching up to caress my face and warn me that the day has already begun.
I can hear a newspaper rustling in another room and the low drone of something broadcasting news information. He is padding around silently making sure that the world is still spinning as when he left it the night before. A contented smile plays across my lips and I consider hiding from the world for another few hours when he appears silently with coffee cup in hand. He kneels by the bed and raises both hands to offer me the cup. This is his gesture to indicate that he is ready to be punished for losing his self control and sniffing my panties while masturbating, without my permission. I look at him and find myself wondering where and when he has done this between the time I fell asleep and and, now, awakened.
I bring myself to the side of the bed and sit with my legs spread open before him. I know that he cannot help but gaze directly at the dark wedge of my sex where those tempting panties once were. I sip my coffee and emit a delicious moan of delight as it enters my mouth and washes over my tongue. I swallow the warm liquid and enjoy the feel of it traveling through me like a hot bullet of comforting sensation. I can see a dark tattletale stain on his pants where his cock is straining and beginning to drip as it reaches in vain for the dark nether regions it wants to call home. I slip my hand down into the soft hairs of my pubis and give my sleepy cunt a good morning brush, knowing that it will release the fragrance of my sex and cripple his self control. I can see the agony building on his face but it only incites me more. His attempts at sexual self control are like an aphrodisiac for my jaded appetites.
I slip a finger in just slightly enough to wet it and just slowly enough to let his imagination break free of the reins of his self control. His mouth falls open slightly, begging to be used but not daring to ask. Licking his lip nervously, he looks up at me for some indication of shared inspiration. I hold his gaze steadily and place my wet finger across his lips, silencing his question before he can ask. His expression becomes pleading and I can't hold back the smirk traveling across my face. My sadistic mischieviousness lights up my eyes and I lean forward to look more intensely at him.
"Open up." I tell him and he responds carefully, trying not to offend me with his eagerness. I slide my finger down across his lip and slip it inside, resting it against his tongue. His mouth remains in an inviting O shape while he waits for further instruction.
"You want it, don't you?", I ask softly. He responds by nodding his head slightly and imploring me with his eyes. His mouth begins weeping with frustrated desire and a wet pool of saliva begins to form on his lip where it touches my finger.
"Lick it.", I demand. His eager mouth begins sucking greedily on the finger like a parched man in the desert trying to extract enough morning dew to slake his thirst. His enthusiasm was becoming sloppy and obscene.
"Enough.", I tell him flatly and retrieve my finger from his mouth. Taking his jaw firmly between my thumb and fingers, I pull his face closer.
"You have been bad, haven't you?", I ask him rhetorically.
"Yes, ma'am.", he offers weakly, looking away in shame.
"I know.", I respond sarcastically and abruptly release his face from my controlling grasp. Standing up to walk around him, I head toward the shower. "Are my things ready?", I ask expectantly. He replies that they are and stands up to follow me out of the room.
~
Hot, soapy water cascades down my shoulders and back. Along my breasts and ass, however, it transforms into teasing rivulets along the length of my nakedness that mock his inability to touch and explore my body with the same wandering freedom. He is also nude, standing near the shower with a folded towel and a shaving razor piled on his outstretched arms. His cock is also happily standing at attention, offering itself in hopeful service. The enthusiastic ignorance of his cock never ceases to amuse me. After I finish my bathing, I place the used washcloth on the bobbing peg between his leg to hide its insistent presence.
Taking the razor, I tell him to get on his knees, facing away from me. He does as requested making special effort not to drop the towel or the washcloth. Placing my foot on his back, I begin shaving my leg. I can see the water as it runs off my skin and races down his back to tickle his ass and balls, further tormenting him. Even the water of my shower has become a sadistic co-conspirator this morning and I am filled with exquisite glee by it. I finish shaving my other leg in the same manner and call out, "Towel". He stands up and turns to face me. The washcloth has not left its post and I am quite pleased. "Very good!", I coo and pat the head of his cock patronizingly. I know he is expecting a reward since I am in so obviously a generous mood. I have not forgotten, however, that he has sneaked off with my panties and masturbated so his hoped for reward continues to remain a vague consideration but not an imminent possibility.
I give him the razor to dispose of and take the towel from him. Its plush softness absorbs the rapidly cooling water on my skin and leaves a delighted blush on my skin. He disposes of the razor and the washcloth and returns to his position near me. I hand him the damp towel and wrap my long, wet hair into a temporary bun before I stand in front of the sink to brush my teeth. He hangs the towel over a bar and then kneels on the oval rug on the floor behind me, attempting to suggest a possible punishment or reward for him before I evacuate the potential play area.
I ignore him and begin brushing my teeth but I can feel his silent begging as forcefully as if he had given into verbalizing it for me. I interrupt my actions and spit into the sink sharply. Standing there silently, I consider what would be best suited for this moment considering his misbehavior. Should I make him clean my asshole with his tongue while I brush my teeth? Should I use him as a toilet for my morning expression? I turn to look at him and think about the slavish devotion he has offered me thus far and the amazing gift he has been in my life until now. I decide on both.
"Clean it!", I snap at him and return to my toothbrush. He knows exactly what I mean and he enthusiastically takes his position behind me. He gently opens the cleavage of my ass and holds it apart with his hands. I am momentarily frozen by the first contact of his hot tongue brushing against the bud of my asshole and I shudder slightly. Composing myself, I return to brushing my teeth while his tongue sensously and thoroughly explores the well hidden, hot button between the cheeks of my ass. I can feel myself becoming aroused but it is not until I can hear the familiar sounds of his masturbation that I call an end to his duty. He has forgotten himself and lost control again and I simply would not reward that kind of behavior. I reach around and grab him by the hair, pulling his head away from any contact with me. "What do you think you are doing?!", I demand. He looks at me in a curious expression of confusion between guilty shame and blind animal lust. Before he can answer me, I order him to lay on the floor; leading him by the hair into a supine position. Incensed, I squat over his face so that his nose is buried in my ass and place my cunt over his mouth. "Open your mouth and keep that filthy tongue to yourself!", I tell him. He does exactly as he his told with his hands dropping to his sides in dutiful, well trained obedience.
Sitting over him, I can feel him straining to resist the urge to push his tongue up into me. His entire body is a tensile band of self discipline in the face of overwhelming desire. I take a deep breath and relax. Only a moment passes before the morning rain of my body pours down into him. He swallows in gulps, trying to keep up with the demand placed on him. He knows that spilling one drop will result in far worse punishment and severe re-training. I can feel him struggling but refuse to slow down the flow. Once I am empty, I straighten my legs so that I can bend forward to look at him. My wet cunt hovers over him like a luscious fruit just beyond reach.
"You want to clean this too, don't you?", I ask him innocently.
"Oh god. Yes! Please ma'am! I would do anythi..." he responds before I interrupt him.
"Maybe next time," I snap angrily, "you will show some self control during your duties and you will have the privilege!"
I dry myself and move away from him while he looks on in abject disappointment and self disapproval as his cock lays against him, bobbing slightly as if waving a sad good-bye.
~
Walking through our space, I feel a sense of peace and contentment. My needs are more than adequately provided for and his devotion to me is beyond reproach or question. Our private life sits in discrete juxtaposition to our public appearance. We are the perfect couple to the outside world. He is the intellectual and professional Alpha male and I am his exotic, indulged Alpha female who compliments him perfectly.
In our private world, he is my slave and I am the Goddess he devotes himself to.
~
What is the difference between slavery and marriage? None really. At their highest, it is living for someone else knowing that they will always put your best interests first. At its worst, it is exploitation and abuse. I don't want a doormat or an emotional punching bag in my life. I have no tolerance for micro-management, liars, cowards and self-serving people. Unfortunately, many people who approach me and want to be slaves fall under these categories far too often.
Men are good for many things and should be good at them. Slave/Owner is not about the sex. It really is about feeling safe in a dangerous world and knowing that when you come home at night, at least one person is in your corner and you are their highest priority at every moment of their day. And just like vanilla marriages, people often forget that this is one of the key ingredients for success and longevity. Happiness is optional.
So you think you want to be my slave?
Here are my requirements:
- I do not play with the indigent or the ignorant.
If you are reaching for a dictionary after reading this statement, it probably means you.
- Income and I.Q. beginning near 150.
Poor geniuses and rich idiots need not apply.
- You must have a proper domicile for shared residency.
No, you cannot live in my current residence with me and the only shoe boxes I want to see should have shoes in them, not people.
- You must be in healthy condition, physically, mentally and emotionally.
Only if you have passed these first requirements, can we discuss anything else. Don't waste my time and I won't waste yours.
Now, are you worthy?
Empress~
posted by Samois at 5:17 PM
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