I’ve written about a male slave who had been treated very harshly in a very restrictive environment by two women for years. Somehow, they lost the place for his confinement and were forced to set him free for a few weeks. I believe they also were curious about what he would do. He wrote me and asked my advice.

After hearing his story, I strongly recommended that he keep out of their clutches. (Admit, you are surprised at my advice,) Furthermore, I suggested he seek counseling. He agreed with me. Then about four weeks later he wrote to me to say goodbye. He said he couldn’t live without these two women. He then disappeared.

One of his owners messaged me about a week later to explain that he was their property again and had reestablished his captivity. She invited me to visit. I didn’t know how to respond. He is an adult, and as such, can live his life the way he chooses. And, I admit I wanted to see him and his life in real time. He never leaves captivity except to clean house. He never goes outside. He does not speak. His food is simple. He sleeps in restraints in what sounds like a coffin. His punishments for slight mistakes are severe. This all sounds like an interesting weekend, but this has been going on for years.

I believe most of the story that has been told to me by this man and this woman. There is a lot of crazy fantasy going on, so it’s hard to tell. Yesterday, one of his owners sent me a list of proposed body modifications for their gimp. Before you consider them balderdash, we should remind ourselves that there is an entire subculture not associated with BDSM that wildly experiments with these types of changes. I have no idea where they find their surgeons but I have seen their magazines and their changes can be jarring. I repost the list of their intended changes without commenting on the moral considerations. She messaged me for suggestions. I swear, I don’t know how I will respond. I have her permission to post this but I may not to reveal her name or her slave’s name

Intended body modifications for their gimp.-

“1. All hair to be permanently removed except eyebrows and upper nasal passages.
2. His tongue to be split deeply so the two sides can grip a bull’s penis tightly and our clits. This alteration might also make rimming more interesting. The membrane under the tongue to be cut so the tongue extends six inches beyond his lips.
3. His nipples removed to form a smooth body. This reduces sensations but a hard cane across the old location will still arouse.
4. His penis circumcised. Also, penis suspensory ligaments to be severed so that when he gets erect, it his penis will only hang straight down.
5. Testicles removed and surgical titanium balls installed so he needs to wear tight jockstrap at all times. This leads to replacing his testosterone orally. He will have to earn these pills or lose what little pleasure remains of his gender.
6. All teeth will be extracted to provide increased pleasure for any strap-ons we might choose.
7. He will be branded in several prominent places to mark our ownership. “

I believe their intention is to rent him and lend him to women who like playing hard and who are willing to visit as they never intend to allow him to leave again. I think this man might be in a little trouble. I know that I’m reevaluating what I think is extreme.

I want a tiny slender man, no more that five feet tall, who has a deep masochistic desire for complete destruction. I intend to crossdress him as my maid and keep him in permanent chastity. I had to leave enough man in Butler to love but for my new maid there will be no mercy. He will be my personal bootlicker, dedicated to my bath, nails, shoes, wardrobe, etc. I want a man with a cleaning fetish. He will never leave my property. I think of his emasculation and enslavement as a hobby for my retirement. I intend to treat him as strictly and as cruelly as my evil little heart will allow. I’ll even allow Butler to whip him.

Some women enjoy the struggle of bringing a man to surrender in the traditional manner without the help of new technology. I’m guessing they will reserve the old and more intimate ways for love interests. However, as technology develops, I think it will allow women to dominate a second service sub in a more impersonal manner. Some women will want to utilize these options fully. Again, it’s all a matter of choice. I want to use every new thing that develops. Does this mean I will fly my slave to foreign countries to take advantage of the kinds of electronic implants that our local ethical medical world will ban? Oh yes, absolutely, I will want to try it all.

Does this border on bypassing consent? You can bet your ass it does. With him, I intend to blow past the restrictions of consent. Besides, no one is going to come looking for him. No one will know were he is. His only choice will be at the beginning. Afterwards, his psyche will be so changed he won’t have the mental ability to deny me anything.

Since my second male will not be a love interest, I want technology to make his enslavement easier. I intend to stuff him in increasingly smaller electronic chastity devices until he can squeeze his junk into a thimble sized cage. I want electronic and chemical control over my sub so that he cannot orgasm unless I dial in a code on my smart phone. I like the idea of letting him out of his cage on occasion to watch him futilely rubbing his boy parts raw without a hope of success.

In addition, I want to be able to manipulate my sub’s hormones and moods. I love to see a slave constantly horny but unable to find release except in service. An anxiety dial would be useful so that any rebuke of mine instantly strikes fear in my maid.

Of course, there will be a pain and a pleasure dial. I don’t want my maid to feel that he doesn’t any control over his body or his emotions. Can you imagine making a slave cry simply by pushing a button? Yikes, that’s hot for me. I get turned on thinking about him tearfully begging me to push his happiness button.

If such tech were universally available, escape or changing one’s mind would be so unusual that once a man enters into service to a woman, society would start thinking of him as gone, almost as if he had died. I see families having a ceremony like a funeral to wish him a loving farewell. After all, he would no longer belong to himself. He would become the property of his mistress. After allowing him to say farewell to his old life, I will keep him homebound and completely isolated. He will be mine for the rest of his narrowly defined life.

I’m not a complete sadist. I would allow him to feel pleasure when I felt he humbled himself and had gone beyond even my exacting expectations. Those moments will be rare, but I’m nice like that.

Last year I visited a friend in NYC who has an unusual life. Just before she married her submissive husband, she met a man that interested her. After about two years of training her husband, she decided to be more honest with him about her desires. Now they have a fabulous lifestyle.

She keeps him in chastity and allows him release on Sunday night. They both work but she is a workaholic attorney. He has a 9 to 5 schedule. He comes home, cleans the house, and makes dinner each night. He takes immaculate care of her wardrobe. He’s learned to give manicures and pedicures. Often, she comes home late but he is always at home waiting to serve her.

She also has a boyfriend who works crazy hours like she does. She and her boyfriend could NEVER live together. Instead, they have an agreement to see each other from Friday night to Sunday morning each week.

On Friday, she allows her husband to dress her for an evening out. When she is ready her husband drops her off at the boyfriend’s brownstone. She spends Friday and Saturday with her boyfriend. Her husband picks her up on Sunday morning just before noon.

She doesn’t have sex with her husband but does require him to give her quite a lot of oral pleasure. He bathes her, massages her, dresses her, and brushes her hair each night. He remains chaste. His release is by hand on Sunday night if he has pleased her in every way.

It’s clear to me that they love each other and have found what works for them. Her boyfriend is out of town this week so I will be staying with her and her husband. He’s very happy to have two women to serve this weekend. What woman could resist him? He’s a gem.

Very briefly, I am naked but for my bedroom platform mules. I find my bitch. Typically he has gone many weeks without orgasm. I throw poses in front of him and he watches, torturing himself. Then I ask if he has any laughable requests.

He asks first, one at a time, for a few things I will never, ever allow. While he is almost certain these things are gone forever, he can’t accept they are, so he asks, ever hopeful. Then he moves to things I am likely to grant once every few months. In this laughable request session, after a couple of refusals of such things, he then asked, “Please Mistress, please may I kiss and caress your beautiful bottom for a few moments, please Mistress?‘ I pondered for a while, and then said he may. He was overjoyed. He knelt behind me and began his very respectful caressing and dry-pecking-kissing.

He was making noises of gratitude and ecstasy. I felt like a cruel ice-queen, thinking how low I have driven him from a couple of decades ago, when those noises were because, perhaps, I was allowing him to take me from behind, say. Now those noises were for being allowed to worship my butt cheeks. Then I started a slow countdown, “Ten……nine……eight…..“. He begins to panic and his ardor becomes more passionate and desperate.

Then the real cruelty, as with one of the examples above, I miss out some numbers, after, ‘eight’, comes ‘four, then three.‘ He begins to emotionally sob as he kisses and caresses. I get to ‘one‘, and I walk away. Almost always in such circumstances I must walk away to my bedroom for an orgasm; he can hear. No doubt as he does he is thinking of the many, many weeks since he has had an orgasm, thinking how long he has been locked in his tiny chastity tube. He himself, probably shamefully thinking how low I have driven him, thinking that what he just did is now such a treat for him. Poor submissive bitch.

But when the suffering has faded, he will no doubt be as much as awe of me as ever, and so grateful that, unlike so many unfortunate subs, he truly is having his craving met of: being helplessly in the power of a pitiless, cruel dominant. It’s just that there is such a high price to pay for that!

I put Butler in his never used drab utilitarian maid’s outfit. I invited Heather over for chick flic night. We both love period pieces like Jane Austin. While we cuddle on the couch, Butler will be scrubbing the baseboard and all of the floors on his hands and knees.

Afterwards, I will find some tiny thing wrong and crop him in front of Heather. He always finds that humiliating while she loves it. If you knew Butler, you’d know that he is not much of a TV sports fan but that doesn’t matter. We should use what the Goddess sends. A chance to humble him while most men are slurping beers and demanding that their wives fix snacks can’t be passed up.

One uses what is at hand and what will cut the most deeply. I heard of one woman who took her husband’s motorcycle away and bought him a pink girl’s bicycle to ride. Perfect.

Butler can’t complain. This is the life he has chosen and I intend to give it to him….. hard!

It is always the right time to humble him.

A few months ago I sensed in my sub, Butler, the slightest interest in another woman with whom we serve on a charity committee. I’m sensitive to what is going on with him. I try to pay attention. When I noticed him harmlessly watching her I could have ignored it. He is completely committed to me. But, what fun is that?.

I took action. He is mine! I made a point of inviting her to lunch at my home. I made him serve in a frilly apron but not have lunch with us. When he was needed for the removes I rang a small hand bell at the table. I’m afraid I may have embarrassed him. Ha! It was my intention. I know that I changed her view of him. Certainly, she now knows to whom he belongs!

As she was leaving I put Butler on his knees to watch her through the front window walking down our driveway. I asked him, “Do you think she would ever be interested in a man who has become a slave? I embarrassed you at lunch on purpose. It could have been worse. I could have shown her the picture of me urinating in your face! Do you think she’d ever be able to kiss you without tasting my piss? No, you are spoiled goods. Even if I offered you to her, she would probably just send you back to me to complete your training! No other woman will ever want you again! You’re nothing but a slave now.” It was a powerful moment for both of us.

Another simple technique I use is to act differently when Butler and I travel. We often travel during the holidays. In public, especially in our hometown, I purposefully keep our FLR relationship discreet. I don’t want people think I‘m a harridan. However, when traveling I allow myself a few liberties. For example, when we pulled to up to our hotel in Asheville NC last week we both knew our roles.

Butler has been trained to try to make one trip in bringing in our luggage. I love the contrast it makes when I march ahead of him unburdened while he struggles behind me carrying too much baggage. Last week, for example, I stepped through the front door of the hotel, as we have practiced, carrying only my purse. I made the room arrangements at the desk while he stood patiently behind me loaded with luggage.

After receiving the room key I turned to him and placed it in his front pocket because both of his arms were full. Then in a voice I pitched just loud enough for the two desk clerks and the other guests in line to hear, I harangued him for a full minute in a bossy tone. “Here you are at last! It took you long enough.” I took my purse off of my shoulder, removed my wallet, and slung it around his neck like a noose. I went on, “Take these bags to our room and hang up my clothes. Iron anything that needs ironing and fold the rest. Don’t just wad my underclothes in the drawer like last time. Fold everything neatly or I’ll be angry. I’ll be in the bar having a drink. Don’t dawdle! My cousin will be picking us up in half an hour. If you’re not down here in thirty minutes you’ll have to walk.”

Then for contrast, I kissed him quickly on the cheek. I turned and left him to the stares of the staff and other nearby guests. As I strutted into the bar with a swing in my hips, I could feel every eye on me but most importantly I knew I had his eye. Whenever I do something like that I can feel his red hot lust for me. It warmed me while I had my drink.

It turned out that she was a complicated choice. From the very first, she didn’t like my sub. The truth is that she doesn’t like or trust men very much. She admits now that she was jealous of him. I juggled her dislike for him and his mistrust for her for years. I almost gave up but I wanted both of them in my life. It took some doing but now she sees that he is part of me.

Whenever she visited, she wanted me to put him in his cell. She didn’t even want him near to do routine chores. She said that she felt like we were putting on a show for him if we were affectionate. Finally, in desperation, I bought my sub, Butler, a cage with spikes. I explained that if we did anything in front of him that stimulated his maleness, he would instantly feel a very sharp pain in the offending part. That mollified her so that she allowed him to serve us dinner, etc.

Slowly, she realized that I was right. She kissed me in front of Butler as a test only to see him quickly turn away. He would have been discreet anyways but he also was encouraged by the fact that watching would be painful. Soon it began to be a game for her to see if she could hurt him by triggering a male response in him. She grew to enjoy hurting him in this way even if she never learned to like him.

Another joy of having her visit is that it encouraged both Butler and me to carefully stay in our position of Mistress and servant. When alone, it was hard to maintain these roles. However, with Heather in the house, we both kept more strictly to what we were trying to accomplish.

Since Heather’s breakthrough about Butler, she has been an enormous help. Often, she has been a source of great ideas of how to draw him deeper into our FLR. She has come to care that I get the full benefit of owning a slave. She doesn’t have an ounce of mercy for him.

For years she refused to have anything to do with him unless I was there but eventually she saw he was useful. Now, she sees it as a favor if I allow her to borrow him when I’m out of town. It may be the most evil thing I do to him. It still gives makes me a shiver when I think about it. I own a man that I can lend like one lends one’s car or a garden tool. All he does for her while I’m gone is clean and garden from morning until night. I know that she stays within the bounds that I have set concerning his treatment and discipline.

I like lending him because I don’t want him to have a break while I am out of town. I want a woman I trust to keep her high heel shoe on his caged crotch. Of course, I keep the keys to his cage with me. I love the torn lost look in his eyes as I leave him with her almost as much as I love the look of grateful relief I see flood him when I return. Even living within the restrictions I have placed on her, I’m afraid she is not very nice to him when I’m not there.

I love the whole ritual of picking him up at her home when I return. She always gives me a report of how he did. It feels like picking up a pet that sometimes misbehaves. I can see how happy he is to be back with me. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

I declared war on his penis and his attitude about his manliness. It just seemed that it was the right time. We had explored several areas of our FLR. He had learned to do housework and he learned to take a whipping.

One day, I realized it was time for him to be reduced as a man. To accomplish this task, I started ridiculing his penis. I told him it was inadequate. I bought a flexible sheath that I placed over it that added size and thickness when I allowed him coitus. I told him that he wasn’t large enough to please me. I berated him, sneered at him, and tried very hard to hurt his feelings.

I’m not a size queen. I think dicks are funny looking creatures. I could live my whole life without ever seeing another one. His was adequate but the truth didn’t matter. Men love their dicks and are often proud of them. Somewhere in their mind, every man thinks that he can fuck better than other men. It’s the way men are built but it’s not the way I wanted my servant to think. I wanted him to be deeply grateful to me to allow him to serve me knowing his utter inadequacies.

Trust me, the rare times I have cucked him or gone out on a date with another man, they magically had huge parts. Of course, I told him all about them.

The harder I was on him the more it turned him on. I was learning.

You may think bending the truth is not fair or whatever your complaint might be. Oh, you don’t understand a woman like me at all. I wanted to devour him alive. I wanted his complete attention and devotion. I wanted him grateful that I allowed such a puny dicked man to serve me.

Remember that I love Butler but we are both in an ongoing battle to reduce his independence, his sense of manhood, and his autonomy. He has been a great partner. He is not only willing to allow me to experiment on him but to offer suggestions.

About a year ago I did something that struck at the core of his independence. Most of you would be unable to cope with this. It seems silly but I promise that it hurt. It tore a whole in his soul and I made fun of him every step of the way. I ridicule him about it all the time.

I sold his car.

We live in an historic “trollyburg” neighborhood where bicycle travel is practical. With some of the proceeds of the sale, I bought him a tricycle with a large basket. This is not a hip looking thing at all. He looks silly on it. However, the grocery, hardware store, and laundry are all close. He doesn’t need a car.

I told him slaves don’t drive. Slaves walk or pedal. Also, I want him to stay fit as long as possible. He looks a little ridiculous on it. He does not look cool. For a lot of men, their car is an extension of their penis. Well, I chopped Butler’s off.

It was simply another way to impoverish him and draw a line between how I live and how he must live. He does all of his errands on it. It’s been wonderful.

Sometimes we leave the house at the same time, me in my car and him on his tricycle. I wave as I drive by. Only a slave would allow me to do this to him, or so I tell him again and again. I want it to be clear that he has the vehicle of a slave. He won’t be picking up any women on his tricycle. He does not belong to himself. He belongs to me. And, I want him to feel it all the time.

However, in private, Butler, dresses in a specific attire I chose for him. He wears dark pants and a white shirt. I call it his Butler uniform.

I require this of him for several reasons. I can dress him for pennies from the local Goodwill store. He knows that I only spend about ten percent of his retirement income on him. If he wasn’t OK with that then this relationship would never have worked. His clothes are cheap because they are work clothes. He can clean, cook, and garden in them. I didn’t want him in a maid outfit. In his Butler outfit, he does not scare the neighbors.

We try to make everyday things like what we eat and the clothes we wear reinforce our different roles. I love it when we go shopping and he watches while I drop a bundle on a bit of haute couture. What makes it more fun is afterwards when we stop at Goodwill to buy him another set of work clothes. I grind on him whenever I can to reinforce that I am the owner and he is the owned. It is necessary that I keep my heel on his neck. What we are attempting is difficult, complex, and deep.

When we are in Florida for two months during winter vacation, Butler pretends to be my handyman and lives in our garage apartment. This allows me to date other men publicly without people commenting on it as unusual. No one in that small coastal city knows that Butler is my love interest. During our winter vacation, he remains in uniform. While there, we do not socialize with each other. The rare times we are seen together, a discerning eye will notice the different costs of our outfits and will easily identify me a the employer and him as the employee. I love the way my friends there see through him as if he doesn’t exist. He says it is the most humiliating thing we have ever done. Consequently, it makes him wild for me.

While in Florida, we are very careful with our interaction in public. He addresses me deferentially as “Ms Renee”. He is a generation older than me so most people accept him as a bit of loser who can’t retire because he has always had low paying jobs. I don’t mistreat him but I maintain my posture so our interactions appear as if he were what he looks to be- the help. I try not to be too demanding or bitchy because I want my friends there to think I’m polite to even him. I admit it’s hard knowing that when I do sharpen my tongue towards him, I can see it drive him into deep sub space.

He does not try to fit in. He wears the uniform I chose for him. How I dress him and treat him in public during our winter stay is part of the never ending tension between his independence and his submission. Together, we have declared war on his individual manliness. We attack his independence from every possible angle we can find. His clothes and his yearly two month stint as my servant are simply different fronts in the struggle to bring him to perfect surrender.

I have been criticized for not acknowledging him as my love interest in public while on vacation every year. I have been told this charade is dangerous. Of course it is. I could learn to love it and decide to retire in Florida. If I do, his social demotion would become permanent. He fears this but he accepts it. It’s easy to see why I love him.

I have also been told that putting him in a uniform and treating him like the help borders on being controlling, dehumanizing, and abusive. (Evil grin) It certainly does. However, his attire is not only for him. When I see him in his drab clothes, both at home and in Florida, I’m reminded to be intentional in how I treat him. We do all of this because we both want to put him through a refining fire so hot that all that remains of him is the perfect servant.