He wilts under the weight of my tone. There is a certain danger in my voice and I watch it devour him. He stands tall amongst his peers, and maybe for a moment, his ego will not allow him to accept his inferiority, but he caves. They always cave. Men were born with a need to feel validated, a hunger for acceptance. I know that this is his weakness, and I dangle him on a string. Sometimes making him feel as if he's almost there, as if he's almost crossed the threshold. The pleasure is knowing he will never be anything more than what he is. Nothing. But he belongs to me, a servant with only tangible value. I allow him to feel self-esteem at times, I let him feel human, only long enough to watch the life fill up in his eyes. And then I force him to his knees and remind him, he is only my pet. It's always going to be fun to me. Knowing the extent of my power.
My goal is to emasculate him, so I send him to work in a pair of wool slacks and a striped button down, underneath he sports a pair of his girlfriend's pink lace boy shorts. I'm hoping he'll have to stoop and pick up a pen or something, and someone will glimpse a sliver of the delicate fuschia fabric peeking from his trousers. That thought dances in my brain for a while, and I giggle at the thought of him being exposed in front of all of his co-workers. I imagine how it will ruin him, maybe not professionally, but his ego will forever be laid to rest. His self-esteem now my possession, I enjoy this moment, considering how he'll forever be at my mercy. Anyway. I refocus my attention on his tasks for the rest of the week. He's already been forced to shave his entire body, literally from head to toe with the exception of his already balding head. What's next? He's anxious with worry and curiosity. 12 p.m. he goes to lunch and I direct him to the bathroom where he takes a few posed selfies with his pants down showing off his girlfriends panties. I promise to delete them, but of course, that was a lie. I will store these photos in my collection, along with the others.
By the time the end of the day hits I wonder if he's grown uncomfortable with the feeling of the fabric riding up his ass. I hope so. When he gets home I instruct him to bathe and be sure to use a bottle of his girlfriend's scented body wash. It's the subtle things that scare him the most, "what if she notices I've used her body wash?" Yes. What if? I promise to reward him at the end of the week, so long as he can follow through on all my commands.
I have him in the palm of my hands, my little minion. He's already been mildly altered by my tasks, but poor thing, he doesn't know the horror has only just begun.
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