Except for social occasions when we have to appear as a vanilla couple, I command my servant, Butler, to dress the same way every day. 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 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. When we are in Florida he remains in uniform. While there, we do not socialize publicly. He never walks beside me. On the rare occasions when I need him to walk with me, he walks several paces behind me. Then he is usually with me because I want him to carry something such as shopping bags. Even when together, a discerning eye would notice the different costs of our outfits and easily identify us as employer and employee. I want him to look like a servant. He doesn’t wear clothes according to his mood. He does not try to fit in. He wears his clothes as my uniform. How I dress him 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 are simply another front in the battle. * I have been criticized that putting him in a uniform borders on being over controlling, dehumanizing, and abusive. (Evil grin) It certainly does. However, we both want to put him through a refining fire so that all that remains of him is the perfect servant. His attire is not only for him. When I see him in his drab clothes I’m reminded to be intentional in how I treat him. I admit that we are a little over the top but it’s what we both want. Don’t ever call it play. We have a serious goal in mind.