15 May 2015
Each step of her conquest over him took a familiar pattern.
She would mind fuck him. An insult, a humiliation, another piece of his resistance and shell torn away. He would hate her and, in so doing, he would think disrespectful thoughts about her. He would sulk and choose to walk away. He couldn’t escape however. It should have been so easy for him to just close the book at those times and get on with the life in which sanity was far more certain. However, something prevented him from doing that and, although inside he’d already made the decision to abandon ship, he just couldn’t extrapolate himself from the mind fuck. He had to immerse himself in that hatred and anger, he had to justify his decision and actions and, to do that, her had to belittle, disrespect and destroy her in his own mind.
Her latest conquest was to invade his home and, in his mind, effectively his family. His last refuge violated by her. How dare she? What right did she have to do that? Who does she think she is? His hatred went through the sleepless night. The following morning he would email and tell her she’d overstepped the mark. He was no longer her slave and she was to blame.
He slept little and in the early hours of the next morning was still determined to send that email. He rose from his bed still feeling the anger and went down to his office. It was then, however, that the inevitable transpired.
As part of his defence that night he had belittled the significance of sex. It was something he had to do to have any chance of justifying his defiance. There was little doubt that he, her real man, was a sex God and she a sex Goddess. The significance of sex, or more importantly, its insignificance had to be ensconced.
It was his own sex that betrayed him that morning. A nerve deep down inside him was stirred. Maybe a slither of surplus spunk, produced during the many weeks since he had previously been instructed to cum, had fondled and aroused a sensitive gland deep within his sex. In many ways this was inevitable and part of the familiar pattern.
Suddenly sex was everything. The significance of sex could no longer be denied. The power of his Goddess no longer restrained or resisted. He allowed her to engulf him. His sex, his cock and balls, rested on her leather gloved hand, to tease, arouse or torture at her will and whim.
The significance of sex could no longer be denied. He existed in a world governed by sex. A world in which she is revered for her knowledge and talent and her real man renowned for his vastly superior physical prowess. A world in which he was a nobody, a slave and completely excluded and irrelevant. a world, the real world, where he was so fortunate to be the slave of this Goddess, a relished position from which he could never extrapolate himself.
Deep inside his psyche he had never really believed he could escape. He never broke her commands at any time during that period of hatred. He never touched his cock and his nipples were only touched during his period of training the previous night. Yes, despite his anger, he still fulfilled her command with his training that night.
She owned him. His mental torment and suffering of the previous night were mere amusement for her. Her written fantasy of the preceding day, which had initiated his anger, was now a source of exquisite arousal. Not only that, but he sensed its reality would please her. He existed to please her, so could this fantasy be made reality?
His hateful thoughts of the previous night were consigned to be eradicated and forgotten. On the other hand may be they were not. On some future occasion when he is secured, prostrate and vulnerable before her, she may then require them recounting.