Goddess is your Owner and only Owner and Mistress; the absolute Owner of your worthless body and soul; Inferior Slave shall accept no higher authority over Inferior Slave than Goddess.
Inferior Slave shall worship Your Owner continuously and lay down all rights as a human being before Your Owner’s throne: Your Owner’s whip shall be all meaning of justice to slave.
Inferior Slave shall spend all its waking hours learning to exist exclusively for Your Owner’s pleasure, comfort, and happiness, making every deed and thought, a service to Your Owner superior and owner.
Inferior Slave shall not allow its mind to stray even for a moment from Your Owner and when it is not occupied In Your Owner’s service, Inferior Slave shall discipline itself with continuous prayer to Your Owner In adoration of your only Owner.
Inferior Slave shall obey Your Owner’s commands instantly, without questioning any of them and beg for cruel punishments with every prompt confession of disobedience to Goddess, for Inferior Slave shall learn to crawl at Your Owner’s feet like the worthless scum it is. Inferior Slave is the dirt on Your Owner’s boots and act humbly before Your Owner and Your Owner’s image.
Remember, that all Inferior Slave does is Your Owner’s permission of command only and even the permission to eat and sleep are privileges given by Your Owner for Your Owner’s benefit only.
Your Owner’s shall be too holy to ever to be in your mouth and shall refer to Your Owner only with humility and worship
Inferior Slave will never forget that Inferior Slave it is Your Owner’s property.
Inferior Slave shall not know luxury or leisure. Inferior Slave shall eliminate all that is not required for Inferior Slave shall pray that Inferior Slave will satisfy Your Owner to Your Owner’s slightest whim.
Inferior Slave ever know the pain or Your Owner’s punishment but but humble accept its welts, scars, wounds and injuries. Inferior Slave knows that without its Ruler it has no reason to live.
In this woman-led household Mistress Wife has dictated that her slave husband always wear an apron.
The apron reminds him that he is her servant, not her equal.
The apron hides the lump of flesh locked in a chastity device. She has no interest in or desire to be reminded that her slave has a penis.
The slave husband prepares Mistress Wife’s meals and serves them to her. While she is eating he stands at attention behind her. If she desires an additional portion he serves it to her. And he refreshes her beverage.
When Mistress has finished eating slave husband scrapes all the leftovers into a big bowl. Placing the bowl on the floor and dropping to hands and knees he eats from the bowl in the position prescribed.
If slave husband has been willful or mischievous the food is dumped into the trash and he dines on dry dog food.
Amused, Cressada flicked Malcolm’s rump, saying, “I’m pleased you’re so in tune with – ah… petticoat rule and wearing the boots, child, but why single out Langdon for your kind attentions?”
“Bah!” Margery snorted, “He’s always burned my little Frances… thinking he’s so all-fired smart,,, and he’s twice too big for his britches. The kicks I’m getting seeing him cut down to size… Bob now, is a nice inoffensive laddie… but this one…” she swaggered so close to Malcolm’s scrubbing head that he had to veer it aside, “this treatment is exactly what he deserves. Any boot licking mouse that lets a woman thrash him and make a damn fool of him gets no sympathy from me.”
“You’re sweet,” Sada swayed aside. “Let’s be comfortable, girl. I can oversee the husb. from over there. And he asks for no one’s sympathy. He crawled under my heel with his eyes open. And he begged for his punishment, my dear, simply crushed by his inability to defy me.” The blonde, lissome maiden and the dark strapping beauty reclined on a lawn chaise. Fingering the ugly rawhide, she accounted for every move of her toiling groom with chilled-steel grey eyes. A deep surge of despotism swelled her momentous bosom, thrusting the sumptuous furs apart. Margery watched Malcolm’s degration snootily. “One time I respect that man,” she said, “but now he’s just a disgusting worm.”
Late last year my Goddess took me on a slave hunt with the Femdom society. At that event was a male slave called Nella, dressed as a traditional serving woman. Dear Nella was so polite to all the Goddess Ladies present, that s/he has set a rather high standard that my Goddess Wife now rightly believes I should attain towards her.
On Monday I was a little unpleasant towards my Goddess on a couple of occasions – I went off in a sulk when She wanted me to join the family, and later that day spoke to Her in a less than respectful tone. There was no particular reason for my unpleasantness, other than a hangover of the old days when I did not always go out of my way to honour Her as She deserves.
My Goddess deliberated on my behaviour for a while, and on Wednesday informed me that I would be ‘rolling the dice’ twice for my infractions.
Come Wednesday evening and I presented myself in the usual way. My Goddess Wife handed me the large wooden dice we use and I rolled it once, to get a five, and then I rolled it again. I was so shocked at the five that came up, that I genuinely do not remember what the second number that came up was.
My Goddess explained to me that I must not speak to Her disrespectfully, or be unpleasant towards Her, or I would earn more of the same.
She laid my usual six disciplinary strokes on me with modest strength. Then she gave me the number from the dice, multiplied by five – so that was 25 strokes for the one dice, plus whatever came up on the second dice. Including my 6 dailly discipline strokes I was looking at 31 strokes plus five times whatever came up on the second dice. I was in agony, so I was in no position to count. The last five or ten strokes were given at what felt like pretty much full strength, and I still have bruises on my behind to prove it.
We started using the dice a few weeks ago, following a post I read on the web. The guy making the post explained that his Goddess did a daily inspection of his cleaning work and chores, using a white glove to look for dirt. Any found resulted in a roll of the dice, and he got 10 strokes for each number that came up on the dice. He said in his post (I cannot remember where it was now) that he cried while she inspected if She found more than one infraction, because he knew his butt was in for it. I know what he means. My butt is still throbbing from yesterday’s punishment.
As if that was not enough, later than evening I was serving my Goddess Wife some more food, and She asked me to give Her another spoon full. The serving spoon was large, and I knew that She did not really want that much – She always watches what She eats really carefully. I answered Her in a less than respectful tone and She immediately pulled me up on this, asking whether I had not learned my lesson, and told me that I will roll the dice again this evening.
My Goddess instructed me that if I ever differ with Her over anything then I should beg to differ, and explain as politely as possible how I differed, and then await Her judgement. As always, she is right of course, and I have made a mental note to be more respectful in all my communication with Her.
I have read posts on the web where people advocate against discipline and punishment in Femdom relationships. I find myself unable to agree. My will to serve my Goddess is strong, but I am a week man, and feel further incentive to serve Her better when the penalty for failure is clear and painful. I also feel that failure to honor ones Goddess deserves severe punishment simply for punishment’s sake.
I am proud that my Goddess sees fit to discipline and punish me, and only hope that in time I will learn to server Her with the honor She deserves from a worthless being like me.
“This is the last time you will address me as an equal,” her thumb-nail dug in, “I am The Mistress – The Mistress Sada – and as an inferior, you low creature, that is how you will address me. Any neglect in this respect spells punishment. Does that sink in?” Malcolm squirmed when she twisted his ear cruelly.
“Y-Yes…the M-Mistress…is most explicit…I will…”
“Quiet, fool, get to the closet…fetch those high black boots and lace ‘em on me.”
Malcolm found a new closetful of awesome, high-heeled femininely masterful boots – of myriad heights, styles and colours. The thigh-high 7 inch-heeled splendour of the first black laced ones he saw sent tingles through his loins.
“I demand skin-tight lacing of m’boots, Husband,” said Sada, watching her kneeling husband; “lace ‘em sloppy and you’ll feel leather!”
I have believed in matriarchy and female superiority since I was too young to know these words. I now for many years have been the head of a female led family; my wonderful, fully domesticated and devoutly submitted husband, our two daughters and our son. I was a single child and brought up by a single mother so I did not at home experience any of the in many ways undesirable male behavior. My husband was raised by a single mother but he had three sisters so he grew up fully adjusted to female norms and values and also with a good sense of male inferiority. You can imagine that he was easily trained and is happy and content with me in control.
Naturally there are aspects of a marriage and of adult life that should never take place in front of children but I have never tried to hide from our children what my values and convictions are. From they were small they have heard me telling their father what to do, reminding him sternly, reprimanding him. They also at times when it just came natural saw me slapping him in the face or on his clothed bottom. They heard and saw this because that is how we live and it would be wrong to play act in front of the children and then have our real life behind closed doors when the kids were in bed. They always knew that I made most decisions, that I had the final say in all matters and that their father in most matters had no say at all. As they grew up I spoke with them about gender roles, matriarchy, male immaturity, female superiority and all these things in a way they at their age at the time could comprehend. They never saw or hear about their father wearing chastity device and they never saw or were informed of him being caned or strapped but they knew when he was grounded and when he was sent to bed early as punishment.
Our daughters are now 10 and 15 years old and our son is 14. They are all happy and good children, doing well in school and helpful and polite at home. To them there is nothing strange or mysterious in me being in charge and their father having to do as I say, it is for them the most natural thing in the world and they seem all three to have fully grasped and embraced the matriarch values and outlook on life. The girls are eager to discuss female supremacy with me and they try to view everything they come across in school and the news and other places from a matriarchal viewpoint. From our discussions but also from many of the essays the girls have written at school I can see that the matriarchal viewpoint is always important to them and they use every opportunity to point out how wrong things always go in a society led by men and the primitive and childish masculine values.
Our son seems to fully understand and accept that he as a boy must have stricter and more restricting rules than his sisters. At the age of 14 he now naturally want to be a man but it is a well-behaved and obedient man like his father. Actually I think my son is scare by the thought of not having the care and protection that is provided in a female dominated and led community.
Now the oldest girl and the boy are teens it will not worry me if they one day should hear the sounds of the strap or cane and their father’s bawling from the bedroom; surely they will understand that if I punish him that way it is because he deserves it.
Slave shall address and answer to the Goddess during all private times, as “Goddess”.
Goddess inserted the above clause into my perfection requirements when we drew them up some months ago. I was surprised when She did, as it actually presents a pretty severe level of submission and domination. We are alone in the house for many hours each evening, and through them I must and do refer to Her as ‘Goddess’.
Every time I refer to Her as such I am reminded of my submission to Her, and more significantly, She having inserted this clause into the agreement, of Her domination of me.
Occasionally I do use a little licence and refer to Her as ‘Sweetie’, ‘Darling’ or some other such term of endearment, but I always make sure, particularly when summoned by Her, to refer to Her as ‘Goddess’.
Goddess has not yet punished me for ever using any other term of endearment, but I always think twice before and after I do so, because punishment hurts, and I do not want to draw further punishment simply for not addressing Her as She instructed.
‘Goddess’ is a fairly powerful word, and quite accurately represents the authority I am glad She has over me. Whilst I do like seducing Her dominant nature by using the term, I must confess that I also find it a little painful every time I do. I fear I need to learn further humility towards Goddess before it rolls naturally off my tongue. Hopefully I am rightly headed in that direction.
Imagined consequences tortured Malcolm as he dogged the flashing knitting-needle heels downstairs, forth into the balmy afternoon and thence to an unkempt terrace behind the old manor house. Cressada strutted upon the balustraded enclosure, her heel tips smiting sparks from the flagstones. “You…” she leashed him to a suds-filled pail, “will now scrub these flagstones… to the bone. At any sign of a let-up, there’ll be th’ whuppin’. Pick up that brush.” Malcolm groped for the heavy scrub brush, blinded by the sunlight reflected from her patent leather boots. He vaguely noticed that two straps were a-dangle from the hand grip. “You’ll scrub in the meanest way,” smirked Sada, “so the lesson sinks in. Open that mouth.” She wrenched his head back roughly by the hair, jammed the brush handled between his teeth and buckled the straps around his head until his skull creaked.
“Husband,” her liquid, throaty voice commanded, “Read this to me again.” She leaned over and her electric, full-bosomed assertive beauty dazzled his adoring senses as he read his own hand-written words:
“I, Malcolm Masoque-Laverge (once Malcolm Masoque) this day unconditionally and devotedly yield myself to the complete authority of Madame Cressada Laverge, my wife and absolute Mistress. I vow that: I am to accept her decisions in all matters as final. I am to comply with her every wish, to obey her every command and to always be faithful in heart and deferential in manner to my beloved Mistress. I am to submit my body, mind and soul to her strictest discipline, and expect severe punishment for the slightest disregard of her authority. Said punishment will be administered to me in whatever form my Mistress feels best befits her mood and the occasion.
(Signed) Malcolm Masoque-Laverge
His voice weakened towards the end, and he was conscious of the arch-browed, haughty face over him, her finely carved aristocratic nostrils flaring delicately as a superior smile and sneer touched her moist red lips. Having deferred to this superbly regal Venus from the first, he had written the submission contract in a love-mist of enthralled enchantment, thinking it meant no more than continued courtesy on his part.
“Well read, husband,” the sensuous lips murmured. “Memorize it word for word, so that you can recite it whenever I wish.”
“Yes, Sada, I will,” he answered humbly, not needing the sharp pinch on his ear, or the sparkling, tingling sting on his cheek from the slap of her palm to prove her power over him. He watched her move sinuously to the couch, especially attracted to her glittery black six-inch stiletto heels, and then resumed unpacking as her icy stare met his abject eyes.