In my teens I was convinced that I would submit my body and soul to an Asian Lady. But life’s a bloody bitch, we all know that, so since then I’ve met lots and lots of Ladies along the way, but never an Asian Mistress. Typical. On the other hand; maybe Fate is protecting me from making a complete fool of myself. Because being overwhelmed with feelings of praise and awe is one thing, but licking the Great Wall of China in gratitude is embarrassing. Besides; that’s quite a bit of wall and the Mistress will probably die of old age, long before I’ve finished the job. Still, Fate should mind his own business, because all I have to go by now is a lovely collection of Asian Femdom movies. But a movie is a far cry from reality, we all know that. So to me the Pearls of Orient are still as mysterious and captivating as ever.
The far end of the long chain is attached to a massive ring in the wall, the other end to your stainless steel collar. Which is a bit confusing, really. Because when Lady B. invited you to join the party, you jumped up and down of happiness like a flea with an itch. You honestly thought you were somebody, didn’t you. Wrong! The only reason why you’re here is because Mistress needed a boot cleaner. And voila, that’s you. A chained brush. Not somebody, just something. Still, is there anything more beautiful in this world than licking the boots of a Mistress? Going over them with your tongue, submitting your soul to them. Feeling them, smelling them; it’s heaven on heels. Buying a pair of boots yourself and slobbering all over them isn’t quite the same, is it. They need to be occupied, otherwise they’re just boots. So treasure each and every second of the party, dear boy, because this a booty dream come true.
A slave collar is like a badge of honour really. Attaching a simple leash to the collar however, transforms it into one of the most humbling tools I can think of. From honourable sub to sloppy dog in three seconds flat. It doesn’t really matter if the leash is made of leather, metal, rope or the tiniest thread: from a slave’s point of view it’s unbreakable. However, there’s a big difference of course between being collared and leashed in the safety of a room or wearing it outdoors. The former is as innocent as a baby shower, the latter is utterly humiliating. Somehow I haven’t been on the right side of the leash that much, to be honest. And unfortunately there’s no such thing as a Lease Leash; a dog-walking centre for slaves. That would be so lovely! I shall be re-leashed, as the song goes. Let’s hope and pray that’s true.
Even if you’ve made the conscious choice to become a real 24/7 slave; that doesn’t mean you’ll ever be one. Because you’re not alone in your search (and that’s probably the understatement of the century). There’s still a huge gap between those who’re willing to give up everything for a life in servitude, and those who’ll actually find it; either in a D/s relationship or as a personal 24/7 slave of a Lady. Besides, Female Supremacy has still far more male than Female supporters, which makes the search even harder. So you’re joining an enormous herd that’s searching for one, single shepherd. Makes you wanna bleat and moo, doesn’t it. So I did some dick gazing (amazing gaze) again to see what the future has in store for us. Using my dick as a magnifying glass, I managed to gaze into a future newspaper. Forget the present, let’s move to the future today!
It’s quite a sobering day, when you realise that your Girlfriend is physically stronger than you. It happened to me a long time ago, in a time when my submissive feelings were still a big secret. I was living with Selma at the time, who was half-Asian, slim and much smaller than me. She didn’t shy away from a playful fight though. I absolutely loved it and I didn’t put much up a fight at first. It took quite some time and a long series of humiliating losses to realise that it didn’t make any difference whether or not I gave it my very best. She was too quick, too ferocious and always extremely ruthless. Although I had been dreaming and fantasising about this for ages, deep down I was still convinced that it would take a tough, well-trained Lady to pull it off. Call it the last remainders of male arrogance and male ignorance, if you like. Selma came and went without knowing anything about my submissive feelings, but She opened my eyes and made me see the truth about the weaker sex. Bless Her!
The Female Judge gave me a stone cold look and said: the fact that you’re unowned and free, doesn’t mean you’re free to be a huge asshole. She sentenced me to 14 days imprisonment (starting on the first day of my summer holidays) and a $500 fine. It’s no use crying over spilt sperm, but that was quite a hefty sentence for – what was supposed to be – a funny remark on a blog. Two months later it was doing-time time. Turned out the prison was indeed a real prison, and not a cage in a cellar somewhere. This was not a cute role-play though, far from it. This was a real correctional institution with thick walls, dark cells, little food and daily punishments and humiliations. The Female Guards were absolutely ruthless. It wasn’t fun, nor was it supposed to be. The message was clear: if you want to be a slave, then behave like one!
Most (amateur) Mistresses are willing to knock your balls about or whip you silly, but the SchoolGirl-Pin is often considered to be too freaky. Which is such a shame, because to me the SchoolGirl-Pin is the mother of all humiliations. Back in my youth Sue was the only Girl who loved to take a seat. She could sit there for hours on end, stuffing grass in my mouth (I was the human lawnmower back in those days). God knows why I didn’t ask Her to marry me. I was probably still so naive to think that all Girls liked to be on top. Talking about monumental blunders! So maybe the Pin is considered to be too childish or maybe it has an all too strong association with mixed fighting. Whatever the reason, I think it’s beautiful. Such a shame though there aren’t any Pindown Pubs, where you can get drunk without a drink.
I’ll obey You in everything. That’s probably the most popular phrase in a slave’s vocabulary. I met a slave once who assured me he was willing to walk through a brick wall for his Mistress. I’ll do everything, he said, expect kissing Her feet, because that’s just gross. True story! So is it really everything or is it everything expect….? Call me an old-fashioned nerd, but I believe in the strict meaning of the word slave: a person who is the property of another person. In other words: unconditional surrender to the will of a Mistress. Of course; if a Mistress orders you to drink Lake Michigan, give Big Ben a blow job or cross the Sahara desert in a wheelchair, then yes: you’re free to dial 911. Beyond that anything goes. When asked, a Mistress once shrugged Her shoulders and said: If it’s possible, then just do it. Words of wisdom, I would say. That’s everything you need to know about everything.
In my early teens my friends and I used to tie each other up from time to time and play Houdini. However, creating an inescapable bondage with the few ropes we had turned out to be extremely difficult. One day two of the neighbouring Girls came over to see what the hell we were doing. It took some persuasion, because they thought we were nuts, but finally Paula agreed to give it a try. The victim was Mark, our number 1 wriggler and an escape-artist in the making. Maybe Paula had been a sailor in Her past life, I don’t know, but She sure as hell knew how to tie the knot. She turned poor Mark into a collared beef in no time. He tried everything, but he couldn’t get out. It embarrassed and annoyed him deeply. We had to untie him in the end, because he made more hoo-ha than a marching band. It was quite overwhelming to witness this abrupt and devastating downfall of the male species and it nearly thrilled me to death. So don’t take bondage for granted; it’s a truly beautiful art and a never-ending joy to be caught in ropes.
I had my submissive baptism of fire on a misty Saturday morning in a small village in Belgium. Man, I was so nerveus; sweating like a pig with a dildo up it’s ass and turning red, yellow and green like a jawbreaker. I wasn’t scared of the pain and perils that awaited me, but scared of putting my dreams to the test. After shaping, carving and polishing them for so many years, I had a genuine fear that reality could never be that beautiful. But fleeing with the tail between my legs was not an option; I’d given my word and that meant something to me. I was about to go in for a three-hour session: the 1st hour with Madame Sarka, the 2nd with Madame Sarka & Mistress Valkyrie and the 3rd with Mistress Valkyrie (now retired). I looked rather pale when Madame Sarka came downstairs to meet me, and I’m still grateful I didn’t puke all over Her of nervousness. But then this unforgettable feeling came over me, a feeling of coming home after a long and tiring journey through life. It lifted me up on graceful wings of submissiveness and showed me a world beyond beauty and dreams. I always thought that the first SM-session was like climbing the highest mountain on earth. I was wrong, that imaginary mountain was just the threshold of a house somewhere in Belgium.