Femdom lifestyle stories

Usually I would take slave s. down with Me for breakfast to serve Me there. These hotels all have a huge and sometimes confusing breakfast buffet. The quality of the food for the most part is very good but in the morning I sure do not feel like wandering around and searching the bits and pieces for My breakfast plate together as if was on a quest for the holy grail. So in My holiday manual that slave s. had read and studied on the plane, I had given him exact advice of what I like for breakfast. As the variety of hot and cold European and Asian dishes was usually so abundant, I would then walk up and down the buffet once and point out to him the food I felt like trying, mostly fresh fruit that I really love.  slave s. would then collect that on different plates, arrange it nicely and serve it to Me from a tray. While I was eating he was kneeling on the floor next to Me and when he had behaved well so far I would feed him with some of the leftovers of My opulent breakfast.

Once again, My valued readers might not believe this, but never ever has anyone approached Me and complained about the kneeling slave. It was as if he hadn´t been there for the rest of the world. A humble invisible servant at My side.

Before I had finished My breakfast  slave s. had to return to My room to tidy that up together with the hotels chamber maids. During the preceding day and at night I would normally just have left My clothes lying on the floor where I had taken them off. It was so unbelievably hot and humid in Thailand that I virtually had to change My sweat soaked outfit several times during the day. (There really were days when the sweat licked and gathered from My armpits where  slave s`s entire but surely sufficient supply of drinking water including all the necessary minerals). Having enough dresses to change was no issue, because  slave s. was instructed to have everything washed and ironed again for dinner that same evening what he had found lying on the floor in the morning. My delicate underwear had to be hand washed and the other stuff handed over to the hotels laundry service. All the shoes had to be cleaned attentively in the morning, regardless whether I had worn them the last day or not. Oh yes you might call me just a little bit peculiar when it comes to My shoes. There was a pair of boots I had taken along but never put them on because it was just too hot. So  slave s. has brushed and polished them just for the sake of the intense cleaning. I love it when My attire is always kept nice and neat for Me. And I for sure did not want to be limited in My choices what to wear over the day.

In order to test and then enhance his attention a bit I had to help  slave s. on one of the first mornings. My naughty foot had just incidentally pushed one of My silk thongs under the bed by a few inches. The observant slave sure would have noticed but sloppy  slave s. hadn´t. So in order to pay better attention next time, he had to ask Me for a dozen of face slaps in his stupid face and then instead of the usual hand washing he had to pick the delicate fabric up with his mouth and carry it to the hotel laundry exactly the same way. I told him exactly what to do after I had finished My face slaps: At the laundry he was about to have the pleasure to explain why the thong came so late for washing and why his cheeks were so flaming red. Explaining to the employees there before taking it out of his mouth of course that meant. While I was talking he looked at Me with loving eyes full of tears of devotion and humiliation. He looked so ridiculously pathetic standing there with the slip hanging out of his dog´s snout ready to carry that through the hotel. How much he had changed already I realized with satisfaction. He was no longer  slave s., no longer the disobedient young man who had left with Me for his journey. The man that had cared more about his pathetic red suede shoes than for My convenience and comfort. he had become a servant, a slave, a thing , something without a human name.

“pantyboi, now go and do as I have told you!”

he hurried away. My pantyboi. That is how I have called him ever since, how I have introduced him to others and so at the same time explained his position without the need for any more words. My pantyboi. Needless to say that when W/we did not have any more problems with pantybois laundry service after this little incident.

The longer O/our trip went, the more My pantyboi found into his role of being My slave and servant. I sure helped him with that to the best of My abilities. And the best help was to keep him constantly occupied, physically and mentally. I used him as My cycle boy, i.e. driving Me around in the hot midday sun for hours in a bicycle rickshaw. In his brighter hours I had him kneel beneath Me and lick My feet when lying at the poolside. I even let him join a group of field hands for a whole day that I had spotted from the car. Some peasants weeding on their knees to make a poor living. he later told Me that it was inconceivable and a tremendous experience for him how devoted these people were to their slave like working existence. So day after day I felt that his own wishes, plans and fantasies faded more and more and after a while disappeared completely. In fact he did not have any time or opportunity to look after himself and his own needs. I sure kept his body and mind busy constantly. And last but not least: I sure kept him in strict chastity. So it was as if I was a strong magnet and he was a pile of iron filings. The iron filings can´t help but align with the magnetic field.

I think in the end he had well earned some reward for his service. I made him a big present in Bangkok airport on the way back. he was still wearing his black rugged dress he had gotten so used to in the meantime that he hardly remembered ever having worn anything different. W/we were already sitting in the departure hall waiting for the call of O/our flight. That is, I was sitting in the outermost seat of the row so that My pantyboi could kneel on the floor beneath Me. I told him to get up and stand in front of Me. The hall was quite crowded, the flight was fully booked so quite a few bored eyes seeking some distraction from the tedious waiting were attracted by the action.

“I will tap My sole on the floor ten times now and exactly upon the tenth tap of My shoe You will cum for Me, inteles?”

His face lit up as if illuminated by a big spotlight. he nodded eagerly.

“Da Stapana mea, bine inteles!”

His right hand grabbed into his bulged trousers and grabbed the naked cock. he could now do so for the first time in weeks because I had just released him from the steel chastity device before W/we had gone through the security control. he started wanking. Right there in the middle of the crowded hall, not caring about the people watching him.

My heeled right foot started tapping. I could see that  slave s. was so aroused and horny that counting until five would also have been enough for him. But I had said ten, so it was ten. I saw some of the other passengers turn away in disgust. Some people changed places. Others could not take their eyes of the weird scene. I sure was satisfied. The voyage had led him where I had wanted him to be. An obedient follower of My orders. Immune and unreceptive for everything but Me and O/our communication. How different he had become from the selfish and self-confident male he had been when W/we had left for Asia.

… eight – nine – ten.

Upon the final tap I watched his whole body tremble and then quiver in convulsion when he jerked off. his squirting cum trenched the thin fabric and left a big dark spot in his trousers that sure would have remained apparent if My caring thoughtfulness would not have proved to be so helpful for him once more: Before W/we split to enter the plane I told him so lick the disgusting filth out of his pants before the flight attendants would come around with dinner. As s kissed My hands in gratitude his eyes were filled with tears of love and devotion.

Not My last Asia trip for sure.

This is how W/we arrived at the hotel in downtown Bangkok. While slave s. bustled away with the luggage I went for a drink in the hotel bar in order to give My slave some time for his additional tasks. Here in Bangkok and also at all the other stops during O/our tour, slave s. would not only have to bring the suitcases upstairs but also unpack them and put away all My clothes and belongings neatly into the wardrobe and drawers in My room. he had ten minutes for that and there was a given order he strictly had to follow because I sure did not want to cumbersomely search around for My stuff. So he had to know exactly where to place all My little pots and cups and tubes from My vanity bag in the bathroom. he had to learn that the underwear had to be in the top drawer, the stockings in the one below and so on. In fact this defined order of things was once again something he had to learn painfully during the journey. And I brought that concept to more and more perfection every day. Oh, I am so much into perfection and accurateness. And into protocol as well. It is so important that My slaves exactly follows their given orders. It will have an educating influence on their minds that are so weary in its natural state.

When the ten minutes were over,  slave s. would have to expect Me for inspection. That means he´d be naked and in “waiting position”. For those of you who are not familiar with My positions manual (shame on you!) that is kneeling with his face down on the floor, the arms stretched out straight, the palms showing up, the ass up in the air. My whips and crops had to be laid out over the bed ready for My choice.  slave s. expecting Me for inspection does not mean that I would show up then. Sometimes I´d feel to stay at the bar or go for a walk or for dinner or whatever. So  slave s. would stay like this for hours, kneeling in waiting position, ready for inspection in every sense.

Unfortunately for slave s. My careful inspections generally caused justified dissatisfaction. slave s. learned the hard way. But he learned. For example I had told him that I always wanted to have the toilet in a separate little room and not in the bathroom. The little WC cabin makes a nice little prison cell for a slave while he is not needed. So every time I found My hotel room to not have that little extra room I had ordered,  slave s. had to see that he´d get Me another room. he should have better listened when I had told him first.

I had given order to  slave s. to book his places where he would spend the night in close vicinity to My place so he would be no more than five minutes walking or rather running distance away from Me. I always wanted to have the opportunity to call him for My service during day and night. For example if I needed an extra pillow from the wardrobe or wanted to turn the air condition up or down and did not feel like getting up from bed once more, I could easily call slave s. to take care.

Five minutes away … 300 seconds from room to room that is. I am not an unfair person, I had told him precisely from the start. All My orders are given precisely and I simply expect that they are followed as precisely. I do not see anything complicated or unfair in that. Therefore I do not quite understand why so many slaves have their difficulties with that simple concept. To My disappointment  slave s. had his difficulties. Or maybe he hadn´t listened close enough. Well this sure is not My fault. And he should have known that I would assure Myself of the adherence to the 300 second time limit.

I started the stop watch on My smart phone exactly when I had hang up the phone after I had told him to show up immediately. I pushed the stop button when he knocked on the door. Sometimes he needed seven or eight minutes before he showed up with his lungs bursting. Behind his breath because he had run for his life in his attempt not to lose too much time. What a sight that must have been, the man in the shady black dress, shaven hair, barefooted, dashing through the hall of the luxury hotel. I was astonished that they had left him in at all. But it was all in vain. he more often than not just did not make it on time. Bad luck for slave s.. Every additional second cost him one lash of the whip. His arse turned flaming red on the first night and remained like that for the whole four weeks. I can see nothing unfair in that. he only tried once to excuse his delay with the slow elevators. My whip helped him to understand that I am not interested in explanations of shortcomings or even in excuses. Not at all interested.

One of the things that I love about traveling in Asia is how submission is taken as a matter of course. Never did I encounter any resistance or objections being accompanied and served by a male footman. Quite to the opposite, I rather felt that people regarded Me with deep respect, when they understood the relation between U/us. slave s`s degradation seemed to even more elevate Me. And the longer I was there, the clearer it became for Me why that was. I understood the Asian mentality better and better during My stay. The etiquette of the people, the respect they were taught to show to their superiors from early childhood, the formal protocol that regulated their life in every detail. This was all so close to My concept of Female supremacy that My lifestyle seemed to be a perfect fit to theirs.

And it was not only the general inequality in the strange society that appealed to Me. During My travels I found numerous concepts that were genuine Femdom. Fascinated I watched what seemed to be a religious cult at the famous temple “Wat Arun” (“Temple of Dawn”) where a row of people approached a beautiful woman on their knees offering her food and asking for her blessing. In anthropology museums I learned about remote matriarch tribes where women completely rule the life of their community and males are nothing but workforce following the orders of their wife’s. It was just wonderful to see all that.

But back now to my own voyage and its own little rituals: slave s`s day would begin kneeling in front of My room. Sometime in the night, he would not know when, I would send him a mail or an sms telling him at what time I´d expect him to be at My threshold the following morning. As he never knew when the message would arrive, he could never really be at rest. he was forced to always stay alert and at least half awake in order not to miss My order. Because even after having been summoned for the morning he could never be sure whether there would be a change during the night. One morning he was late though, but that was only once. I made him sit next to reception of My hotel the following night and write the sentence “i have to get up on time to serve my Mistress”. Just to make him remember. Not once, not ten times. But a thousand times. And for My control convenience he had to number the thousand lines as well of course. That worked better then for the rest of the holidays.

I think he did not find too much sleep in these four weeks at all. Thinking back now, I can hardly remember one full night of sleep for him. Sleep deprivation has been a recognized instrument of torture for centuries and from My own personal observations I can tell you that it really works. If it hadn´t been for serious face slaps and authoritative usage of the whip he would have been in danger to fall asleep over the day. But My deeply felt solicitousness sure kept him awake.

Again, the indicated time to arrive at My door would not at all mean that I would use him then. It meant, that he had to be there. Nothing else. Sometimes I would let him in immediately because I had waited with My morning toilet for his arrival. Sometime I would have already gone for breakfast when he showed up. So in this case he might have kneeled in the aisle in front of My door for hours. Waiting for his Mistress to return. Nailed to the spot like a waiting dog. I loved to see him like a dog. So obedient. My pet, My animal. No longer a man. he knew that leaving his post would have had drastic consequences for him upon My return. So he waited in devotion, regardless of the curious, sneering looks he provoked.

Curious about the further progress of My Asian voyage? Stay tuned to My blog for the next part to be published shortly.

Next time I saw My slave s. again was 16 hours later at the baggage belt of Bangkok airport. he looked kind of creasy and bleary-eyed.

“Did you not have a pleasant flight sweetheart? you look a bit ragged. I sure have had a good time. These new Business class seats on the A 380 are flat and comfortable as a real bed. Ah however, main thing is you have internalized My travel manual on the way. Watch out lazy boy, there comes My luggage!”
During the journey I did never, that is really never, touch My luggage. In fact nobody will touch the luggage but My slave. From the first moment when he picked Me up in My Bucharest apartment to carry the bags to the waiting taxi until the last moment when he hauled them back in four weeks later. Especially with a servant like slave s. who tended to be led by his own will and not by Mine it was so important that he was constantly reminded of his position. And his position should not only be made clear to him but also to the environment as well. So whenever O/our car stopped in front of a hotel, slave s. eagerly jumped out before it had even fully stopped, flung My door open, then headed for the trunk to get the luggage, chasing off the hotel porters who were standing at the entrance, ready for service and then were stunned as to watch the European guy insisting on dragging My two heavy suitcases to My hotel room.

As soon as we had landed in Bangkok I had cared to make slave s`s status as My slave apparent even for the most inattentive look. On our way in a rented limousine from the airport to the city I had closely watched for a genuine Thai clothes shop and soon seen one. I am not talking about the luxury tailors that cater the European customers with tailor made silk products. Not the nice and air conditioned shops that I did then later spent a lot of time in to order some wonderful custom made silk dresses and gowns for Me. Oh no. I talk about the shops for the low class Thai themselves. Without much seesaw I bought two black pyjama like suits of a thin primitive fabric for  slave s.. The kind of rags that the peasants wear in the movies playing in the Asian middle ages. slave s. then wore these alternately without any underwear during O/our whole stay. he did not have much choices left anyway because I had told him to empty the content of his suitcase into the big garbage bin of the clothes store as soon as he had put on his new servants uniform.

Did slave s. take his outfitting the way he should have, obedient and silent? No he didn´t. he honestly tried to argue with Me. Right in front of the shopkeeper, he really attempted to start a discussion with Me about his Calvin Klein boxer shorts and his khaki Jack Wolfskin “mosquito safe tropical fit” gear he had fitted himself with especially for that journey. I immediately slapped him in the face to stop him. Two or three times. As hard as I could. I had expected something like this so I sure was prepared for a swift reaction. I did not want to let him finish even one sentence of protest and he didn´t. The shopkeeper stared at us in disbelieve.  slave s`s eyes filled with tears. “But Stapana…” My knees hit him in the balls so that he went down on his knees, gasping. There his head was in a decent position for two more smacking slaps in his face. I think this was the first time that he realized that this trip would surely not develop like a nice and relaxing holiday for him. That was no fun play. That was nothing but mere cold punishment for getting on My nerves. And he felt that.

I turned away from sobbing slave s. and handed the shopkeeper five US Dollars for My slave´s  new tropical outfit. The guy bowed deeply down in front of Me when I left.

So  slave s`s clothes were then taken care of but still there was missing to really transform slave s. from man to slave. his hair. he needed to be shorn like a sheep. I saw the special kind of Thai barber shop just opposite the street. Spoiled by O/our European exaggerations W/we have forgotten how little it really takes to take care of everyday necessities. The barber shop was nothing else but an old and ragged hairdressers chair in front of a wall with a cheap little mirror.

In the meantime slave s. had also found his way out of the clothes store and was now standing in the blazing sun, unsure of what to do next. My right hand had left beautiful red marks on his cheeks I noticed with pleasure. With a snip of My fingers I indicated him to follow Me to the hairdresser. It was only a matter of a few minutes to free slave s. from his posh French designer hair style and leave only a millimetre of hair stubbles behind. he must have been the first European to have been sitting on this stool for at least 25 years. 50 cents for a haircut, sure the cheapest he´d ever had. Still, watching the hairdresser doing his quick job on slave s`s head I had thought that taking care of his scalp hair was not at all sufficient yet. I wanted more, more degradation. So I winked the guy over and whispered My additional order into his ear. First he did not seem to understand but then he laughed out loud presenting an almost toothless mouth. His assistant was a maybe 10 year old boy who was quickly called over for some help. By mounting a ragged blanket to the wall they created a bit of a private space where  slave s. could lower his pants to his ankles and presented himself as I told him. The hairdresser quickly mixed some shaving foam and sharpened his razor. Three minutes later he presented  slave s`s crotch absolutely clean and hairless. slave s. looked like a little boy now, wonderful. Absolutely worth the 50 extra cents I then happily handed over to the brave Thai barber.

Clothes make the man they say. Very true. And they also make the slave. Or rather the lack of clothes makes the slave. The look that  slave s. now gave for the curious bystanders was so different from his proud appearance that even his own mother sure would have had difficulties to recognize him. Filled with uncertainty what was going on here, his face swollen from My relentless slaps, dressed like an Asian drudge, shorn like a useful animal, bare footed. That was exactly how I wanted him to be. The right preparation and outfit for what lay before him.

“Fine. W/we can drive to the hotel now. Get going. From now on you will sit in the front with the driver.”

Curious about the further progress of My Asian voyage? Stay tuned to My blog for the next part to be published shortly.