It took 34 days for my slave to lose 20kg or 44lbs living as my willing submissive captive in my condo. But this story is not about what he lost, it’s about what he gained which is a far deeper understanding of just how surreal the slave mistress relationship can be once free of the 2 hour session restraint. A bit too surreal for even though he extended his contract on the 30th for another 14 days, he then asked me yesterday to be let out of the remaining 9 days so that he can end our relationship.
He asked to be let out not because of mental strain inflicted from my weight loss domination, nor did he ask to go home because the tasks I asked him to do for me were too perverse.
No. In his own words, the reason he asked to go home was because “the feeling of submitting to me was becoming too intense” which is what I’ve been saying all along since I started writing this blog a year ago. The slave/mistress relationship has a lot in common with the hostage/terrorist relationship in terms of the possible growing intensity of the interaction.
I think where it started to go wrong, and by wrong I mean by letting the intensity get out of control without realizing it, was right after he weighed in at 86kg , not on the 29th as I had planned but on the 3rd … this past Saturday. I thought a lot about why I decided to use the word “asshole” to start off my last story talking about him sneaking off to McDonalds to steal food and that should have been a big clue to me. These stories I write, the first copy is either spoken into my phone or flash written without thought for grammar or any clever way of arranging my thoughts, it’s just a conduit that connects my tongue or finger to my brain to download all my thoughts.
In that initial spewage of words I used the word “asshole” as well. When I sent the story to my friend who acts as my editor he suggested I use a word that transfers “a calmer way of expressing your opinion of him” and I said no. That’s how I felt about him taking his request to lose weight so lightly that he would go steal food from McD’s , after I had put in 100’s of hours making sure he walks that line between starving and getting by so perfectly.
The whole thing started out as an idea, and then grew in intensity much more than I thought it would. He would weigh himself on Sunday only and that transition from the 2nd weigh in to the 3rd weigh in where he lost 6kg in a week was shocking. But more shocking was his behavior. I wrote about it briefly, so you might think it was just a one off thing – his crying and insulting me or his threats to hurt himself – but really the crying got to be so frequent that I was able to shut it out as it became normal to come home and have him cry for 2-3 hours.
What was happening below all that crying though, i’m sure of it now, was that he was expressing the relenting of the definition of who he was to me. Think about that.
We ultimately are all in control of who we are. We control our actions which end up defining what kind of a person we are. Going back once again to Maslow’s chart of human needs, those actions become more and more primal the closer a person falls approaches level 5 – our basic human needs.
When I was in Turkey last month, I had it happen to me two times that as I walked out of a place with newly bought food that it was stolen right out of my hand by Syrian refugee children no older than say about 5yo. They ate my Shawarma the way a starving animal would eat from a bloody carcass, the most primal of behavior. On both occasions I offered them the rest of my food as there is something inherently wrong with seeing a child truly starving for food. Hey, don’t read that and get fooled into giving food to the mafia owned kids at the bottom of every public train station here. Those aren’t starving children, that’s a con game to get your money out of sympathy.
Now my slave wasn’t anywhere close to how desperate those Syrian kids were, but I think in his mind he was. A guy who’s biggest question in life had been whether to up-size both his Coke and fries was suddenly questioning whether he could live on 5 mangoes a day … his only allowed food the final 3 days. I took a guy who self admittedly floated between levels 2 and 3 on Maslow’s scale and made him fall to the lowest depths of level 5 where he had to contemplate the initial feelings of starvation.
By controlling his food, in a sexy way I created this dependency, one rather similar to a mother baby relationship. On the 29th of September, for the better part of 8 hours I let him suck on my toes as I dipped them occasionally in the Indian Marsala I had ordered and dangled them above the floor where he lay with his head sticking out from under the sofa. I’d only feed him if he could shut his mouth which he couldn’t, constantly pleading “please —– , please —– , please feed me something” choosing to drop calling me Mistress or Goddess as he had all month and instead calling me by my real name without my permission.
Now I’ve fed slaves like this before from my feet, just as recently as yesterday actually. But yesterday’s 2 hour session really lacked the desperation that was so everywhere in the air during those 8 hours last weekend. I watched 2 seasons of The Walking Dead to catch up and be ready for this month when season 6 starts, the whole time having him not once stop nibbling at my toes. I had told him that if his focus went from my toes to the show … if he could in fact see it upside down from under the couch … that I’d put him back in his room with no food for 24 hours. Foot worship doesn’t get better than that. There was no prodding on my part, I just watched tv all night and never once did I have to remind him of his responsibility.
See, normally what would happen, just as it did last night, is that the guy wants to be punished for “being bad”, which translates to being self absorbed into his desires and acting the part of being bad – a very typical level 2 or 3 Maslow trait.
For eight full hours my slave last weekend sucked at my toes hoping that i’d give him a taste of sauce every hour or so. “Being bad” I’ll bet never entered his mind even once. As real as it gets.
The next uncontrollable bought of tears came after his final weigh in on Sunday morning. It wasn’t quite 20kg as he weighed in on my scale at 87 and a bit so we went to the market and found a 1 baht electronic scale that showed his final weigh in with me as 86.8 kg.
Still, it was a bit much for him.
We went to KFC to eat right after the weigh in and after ordering a 9 piece bucket with extra large gravy and mashed potatoes he ate all of one side of one slice before pushing it away to my side of our tiny round white table.
Now I thought that he was emotional from seeing his weight somewhere in the 80’s after spending the last 20 years of his life seeing triple digits every time he’d check his weight. He hadn’t been eighty something since university he said. So I was giving him all the time and space he needed to get used to it and enjoy the food. He simply didn’t want to eat it though and when it came time to leave he wanted to leave it at the table. I told him that wasn’t a possibility after seeing the 2 girls that had taken my food in Istanbul out of starvation. I took the bucket instead to a guy I see sitting on the same bench outside Lotus every day.
Unlike the guys you see laying as part of the sidewalk at every public transit station here this homeless guy didn’t have a fake bottom tray to push around. Guys … don’t fall for the human carpet trick. If you look at his bowl it has a cloth which is cleverly covering the 20’s, 50’s and 100’s collected throughout the day. The guy who we gave the chicken to, he ate it with the same ferociousness as those 2 girls had done in Turkey. That’s how I know we did the right thing.
I was completely wrong though about the source of my slave’s emotion. I had promised him that if he did one day make 86 kg then the rest of the time with me I’d treat him as my full time pet giving him my full time attention without leaving him alone for the remainder of his stay with me. I’d assumed it’d be a few days at most. Honestly, I never thought he’d make 86kg, I’m small so losing even 1kg of weight for me takes forever, 20 kg is unimaginable.
So that night back at my condo I was eating rice with boiled chicken of all things … I hardly ever order it but I had one of those “what the fuck, why not” moments trying to order something fast to beat the rain coming home.
This time watching the pilot of Lost which I’ve yet to see I had my meal on my lap as I slumped over to the right arm rest on my sofa with my legs stretched out. The sofa allows me to lay stretched out like that which is how I like to watch movies, it feels kind of like the vip theater rooms here where you can watch a movie in style for 1000 baht.
Except in the vip rooms you don’t get to have a slave under your ass as I had on Sunday haha. Now whereas my slave wouldn’t eat anything from a bucket of KFC chicken a few hours prior, he was more than willing to chew up the bits of chicken I passed down to my asshole.
When I told him I wanted him to get up and use the remote to watch the next episode I adjusted myself on the sofa so that I was laying down parallel to the television and all I said was simply : “you look amazing with your flat stomach, come let me put my head on it while you brush my hair.”
Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a simple compliment.
Fuck, one thing I’ve learned about being a Goddess is that I really have to carefully choose when and to whom I hand compliments out to. You really have no idea how important that task has become to me. There are … out there … an army of men, like I’m talking more than a handful ok … who if I complement too much will consider that politeness a crack in the door which they can bash through and be on the first flight from Alaska, Norway, Rome, or even Moscow to be on their knee the next morning offering me a ring to get married by.
I have little doubt that I’m a mural on the wall in 1/2 the homes of men in India.
A few minutes later as I’m having my hair brushed for me with my head on his lap I hear sniffling again.
I look up and sure enough he’s wiping his eyes by stretching up his yellow t-shirt to rub them.
“What?” I ask, “you can eat too, I bought two for you as well” which is true, and he had even picked out the pork with rice and gravy himself. But it wasn’t the food he was crying over. Just as it wasn’t the food he had cried over earlier at the mall.
“I’m in love with you.” he whispered. To which I sat up, the mystery of what the 6 numbers in Lost would have to wait because figuring out how a slave that I was nothing but cruel to for the past 34 days and yet was in love with me was an even deeper mystery.
“How?” i laughed as I said the word.
“You’re beyond beautiful. You’ve done so much to change me that I can’t think of going back to live my life as I did before without you.”
I replied simply, “and you’re handsome now that you’re as thin as you are, you’ll have girls looking at you wherever you go.” assuming he meant his appearance when saying how much I changed him. But he affirmed how wrong I was in assuming that when he said,
“You changed who I am inside. I can’t go back to a normal life, I want to serve you.”
That’s when I started to see all these deep feelings I had once thought were possible in a slave mistress relationship start to materialize right before my eyes, or more exactly … my ears. It’s strange. Even by not being at the condo all those days, especially when I was in Turkey, I was still at the condo. Still with him, because even though that was early in our one month time together, he still was totally reliant upon me to ease his fall from level 2 on Maslow’s chart of needs down to level 5.
I did it in such a sweet caring, but merciless way that he fell in love with me I think. At the time I was really happy he had expressed his feelings like that for it was a complete confirmation of how I thought a month like this might end up. Sadly proving again that I often think too much about the mental side of Femdom and not at all about the heart felt side of things.
From my side of things, this guy paid me a hell of a lot of money to transform his life and deliver to him the submissive fantasy he had always kept hidden in his thoughts. My job was to deliver both of those wishes in a way that I think nobody else possibly can.
I delivered on both accounts. Maybe a bit too much.
He left that evening a few minutes after I told him that serving me full time here isn’t either a financial possibility or a logistical one as well. Besides, before throwing one’s life away back home for a dream life serving me, I think one should consider the seriousness of such an adventure very carefully.
I haven’t heard back from him since Sunday, and you know what, I don’t think I ever will.
Sometimes, getting as real as it gets, take forever to get over.