SLAVE (noun) A.) a person who is the property of another and is forced to obey them. B.) a person who is completely subservient to a dominating influence C.) a device (such as the printer of a computer) that is directly responsive to another. D.) drudge, a toiler
I have been taking an online class with Ms. Viola Voltairine. She the Director and Producer of the upcoming film adaptation of ‘Finding Love through Female Domination‘, a book by Ms. Renee Lane.
Ms. Voltairine is also a lifestyle female dominant and educator in female led relationships. You can find out more about her course entitled ‘Obedient Love’ here.
They have been an eye opener for me in many ways. Most importantly, all the things I rattled off as ‘serving my wife’ in part 1 of I Belong to Suzanne, is really just being a decent human being who shares a living space with another person. I had such an inflated male ego to think doing her laundry should earn me some pat on the head and a ‘good boy’ because I took over ‘the woman’s job’.
I guess in one sense I guess it does – because us men in general are so very clueless, the fact I do anything to support and serve a woman’s day-to-day needs is to be considered miraculous by women in this patriarchal tyranny they are forced to live in.
But once being ‘woke’ to the fact that doing all those ‘things’ for my wife is the lowest of low bars, the question becomes, “then what is a good submissive male to do?” It goes beyond ‘serving’.
It means treating her like a human being and then treating her as a better human being.
It’s being attentive to her moods.
Be quiet! Just shut up. Let her set the tempo and direction of your day.
It means Listening to her. And by that I mean the kind of listening where you are not carrying on an internal conversation with yourself about your response the entire time she is talking. I mean the kind of listening where you register not only her words, but perceive her meaning and the mood behind them.
It means making space for her to do anything she feels like, and you do whatever she feels like too. With a smile!
It means she controls the remote and picks the show.
It means if she wants “just a bite…” of your food, you smile and offer her as much as she wants.
It means her wants take front stage at all times and being always available and eager to please her – at any given moment – in whatever she wants.
I didn’t sit back and expect her to spoon feed me a feminist point of view and explain how she likes things done, I activelyworked at educating myself in all that.
So in closing, become a decent human being. Become something worth keeping around. Yes, be useful. But have a personality, a brain, a spirit. Then give it all away to her.
by Viola Voltairine with essays by Natalia Stroika and Pearl O’Leslie
Synopsis
This book is for men who worship women. It’s for women who think feminism doesn’t go far enough. It’s for people of all genders who are fed up with male dominance. The opposite of patriarchy is Gynarchy, but it’s not just a simple flip of the script. The Gynarchist must not emulate the same mistakes, or perpetuate the oppressive power dynamics prevalent for thousands of years.
150 Years of Gynarchy offers a theoretical background and a simple set of ideas and dynamics for bringing about the downfall of male dominance and ending the brutalization of women. Liberation begins at home. This includes using sex and sexuality to shift the collective psyche. 150 Years of Gynarchy will deprogram misogyny, heal wounds, balance the scales of history, and lead to a real and lasting equality.
The book also contains an excerpt from my blog here! 🙂
Objectification is a kink of mine. One of the things that rolls through my mind when I see images like these is what torture and training went on before hand to convince the ‘victim’ to remain still and silent at all costs?
It is not just the slow simmering humiliation of just being used and ignored, but the slow painful torture of having to maintain a pose for a prolonged period in silence and obedience.
I have a punishment cage that feeds that kink in me. It is very small and being cramped in it slowly becomes torture…
(sorry the images are of bound women, but there are not a lot of images of men being used like this)
This is a little rambly but Ms. Voltairine got thinking with her talk about the different ‘flavors’ of D/s relationships. Yes, we all do have different wants, needs, and desires when it comes to our desire for D/s. Drum, a wise gentleman I know once said, “I guess we jazz a little differently, you and I. But we’re definitely in the same band.”
Speaking purely for myself, I know that the longer I deny myself an orgasm, the darker my thoughts, my fantasies & desires grow. As a man who self-pierced 8 piercings thru his own cock and balls, been the subject of needle-play, suffocated to unconsciousness, had the skin of my ball sack literally charcoaled with an electronic dog trainer and had more canings & single whippings than I could even count, my fantasies are a bit more real (read as possible) than most.
That said, yesterday I gave myself an orgasm after almost 4 weeks of edging and denial (I keep track of that with handy app at the bottom of my blog!) because my lust and desires had begun to get the best of me and led me to make several inappropriate comments on Ms. Voltairine’s Patreon blog (that I promptly deleted!) and afterwards, I was perfectly content with returning to work archiving her posts, reordering her beauty supplies, and re-posting Ms. Lane’s material and doing my usual housework for my beautiful wife.
It occurred to me that even post-orgasm, my default setting is submission and servitude, not a manly, misogynistic attitude. I am no less submissive post-orgasm. Less “dark” perhaps. My lust to be sadistically, brutally used and tortured becomes temporarily a little less important to my sense of happiness and fulfillment.
I suppose the difference between myself and what I read about robbi is I don’t play the ‘willful little brat’ card about it. I accept it’s not always about me and my wants and I shut up until spoken too about it. I may not feel all that submissive or whatever today, but I know myself good enough to know I probably will tomorrow, so I just quietly go with the flow.
Which, speaking just for me again, leads to one of the most important traits that make up a near-perfect relationship. Traits that need to be honed to a razor’s edge for a D/s relationship to be mutually satisfying – and that is trust.
One level of trust is that I trust my partner can and will take the time to read me and know where I’m at and what I want/need in the moment. I of course accept that won’t necessarily result in my needs getting met, but I trust she will weigh them against what *she* wants and needs and give it if she thinks it’s right or absolutely necessary in the moment.
Empathy is another trait. Feeling your partners’ rhythm – emotional, mental, and physical – and learning how it impacts their responses to you. I try and do the same for her. “It is not her job to dominate, it is my job to submit.” I do so love giving anticipatory service!
For example, I for one don’t turn on a dime when it comes to sex. I attribute that in part to the fact I have practiced being ‘in the moment’ for decades and when I am cleaning a litter box for example and my wife says, “Hey. Wanna go have sex?” It’s a long mental and emotional road from the litterbox to the bed. Sex is a very deep, connective, near religious experience in my eyes. I definitely need a little forewarning that that’s where you’re gonna go.
That is one of the reasons I love ritual so much. It gives me time to prepare and ‘be there’.
Besides, I love the ‘ramp up’. “Tonight, I am going to take you out on the balcony and fuck you hard with my roughest dildo. And I hope the neighbors all watch and hear you…” Leaves me eight long hours to think about, and get hard about, and beg you not too do what you are going to do! It draws a 30 minute thing into hours of delicious mental torture!
Yet another trait, clear and complete understanding of one another. Early in our relationship it became clear that my D/s wants were much darker and very much deeper than my wife. She literally became afraid of the animalistic look in my eyes when we played ‘hard’ and sadly she’d back off, not understanding what she was seeing.
And understandably. When I’m beaten hard, my higher brain function has ‘left the building’! LoL! I am so far down in my primal being I am non-verbal… but *very* vocal. I growl and grunt and lady, you’d better *hope* the restraints you put me in are real!
I have had several women tell me I’ve had enough long before I thought I had, but when I saw the marks on my body the next morning, I knew they where right. Back to that trust and empathy I guess!
There is probably a book in here about all this (oh yeah, this is! LoL!) but I’ll end here. Thank you for posting this Ma’am. 🙂
The are vignettes. I will add to them when I can. Thanks, Dora, for showing me the way to do it. We’ll always have Bristol, LOL!
I remember one of the first times I had cuck meet me. It was in a bar and he was trying to talk me out of making him my permanent stress bin, of fitting him onto my foot like a comfortable shoe and wearing him until he was completely worn out. I love shoes. Cuck was a shoe. I would have loved to literally be inside his tiny mind when he first realized that life as he knew it was over. The panic, the pissing of the pants, well the psychic pants, the other came later. The churning gut, the feeling that no matter how he tried, he just couldn’t think of himself as a real man anymore, but only an object. I wonder if the picture of a shoe dangling from a heel entered his thoughts? In any case, he was trying to talk me out of it. He was trapped and he knew it. After letting him go on for a while, spewing his bloody nonsense, I reached over when none of the other diners were watching, took a paper napkin and shoved it into his mouth slowly. His eyes got big, his hands started to lift to stop me then paused. His eyes grew dull for a moment and I thought I saw a little tear form in the corner of one of them. He knew that he had no power. I could ruin him and he would do anything to keep that from happening. He closed his mouth and to the casual viewer he had only slightly puffed cheeks, like a squirrel. My appetizer came then and I told cuck how things were going to be from now on, why he was a loser for getting himself into such a situation through the poor management of his appendage, and just how much I deserved to enjoy this experience. It took at least twenty minutes. Cuck bought the martini. I placed my shoe between his sweating crotch under the table and he was certainly aware of it. Little did he know what he would become even six months later. I felt a rush. This was one of the more enjoyable experiences. They don’t all have to be crying, gasping for air, begging, crawling, and hopping. The look on his face was priceless.
Cuckpuppy struggled. He struggled hard. I hadn’t turned him into an “it” quite yet. He had a home and wife and he worked really hard to keep everything separated, and of course I supported him in that. I wasn’t about to ruin a lifetime of fun at the snap of a finger. Well, maybe he thought I was but that was the fun part. I enjoyed watching him struggle and always made sure to keep his leash taught but not let it break. Eventually he dovetailed home life and his real life, the one that he could not get out of his mind at home, in meetings where red ties were ringed around the table. In the process his ego melted across the floor. Oh, it took months but they were good months-for me. Cuck regularized his schedule and I was able to use him several times a month. Of course, I had another sub, but somehow that never satisfied the way cuck did. I kept the sub and even used him with cuck a few times but eventually I just wasn’t able to exercise a satisfying amount of control over him the way I could over poor cuck.
*addendum to 1.
When I was finished eating I took the soaked paper napkin from cuck’s round mouth. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow. “Clean the crumbs. ” He hesitated for a while. My finger moves suggestively over my phone. One touch of a button and cuck knew that unflattering pictures would wing away to his nearest and dearest. He pushed my fork into the remains of the mess I’d left and put it in his mouth, swallowed, did it again. I took a picture of him cleaning my plate and laughed. A tear did run down his cheek then. Six months later he had been trained to accept my saliva in his open mouth at the snap of my fingers while I’m holding a remote shocker. Life is good.
Rubber Ducky Day! Fun party with a few friends to play with rubbery things. I volunteered cuckpuppy for the experiment and allowed it to try to show why we shouldn’t pick it by licking the shoes of the five or six observers clean. Sadly, it’s case was voted down and it was fitted out with tight rubber underwear and mask, with hands bound to ankles to make the duckwalk really authentic. Cuck’s eyes were big as my friend’s little device was screwed into the hole on the mouthgag. They grew even bigger when cuck realized that the little horn allowed for an easy exhale but a long and laborious inhale, causing increasing difficulty getting enough precious air over a ten or twenty minute period ( depending on the setting). Hilariously, the inhale sounded much like a duck call. Cuck hovered at the edge of panic as it played our game, hopping to each observer to find the token. Guessing correctly allowed it a moment of relief when the valve was opened a bit at the discretion of the tokenholder. Cruel games ensued and it didn’t take long before cuck was hopping madly in panic from person to person begging desperately with tears streamimg from it’s eyes. The soft buzzing of a vibrator from next to me let me know that my friend’s submissive had a keen interest in the proceedings. I leaned over to whisper into her ear that cuck was a blackmailed slave, trapped into the existence of being my personal stress receptacle. She orgasmed immediately. You never know what wicked things people really enjoy in their darkest thoughts.What good friends and what a lovely party.! We continued having fun into the evening.
4.”Why me?” Cuck said, especially in the first part of our relationship. And it is a real relationship no matter what the social community says a relationship should be. A defense of that, what a real power-relationship should be-is something I may write about later on. For now we are back to cuck and his pathetic predicament.
“Because you are here?”. “Because you put yourself in this situation?” Because you are one of those males who have no control over yourself?”
It isn’t what I say. It’s what it is. Karma. Being in the wrong place at the right time. What the Fates will? Because your Karma determines it?
This is where you are. Deal with it.
I loved those first months where I watched his ego melt at my feet. I hope others can find that joy. “Because you are Mine, cuckpuppy. Because you are Mine.”
Once Upon a Time cuckpuppy wasn’t an “it”. It was in transition to an “it” and was exuding loads of energy which I rightfully gobbled up. Cuck is my battery. Any sadist knows the elemental structure of how energy works. You find the Battery, fix it in place, and torture it so that it releases karmic sweet stuff to you. In the process the battery suffers but, hey, destiny, karma, all that.
I remember the firs time I think cuck realized that he was actually becoming my Personal Stress Receptacle. You can see into their soul in such a moment and they can see into yours and watch it spread like a glorious sail in the winds of their frustration and suffering.
All it took was a chastity cage, ball shocker, a remote, and a plastic bag. Four simple things and a mind was rewired. I’ve trained cuck to only get aroused by feet. The smell of feet, the feel of feet and the taste of feet. Mine, a friend’s, an old shoe, it doesn’t matter. Cuck’s brain has literally been rewired. Why feet? No reason really. Because cuck hated licking feet. Because it was humiliating. Because it was funny for me and my friends to watch. I think cuck realizes that now. That what happened to it was my random whim. Imagine how that feels! But there is nothing it can do about it. Shall I share more details about this?
addendum to 5
cuck’s indiscretion has gotten it to this state. It knows it is a loser in life. It gladly signed notarized papers asking, begging, for this to happen to it. So did dogboy in Atlanta Did they have a choice? Poor cuck must taste feet all the time. When it is eating there must be that taste in the back of it’s mind, palpably on the tongue. A glass of wine-a friend’s boot that it licked clean just before being released from chastity for five frenetic minutes and followed by the taste of it’s own mess. A nice meal at a restaurant with it’s unsuspecting family-the taste of my feet after an exercise session. Now it’s tiny mind has been rewired, just like a real doggy, to associate with the taste and action of cleaning feet, usually mine but occasionally that of a friend or random Domme to whom I may lend it. Derisive laughter, the taste of feet and boots, humiliation. An animal is easy to rewire. Bye bye human brain, hello agony puppet and stress bin. Life is good.
I often go barefoot in the house. It isn’t too dirty, cuck sees to that, but sometimes a girl needs her feet cleaned. Don’t you think I deserve it? cuck didn’t but it changed it’s mind very quickly when I began using a plastic bag over it’s head combined with an electric remote ball shocker. At first cuck didn’t want to be a receptacle for the dirt on my feet. Oh, it cleaned well enough and took some whipping and humiliation in order not to have it’s photos sent out to various parties but it just didn’t seem quite as eager, to do the real dirty work required of a Personal Receptacle. I don’t know if cuck thought my thumb would get tired of pressing the button and sending the increasingly agonizing shock to it’s tiny balls but that isn’t the way sadists are made. When it cried out and tears ran down it’s face it only made me want to do it more. And more and more. And I could, because cuck was all out of choices. Life as it knew it was over and my life, the one that really mattered, was beginning. I keep wondering if, as it was hopping madly in the harness I’d wrapped it in to lick my feet clean for the very first time, it’s mind didn’t flash back to that fateful day when it arrived to let me practice some light bondage on it, happily kinky and unaware of it’s fate. Tight bondage, some “interesting props”, a mask slowly removed to the flash of the camera. “No, please, not my face”, was now “Woof Woof!” Cuck understands it’s purpose now as does dogboy.
My feet were shiny clean and cuck was swallowing the dust. Spots of it’s tears dotted the floor beneath it’s bound, crouching body. At a later stage of training I would make it lick up any tear stains. We can’t have that, after all and I love to have it shove down and internalize it’s frustration. I wonder what my feet tasted like to it on that first, horrifically humiliating day, when it realized that the shocks would continue until it did exactly as I wanted, when it knew that it would do anything for me because I could ruin it’s world in a second, because I was a superior woman and it was my dog? I wonder but not too much. After all, I’m not a dog.
Speaking of these things there is more to come. Doggies clean up after you don’t they? It might be too yucky to relate but it is hilarious. I’m thinking about whether to write more on #6 and doggy food training…..
Ms Viola. Ms. Renee. You have broken me. Crushed me.Thank you.
When not fully engaged, my mind is like a kangaroo – bouncing from thought to thought – doing free association I suppose… an image begats a thought which leads to another further out and then another… until I’m somewhere unknown and unexpected.
So, I watched the movie 127 hours yesterday which is the story of a hiker who got his arm caught between two immovable rocks and after 127 hours, in order to free himself and to survive, he cut his own arm off.
Movies like that force you to examine yourself. Would I? Could I? One of the bouncy thoughts that hopped through my mind and looked over it’s shoulder to see if I would follow it, was that his reactions during his ordeal mirrored the stages of grief – denial, anger. bargaining, depression, acceptance. Of course, maybe the bounce there wasn’t so random, given what I was feeling in the moment…
I’ve long known the stages of grief appear throughout all our lives in all kinds of situations… death obviously, a breakup sure… leaving an addiction behind. Having something of importance to you taken away. Your ‘binky’ as a child. That favorite, oh so comfy sweatshirt that is finally just too worn. A society that at least had a veneer of respect and decency towards one another.
An ego. A sense of self-esteem. Self-importance.
Yes, that’s right. Having your ego stripped away from you is not some nice painless mental exercise – “Huh. I think I’ll mediate a while, then give up my ego before lunch. Oh yes, I’m a slave with no ego now!” It involves emotional pain. Psychological agony.
And all the stages of grief.
After all, you are losing something that was once important to you. Your self-esteem. Your self-importance. Your sense of worth.
Age brings experience and experience brings awareness, so I can usually see grief coming… I am aware of what it is and I can navigate the steps a bit faster than the less experienced,
but no less painfully.
This weekend started with Ms. Viola’s call to her online retinue to offer themselves up for a ritual. I’m pretty sure I knew her intent – a Zoom-like conference with us all on our knees, edging ourselves over and over while she basks in our adoration and obedience and masturbates herself to glorious, powerful, pleasurable orgasms. It’s good to be Queen! I wanted so bad to obey. Humiliating myself in front of her and a group of other men was nothing! And I responded as any devoted servant would, “If I may be of service, I offer myself to you Ma’am.” Then I realized it was not likely I could slip away in the middle of an evening with my wife and participate. With deep sadness, I deleted my response.
Her next post was of an impossibly handsome young buck with a to-die-for accent. The man I wished I had been 40 years ago. Self-aware and soon to be snapped up by a woman who would gleefully enslave him for life, for both their pleasure. I felt a pang of jealousy at Ms. Viola’s verbal drooling over him, then an overwhelming sense of loss and depression. I closed my laptop.
I would never be this man.
A deep breath as I pushed the thoughts from my mind… using all the tools gained from age and wisdom, I rationalized the pointless stupidity of my jealousy and the feeling eased.
At about the same time Ms. Renee posted a series of provocative images and texts about cuckolds, about powerful, sadistic women and Ms. Viola followed shortly there after with two blistering (pardon the unintentional pun) posts about caning robbi into submission and her intense state of arousal and animalistic need to devour some willing men!
Next she discussed the other sexually powerful, sadistic women she knows. Women I have adored from afar for years.
And tears formed in my eyes.
I wept that women like these exist. That I want with all my heart and soul to crawl to them and beg them to take me, possess me like an object, train me like a pet. To revel in their sadistry with me. To see them smile with the joy and sense of power that comes from absolute control of another human being. Me.
And it will never be.
I’ve denied it in the past. I gotangry that the women in my life don’t accept me as I want to be. I bargained, by doing slave labor for years and pleading for an occasional unreal, unfelt, ‘play time’.
This weekend, reading all of Ms. Viola’s and Ms/ Renee’s posts about their lives… I entered the stage of depression. I became depressed. I ignored all my usual daily chores. Litter boxes sat uncleaned, I didn’t do the shopping, the bed was unmade, dirty laundry just sat piled on the laundry room floor. I did nothing. I just sat. And stared. And thought and felt.
After a lot of soul searching and feeling my way through that depression, I’ve reached acceptance. My ego is crushed. Burned away. Gone. I had finally completed all seven stages of grieving over the loss of my (false) sense of ego.
I am nothing at allto these women. They took control of their destinies, they live their existences fulfilling their kinky passions and are rightfully served by men far better than me. It saddened me and in one of those sick twists the universe loves, because I’m a masochist, it made me hard.
Not everything in this universe is linear.
My service to them does not continue to bring more and more control and more service and more discipline and more experiences with them,
It goes nowhere. This is it. This is all there is. Just serve and be happy with that.
What is the purpose of an ego when there is nothing more to strive for? No bigger goals? I can only continue to serve and hope for the occasional ‘good boy’. That is the crumb I am permitted in my life. Enough to barely sustain my continued service and my never to be realized dreams. Don’t assume for a second I am some dick-in-hand wannabe who would burst into tears at the first real smack of a palm against my ass. I am experienced in what I sought – I married a pro domme for god sake. Of course I’ve been whipped, caned, flogged, bound and gagged, had needles pushed into my flesh, burned, made to pass out… but all play. Not because my partner truly got off on her power. She did it for the worst possible reason to any submissive. She did it for me. I’ve never smelled a woman’s arousal as she beats me bloody, never seen a woman’s nipples grow hard with excitement of her power, seen the fire burn in her eyes as she sits down on my bound body and slowly strangles me with her stocking, feeling me buck and squirm beneath her and beg for my very life.
Yes. Their posts devastated me. I am nothing to them. I am a footnote. A ‘Hey, remember that guy…’ in a conversation about ugly, fat, old, sad, pathetic men desperate to live out their dreams.
I am nothing… but I am not useless. I can serve. I can be a gimp. I can sit silently in the shadows of their beautifully lit drawing rooms, to crawl out and serve at their beck and call, then crawl back into the shadows, completely forgotten until I am needed again. Maybe forever.
I no longer have any ego, at least in regards to these women. How can I? It would be pointless. My jealously, my sadness… it would be just another slave yelling unheard in the pit beneath the basement floor where he was thrown.
Thank you Ms. Viola and Ms. Lane for showing me my truth. I am nothing. I am nothing now and I never will be.
I have the honor of having this post was quoted in the book 150 years of Gynarchy by the esteemed film artist and author Ms. Viola Voltairine! Pick up your copy today!
NOTE: This is currently a work in progress. I wanted to put it out incomplete as I develop my thoughts and writing on the topic however.
NOTE: Chastity (as enforced with a device of some sort and without any active teasing) has waned as an interest of mine, in equal measure to the growth of my interest in tantra & orgasm control and denial. My opinions on the matter is simply that, my opinion honed by decades of chastity fantasy and play. Please take them for what they are.
I’m going to start with a controversial statement that might upset any enlightened women reading this, but “Your power over me begins with my penis.” Note my emphasis on the word “begins“. More on that later. But like it or not, I am probably not going to crawl through the broken glass of a million shattered glass ceilings, I am not going to beg you to lick the filth from your boot heel, unless the feeling starts in my dick.
“Yes”, you may agree, “That’s why I lock men in chastity. To make them horny and through their horniness, compliant to me!” But at least for me, chastity diminishes my arousal almost completely. Perhaps it comes from months of experience being locked in a cage and ignored, but once I am my cock seems to know the futility of attempting an erection and doesn’t even try no matter what erotic thoughts I have. My mind, hence my desires, become mundane. The chastity, less a focus of eroticism, becomes a source of discomfort and annoyance. When I am uncomfortable, I am an eye-rolling grump about as far from a willing submissive as a guy can get.
If that is your goal, then by all means use chastity as a punishment. Not as a long-term means of control. Perhaps you think of it as a symbol of ownership. A irremovable collar or cock ring will could accomplish that as well, without the discomfort and energy sapping of a chastity cage.
Furthermore, chastity talk always revolves around the holy grail – the ultimate secure device. Why does it need to be secure? Because once you lock a man in one, his thoughts turn almost immediately to trying to get it off so he can stroke his almighty dick… our source of all pleasure. That means as soon as you put it on him and turn your back, his mind is occupied with sneaking a way out, lying and deceiving you, and subverting your express desire he not be uncaged. So you are now pressed into coming his vigilant jailer at great cost and energy to you.
Let me digress a bit here and express another opinion. A male slave in a commited M/s relationship should be a battery to a dominant woman, giving her far more energy than she puts into him. Tantric energy, mental stimulation/energy, actual physical energy through his working for you. I’m not advocating a one-sided power exchange, I’m saying that point of owning another human being is that they should empower you. If they are draining more or even equal amounts of energy, then that’s an egalitarian relationship in my opinion. Not an M/s one.
So back to the caged male, plotting his deception and escape. Lying to you and undermining your authority should be a game ender in my mind. If you don’t accept the authority you’ve willing submitted to, then what’s the point?
Enter Edging and denial. After a short amount of time, the caged male will become compliant and more obedient for sure, but not to you in my mind. He is focused on being nice to you to get the cage off! It’s just a transaction to him. His focus is on the discomfort of the cage and wanting to remove it, not really on you! You’ve just become an obstacle to his pleasure.
Let me ask you – in your experience, who is more willing to say yes to taking the garbage out for you? A.) Your husband, lying on the couch watching his favorite TV show or, B.) The guy whose hard dick is in your hand, being slowly stroked by you. Hmmm?
On an esoteric plain, a chastity cage prevents arousal, the spark that ignites tantric energy and whatever dribble (pardon the pun) of energy is there is completely blocked in the root chakra. Masturbating and edging allows the spark to ignite a bonfire of erotic energy and pumps it up and up through all the chakra points, pulsing and throbbing in beautiful energizing light. Which without permission to release that energy through orgasm, leaves it available. Available to pour into work, into giving orgasms (by that I mean by sex or by being the masochist to a sadist or whatever floats your dominant boat), into deeper submission.
And masturbation is an altered state. Yes. It is. Your breathing, the pattern of your blood flow, your musculature all change. The chemical makeup of your mind changes during masturbation. Dopamine and endorphins flood your synapses and open pathways that aren’t open during your normal day-to-day. And I would state even further, open your mind to powerful suggestion. Much like hypnosis. Think of edging as an induction!
If chastity says, “I won’t let you orgasm. Try and stop me.” Then edging and denial says, “We agree I am the power in this relationship and you will deny yourself orgasm because I wish you too. Because I desire your energy focused on me. Because it amuses me. Whatever, the point is you will willing sacrifice your basest male desire but you want to obey. Because you love the feeling of when your dominant taps into your battery of energy and uses you all up!
The carrot? Or the stick… ? Hmmm?
Chastity? Or frustrating edging & denial?
TO EXPAND ON IN THE FUTURE:
More on edging, alternate reality, and Maslow’s peak experiences
In Abraham Maslow’s famous hierarchy of needs, self-actualization is located at the very top of the pyramid, representing the need to fulfill one’s individual potential. According to Maslow, peak experiences play an important role in self-actualization.
Peak experiences are often described as transcendent moments of pure joy and elation. (Like reaching the edge of orgasm) These are moments that stand out from everyday events. The memory of such events is lasting and people often liken them to a spiritual experience. Other experts describe peak experiences in the following ways:
“Peak experiences involve a heightened sense of wonder, awe, or ecstasy.” “…a highly valued experience which is characterized by such intensity of perception, depth of feeling, or sense of profound significance as to cause it to stand out in the subject’s mind, in more or less permanent contrast to the experiences that surround it in time and space.”
Peak experiences bear numerous similarities to the concept known as flow described by positive psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. Flow is a state of mind during which people become so involved in an activity that the world seems to fade away and nothing else seems to matter. When in a state of flow, times seems to fly by, the focus becomes sharp and people experience a loss of self-consciousness.
Flow can happen when a person is having a peak experience. Everyday moments such as becoming engrossed in a thrilling book, working on a satisfying project, or enjoying an afternoon game of basketball, (or edging at the command of a beautiful* woman) can all lead to a flow state.
*The woman controlling your sex IS the most beautiful woman in the world to you, trust me!
Idea: The ‘animal’ brain, frustrated in getting the response it has been trained to expect, will try more frequently at first, then look for other avenues of, in this case pleasure, leading to an expansion of erotic zones in the man.
Idea: Denial and religious aspects. Becoming his goddess. Ruling his heaven and his hell.
Idea: It is not a punishment or taking something away, it is a gift and honor – of being controlled and called mine. And it is my helping you remain focused on me so you never disappoint me.
Idea: chastity focuses his attention on his relief and pleasure. Sure he serves you in hopes of ‘getting some’, but with edging and orgasm denial you can brainwash him into you as his pleasure (edging) and not cumming as obedience to you. Obedience = Pleasure.
This has been an interesting exercise. I realized what a little mouse I can be at times. When I do play games that require you to create an avatar, I never venture far from what I truly am or look like. I don’t take it for what it is – a license to go crazy and fantasize in the extreme. I am pretty much a reality based, down to earth type.
GENDER: I prefer male. My sexuality is hetro-flexible Ma’am. I would submit to being feminized on occasion for the purposes of humiliation and to help destroy my male ego further or if my dominant sexual partner preferred me to appear that way for their own arousal.
Man or boy? Gentleman or grunt? Teddy bear or beastly defender?
Yes. LoL! A submissive I was friends with years ago (I was seeing his Mistress wife professionally) had a tattoo on his thigh that said essentially ‘Mistress’ choice’ and had check boxes for ‘hero’,’boyfriend’,’jester’, ‘lover’,’slave’,’puppy’, etc. She would take a marker and check whatever box and role she wanted from him that day. Oddly enough, he now identifies as a dominant. I’m not sure how he deals with that tattoo now-a-days…
I do identify with being treated as servant, mommy’s good boy, a pet or a pig.
SEXUALITY: The lover of a male Dom I serviced once labeled be as a stone lesbian Ma’am. I almost always prefer to give sexual pleasure than to be permitted it, so your labels of denied, chaste, sexual servant all work for my avatar.
As a giver of pleasure I do not differentiate in which gender I provide pleasure too and am equally aroused and satisfied sucking cock and nuzzling a set of balls as I am orally worshiping a woman or tongue fucking an ass. That I am giving pleasure is the important part of my sexuality. I prefer being edged and denied to an outright orgasm. That said, nothing makes me cum harder then a woman standing over me with a whip, directing my masturbation and ordering me not to cum while describing the punishments she will give me if I disobey her.
UNIFORM: A collar definitely. Clothing or a uniform as is appropriate for the occasion, but going back to the desire to please, whatever excites my dominant.
For one Mistress I had a brief relationship with, I wore sealed chain bracelets on both my wrists and ankles. They were discreet and looked like an thick ID bracelet that were popular once upon a time. She then had to carry just two small padlocks in her purse. She could easily and quickly put me into bondage or chain me to something to wait for her.
Shaven or not goes hand in hand with my master’s other desires for me obviously. How she dresses me or her personal preferences for her sexual partners would determine this.
I would prefer not to be shaved bald as I don’t think it would look attractive on me. I am fairly lightly haired as it is, so I don’t have as strong an opinion on body hair. I have been completely body shaved in the past. The feeling was nice and a bit arousing… the growing back, not so much. Actually, the growing back was an excellent low-key, long-term punishment!
ROLE: A combination of roles would be ideal. What is it Midori said about switches? “I’m a greedy, opportunistic…” So from your suggested list – a manservant, a pamperer, personal assistant, a pet, good little boy (or bad as the situation might be), worker/handyman, a part-time toilet, punching bag, and personal stress relief receptacle/torture toy. Mostly though, an it. A voiceless gimp. A tool.
FINANCIALLY: I’ve tried this with my now wife. When I retired and moved in with her, I sincerely offered her full control over my finances to do with as she saw fit (Bear in mind we have been together for over 13 years). She demurred. So would I surrender all my money to my female master and become completely dependent upon her for my survival? Absolutely.
Our current arrangement is that I pay all the bills so that whatever she earns as a pro domme, she can put away in savings or investments. In the first year of our living together/marriage, she has put away over $30K. I maintain whatever money I have invested as well as anything left over after paying bills for my own use.
I have a lifetime pension (split 50/50 with an ex-wife) as well as social security benefits. I worked hard for a very long time to earn them and I prefer not to have to have a “job” ever again. Been there, done that. That said, if master wanted even more from me would I take a job? Reluctantly, but of course.
The DollyRots probably aren’t on your musical radar, but one of the good things about being virtual unknowns is they are willing to customize their songs for cheap! I heard this one and said, yup! I KNOW someone awesome! She needs this for the soundtrack when they do a movie about her life! Enjoy and Merry Christmas!
I’ve got the new style, uh oh And I’m walking right down your street I’m on your speed dial, you know The one everyone wants to meet
I always tell you how cool you dress It’s cause I’m fashionably socialized You’re smarter, better, no, the best Just look at me!
I’m a leader, I’m a winner, and I’m cleaner I’m Viola! I don’t need you ’cause I’m neato and I beat you! Viola’s awesome! That’s right!
They say I’m gifted, uh huh Well I’m a certified prodigy I’m gonna own you, uh huh I’m gonna bring you to your knees
I always tell you how smart you are It’s cause my brain is really supersized You’re an academic superstar Just look at me!
I’m a leader, I’m a winner, and I’m cleaner I’m Viola! I don’t need you ’cause I’m neato and I beat you! Viola’s awesome! Here we go!
Got a career plan, uh huh Gonna make lots of money And bought a self tan, uh huh Don’t I look healthy’
I always tell you how great you smell It’s ’cause I’m naturally deodorized You’re stronger, faster, and can spell Just look at me!
I’m a leader, I’m a winner, and I’m cleaner I’m Viola! I don’t need you ’cause I’m neato and I beat you! Viola’s awesome
I’m a leader, I’m a winner, and I’m cleaner I’m Viola! I don’t need you ’cause I’m neato and I beat you! Viola’s awesome! That’s right!
Rah rah rah rah, rah rah rah! Rah rah rah rah, rah rah rah! Rah rah rah rah, rah rah rah! I don’t need you I’m Viola! Uh huh
