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.

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.