Slave Man Pulls Heavily Loaded Cart
“Slave, I want you to feel your inferiority in every fiber of your body. To be conscious of the inadequacy of your gender throughout the day.”
Thrilled to finally be the property of a Domme, he said:
“Yes, Mistress Jean. Thank you, Mistress Jean.”
That night she gave him an agonizing whipping. His limbs, back and buttocks stung the next day. This, he felt, was what Mistress had meant.”
His pain was substantial. A masochist, pain and pleasure were inextricably mixed.
Brutal whippings continued. Mistress Jean had long cultivated the arts of cruelty. Slave suffered in many ways.
His anguish teetered on the edge of ecstasy. Sometimes this fostered guilt. He knew she did not approve of masculine enjoyment.
One day she ordered slave to pack clothing for both. They were going on a trip. She was taking a long vacation. Her servant would be clothed until they reached her ranch.
The first two days, slave cleaned the house. Then he mowed and trimmed the area near the building.
A creek was the only water source. Slave carried a pole with two large tubs on each end. He scooped water. Back at the house, he poured the water in the storage system. Arduous labor, it took about two hours every morning.
Mistress Jean taught slave new prayers and songs. As he worked, he praised womankind. Some lyrics focused on the grossness and stupidity of men. These always stirred feelings of inadequacy. He became even more grateful to be owned by a woman.
For the first two weeks, the Domme spent extra hours tormenting her chattel. He was a test subject for novel acts of sadism. Every time she heard of a new torture, she added a new note to the Femdom notebook in Evernote. These notes were tagged: “torment, new.”
She took slave to the barn.
“Now you will learn what I meant when I wanted you to fully feel your worthlessness.”
She pulled away a covering, revealing a cart.
The slave knelt silently while Mistress Jean dressed him in harness and shackles.
“Pull the cart and follow.”
They walked a fair distance. At an area covered with large stones, Mistress Jean ordered slave to stop. She pointed at a big rock.
“Put that on the cart.”
He struggled. The Domme grew impatient. She whipped him, cursing him.
“You are more worthless than most men. Stupid scum. Do as you are told.”
Finally, the heavy stone was in place.
She led him back to the barn. The slave’s muscles ached. He was out of breath.
“Remove it.” He almost injured himself but this task was easier than the first.
“Come worship me. Lick my boots.’
The slave lost himself in his favorite form of adoration.
He obeyed, waiting with bowed head.
“Put the rock back on the cart.”
Obeying was a tremendous struggle. The Domme whipped her slave, calling him names.
“Worthless beast. You are proof of male inferiority. Useless trash.”
He followed her back to the area of large rocks.
He obeyed. The effort left him dizzy.
“Put it back on.”
He struggled. Mistress Jean grew angry. She grabbed his hair, slapped his face.
He succeeded. The effort left him weak, almost paralyzed.
“Pull it back.” He crawled slowly, doubting he could make it. Mistress Jean followed, kicking him.
“Pathetic. I had low expectations. You did not meet them.”
Her words hurt. She was not fair. Fairness was irrelevant. He had sworn to do whatever she demanded. Inability was no excuse. He felt as worthless and inferior as Mistress Jean had called him.
“This is how I want you to feel.”
He kissed the dirt.
“Groveling will not change my mind. For the next three months, you will live as the lowly beast you are.”
He could not imagine weeks of exhausting drudgery. Months of heavy labor. He would do as ordered. He knew she enjoyed his misery. He believed that this was the future fate of all men when female supremacy triumphs.