6 June 2015
Sometimes I forget. In fact there are long periods over which it escapes my mind.
I have grown used to the constant reminder that is my cage.. It has become part of me and I hardly notice it. It’s familiarity and the fact that it has minimal effect on me, should merely serve to emphasise the truth it defines.
Not just her world, but the real world, is about sex. For every healthy individual it is a major, and more often than not, the major part of their lives. The majority, if not vast majority of those who shared the nightmare of the motorway I was on late yesterday afternoon, were making their way home to a weekend that would include sex. They would pleasure and be pleasured by their partners.
She will share with me emails, texts and messages from males who have taken no time to read her many, well composed profiles and made no effort to send a meaningful introduction. She will also share with me her vitriolic responses. She will embrace me with the humour of her mocking reply to these time wasters. The fact remains however, they are time wasters because they are not truly submissive. They are fantasists who see her as a means to a wank. They may well have partners who, only a few minutes after their abortive attempt to indulge my Goddess in their waking wet dream, they will be fucking and pleasuring.
Unlike them I am truly submissive. Ironically the fact that I am not a time wasters, the fact that she can use and take control of me, merits nothing but disdain. My Mistress, whom I put on a pedestal, the Goddess that I worship, revere, serve to please, respect above all others and obey, despises me for being submissive.
She enjoys power and being obeyed. She enjoys the control she holds and amuses herself with the keys. In fact she is sexually aroused by the whole concept of dominance, of our suffering and discomfort. It is, however, very much the concept that arouses her and not her submissives and slaves. We revolt her. Our inadequacies with regard sex, our worthlessness, repulses her.
Sometime I forget, but she has ways of bringing me back to my reality. The heels of shoes and boots I have purchased, metaphorically and perhaps in reality, ground into my flesh to remind me they are now hers and I am also, very much, hers. She will flaunt her beauty in clothes, footwear or gifts I have sent in homage, reminding me of my chastity and that the resulting ravishing beauty is there for her real man to possess and devour.
I was brought back to reality last night. A hotel room already reserved and a suggestion that her real man accompany her to counter her current stress and fatigue. My reward was to be put in my place and be reminded of my lowliness. I was, perhaps, to witness them savouring the decadence and ostentatious prizes of the hotel. Previous experience suggests they will dine as I toil. I may wait on them before and after their foray to the restaurant, or perhaps they will enjoy room service. As they relax and recline at their leisure I imagine myself standing motionless awaiting their commands.
Perhaps I shall be compelled to witness their carnal bliss and gratification as he takes her and they both orgasm and reap the ultimate pleasure of sex over and over again. Perhaps I shall do so, remaining standing and motionless as a dutiful slave or perhaps even tied naked to a bedroom chair, my legs splayed and tied to the legs of the chair exposing the humiliation of my cage. My chastity an undeniable illustration of my worthlessness when compared with her screams of delight and his moans as he relishes the pleasure of fucking. The gushing of his cum mixing with her soaked pussy compared with the trickle of pre-cum betraying the arousal induced by my humiliation. That humiliation will please her and add to her pleasure. It will however be no more than a side of sliced carrot compared to the crab and lobster salad that is him, her real man.
Sometimes I forget but she has ways of reminding me.