Going Deep

My mistress, keyholder, fiancée (yay!) and soulmate @Ymmxqueen asked me to post something of an appreciation post and blog here on the mansion.

The truth is, I'm not quite sure where to begin.

We met around three years ago online, and what was intended to be something of a casual arrangement for us both very quickly turned into much more.

And I am so glad it did.

We spent our early days playing, experimenting and veering from one dynamic to the next as the mood took us. And whether we played at Goddess and devotee, mommy and little or mistress and sissy, chastity has been the common thread throughout.

I'm proud to say I haven't self-pleasured since before the evening of our first date, and the time I've been allowed to touch her property in the time we've been together have been few and brief.

My Tattoo
There have been many thrilling milestones along the way. The first that springs to mind was when my mistress wrote her name on me with a tattoo gun. I was strapped to the bed, probably after a long play session, when my Mistress started gathering bits from cupboards here and there. I could tell by the grin on her face she had something special planned and as I'd already long ago made up my mind that she was THE ONE for me, I didn't fight or squirm a bit as she methodically shaved my pubis and began to tattoo in plain writing: Property of Ymmxqueen.

My tattoo is far from the professional dolly in a cage or ornate script we'd talked about, but I love this simple statement of ownership more than anything any tattoo artist could create since it came from my mistress' own hand.

My Proposal
Another milestone I've written about briefly here on the mansion was the Christmas morning I went down on one knee to propose. I was shaking with nerves. I took out the ring. We locked eyes and I asked. My mistress grasped me by the hair and pulling me close, whispered: "Beg me, bitch..."

I knew long before my proposal I'd found my one, now I was in no doubt at all.

A Punishment
I try hard to please my Mistress, but I haven't always been the best partner. Early on in our relationship, I violated trust by viewing and downloading censored porn. This was a new fetish to me at the time and I reasoned that, since the images were censored, it wasn't technically breaking my Mistress' no-pornography rule.

Porn has been a lifetime habit - and a difficult one to break. I lapsed again in August this year by downloading and promptly deleting more censored images. When my Mistress discovered these in my computer's recycle bin, I found myself in serious trouble.

I've been locked permanently since then, for a period that far exceeds anything we've done in the past. I've put pornography behind me, putting everything I have into serving on my Mistress' terms.

A Cuck Mindf*ck
Over my extended lockup, we talked lots about cuckolding. I know my Mistress has always liked the idea of FMM play but it's always been a fantasy. That changed a few weeks ago when we decided together to see if chatting online with a bull would live up to the fantasy we'd been whispering of. We met someone fairly local and our three-way chat had Mistress and I feeling like naughty teenagers. It was pretty clear that cuckolding was to be more than just a fantasy...

And so I found myself on the evening our bull was to arrive, wrapped from head to toe in plastic pallet wrap, unable to move...hearing the knock on the door...voices, soft moaning in the hallway...I hear my mistress come into the room. My mind hears our bull going upstairs.

It must have taken almost five minutes of lying there, bound tightly in plastic, in silence with my Mistress, to realise this was all a rouse - a deftly planned and executed mindfuck. The voices and moaning were play-acting - the footsteps I'd heard were nothing more than my sensory-deprived imagination filling in the blanks...

Our bull - in on the scheme of course - was at home, laughing. Wanking, probably. Later that evening, still bound, still locked and untouched by my Mistress' hand, I came in my cage - a numb and desperately frustrating quasi-orgasm that made me want to tear through my plastic cocoon to complete the ruined work.

My mistress continues to talk to bulls - an old admirer, who I'm assured has a huge cock - something tells me that next time it won't be a mindf*ck but the real thing.

Finding Power
I know that the mindf*ck episode, and talking to bulls, was hugely empowering for my Mistress. This, and my extended lockdown when I've been extra attentive, seems to have shown her it's possible to find pleasure on her own terms without 'resetting' the submissive energy she is so deftly weaving and stirring with me.

There are warnings: "I no longer need to unlock you..." "We do things MY way from now on..." "I'm going to take you so deep into submission, you won't know what's happened..."

Seeing this discovery of power is undoubtedly the most alluring, amazing, entrancing and deeply, deeply sexy thing I've ever witnessed. Just writing about it is enough to set my heart racing.

I love feeling the screw tighten.
I love being in your thrall.
I love the brand you gave me, marking me as your property.
I love the rules you put in place to remind me of my servitude.
I love the humiliation of lisping 'yeth mithtreth' in my sissy voice, as is your wont.
I love kissing your feet before bed.
I love the life we've made together, and wondering where our journey may take us.
I love when you are severe, and I love the relaxed moments when we are lovers, soulmates, and just like any ordinary couple...well...almost...

 

Tomorrow will mark the third anniversary of our first date and my Goddess and keyholder asked me to write a little update and appreciation post.

So that's three whole years since @Ymmxqueen took ownership of her property by confiscating the keys; three 1095 days since I last touched her property in pleasure and 26,280 hours spent in thrall to my beautiful goddess.

Every moment gets better as my mistress continues to discover and wield her power over me.

Before Christmas, I ordered a full belt - nothing special, just a cheap Chinese one I thought looked like good fun for occasional play or punishment. Plus, I wanted to know how they work and get a good look at one up close.

I'm now eight days locked in this infernal thing which, despite its slight jankiness is surprisingly comfortable and very secure. The flat front plate pushes everything neatly up into my body and my mistress has taken to calling me Ken after barbie's similarly de-sexed husband. I also made the mistake of ordering a pink liner (as if this thing didn't look sissy enough). My mistress' occasional taunts and barbed comments about my predicament really cut.

Another development in our relationship is my mistress instruction that I am no longer allowed to wear male underwear. I already had a few sissy things, but to cement this rule, my mistress bought a load of flowery knickers. And so, hairless, pantied, belted, I find myself becoming ever more submissive and sweetly vulnerable.

Last night, while working doing chores until late, my mistress promised she would reward my work with a supervised shower. In our early days, I could have counted on some play - a chance to fuck maybe and even a mind-blowing orgasm. Work done, In the shower and watched on, I soaped myself down, washing everywhere until fresh as a baby. Then, glad to be free of the unrelenting steel belt for a few moments, I dried and lay on the bed as instructed while my mistress snapped on a latex glove to gently massage numbing cream into the ache between my legs. I lay there and let the familiar heat take hold until her property felt dead, as though it no longer belonged to my body. I wanted to scream out to be touched after my punishing week in the belt. But no. "Playtime's over." My mistress said, finally. "Back in the belt."

This morning, realising I'd gone downstairs in my trousers without the requisite knickers beneath, my mistress threw a pair at me in the kitchen and demanded I put them on right there and then and I noticed how weak was my attempt to remonstrate. I felt like a child who'd been caught at some act of disobedience and now had no choice other than to tow the line.

And I noticed the voice that commanded me wasn't my mistress' idea of how a dominant is supposed to speak or a sexy, commanding tone put on for my benefit. This was my mistress' everyday voice, although tinged with impatience, and what I heard - in addition to being cajoled into the floweriest of flowery knickers (how fitting for Henry Flowers!) - was a voice that said: This is no longer a game.

In a little over nine months, my Mistress and I will be married. To our friends and all the guests, our ceremony will seem like any other wedding. For me, it will be a placing of my trust in the deepening of our dynamic; to go wherever that leads - and a reaffirmation of all I've pledged before: That I give myself wholly and unconditionally to the most amazing woman I've ever met.

 

“I need to hear you say it,” she said. “I need to hear that you want me to take another lover.”

But I don’t. Not really. Anyway, I couldn’t say it. Not out loud.

So I wrote a letter instead, reflecting deeply on my Mistress’ need for sex, weighed against her competing desire to keep me chaste and obedient.

In my letter, I admitted I didn’t have the stamina to stay locked and satisfy her. The last time I had sex with my mistress was in August last year. It was my birthday, and she rode me as she sang: “Happy birthday to you…Happy birth—” I didn’t get much further.

I reflected on my size compared to the dildos we use when we play, and by the end of my letter, I’d written myself into a humiliating corner from where I was urging her to take another.

Afterwards, she showed me the conversation she’d been having with a potential bull. His flirtatiousness and forwardness with my mistress shocked me. Here was something else I didn’t have. I’ve always considered myself a born submissive. A slave. And what I read wasn’t how slaves talk. The pain felt so sweet.

So this is a path we’re both set on. I feel as though I’d do anything for my mistress, but the anguish of knowing my servitude to her will be on display to another man takes my submission and humiliation to a deeper place.

My mistress taunts that my next chance to earn an orgasm will be on our wedding night in six months - and that it may be my last. The thought is terrifying…but deeply thrilling.

When we played together on the night I wrote my letter, I felt another shift in our dynamic.

Just the sight of my mistress in her low-cut shift felt like it was enough to make her property explode in its cage. My kisses on her feet felt urgent, desperate; overflowing with adoration.

Such feelings of awe and gratitude could sustain a slave like me forever.

With love, adoration and trepidation to @Ymmxqueen