Masochist’s Voluntary Slavery
He is a man who in becoming nothing achieves all he wants.
On the first day of every month, Mistress Dalisay’s slave renews his vows. Always nude in his Mistress Owner’s home, he dons a white T-shirt.
The white shirt symbolizes the emptiness of his life before becoming Mistress Dalisay’s property.
He gave himself to her. Without asking for limits or safewords. His pledge never expires. He needs her ownership not freedom.
His faith in her superiority never wavers. He knows she is a perfect instance of the sublime supremacy of womankind.
Reaffirmation begins after Mistress Dalisay’s breakfast. He kneels head bowed at the side of her chair.
She whispers, “Go and wait for me.”
As she sips, the Domme grows eager. The man is as all men should be: certain of his inferiority, obsequious, adoring. Never defiant, happiest when groveling. Eager to suffer for her delight.
She enjoys owning him. But even the most servile man inspires contempt. The best man is still a male. Something she uses without compassion.
She trains him with pain. Punishes his least failing. Cruel words lacerate his ego.
Her cruelty aroused, everything fades but her desire to hear him scream and beg. Watch him weep until his tear ducts run dry. His tears are pleasing worship. Screams are hymns.
She stands. A strong woman. Vibrant. Proud. A living goddess. Pure female authority.
She comes to where her slave kneels. Spits on the floor.
Quickly, he bends and licks the floor clean.
Then he recites his agreement. Again asking to be owned. No plea for kindness. No stipulation of any kind. Then quotes passages from the Femdomosophic Fragments.
Mistress Dalisay’s whip flashes out, cuts his skin. The tip of her whip strikes repeatedly. She focuses on his chest and back. The T-shirt shreds, A reenactment of his first day as her chattel.
Her lash moves lower, His buttocks his thighs. He writhes. Once he had illusions. He would keep himself still when Mistress Owner whipped him. No man could do that. Nor should she want that. His involuntary movements are part of her fun.
She kicks him over. Whips his chest. His arms try to block her whip only to be scarred.
His genitals come last. He shrieks uncontrollably while she whips his testicles.
For the Domme, time passes rapidly. Her slave feels as if been on the floor for days.
Mistress Dalisay spits on the floor again. Shuddering and moaning, her slave licks it up.
She barely notices as he grovels at her feet, licking her boots. Men are such trivial things.