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.

To keep us on course I instituted several rules to remind us of what we were trying to do. It seems silly but the rule of not allowing him to sit on the living room furniture as if he were a dog was an amazing success. Every time he curled at my feet as I sat on the couch brought it back to me that we were on a journey together. In similar vein, establishing a set time I would whip him did wonders. It kept us on track. I kept sprinkling our day with little rules and reminders of our separate positions in our relationship. None of them were so arduous that we could live with them but they kept us moving forward.

One day, after several years, we hit an inflection point. After that, he readily accepted my criticisms concerning his service to me.

Now, I believe he never again wants to feel any confusion about wanting to be anything other than my slave. I’m guessing that this confusion only caused him additional stress. Consequently, he wants to stay directly under my thumb. It seems I have altered his instinctual drive toward freedom to instead move in the direction of complete surrender to me. It’s a little scary but at the same time it is tremendously exciting. My domination of him has taken on a life of its own. I always dreamed of this and now it is coming true.

I already socially demote my sub, Butler, when we migrate south each winter for two months. No one in that small Florida town knows he is my love interest. He’s a good bit older than me so it makes it more believable. While in Florida he lives in the garage apartment and takes care of our yard and the car. I’m never seen in public with him. When one of my Florida friends sees him they literally look through him as if he didn’t exist. Such is the power of a social demotion. It makes it much easier for me to date freely knowing he is experiencing a crushing isolation and humiliation.

I think this is so much better than the typical cuckold scene where everyone knows what is going on. I love the way my dates and other women treat him when they think he’s just the older guy who lives in the garage apartment. He says it’s the most humiliating thing we’ve ever done together. Fantastic!

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.

My way is not the only way but it works for us. I want women to come together and support each other! The fastest way I know to put your FLR on track is to include another woman to keep you strong.

Some may point out that I am manipulating the innocent kinky interests of my boyfriend in a careful and diabolical manner to slowly break him into becoming my slave in such a way that makes it psychologically, legally, and financially impossible for him to ever escape my evil clutches. Yes! I’m guilty as charged. But, to be fair, I told him that this was my intent from the very beginning. I remember his answer to me was, “Yes!” He even said, “Please.”

Over the course of our relationship I felt it essential to continue to engage in serious discussions where I encouraged Butler to share his deepest feelings about our S&M activities. I need to know that he remains healthy even as I apply pressure. My discipline should create passion for me not a desire to escape. It’s a narrow path to traverse.

I have to be firm enough to move us forward but patient enough not to run too far ahead of him. I have learned that although he dislikes and fears corporal punishment, he is sexually tantalized by my willingness to punish him. He acknowledges that whipping him has been a gateway for him to a to rise above the mundane to a higher level of sensual awareness of me. He has admitted that the more I whip him the more divine I seem to him.

Often it’s hard to hold back because I receive an electric charge of confidence and pleasure when I observe that he sincerely fears displeasing me about everyday practical matters. Sometimes, I see him nervously checking on the condition of the house or any projects I have given him. It empowers me. A raised eyebrow of mild displeasure from me sends a cold shiver into his scrotum. It’s such a rush of excitement to know that our dom/sub relationship is real! I intend to continue to be cruel and demanding enough so he never thinks of discipline as kinky foreplay. I want to keep him nervous of making even small mistakes in his service to me. This is what he asked for and I intend to give it to him. Plus, it excites me!

I had to leave for the weekend. I thought about leaving my sub, Butler, in his cell with food and water for the long weekend but it didn’t seem safe. He is precious to me. Instead, I bought the heaviest chain I could find and an enormous padlock. I locked the long chain tightly enough around his neck so that he couldn’t remove it. The rest of the chain dangled heavily down his torso to his knees. I knew he would be too embarrassed to leave the house and be seen in public with it locked around his neck. I also left him with a list of chores to keep him busy. Of course, I also left his cock cage on. I doubt he would get anything done if I allowed him the freedom to touch himself. Ha!

Staring at him while he knelt in front of me with his chastity belt clamping his genitals and the enormous chain mocking his “free” weekend was a deeply satisfying moment for me. Butler looks good for his age. He’s always had a toned body but seeing him chained, in chastity, and in a submissive posture, I realized again that he was beautiful to me. I have my work for women’s rights in Tennessee but Butler is my favorite hobby.

I go to a lot of trouble to put myself and my sub, Butler, in social situations to remind him of his status as my slave. Our yearly winter vacation in Florida with my girlfriend Heather and her sub, Suzie, is perfect because no one knows he is my long term partner. During our stay, Butler is not allowed sexual or social contact with me because this time is set aside for Heather. If he serves well, I allow him a weekly teasing wank with my assistance. The three women live in main house while he lives in the garage apt and plays the part of our handyman and gardener. Butler is never seen with me in public.

My local friends have no idea he is my love interest at home. To them, he’s simply the older guy who takes care of our yard, pool, and cars. Social distance can be a vast gulf. Our neighbors and my friends in Florida look through him as if he didn’t exist. He finds this all incredibly humbling, which is why we do it.

Besides acting as our handyman, Butler also works as a waiter at my tennis club and occasionally for a local caterer on the weekends. With both jobs he works about 30 hours a week. I like to keep him busy. We don’t really need his extra income but I enjoy taking his small checks and spending them on little luxuries for Heather and me. Service workers are paid so little that it barely covers our spa treatments and weekend dining.

Last night, Butler was working in his role as an employee of a local caterer. I carefully arranged it so that the company he works for was serving cocktails and food at the last party Heather and I would attend before leaving Florida. The man I have occasionally dated here owns a ridiculously large boat. I call this man Deep Pockets. I don’t have any real interest in him. He’s rich but not very interesting. He’s a little younger than Butler but he is not in particularly good shape. However, I knew he intimidated Butler because of his wealth.

At the party, Deep Pockets was flirting his ass off with me. I had finagled hard to make sure it was Butler who served drinks on the deck. As my date plied me with alcohol, Butler could do nothing but helplessly watch in his caterer’s uniform while holding a tray. It was just the kind of situation that really turns my crank. No one at the party except Heather knew that the older waiter was having his heart torn in two. I could feel his eyes on me as I flirted back with my date. I love the intrigue and tension it creates between Butler and me. I love the heat I feel from him when I arrange something like this.

Late in the party, Heather and I found ourselves sitting alone in the stern of the boat drinking our fourth (?) cocktail. She asked me how it was going. I admitted to her that I was trying but I couldn’t think of a way to sting Butler any more, on this last social occasion, other than screwing our host in front of him. (which, I had no interest in doing.) She listened for a minute and smiled.

About ten minutes later, Butler was coming down the steps from the pilot house with a loaded tray. I saw Heather sneak her foot out to trip him. Butler and about dozen drinks flew through the air and landed in a crash on the deck. Of course, Heather acted as if she was furious. I would never talk badly to a server but she does not have the same natural bridle on her tongue as I do. Somehow, other people don’t expect her to act much better. It’s like the rules that everyone else accepts don’t apply to her. Consequently, she gets away with being a bitch better than I ever could. (My girlfriend is a gangster!).

After a few well chosen snips at Butler’s clumsiness, she banished Butler to the galley. Next, she marched downstairs and told the caterer to fire Butler or make him apologize for his stupidity loud enough for Butler to uncomfortably listen. Oh boy, can she lay it on. Butler knew he couldn’t get fired or he would have to face real punishment from me so he had no choice but to humbly apologize to Mr Deep Pockets, the boat owner.

I watched this scenario unfold with growing interest. Of course, it was all completely unfair. Butler knew that Heather had purposefully tripped him but he could never admit to this. I moved closer and positioned myself so I could see and hear the conversation. Butler had no choice. I drank in Butler’s embarrassing and humbling apology to my date, while sipping my drink and getting more and more turned on.

Oh, it was exciting to see a man I knew to be successful and proud reduced to begging and groveling for his service job so he could please me. Butler had been betrayed, demoted, and humiliated. He was acutely aware it was all part of our devious plan. He saw the trouble we had gone through to set him up. The more complicated our schemes the more he feels loved and connected to me. I knew that this moment would create a deep submission in him. And, with that thought foremost in my mind, I realized that I was on fire! Driving Butler into sub space works overtime for me.

I didn’t know who to kiss first. Before the party ended, I kissed both Heather and the boat owner. Later at home, I allowed Butler to kiss my toes through my opened toed pumps while I reprimanded him for being so awkward at the party. I sat in a chair in the garden with him at my feet while I touched myself in front of him. He was placed purposefully very close to what he most craved but was still unreachable. Sexual contact for Butler is not allowed during the two months we are in Florida and he knew it. He seemed to want to kiss my feet for a long time. He’s sweet like that. Graciously, I allowed it.

His public social demotion is the most intense and exciting thing we have ever attempted. We never could have tried it years ago but this lifestyle has a tendency to pull a couple forward to richer and deeper experiences. I admit that I’m occasionally tempted to retire here and make his social demotion permanent. Teasingly, I tell him that more often than I really feel it Of course, he believes me. But, what can he do? Like me, he’s in too deep.

You are alone. Again. Your wife’s friend is the cause of your misery. You know you should hate her. Months ago, she talked your wife into trying a chastity cage on you. Your wife loved it. A few months later your wife’s friend suggested that she should cuckold you. Your wife liked that even more. Inevitably, she found someone else. She left you locked.

You were so devastated and pathetic you never bothered to cut off your cage. Now, you are alone again. To make it worse, weirdly, you’ve been thinking of your tormentor. It’s ridiculous but you keep having visions of going to your wife’s friend and throwing yourself at her feet and begging to become her slave. Unthinkable! But, you keep thinking about it.

After a long struggle you decide you have nothing to lose. Surprisingly, when you ask to meet her for coffee, she readily agrees. Something felt wrong but you are powerless. Just as you reach for the door of the coffee shop you suddenly realize that it is possible that this woman has orchestrated the whole thing. She has pried you loose so she can have you. Now, you are frighted but you continue to hold the handle of the door. You notice that your hand is shaking.

Each winter, I share a vacation home with my girlfriend, Heather, and her submissive female, Suzie. During our stay in Florida my male sub, Butler, sleeps in a garage apartment in the back of our house. I introduce him, the few times it is necessary, as our gardener and handyman. Our age difference helps to maintain this charade. My goal is to socially demote him for the three months we are there. So far, no one has ever seen him as anything but the older man who takes care of the house and yard. No one ever suspects our romantic connection. It’s a perfect place to experiment with our relationship.

He doesn’t have too much to do because Suzie, Heather’s submissive, takes care of most of the inside work. Butler minds the yard, maintains our cars, runs errands, and pedals us on our pedicab, but he still has a lot of free time. He is not allowed inside the house. I am never seen with him in public. During his free hours, he plays his keyboard, reads, and does a rigorous work out every day. However, I’ve decided that I wanted him to work. He was not busy enough for me. Of course, his job had to be something menial and part time. I also wanted his job to be appropriate for a handyman. And, of course, he would turn over his paychecks to me. He weekly salary would mean very little to me but I don’t allow him money. He once was a lawyer. Now, he cuts my grass and washes my car.

Heather and I considered joining a golf club when we first got to Florida. At one time, Butler was a serious golfer but I took that away from him, or rather Heather took it away, in a very dramatic fashion. While visiting the golf club I met their golf pro who turned out to be a sturdy young man. I had visions of receiving golf lessons from him while Butler caddied for us. I imagined the golf pro putting his arms around me as I rubbed my ass against his crotch while Butler helplessly watched.

Alas, it was not to be. Heather visited and decided that the crowd was too old for us. I’m sure she was right. Later, we visited a tennis club nearby and we liked the membership better. I noticed that they served a good lunch and needed better servers. I thought about Butler working there as a waiter. I imagined taking dates to lunch with Butler waiting on us. That seemed like the perfect game, set, and match.

Monday Journal.-

I told Heather about my idea of finding work for Butler as a server at our tennis club and she took it as a challenge. I think she was motivated to get Butler off the property for a few hours every day. She sees our stay in Florida as strictly our time, and except for the labor Butler provides, I believe she would rather that I left him at home during the winter months. I told Butler if Heather couldn’t find him a job that I would blame him for wasting her time. In addition, I warned him that I would allow Heather to crop him if she was unsuccessful. Of course, I knew that it was completely unfair of me. Ha. As soon as we spoke about it, she drove off determined to find Butler work as a server at the tennis club.

That morning, Butler knew that Heather was there trying to find him a job. I doubt he really wanted to serve lunches at the club but he fervently hoped that whatever happened, Heather would be pleased, I could see he was anxious. I don’t let Heather cane him but I allow her to use the riding crop on him when I think she will enjoy it. The usual number of stokes is 50. I can always see the different posture Butler starts to take when he knows something hard is about to happen. He seems to shrink ever so slightly as if he were slightly bowed. I felt the tension in the air. It would last through dinner. I frequently put a difficult punishment off for a few hours so he can anticipate it. I planned on putting Suzie, Heather’s sub, on her knees between my thighs while I watched. We never whip her. A hard looks sends her trembling in the corner. Nevertheless, listening to a good thrashing would be good for her. That is, if she can hear it with my legs wrapped around her ears. Being a dominatrix is a hard life but someone has to do it.

Tuesday Journal-

Butler survived his cropping from Heather last night. She’s firm but careful with my property. Of course, it was all completely unfair. It wasn’t Butler’s fault that Heather couldn’t talk her way into a job for him. However, and this is important, “fair” has nothing to do with anything. Sometimes I purposefully want it to be unfair. I want him to feel helpless and trod upon. Plus, I knew if Heather was unsuccessful, she would feel frustrated. I wanted to take her feelings into consideration. If I allowed her to channel this frustration in Butler’s direction it seemed that everyone would benefit. I’m nice like that.

The cropping was also good for Suzie who was terrified that she would be next. We would never whip her that hard. I know the sound of the thrashing would be enough to drop her into subspace. She is such a sensitive soul. I don’t usually get off dominating another women but I swear I could feel tears on her face as she pressed her cheeks against my thighs. Of course that practically sent me into orbit. Apparently, I’m a bi-gender sadist.

In addition, I promised him 50 lashes a day with the crop until he started working. He knows I never kid about discipline. This was a perfect day. Butler is cowed, Suzie is desperate to please, Heather is energized, and I’m like a cat with a bowl of cream. All of my people are where they should be.

Wednesday Journal

This afternoon, I visited my tennis club. I planned on coming back with a job for my slave that will keep him busy while we are in Florida. The goal was to put him in a place that Heather and I visited so that we can watch him work and even serve us in some capacity as a menial worker. I find that when one places oneself on the path the Goddess wants us to trod, that with a bit of work, we receive what we need. I wanted him close but demoted.

Heather had failed at finding Butler work. This is unusual. She is usually successful with men, however, she’s like a sledge hammer. I’m more like a stiletto.

I didn’t want Butler to find his own job. Allowing him to find his own work felt that he had done something on his own. I wanted this job to come from my hands. Heather and I are always good customers. I always meet the owner of any business I give my patronage. It never fails to improve service.

When I got to the Tennis club and had a good look at the carefully appointed office of the manager, I knew I had an opening. The manager was susceptible to manipulation but not from Heather. I explained that Butler had real experience and had been taught how to serve properly. I also explained his role as a family retainer. I’m sure that the manager had experience accommodating a well off clientele. He couldn’t promise work every day but agreed to interview Butler and try to work him into the schedule. I could not wait to get home with my particular news. Butler was scheduled for another discipline session from me. My news had to be delivered at the right moment and in the right way.

My regular Wednesday discipline of Butler happens in the afternoon at home but in Florida we have fallen into the habit of an outdoor session before lunch. I like beating Butler during the day at home because it separates discipline from foreplay. Discipline is not something I do before sex. He is my slave and his cropping is only about his training. Of course, there is never any sex for Butler in Florida while I’m with Heather. Even though I’m certain that I don’t swing any harder, he swears it always hurts more in Florida. This always make me feel slippery and excited. We lack the indoor equipment in Florida but we have a very private back yard. One of the first things we asked Butler to do as a handyman was to rig a bench with ringbolts.

Heather often ignores Butler completely during the winter but I wanted her there for this particular session. She sensed something special was happening when I entered the backyard. I could see her eyes glitter hungrily. Like a big orange tabby, she curled close by in a lounge chair to watch.

Butler was in the “2” position, on his knees with his eyes at my feet. He was nervous because I had come from the club and he hoped that my news was better than the news Heather had brought home earlier.

I began, “It seems that I was able to talk you into an interview tomorrow with the manager for a lunch serving position. I want you to work lunches whenever you can. It will be up to you to impress him to allow you to give at least five days a week. Failure to do so will result in serious punishment.”

Of course that was unfair and all three of us knew it. What if he weren’t needed that many days? Butler didn’t refuse, of course, but he wanted clarification.

I moved forward. “On the bench.” Heather and I moved quickly to restrain Butler. During discipline he is in five point restraint. His hands and feet are tied to the ends of the bench and a wide leather strap goes around his waist. He is completely immobile. That’s the way I like him best.

I continued, “Your interview is tomorrow. Any day you are not working at least five days a week you’ll be on this bench for fifty like the ones you’re about to receive now. I don’t care how you do it but I want you to get that job!”

I have an interest in breaking his male view of himself until nothing remains but a pliable psyche for me to mold into a more surrendered servant. I made certain by the extra zest I used with the crop that he would be inclined to enthusiastically do his best in the coming interview. My advice to my sister dommes is to keep your eyes open and use everything that the good Goddess sends.

Thursday Journal

Butler returned from his interview at the club with the news he had been successful. Butler seemed relieved to tell us that he started on Monday.

I responded that he would be very sore by Monday because I had promised him 50 lashes of the crop everyday until he started working. Heather laughed and slapped his face harshly. I could tell that he was carefully smothering a reply about the unfairness of it all. I watched him carefully. He’s learning, I told myself. Fairness has nothing to do with being a slave in a FLR.

Heather continued to degrade him for his poor performance as a servant. Sometimes she feels I’m too easy on him. She really doesn’t like to spend much time dominating him but I could tell I had pleased her with my intention of continuing his discipline. I knew I would enjoy his cropping over the next few days.

I also had wonderful visions of inviting a few dates to the club and flirting with them while Butler hovered as our food server. It seemed like a perfect moment.

It took some work but Butler is exactly where I want him. I know what he needs. He’s humbled, demoted, chaste, busy, punished, and wild for me.

If you want to instill in a man a sense of his servitude then you need to require him to provide the services a servant provides. Domestic chores are good for him. They teach him who he is. Also, to see a man burdened with housework makes me happy.

What most submissive men can’t imagine in their fantasy life is that the life of a slave is often painfully boring. Housework is drudgery. I do my part to make it interesting by making the rewards hard to earn and the punishments intense. Service is the practical aspect of female domination that any woman could learn to love.

If I am doing my job as a dominatrix correctly the drudgery he performs becomes infused with a spirituality that happens as he surrenders to me as his goddess. Thus, cleaning the floor becomes, for him, an act of worship. Now, that’s a great way to get the housework done! If I am doing this right, then the more he works and suffers the more he loves me.

I have my sub, Butler, keep a notebook of instructions. In it, he keeps his list of chores. It’s divided into different sections. For example there is a divider for every room in the house. There is garden section and travel section, etc. Each time I think of something I want him to continue to do, I give him very specific instructions on exactly how I want it done. If it goes in the book, he’s responsible for it. Over the last few years a common phrase he has heard is, “That’s one for the book.” Picture a two inch thick ringed binder filled with detailed instructions.

Lately, I have experienced the joy of driving home knowing that he has spent every second that we’re apart preparing the house for my arrival. I love knowing that when I’m there he can’t take his eyes off of me and when I’m gone he’s working constantly to please me. When I arrive, I see gleaming floors and carefully folded laundry. I see the lawn manicured and the garden weeded. Finally, I see him anxious that I will find something wrong that will cause me to punish him. Again. Of course, I look very hard for his mistakes. After all, I want to make it fun for both of us. Ha!

As our relationship progressed, I have expected tiny tokens of submission from him in multiple ways that alone might not mean much but together are starting to change how we interact. For example, I no longer carry anything in my hands other than my purse when we leave the house. It’s a seemingly inconsequential rule but it is an example of one of many rules that he has to obey. Seeing how it inconveniences him makes me smile.

In addition, to emphasize his role as a beast of burden, I now make him carry a male handbag that I can put things in that I don’t want to carry in my smaller more stylish purse. Not only is this convenient for me it has the added advantage of making him feel slightly foolish.

I can think of dozens of rules that I have implemented as a constant reminder of his place. For example, I don’t allow him to sit on the furniture in the living room. He pretends to like sitting on the floor when we have vanilla company. I simply smile.

When I eat in the kitchen he may sit at the table with me. If I eat alone in the dining room, he must hover out of sight waiting on me.

On most days he is present to dress and undress me. It’s not especially erotic for me to be dressed and undressed but if I have been denying him it can be quite a tease.

Every night he appears at a set time to brush my hair, put away my clothes, and turn down my bed.

When we are with vanilla couple he is to act as naturally as possible but he must constantly watch for my subtle hand signals that might tell him to agree with me, step away from the conversation, or remain silent. I suppose we have a dozen such private signals.

Anytime we visit another couple in their home, I require him to try very hard to put himself in a subservient position by offering to do the dishes after dinner or whatever chore that seems most helpful. I love punishing him for not being able to talk a hostess into using him in this way. I find it amusing to watch him desperately trying to charm a woman into allowing him to help, knowing that if he fails he will suffer for it.

I expect doors opened, drinks carried, and umbrellas unfurled. The list goes on and on. I am an independent woman. I can do all of these things for myself but what would that teach him? I believe that these rules act like steel wool to slowly polish and mold him into a proper servant. His service has now started to be automatic. So have my demands. I feel we have stepped up to a new level of a dominant/submissive relationship.