I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be right here. Looking out the window of my beach home while the maid scurried behind me to get things in order. I can’t help but giggle a few times when I hear the sweet little hums of a man doing a days work. In the reflection of the mirror, that pink uniform and bouncy ruffles let me know that the emasculation process is working. This is not for all men, but for the beta boys who dream of being beneath the sharp stiletto of a Goddess.

His chore list is left on the wall at the entrance of my home, along with the pink uniform that he must endure. Later in the emasculation process he may move to another color, but that will take time and devotion. I am not the kind of Goddess that will abuse a submissive, but the kind that forces them to bend and mold into my personal puppet.

Once the beta boy changes, his next move is to stand before me and allow the chastity to be applied. I use a lightweight device that changes the personality of a man quickly. They go from Alpha to beta once the lock is clicked and the key is removed. I do love the look on their face when they realize life as they know it is over. As pitiful as it is, I feel that his real purpose in life is revealed.

Emasculation is not the end of the world, but the beginning of a new chapter in life.

As the tasks are checked off, each one will earn the submissive man another point. A chart is kept in a secure place as a reward system for a job well done. Once he reaches the desired amount of points, he can trade them in for a reward of his choice. If he is found to not complete the task as needed, there will be a form of punishment delivered. Each time it will be different, but well deserved.

Task 1

Remember standards? 100 times you will write out “I am owned by Goddess Gypsy. I will do only her wishes.”

You will write these by hand, take a picture, and send it to me. Only then will you be rewarded.

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A power exchange relationship always ends with one person being submissive to the others needs and wants. Society sadly shames men for not being the bread winner, the one always in control, and the strong one. I’ve learned a lot in my sessions and will share a few secrets with you. Some of the most powerful men in the world crave that behind the door time where they hand over all their control to another. Like most, I grew up thinking that was weak and sad. Boy, did I learn a lot about the secret therapy that some seek on the other end of the phone line.

A submissive man for the most part is usually a professional. He is not the blue collar worker who pops a cold one open after a long day at work. He is the one sitting behind the bosses desk making the company strive to be better. It’s the cop who puts his life on the line every day to keep others safe and the world a better place. A submissive man is the Lawyer, Doctor, or even President who can’t let his guard down and has to live in a bottle of blood pressure medicine. Sadly as a society we think if they need a little help, their weak. Being is submissive is the strongest one in the relationship and they one who holds the most power. I bet you never thought about that, did you?

Why do they want to give up all the power?

Imagine living in a world where your suffocating by always having to be the best and unable to let anyone know you need a break. Now imagine for an hour a day, week, or month that you can hand over that control to someone else. Would a CEO get on his knees and beg to kiss the feet of a woman, or to be spanked by a bad little boy? No, but there is freedom when you do. Most of us were spanked as children for doing something bad. A time where we were young, no commitments or responsibilities. Mommy would put you over her knee and spank that ass. Back then no one wanted a spanking, but now, men are craving them. It allows them a brief few moments back to a time where they had no responsibilities.

Submissive people crave this release.

Now I am not saying every white collar worker is a submissive, or every blue collar worker is a dominate, but think about it. Even Christian Gray was submissive to the right woman.

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The Submissive Female inside of me was dwindling.

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Welcome to the Den of Sin. A home where there are no rules, no limits, and to explore is to never leave. The Mistress of the house always leaves the door open for wondering souls lost on the way through this thing called life. Are you scared? You should be. Life will never be the same once she picks through your brain and devours your sins. From this moment forward, they will keep everything you say or do in a vault for future use. Some call it blackmail. She calls each one a little trophy.

Three floors, the old Victorian estate sat on the edge of the forest. It looked over the city like a beacon to warn of its presence. Dark and looming, the front of the mansion was overgrown with English ivy, the only signs of a house, the front door and the bow windows. It was not the menacing look of the house that threatens the sanity of man, but the door that holds back the screams of weak men.

“Mistress, he’s awake and asking for you,” Hazel whispered. The slight young female an assistant to the Mistress, she was as plain and the day was long. Some would call her flavorless, but the untrained eye can play tricks on the foolish soul. We must work for some of the most beautiful things, not take them for granted.

Mistress Gypsy stood at the window, her eyes never leaving the waving trees she was sure brought the most ravishing breeze. “Tell him to meet me in the library for coffee. Make sure he dresses for the day. That black suit in his closet will suffice,” Gypsy said, her tone unwavering. A soft exhale from the statuesque woman. She knew that her new guest would buck the day she had planned for him. He would learn like the rest of them. Their words never phase a woman like her. She was what is called /heartless/.

As Hazel departed, Gypsy stood with a smug look on her face. She would enjoy today more than she should. Breaking a man shouldn’t give a woman so much pleasure, but this one, she was giddy with excitement. For months he walked the fence, but always ran when she opened the door to her home. His need finally outweighed the fear inside of his mind. What he didn’t realize was the moment he placed one foot inside of the old mansion, he would never leave. None of them do, though the hope’s always dangled in front of them. Lies told in the dark of the night never come to be when the sun consumes the world.

As the raven hair beauty poured her glass of wine, the footsteps coming down the hall creased her lips in a sadistic grin. He was as mad as a hornet, and would fight the entire way. Well, or so he thought. A good woman has a way of breaking a man without even letting him know he is on a path of destruction. As the steps advanced, she turned to wait, her penetrating eyes boring holes in the wall beyond the door. She was ready for this fight. In fact, she had waited her entire life to bring this man to his knees.

“Gypsy, this is not fair!” the male screamed.

A quick roll to her eyes, Gypsy pointed to the seat in front of her, waiting for the male to come to his senses. Raising his voice sent a rush of wickedness through her body. Stupid men always think they can talk down to a woman and force her to break. That might be the case for some, but not for this woman. She was unbreakable, and he was about to learn a lesson he would never forget.

“Sit and shut up! If you ever raise your voice to me again, I will use this 5 inch stiletto to fuck your throat with. Now, sit and let’s talk like civilized human beings,” she laughed.

Trembling, the male looked down at her bright red heels, sitting before she filled that threat. Though he would fight a lot of things, he knew the female meant every word she said and the thought of the heel in his throat made him shiver. “This is wrong, and you know it. I have things to do, places to go, and I need to leave,” he stated.

Exhaling sharply, Gypsy sat her glass on the edge of her desk, walking around the man. Well manicured hands now resting on his shoulders, she squeezed tight, “If I would have wanted you to speak, I would have given you a script of what to say.” She could feel his rage building as she leaned in, whispering against the shell of his ear, “I own you. Have you forgotten that already?

His body stiffened as she held tight to his shoulders. She could feel the beating of his heart through the tips of her fingers. He was scared, but he remained in the seat, unable to demand his exit. Why? Why would he fear this woman so deeply that he could never fully be released from her grasp?

“You’re an evil woman! You have no right to drain all of my soul. I don’t give you permission,” he cried.

There, he had said it. He made a vocal confession for the first time. Since the moment he met the woman, he knew, but couldn’t ever release, the words from his lips. She was the creature that he feared more than anything in the world. How could he have been so naïve to believe that when the door closed behind him that Mistress Gypsy would ever allow his feet to touch the soil again? In her defense, she warned him many times, but that little appendage between his legs had more control over his brain than common sense ever did.

“Pish posh, Kevin. You’ve known all along who and what I am. I warned you so many times, haven’t I?” she laughed. Nails digging deeper into his flesh. The woman straightened her back, pressing down on his body. “I have a gift for you. Will you accept it?” Gypsy asked.

He shook his head from right to left, but the only words that his lips could for were, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy,” Gypsy said. “Hazel, please bring me the gift box on my desk,” she said. As the mouse of a woman entered from the hall, she said nothing. A quick walk to the desk to retrieve the small blue box, she placed it in the hands of her Mistress before once again exiting in silence. Hazel was a dear woman, but skittish when it came to her Mistress. Some wounds are not visible on the skin. Some are ingrained so deeply that the bones are etched with fear.

“What’s in the box, Mistress?” his voice cracked. The moment he saw the small blue box, every part of the man regretted the choice he made. His brain told him to tell her no, but his lips refused to form the words. He couldn’t say them without his tongue burning with acidic bile. Quivering like a junkie, his legs visibly shook. As much as he didn’t want to feed her evil, he had no choice but to comply with everything she asked of him. It was as though the moment the door opened, he was no longer a man. He was now the puppet and she was the marionette that pulled his strings.

“Open it, Kevin. It won’t bite,” she said. With an evil cackle, the beautiful goddess handed the box over, placing it on his shaking knees.

“I’m scared,” he said, his voice cracking.

“You will never know the wonders of the world if you allow fear to consume your soul. Open the box and embrace the world you have created for yourself,” she said.

He slowly took the box in one hand, pulling the beautifully placed ribbon until it fell to the floor. Looking down at the silk that held back his fear, Kevin slowly placed his hand on the lid, pulling up as his breathing stopped and his heart raced. “Whaa is this, Mistress?” he cried. Inside of the velvet-lined box sat a collar. Black, the band made of the finest leather. A little hook at the back is there for an attachment of a leash. No, the leash was not in the box. He had not earned that yet. His eyes wide, he pushed the box forward. “I will not wear this. I demand that you let me out of here at this very instant,” Kevin growled. “Mistress, I am not a submissive, and you know it. You’re trying to change me and I refuse to allow that to happen!” he screamed.

She reached down and grabbed the collar, laughing hard enough to toss the echo from wall to wall. Did this man realize that she took his choices from him already? She loved when they fought her. Something about a man who fully submits on the day he walks through the door was boring. “Kevin, my love, you have no choice,” laughing. Leaning down, she licked her tongue up the back of his neck before wrapping the collar around his throat. A clasp of the lock, she stood, walking around to admire her work.

“You’re a fucking serpent,” he screamed. The feel of her tongue on the back of his neck was reminiscent of a snake. Maybe this was Eden, and the snake was offering him a bite of the apple. The collar claimed him before he could run. “Please, Mistress, I will pay you to take this off. Please help me,” he begged.

As she stood before the male, Gypsy let his voice carry on, ignoring each word he said. It was done. The deed that she knew scared this man, yet intoxicated him at the same time. He was now hers, and would now learn the real reason that the boogyman does not hide under the bed. It wears heels and calls you her friend.

“Are you ready?” she asked, knowing full well that before the end of the day, he would sell his soul to the Devil to rid himself of her presence.

More to come….

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