From that day on, I started openly and casually calling him my slave. He was to begin all speech with “My Goddess”, “My Mistress”, “My Lady” or “My Owner”, and address me only with such names. He was to speak only when spoken to, or whenever I gave him permission to express himself openly. He was never again to make willful eye contact, and was expected to lower his head below my eyes as a sign of submission and surrender. These were just preliminary measures, in order for it to truly sink in what our new relationship status was, and I was to make other changes as time went by.
First order of business: economics. Like any modern couple, we both worked a full-time job. He was a technical expert on his field, so he made more money than I did. We could, in fact, pay rent and live a modest life just out of his salary. But, as a modern woman, I feel the need to “build a career” to feel worthy and competent. Plus, with both our salaries we were able to afford to travel and have someluxury expenses.
But now my perspective was changing. I noticed, whenever I got out of our house, that all of the men’s eyes were on me. This had never happened before. Heads would turn to admire me; uncomfortable girlfriends would grow upon their onlooking boyfriends. I could understand why. When I saw myself on the mirror, I was astonished at how beautiful I looked, never before had I looked so attractive. I always considered myself to be average-looking, but this power inside me was changing my face in a sort of mystical way. It was the same old face, but it looked radiant, powerful, seductive. My whole body language had become both elegant and sexy. This was who I was now, and because of it, my job started to become unbearable. Corporate neuroticism, general unsatisfaction, abuseive bosses, frustrated colleagues. As a gritty up-and-coming career woman, I could swallow and bare it, but not anymore. Every day at work started feeling like a sin against the Goddess. The “career-woman” mindset seemed now like a lie. Plus, what use is more money, if your life is meaningless? What’s better: a full life, with maybe some economic limits, or drowning your sorrow with travels and parties?
So, after a particularly stressful day at work, I spoke to my husband. I was laying in bed, thinking, while he licked my cunt. He had become quite good at it. I moaned while I pressed his head against my sex with my legs. “I’ve made a decision, slave”, I proclaimed, while pressing him harder to signal that he should not stop pleasuring me. “I’m going to quit my job. In fact, I’m not working ever again, unless it’s something in line with our new life. I’ll stay at home and I’ll make this new beauty and power grow and grow. I’ll study the arts and philosophy. Meanwhile, you’re to slave away to make it possible. You’ll keep up your job outside, and, once inside, you’ll keep working as my service in whatever fashion I see fit. Nothing you’ve not already been doing, mind you.Your life will become the foundation of my own”. I pressed his head further against my cunt. I felt his tongue moving faster. I was coming.
Once I was done, I pushed him away. He began massaging my shoulders. “I shall become a Goddess worthy of adoration”, I said, “and you will never orgasm again”.
***************
The following weeks, we made some arrangements to make his slavery an economic fact. We changed contracts and registrations so that all of our property now belonged to me exclusively. We emptied his bank account of his savings and closed it down. I deposited all of his money in my own account, which was now also the account in which his salary was transferred from his company. Essentially, he was now working for free, without ever seeing a penny. It was as if I was renting my slave to the company. He owned nothing, and I owned everything. Sadly, the only thing that could not be legally done was registering he himself as my legal property, chattel slavery being bannerd and all. What a shame!
The next big change came suddenly and spontaneously. We were talking about something, I can’t remember. It was something he said. Doesn’t matter. What matters is, it made me furious. This was not that rare an occurrence since, as I’ve said before, I’d become quite wrathful and severe since the Goddess started taking control over me. But the thing was, I was furious because I felt that he stepped out of line. He went beyond what was permitted in our arrangement, and it could not be tolerated. What to do?
First, I just stormed out of the house. I walked angrily on the streets, trying to think the situation through; then, the obvious solution dawned upon me.
I came back home with a big bag. “My Lady”, he began once he heard me come in, “I’m very so-“. I motioned him to stop. “Do not dare to speak without permission, or this will get worse for you”. He shut up. Then, I opened the bag and a whip came out, alongide some chains. I could feel he was scared, but did not dare look at me nor speak a word. I handcuffed and chained him to the toilet. Then, I started whipping his back, and he began screaming. “Say: Thank you, Mistress”. And he did. He did every time the whip splashed upon his back. I don’t know how many times I lashed him (certainly more than ten; twenty, maybe?). I don’t know because I didn’t count. This wasn’t a set, legal punishment, an answer to an infection. This was me overpowering him. This was me breaking him, making him submit, surrender. It was going to end whenever I felt satisfied, satisfied that my wrath had had enough, satisfied that the message had been sent and his submission fully restored. It was more a ritual than a punishment.
Finally, he let out a cry that truly satisfied me. I felt the order of the world had been restored, and I felt aroused. I was now in a good mood. I started kissing the marks on his back, and ended up giving him a long, tongue-tanglingkiss on the mouth. I released him from his chains. He stayed on his knees, terrified.
“Do not think, slave, that this is merely punishment”, I said, in a strangely sweet and loving tone, “this is life. You’re mine to do as I please. I whipped you because I wanted to do it, because I was angry. But I can do it again whenever I so please. You may misbehave again, and I may whip you again. Or not. You may be the most obedient of slaves, and I may whip you again or not, simply out of pleasure. Simply because I can. Because I feel like it”. He nodded in submission. It was strange saying such things in such a lovely tone of voice. I felt a weird mixture of cruelty and compassion. I was being really cruel, because I truly felt and believed that he was mine now. I felt Compassion too, because I was grateful to him for allowing me such a life, and I felt sorry for his prediction. I wanted to enslave his whole being, and the fact that it was happening made me want to give him a hug.
I took a collar and a leash out of the bag. I led him to bed, dressed him with his strap-on, and I rode him for hours, firmly gripping and pulling his short leash.
From that day on, chains, whips and leashes became part of our daily life. I put rings on various walls, in order to more easily restrain him when I so desired. A couple days later, the final package arrived at home: a human-sized cage. Up until now, we both were still sleeping in our marriage bed. Not anymore. I put the cage at the feet of our (my, now) bed. I led him inside, and I chained his collar to a wall ring. “From now on, this is your bed”, I said. “Yes, my Mistress”, he answered.
“Oh! One more thing!” I exclaimed, as I remembered and took off the bag the final item. It was a small, adjustable ring. I locked it around his balls. “You know what this is, my slave?” I asked. I then showed him a small device with buttons, similar to how digital car or garage keys look. I then pressed a button, and he let out a sudden, surprised scream, and held his crotch in pain. “This cute little ring sends electric currents through your balls. Painful, isn’t it? With this, I can punish you, torture you, without moving from my seat, with no effort at all but the push of a button”. I went to the bathroom to have a piss. Meanwhile, I pressed the button a couple of times, psychologically calculating the spacing, and I heard his laments through the wall. When I came back, he was on edge. I approached his cage, lowered my head to make eye contact, and I grabbed his head so that he looked me right in the eye. “Obey” was all I said, and all I needed to say.
Three full years have now passed since our experiment began. I am now 28, and my husband is 26. Our routine is well established and unquestionable. The Goddess in my soul is in full control all the time. The Goddess’ service, the slave in my husband’s soul, is now too a full-time presence. Yet something bothered me: I used to love this man. I thinkI still do. I married him, as the love of my life. Then, everything stalled, our love did not come to fruition, we were both frustrated. That’s when the duality kicked in, that’s when we became both Wife and Goddess, husband and slave. But now, it feel like we were only Goddess and slave. What became of our love, of our earthly promise to each other? Is it dead? No, I don’t think so. But then, where is it?
I looked at him. Below his slavish demeanor, he was still himself, just like I was still me, even if the Goddess was now always fully present. We had been trapped by something bigger than ourselves. In a sense, we were both under the Goddess’ control: him, as Her service; myself, as Her incarnation. We were to live the rest of our lives incarnating this Divine Drama, the story of the Feminine Divine; I was the Shakti, the life-giving force of the world; he was the creativity, the earthly matter whose whole being depended on this force, on the Life that gave him life. In a sense,we were both slaves, we both lived to serve the Goddess. And yet, we were happy in this servitude. We felt our lives had meaning, we felt that our existence means something more than the absurd rat race in which people throw their souls away.
I shared my thoughts with him, gave him permission to be as free in his speech as he hadn’t in a few months already. He jokingly noted that my studies were giving fruits. He agreed with everything I said. Through the whole process, he had been really fearful. He thought about putting an end to it before he was in too deep many times. He feared losing his life and freedom, he feared me, and above all feared losing my love. But in the end, the thought that prevailed was exactly what I had expressed: it all was meaningful. He was meant for it. We were both to live and die like this. “Then maybe”, he said, “we’ll be able to spend eternity with the Goddess, and fully know Her truth. Then maybe, we will truly be able to become husband and wife; then maybe, after death, our marriage vows will truly come to fruition”. I cried a little. He’d always been kind of a poet. But now, with this promise, the last reluctant part of my soul was satisfied. With this promise, the last of my restraints was lifted. After three years of experiment, I was ready to go full in.
“I’m glad we are in agreement”, I said to him, “but then, you know what this means, don’t you? Our earthly marriage is over. The duality is over. From now on, I will be nothing but your Owner, and you will be nothing but my slave.”
He nodded in submission and surrender. “Even if I were never to speak a word again”, he sentenced, “know that my happiness is in this truth”.
I hugged him, and signed that our conversation was over. He returned to his chores. The process had been consumed. Now it needed to be institutionalized. When he stopped being only my husband and became both my husband and my slave, changes needed to happen. Now that he stopped being both and became only my slave, changes need to happen too. And things were going to change, indeed.
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