Love, Worship & Joyous Suffering
Early emotional, intellectual and physical maturity formed an invisible barrier between Sasha and her schoolmates. She was an amiable young woman. The common enthusiasms of teenage girls bored her.
Boys chased her. All were rejected. She felt pity for many girls. Boys she despised.
Sasha entered college early, skipping the last two years of public school. She felt no closer to most university students. She admired some of her teachers. Mostly women scholars. And the gay professor who never stared at her breasts.
Sasha had a knack for solitude. But she wanted friends. And sex. The latter was easily had. The internet made uncomplicated sex a few clicks away. Most of the men were either sexually selfish or incompetent.
She felt disconsolate. A visiting scholar gave a series of lectures on cultures ruled by women. She recounted Amazon myth and kindred folklore. And spoke of the small female dominant societies scattered around the world today.
She mentioned female supremacy, only in passing. She said it was an aberrant, undemocratic idea.
A week later, browsing Amazon, Sasha saw a book on female supremacy. She smiled at the coincidence. She noticed there were several books on the same thesis.
Sasha liked to read the user reviews. Often only to laugh at them. Several mentioned spanking and punishing men. She flushed. The idea of spanking a man made her tingle. She felt a rare emotion: shame.
During her nightly vibrator sessions, she pictured herself whipping and spanking men. She saw them on their knees worshiping her.
She ordered one of the female supremacy books. She could not put down her Kindle. The writer needed an editor and her history was mostly wrong. The author’s passion held her attention.
Sasha put aside the truth or falsity of female supremacy. She wanted to live it. If it were only a metaphor, she would bring it to life.
Besides, she was superior to the men she met. They belonged on their knees.
Thorough and scholarly, Sasha educated herself. She read Femdom manuals. Learned about bondage and domination gear and BDSM toys. She kept lists what excited her and disgusted her. Some things were indifferent. She might try them one day.
Sasha briefly tried finding suitable men online. It was too frustrating. So many men say words they do not believe. The only wanted online roleplay. Many never keep appointments for real life meetings.
She started going to munch groups and fetish parties. Dommes gladly helped her acquire practical skills. An especially talented woman was her mentor. Under her guidance, Sasha became an excellent Mistress of single tail and cat o’ nine tail whips.
She met men who could never be happy without submission. Among this pansexual, accepting community, she made many friends.
She played with men at fetish parties. Cheerful masochists were a revelation. Their pain was genuine as was the afterglow.
Then she met Walter. Walter believed women were superior. He thought they should rule the world. He admitted this, only after knowing and playing with Sasha for a couple of months.
Walter’s sexuality bloomed late.
Other boys could not understand Walter’s indifference to girls. Nor the girls. Walter was intelligent, likable. But he did not have a girlfriend. He did not want one. Nor did he want a boyfriend. He felt asexual.
Walter’s life changed a few days after his eighteenth birthday. Suddenly his hormones surged. The nagging pain of unsated desire overwhelmed him. His fingers ached from continual wanking.
He wanted every woman he saw. On the street and on television. Walter’s web surfing narrowed to images of women. He spent hours on Tumblr. Fashion models, porn stars, celebrities, movie stars starred in his fantasies.
Sexless adolescence left him unskilled in the rites of heterosexuality. He did not know how to flirt or ask for a date. Walter feared shame and rejection.
He was an idealistic young man. Women seemed luminous beings. They were virtuous, their hearts unblemished.
Walter hired a sex worker. His first orgasm with a woman seemed a miracle. For a few months, he paid for love.
He ran across a Tumblr blog full of beautiful women dressed in dominatrix outfits. Walter stared at the professional Mistress boots. Their whips fascinated him. Confused stirrings nagged him.
Walter finally began dating women. He had sex with many. His libido partly satisfied, he calmed.
He learned that women are not goddesses. Loss of illusion saddened him. Walter wanted to worship women.
He looked at more female domination photographs on Tumblr. Haughty faces thrilled him. Seeing the women whip or kick men aroused him. He felt ashamed.
Images of men bowing to women, kissing their boots and feet, aroused him most. The ache of desire returned.
Walter wandered among the Femdom blogs of Tumblr. Some were devoted to female superiority and supremacy.
Woman worship, gyneolatry dominated his imagination.
Experience taught Walter that women did not match his lofty wishes. He hoped somewhere there was a superior Mistress.
Female superiority was an illusion. He faced that. But he needed to believe it true.
Walter decided it would be a ‘poetic’ truth. Even if his mind rejected female superiority, his heart would embrace it. His emotions would be evidence of the unseen and hoped for.
It was easier for Walter to accept his masochism. He felt no shame, only joy. This hidden truth was buried treasure.
Walter started going to munch groups. Women played with him. Many whipped him. Some allowed them to lick their boots. Others tied him up and teased him.
There the quality that would bind him and a Mistress. Transitory liaisons were fun. Impermanence left him unsatisfied.
Then he met Sasha. She came to a munch where he was well known. Dommes spoke highly of him as a play partner.
Sasha invited Walter to play with her. She wanted to ravage his skin with clothespins. He was not one of those stoic masochists. He never tried to hide pain. He was fun to torment.
Men are grateful for Sasha’s attention. Walter’s appreciation was free of selfishness. He never tried to subtly take the lead. He had never been a smart-assed masochist. Nor would he top from the bottom.
No submissive man’s demeanor had so pleased Sasha. His humility had dignity. His worship empowered her. Men always adored Sasha. Walter’s unmixed adoration was unique.
They were regular play partners at fetish parties. Sasha was drawn to Walter. But she held back.
She invited him to meet for coffee. They would just talk.
That day Walter mostly listened. His empathy was unmistakable. He never offered advice or judgments. His few responses proved his understanding.
Sasha accepted his dinner invitation.
Conversation was more balanced. Walter told her about his sexual evolution. He shared his poetic faith in female superiority. He said it was beauty if not truth.
Men had told Sasha they were inferior. They seemed to brag. She avoided them.
She invited Walter to her home. They played. Sasha’s affection for Walter grew. This enhanced her delight in his suffering. She went to the edge of his limits. Then cautiously exceeded them. Tears of pain, were succeeded by thankful sobs during the afterglow.
Walter spent evening and weekends with Sasha. He became her servant. He cooked, swept floors with gratefully. But his thankfulness was never intrusive. In subtle, invisible ways, Walter follows Sasha’s lead.
Finally, he abandoned his apartment. Walter was Sasha’ full-time slave.
Sasha is not monogamous. Walter knew this and has never objected. She hopes to become the head of a polyamorous household.
She posted a profile on Femdom dating sites. She seeks beta slaves. No man will ever take Walter’s place.
Walter sorts through responses. He deletes most. Men who do not use a spell-checker or bother capitalizing never make the cut. Nor men who talk about obsessively their fetishes. Self-confessed worthless men go in the trash bin.
Walter passes the others to Sasha for review. No one has earned even an invitation for coffee. But the search continues.
Sunday afternoon is a special time. Sasha binds Walters arms behind his back. She leaves him alone.
Shortly thereafter, she rings a bell. This is Walter’s summons. Rose clenched between his teeth, he crawls to his Mistress. Sasha wears the garments of the classical era. She is a living Goddess.
Strokes of her cane are a formality. They mark superior from inferior.
Walter then kisses and licks his Mistress’ feet. His ego recedes. His sense of self dims. There is only Mistress. Awe of her, joy in worship, bliss so sharp, he weeps.
Sasha has felt the adoration of many men. Walter’s ecstatic reverence seems to fill the room. The formal worship sessions lift her to the heavens. She feels Divine.
The ceremony lasts less than thirty minutes. Memory of the last, anticipation of the next session completes the lives of Mistress and slave.