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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In a quaint village nestled amidst rolling hills and whispering forests, there lived a man named Frederick. Frederick was known not for his charm or kindness, but for his mischievous ways and penchant for trouble. He was the sort who relished in pushing boundaries, testing limits, and disregarding societal norms with a smirk upon his lips. Yet, his antics had finally caught up with him one fateful day.

It was a bright morning when Frederick found himself standing before the imposing figure of Miss Gypsy, the village’s revered disciplinarian. Her reputation preceded her; she was both feared and admired for her strict adherence to order and discipline. With eyes as sharp as flint and a demeanor as stern as granite, she brooked no nonsense. And Frederick, with his reputation for trouble, had found himself squarely within her sights.

“Young man,” she began, her voice a steely command cutting through the air, “you have caused quite the stir with your antics.”

Frederick tried to muster his usual bravado, but under Miss Gypsy’s unwavering gaze, it faltered like a candle in a storm.

“I… I suppose I may have been a tad… mischievous,” he admitted, a sheepish grin playing upon his lips.

“A tad?” Miss Gypsy’s voice was laced with incredulity. “Your antics have disrupted the peace of this village for far too long. It is time you faced the consequences of your actions.”

With that declaration, Miss Gypsy wasted no time in administering justice. With a firm grip, she guided Frederick over her knee, his resistance crumbling beneath her iron resolve. The village square became a silent witness to the scene unfolding, a tableau of discipline and consequence.

Each strike of Miss Gypsy’s hand upon Frederick’s backside echoed through the crisp morning air, a testament to the severity of his transgressions. Yet, amidst the stinging pain, there was something else stirring within Frederick—a sense of humility, of acknowledgment for the havoc he had wrought upon the lives of those around him.

As the punishment continued, Frederick’s bravado melted away, replaced by a newfound understanding of the gravity of his actions. With each strike, he felt a weight lifting from his shoulders, a burden of guilt and recklessness he had long carried.

Do you believe in Spanking?

And as the final blow fell, Frederick found himself breathless, his cheeks flushed not just from the sting of punishment, but from a deeper, more profound realization. He had been taught a lesson—one that would stay with him long after the echoes of Miss Gypsy’s hand had faded into memory.

As he rose from Miss Gypsy’s lap, his gaze met hers, and in that moment, he saw not just a disciplinarian, but a mentor—a guiding force whose firm hand had set him upon the path to redemption.

With a newfound resolve, Frederick vowed to mend his ways, to become a better man worthy of the trust and respect of his fellow villagers. And as he walked away from the village square, he carried with him not just the memory of his punishment, but the seeds of transformation, planted deep within his soul by the firm hand of the beautiful woman who had shown him the way.

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Want to Spoil Gypsy?

Leaning over the edge of the tub, she turned her head to make sure he was watching. As a smirk creased her lips, she reached back with one hand, drawing a fine line up and down the crack of her ass. Damp from the water, she stopped at the entrance, tapping once on the sealed opening. She cried out, her breathing stopped as though she were a mouse in a trap. A single finger pushed inside, sending waves of pain through her entire body. Pain would not detour her. She knew the price she would pay to put on this show. As the tight rim cut the circulation from her finger, she pushed deeper in to prove she was worthy of his time.

The male sat perplexed. Did he join her and replace her finger with his cock, or watch the show and force her to cum by herself? A sadistic grin creased his lips the moment she begged for his help.

“Please,” she cried. Her voice a raspy cry of needed release.

His laugh louder than usual, but then again, the show she was putting on seemed to amuse more than excite the man. A socialite with the morals of a saint. Well, when the camera rolled, she was as pure as snow. When the lights dimmed, the whore played games with her sick little mind.

“Please, what?” he asked, his tone toying with the female.

Fingers moving in and out of her tightest opening, mumbles now replaced her words. Every emotion known to God raped her mind as she lost control of all self-respect.

“Please fuck me like the whore that I am,” she begged.

Smug, he took the final withdrawal from his cigarette. His body now upright, he stood at the edge of the tub, ashing the cancer stick on her ass. “I have no need for whores. Finish that mess and leave before I have you removed,” he said, his words dripping sarcasm.

Cries of pleasure echoed through the small room. Her screams of relief music to his ears. The more he denied her, the more she would realize that every woman is a whore given the right situation.

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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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