The are vignettes. I will add to them when I can. Thanks, Dora, for showing me the way to do it. We’ll always have Bristol, LOL!
I remember one of the first times I had cuck meet me. It was in a bar and he was trying to talk me out of making him my permanent stress bin, of fitting him onto my foot like a comfortable shoe and wearing him until he was completely worn out. I love shoes. Cuck was a shoe. I would have loved to literally be inside his tiny mind when he first realized that life as he knew it was over. The panic, the pissing of the pants, well the psychic pants, the other came later. The churning gut, the feeling that no matter how he tried, he just couldn’t think of himself as a real man anymore, but only an object. I wonder if the picture of a shoe dangling from a heel entered his thoughts? In any case, he was trying to talk me out of it. He was trapped and he knew it. After letting him go on for a while, spewing his bloody nonsense, I reached over when none of the other diners were watching, took a paper napkin and shoved it into his mouth slowly. His eyes got big, his hands started to lift to stop me then paused. His eyes grew dull for a moment and I thought I saw a little tear form in the corner of one of them. He knew that he had no power. I could ruin him and he would do anything to keep that from happening. He closed his mouth and to the casual viewer he had only slightly puffed cheeks, like a squirrel. My appetizer came then and I told cuck how things were going to be from now on, why he was a loser for getting himself into such a situation through the poor management of his appendage, and just how much I deserved to enjoy this experience. It took at least twenty minutes. Cuck bought the martini. I placed my shoe between his sweating crotch under the table and he was certainly aware of it. Little did he know what he would become even six months later. I felt a rush. This was one of the more enjoyable experiences. They don’t all have to be crying, gasping for air, begging, crawling, and hopping. The look on his face was priceless.
Cuckpuppy struggled. He struggled hard. I hadn’t turned him into an “it” quite yet. He had a home and wife and he worked really hard to keep everything separated, and of course I supported him in that. I wasn’t about to ruin a lifetime of fun at the snap of a finger. Well, maybe he thought I was but that was the fun part. I enjoyed watching him struggle and always made sure to keep his leash taught but not let it break. Eventually he dovetailed home life and his real life, the one that he could not get out of his mind at home, in meetings where red ties were ringed around the table. In the process his ego melted across the floor. Oh, it took months but they were good months-for me. Cuck regularized his schedule and I was able to use him several times a month. Of course, I had another sub, but somehow that never satisfied the way cuck did. I kept the sub and even used him with cuck a few times but eventually I just wasn’t able to exercise a satisfying amount of control over him the way I could over poor cuck.
*addendum to 1.
When I was finished eating I took the soaked paper napkin from cuck’s round mouth. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow. “Clean the crumbs. ” He hesitated for a while. My finger moves suggestively over my phone. One touch of a button and cuck knew that unflattering pictures would wing away to his nearest and dearest. He pushed my fork into the remains of the mess I’d left and put it in his mouth, swallowed, did it again. I took a picture of him cleaning my plate and laughed. A tear did run down his cheek then. Six months later he had been trained to accept my saliva in his open mouth at the snap of my fingers while I’m holding a remote shocker. Life is good.
- Rubber Ducky Day! Fun party with a few friends to play with rubbery things. I volunteered cuckpuppy for the experiment and allowed it to try to show why we shouldn’t pick it by licking the shoes of the five or six observers clean. Sadly, it’s case was voted down and it was fitted out with tight rubber underwear and mask, with hands bound to ankles to make the duckwalk really authentic. Cuck’s eyes were big as my friend’s little device was screwed into the hole on the mouthgag. They grew even bigger when cuck realized that the little horn allowed for an easy exhale but a long and laborious inhale, causing increasing difficulty getting enough precious air over a ten or twenty minute period ( depending on the setting). Hilariously, the inhale sounded much like a duck call. Cuck hovered at the edge of panic as it played our game, hopping to each observer to find the token. Guessing correctly allowed it a moment of relief when the valve was opened a bit at the discretion of the tokenholder. Cruel games ensued and it didn’t take long before cuck was hopping madly in panic from person to person begging desperately with tears streamimg from it’s eyes. The soft buzzing of a vibrator from next to me let me know that my friend’s submissive had a keen interest in the proceedings. I leaned over to whisper into her ear that cuck was a blackmailed slave, trapped into the existence of being my personal stress receptacle. She orgasmed immediately. You never know what wicked things people really enjoy in their darkest thoughts.What good friends and what a lovely party.! We continued having fun into the evening.
4.”Why me?” Cuck said, especially in the first part of our relationship. And it is a real relationship no matter what the social community says a relationship should be. A defense of that, what a real power-relationship should be-is something I may write about later on. For now we are back to cuck and his pathetic predicament.
“Because you are here?”. “Because you put yourself in this situation?” Because you are one of those males who have no control over yourself?”
It isn’t what I say. It’s what it is. Karma. Being in the wrong place at the right time. What the Fates will? Because your Karma determines it?
This is where you are. Deal with it.
I loved those first months where I watched his ego melt at my feet. I hope others can find that joy. “Because you are Mine, cuckpuppy. Because you are Mine.”
- Once Upon a Time cuckpuppy wasn’t an “it”. It was in transition to an “it” and was exuding loads of energy which I rightfully gobbled up. Cuck is my battery. Any sadist knows the elemental structure of how energy works. You find the Battery, fix it in place, and torture it so that it releases karmic sweet stuff to you. In the process the battery suffers but, hey, destiny, karma, all that.
I remember the firs time I think cuck realized that he was actually becoming my Personal Stress Receptacle. You can see into their soul in such a moment and they can see into yours and watch it spread like a glorious sail in the winds of their frustration and suffering.
All it took was a chastity cage, ball shocker, a remote, and a plastic bag. Four simple things and a mind was rewired. I’ve trained cuck to only get aroused by feet. The smell of feet, the feel of feet and the taste of feet. Mine, a friend’s, an old shoe, it doesn’t matter. Cuck’s brain has literally been rewired. Why feet? No reason really. Because cuck hated licking feet. Because it was humiliating. Because it was funny for me and my friends to watch. I think cuck realizes that now. That what happened to it was my random whim. Imagine how that feels! But there is nothing it can do about it. Shall I share more details about this?
addendum to 5
cuck’s indiscretion has gotten it to this state. It knows it is a loser in life. It gladly signed notarized papers asking, begging, for this to happen to it. So did dogboy in Atlanta Did they have a choice? Poor cuck must taste feet all the time. When it is eating there must be that taste in the back of it’s mind, palpably on the tongue. A glass of wine-a friend’s boot that it licked clean just before being released from chastity for five frenetic minutes and followed by the taste of it’s own mess. A nice meal at a restaurant with it’s unsuspecting family-the taste of my feet after an exercise session. Now it’s tiny mind has been rewired, just like a real doggy, to associate with the taste and action of cleaning feet, usually mine but occasionally that of a friend or random Domme to whom I may lend it. Derisive laughter, the taste of feet and boots, humiliation. An animal is easy to rewire. Bye bye human brain, hello agony puppet and stress bin. Life is good.
- I often go barefoot in the house. It isn’t too dirty, cuck sees to that, but sometimes a girl needs her feet cleaned. Don’t you think I deserve it? cuck didn’t but it changed it’s mind very quickly when I began using a plastic bag over it’s head combined with an electric remote ball shocker. At first cuck didn’t want to be a receptacle for the dirt on my feet. Oh, it cleaned well enough and took some whipping and humiliation in order not to have it’s photos sent out to various parties but it just didn’t seem quite as eager, to do the real dirty work required of a Personal Receptacle. I don’t know if cuck thought my thumb would get tired of pressing the button and sending the increasingly agonizing shock to it’s tiny balls but that isn’t the way sadists are made. When it cried out and tears ran down it’s face it only made me want to do it more. And more and more. And I could, because cuck was all out of choices. Life as it knew it was over and my life, the one that really mattered, was beginning. I keep wondering if, as it was hopping madly in the harness I’d wrapped it in to lick my feet clean for the very first time, it’s mind didn’t flash back to that fateful day when it arrived to let me practice some light bondage on it, happily kinky and unaware of it’s fate. Tight bondage, some “interesting props”, a mask slowly removed to the flash of the camera. “No, please, not my face”, was now “Woof Woof!” Cuck understands it’s purpose now as does dogboy.
My feet were shiny clean and cuck was swallowing the dust. Spots of it’s tears dotted the floor beneath it’s bound, crouching body. At a later stage of training I would make it lick up any tear stains. We can’t have that, after all and I love to have it shove down and internalize it’s frustration. I wonder what my feet tasted like to it on that first, horrifically humiliating day, when it realized that the shocks would continue until it did exactly as I wanted, when it knew that it would do anything for me because I could ruin it’s world in a second, because I was a superior woman and it was my dog? I wonder but not too much. After all, I’m not a dog.
Speaking of these things there is more to come. Doggies clean up after you don’t they? It might be too yucky to relate but it is hilarious. I’m thinking about whether to write more on #6 and doggy food training…..