All of my past training of him is paying off in a very practical way. When I’m that stressed, my sexual drive usually drops. So, I decided to do the same to him. I’ve kept him in chastity most of the time. Once a week, after punishment, I would have him kneel in front of the toilet and pump one out while I ridiculed his size and manhood.

Verbal abuse was a problem for me when we started but now one wicked harsh comment after another comes burbling up from some endless fountain of evil bitchiness I never knew was there. I feel a psychological release after such a session. I only gave him five minutes to complete his task but he was usually done in less.

I can’t believe I did this to him for weeks. I can’t believe it got me off but it did. When he finished I always demanded oral sex. The sight of him fisting himself so desperately while I berated him created in me enough interest to want an orgasm. That was about the sum of our sex life last semester.

Saturday afternoon is Butler’s usual scheduled release time. While we are on vacation in Florida we do not have sex. I think it’s good for him to go without for a while each year and I know Heather appreciates his celibacy. Usually, I don’t keep him locked constantly. Each week, I manually manipulate him while I verbally humiliate him. It’s not a long chore. He usually orgasms quickly. I alway give him a time limit. I occasionally find some flaw in his service, and I will skip a week to keep him sharp. If I skip a week, I put him in his cage to assure his compliance. I believe he would tell the truth, but I also want to avoid nocturnal emissions. We have discovered that this regime reinforces my dominance and his submission. However, after we “socially distanced” him because of the virus, I am no longer able to offer him even that small consolation.

I admit I was feeling a bit sorry for him. I wanted to give him a moment to let him know I appreciated his complete cooperation about everything. We are in this together. This morning I left him with very specific instructions at the door. After lunch, he reported on his knees with those items that I required.

The double glass doors from the living room to the back porch were open but the curtains were drawn. I readied myself and had Suzie draw the curtain. Butler knelt naked about six feet from the door. Inside, also naked, I sat on the couch facing him with my legs spread. He has almost not seen me naked for two months. I loved this moment. I could feel his passion wash over me like a wave.

As instructed, Suzie threw him the keys to his chastity cage. He quickly removed it and instantly began attaching the small pile of clothespins he brought onto his nipples and testicles. Suzie sat beside me on the couch. He had read my rules. He could not touch himself until Suzie was between my legs. We lingered for a while kissing on the couch. I have sensitive nipples and Suzie can almost bring me to orgasm simply by sucking on them. I purposefully was giving myself an advantage. Almost there, I reached over to the side table and twisted the dial of an old fashioned kitchen timer. I pulled Suzie?s head between my legs and Butler started pulling on his flaccid penis. Butler knew, as usual, that he had a time limit. If he were unable to orgasm within five minutes he would have to beat the tops of his thighs with the belt he had brought.

I had guessed that Butler would be unable to achieve an erection while he was in so much discomfort from the clothespins on his testicles but I was wrong. Maybe it was what he was seeing or it was because of how Suzie had been teasing him all week but I noticed that he quickly became hard. All three of us did our best in a race to finish. He tried valiantly, but I could tell the clothespins were distracting him. When I realized that he was not going to make it, the thought of his frustration, and with the help of Suzie?s administrations, I was soon deliciously over the top. I clutched the back of Suzie?s head and cried out. About thirty seconds into my afterglow, the kitchen timer went off. I heard Butler?s stifled scream of desperation. It was too late for him. His five minutes were up.

He collapsed, hunched forward, breathing heavily. Several moments passed. Butler slowly straightened up and began removing the clothespins, and as anticipated, they hurt more coming off. His erection flagged with the pain. He was able to cram his defeated cock back into its cage. It was wonderful to watch. It was a perfect victory that I assumed was over.

However, from the hallway I heard Heather. Obviously, Suzie had told her of our plans. She had been waiting, out of sight, to see the outcome. If it had come out differently, she would, no doubt, have quietly withdrawn but this opportunity to humble Butler further was too rich to pass up. She swept in and sneered, “I see he’s too old and weak to orgasm like a man!” She sat beside me on the couch, hiked up her skirt and pulled Suzie’s head toward her center. To Butler she snarled, “I understand there is a punishment for being such a wimp. Do it slowly and hard. I want to hear the leather hitting your legs.”

Delighted to see Heather join in our games, I leaned over and began kissing her neck and caressing her breasts. I could hear the leather smacking the thighs of my slave and all felt right with the world. I’m afraid that we pulled Suzie back and forth a couple of times while Butler kept up the beat. Finally, Heather and I were done. She rose and gave Butler a wintry and distant smile. She made the little personal sound she makes when she wants Suzie to follow her. Suzie scurried after her hoping, I’m sure, for her own release.

I was barely able to motion to Butler to stop beating his thighs while I sank blissfully back into the couch. i must have slept because I don?t remember when he stiffly stood up, gathered his things, and crept away. He knew I was pleased with him. I was done with him for the day. He never fails to please.

Heather was adamant about one thing. Since we continue to send Butler out on errands such as to shop for groceries, she ended Butler coming into the kitchen to clean, (And, he worked so hard for that privilege. Ha! )

I thought about it, and the idea suddenly became erotic. We will completely cut Butler off. He will deposit his shopping at the back door and leave it for us. When we are outside by the pool, he must not stand closer than ten feet. I told Heather that I would enjoy teasing Butler through the window. Heather laughed, but I know that she won’t help. She hates putting on what she calls a ‘show’ for Butler.

I was telling her about my ideas of teasing Butler when Suzie shyly lifted her hand. She looked like a timid student asking a feared professor a question she was afraid might sound stupid. I encouraged her to speak. She wanted to know if I would keep Butler in his chastity cage. I informed her that this week he was in his cage. Also, I would keep him on his weekly release schedule. I’ll probably leave the key by the door each Saturday for a few minutes. Then, she asked if it hurt Butler if he had an erection in his cage? After being assured it would definitely hurt him, she had one more question. “May I help to tease him through the window?”

You could have knocked Heather and me over with a feather. Suzie is really coming out of her shell. Of course, she can help. She’s in her late 20’s. She’s tiny, but very feminine and still somehow curvy. I encouraged her to feel free to drive him crazy. She smiled that sly quiet smile that I’ve come to love. The poor man will be licking the window pane before she is through. Ha! Somehow this has all been good for Suzie. I’m proud to be part of her healing.

I have probably left you with the wrong idea about us socially distancing from Butler. Remember, Butler and I have been practicing the dark arts of female domination for almost 15 years. We know each other. I usually know how he’s going to react to an emergency.

He’s always been my white knight, so I knew he was going to suggest that he be the one that goes out and shops while we stay safely home. In a conversation about the virus and our sensible response, I knew he was just about to suggest our present arrangement. I quickly beat him to it. I didn’t want him to give this to us. I knew he was willing, but it would not have been nearly as much fun for him. I knew he would much rather me play the selfish bitch and take contact away from him while making him continue shopping for us. Sometimes our love looks upside down but truly, it’s not. After all this time, I know what he needs from me. Of course, he instantly agreed to be our only contact with the outside world.

This morning I came into the kitchen for coffee to find Suzie lying on the floor naked with her legs up on the sliding glass door and her ass pressed against the pane. She was slowly luxuriously masturbating. Butler was knelling outside on the back porch surrounded by the his grocery bags completely transfixed. I looked at Suzie and at Butler and I felt that all was right with the world. I leaned down and kissed her then left her to her fun.

It will be two more days until Butler is allowed out of his belt. I admit, I was turned on thinking about his suffering. Instead of going back to my room, I headed to Heather’s where I was certain to find a welcome. I’ve worked very hard and diligently for this lifestyle. Now, all my work is finally paying off. If you work as hard as I have then you too can find what you need.

If you are a faithful reader of my life story then you know that I live in Florida for the first three months every year with my girlfriend Heather. There, Butler lives in a garage apt and pretends to only be a handyman and gardener. This allows me the opportunity to live again as a single woman. Covid spoiled this time in 2020 and 2021 but I have higher hopes this year.

Demoting Butler socially is as hard as we can play. Although, if you’ve been paying attention. you will note that we are not playing at anything. This is a deliberate and real choice in our life and our relationship.

Some men have suggested that an open cuckolding would be more humiliating for Butler. For example, I could tell my date who he is and tie him in a chair to watch. Yawn! That holds no interest for me. And, in a real way it lets my date know that the man tied in the chair is important to me. Also, it seems in this scenario that the domme is putting on a show for her sub. I am not Butler’s porn star. He is my servant.

Also, I love to watch how men treat Butler at lunch when they think he is only a waiter. I like to watch how they treat him when they drive up to my home in Florida and Butler is working in the yard or cleaning up around the pool. They barely notice him. He not remotely any competition. Little do they know, he is my love interest.

Women also look right through him. Their disregard stabs him right in the heart of his macho desire to be respected. He may be older than me but he was reasonably successful in his career and women always deferred to him in some way. Even if I introduced Butler as my submissive male they would see him somehow in a more elevated position than they do the waiter or handyman. As my sub male, he would be in my inner circle. Now, instead of my kinky partner, he has been socially demoted. He barely exists.

This may all sound like we are moving farther apart but the whole thing has been tremendously exciting for both of us. Additionally, practicing our roles as employer and servant to perfection opens doors for travel and many new experiences. I would never speak badly to the help but I can act a bit spoiled and exacting without raising eyebrows. Certainly, I admit to being in actuality a bit spoiled and exacting. We become our parts.

For example, when I move to the Queendom, will I tell anyone who he is to me or will I allow him to suffer and be trained as an unknown slave? The whole idea of making him just one of the Queendom’s stable and having him earn my attention once more makes me feel all slippery. Here in Florida, he is learning his place as a servant in a new way. Later, he’ll be more ready to accept his status as a mere part of our stable in the Queendom. Our experiences in Florida have empowered me. I can do whatever will make us both feel the full rush of a FLR relationship in a new way.

I appreciate the boundaries of safe, sane, and consensual. However, my sub’s service to me is no longer consensual. How could it be? I’ve been actively dominating him in the most diabolical manner my wicked imagination could come up with for 18 years. He’s been beaten, starved, isolated, denied, cucked, hypnotized, ignored, robbed, and even loved. My sub is broken. And, that’s what we both wanted.

From the beginning I noted how tender and loving he was towards me after I punished him. He seemed more open and emotionally accessible after a whipping. His response to my dominance confirmed to me that we were on the right track. He didn’t want to run away. He wanted to go deeper. This should be your test. Our S&M experiences broke down barriers between us that I doubt could have been breached any other way. It’s a different kind of loving but it’s still love.

When we started, I asked him to deeply consider the ramifications and consequences of agreeing to become my slave before we seriously began this lifestyle. I wanted him to weigh his choice carefully. After all, submission is much more of a commitment than marriage. Real slaves can’t quit when the lifestyle becomes uncomfortable. What about “safe, sane, and consensual?” We agreed with the “safe and sane” part but we wanted to stretch the consensual part.

We both committed to a program of physical and psychological discipline that would transform him. To this we added a combination of financial pressure, blackmail, and hypnosis. We worked hard at this. Physically, it is conceivable that he could quit, but we’ve spent a almost two decades building a wall against such an unlikelihood. After all that he has experienced, he thinks differently. He no longer thinks of himself as a man. He thinks of himself as my slave. This was always our goal. In addition, at every cusp or crisis he has only urged me forward. Now, after years of training, there is no escape for him. He is mine.

Beat a man with serious intent at regular internals and things will eventually start happening that you didn’t plan.

Sometimes, I like making certain. Every once in a while, I place Butler in complicated bondage to keep him completely immobile during his punishment. I don’t want to make any mistakes. I love him very secure. When he’s all trussed up, I suddenly feel completely relaxed. It’s better than valium. In that moment when he is completely helpless, everything seems right with the world. He usually starts babbling about how much he wants to give me or do for me. I love our rituals.

Over the last few years I have taken his friends, his money, his time, his orgasm, his career, his pride, even his phone. When he was the most vulnerable, just for fun, I used to ask him to think of more things I could take or new services he could provide. I became very bitchy when he couldn’t think of anything new or interesting. He tells me it could be quite painful. Somehow, despite all we had done, he always came up with something new.

I purposefully chose their most rigorous training and punishment regime for Butler. Leaving him there, I spend the next three weeks touring Italy with Heather, my girlfriend. We enjoy the best food and wine the country can offer. I enjoy training my sub, but it is sometimes hard work. There is something so wonderfully decadent about the idea of enjoying Italy with my girlfriend while some woman is pulling Butler out of bed at 5AM for a morning whipping, cold gruel, and heavy labor. Knowing what he is undergoing makes every bite of food and every sip of wine taste better.

After weeks of indulging myself, Heather returns home, and I slowly make my way back to the OWK. The slaves are in the courtyard working on some tedious task under the ever watchful eyes of the guards. I search for Butler, but my eyes slide over him a couple of times because of the changes he has undergone. Finally, I recognize him. In just three weeks, he is about twenty pounds lighter and much darkened by the sun. A good part of his body is covered by red angry whelps. His head has been shaved. His normal proud posture has been replaced with a humble bend at the waist. I can’t imagine what he’s been through, but it is obvious that he is healthy, if cowed.

In my fantasy, he sees me but refrains from crying out a greeting and rushing to my side because he fears punishment from his guards. Slaves don’t initiate speech with women at the OWK and he knows it. In return, I studiously ignore him. I know he wants to run to me and grab me around the ankles to beg to be taken home. Instead, I stretch my stay a couple more days to enjoy watching the training of the slaves. There is much to learn. I know it must be agony for him knowing I was there but refusing to see him. Finally, I permit him an audience.

I am sitting alone in one of the many salons of the compound. He stands in the doorway, dressed in the shabby prison rags of the lowliest of the slaves. A number marked on his forehead allows the guards permission to treat him as roughly as their sadistic bents lead them. I’m sitting on a cushioned chair dressed in one of my recent fashion purchases from Italy. It is a very quiet moment. There seems to be an enormous gulf between us of privilege and power. I hear the silk of my dress rustle as I cross my legs. Timidly, he steps closer with a bowed posture. He’s afraid to look me in the face without permission. The guards have left their mark on him psychologically and emotionally. His new training holds. He looks like he has been through a transformative experience.

Eventually, I snap my fingers and point at the floor in front of me. Instantly, he drops to his knees and crawls to me as broken as I have ever seen him. He places his forehead on the floor at my feet. I know what to do. I place my shoe on the top of his head. I watch him wait in silent supplication. Gently, I bid him speak. I know, he wants to go home but does not ask because he knows that what he wants no longer matters. Instead, he repeats his mantra. ‘I am only a slave, it is a privilege to serve.”

I encourage him to tell me a little about his last few weeks. No matter what he says, I allow it to amuse me. I laugh at his stories of suffering and humiliation. At first, I don’t promise to release him from his new situation as one of the lowliest of slaves. I can’t help but tease him about selling him to the OWK, but I finally agree to allow him to come home but only if he promises to maintain his deeper sense of submission. In response, he tries unsuccessfully not to weep.

On our journey home I note how tenderly he cares for me and how emotionally grateful he is for the tiniest bit of affection from me. He serves with a new gratitude and eagerness. It feels like a honeymoon for both of us. We have never been more in love. I let him know there will additional visits in his future. I see him tremble at the idea but surrender to it.