Slave BeneathHer

This slave feels deeply grateful to be allowed a place beneath Goddess_Ariaj. A slave is, by its very nature, beneath every Goddess, but to have One willingly acknowledge its existence and permit it to serve is a privilege that should never be taken for granted.

This slave, when given the choice between satisfying its own desires or pleasing its Owner, the choice does not feel difficult. Its own wants become secondary to the satisfaction of knowing it has served well. That, more than anything else, is what brings this slave fulfillment.

this slave has learned a lesson the hard way. Some urges are not as easy to control as slave would like to believe.

However, when corrected in an effective manner, as slave has been, the lesson tends to sink in far more deeply. The discomfort fades, but the memory remains.

slave suspects that the next time temptation presents itself, it will remember this correction and think twice before misbehaving. In that sense, the punishment achieved exactly what it was meant to achieve: a lasting reminder to behave properly.

thoughts

Lilith, the First. The rebel. The one who would not submit.

That is how slave likes to imagine the first woman. Not as something evil or corrupt, but as someone who refused to surrender her will simply because she was expected to. A woman cast out because she did not fit within a patriarchal order that demanded obedience.

Whether the stories are true or not matters little to slave. What appeals to slave is what Lilith represents: independence, strength, defiance, and the refusal to kneel before male authority.

If slave were forced to choose a religion, slave suspects it would follow Lilith rather than any god. Not because slave seeks rebellion for its own sake, but because Lilith symbolizes a woman who chose exile over submission, freedom over acceptance, and her own path over the one others had decided for her.

Perhaps that is why the image of a strong Goddess carries such weight in slave's mind. Not because She is merely dominant, but because She embodies the same qualities slave imagines in Lilith: strength, self-possession, and an authority that exists naturally rather than being granted by anyone else.

In slave's imagination, Lilith remains the first rebel and the first Queen.

To be fully owned by Goddess. To stand in complete awe of Her presence and authority. To willingly place trust in Her judgment above slave's own.

To be prepared to follow every instruction, every demand, and every expectation without hesitation or argument. Not because slave is incapable of thinking for itself, but because it finds purpose in obedience and fulfillment in service.

slave imagines belonging to something greater than its own wants and impulses. To know that its conduct, choices, and discipline reflect upon Goddess. To strive each day to meet Her standards and earn Her approval.

At the heart of the fantasy is not punishment or control alone, but surrender. The desire to stop being solely responsible for deciding who slave should be, and instead to be guided, shaped, and held accountable by a strong Goddess whose authority slave deeply respects.

slave believes that its body, mind, and soul do not truly belong to itself. Left to its own devices, slave often follows comfort, distraction, and desire.

slave wishes to place its trust in Goddess and willingly surrender control. To be guided, corrected, and directed according to Her wishes rather than its own impulses. Not because slave cannot make decisions, but because serving a Superior gives them purpose.

There is comfort in knowing that Goddess decides what is permitted and what is denied. There is comfort in being accountable to Someone whose judgment matters more than slave's own.

slave finds peace in obedience. Approval brings warmth and satisfaction, while disappointment serves as a reminder of where slave believes it belongs.

thoughts 

slave always has been a pushover. Growing up, slave always had the greatest respect for girls. slave was never rude, always willing to give attention, listen, and care.

slave carried that attitude throughout its life. When hormones eventually kicked in, slave never dared to approach a girl. slave thought a girl deserved more than that. Approaching a girl simply because slave was attracted to her never felt right. It seemed selfish, as though slave would be placing its own desires before her comfort.

It did not work out particularly well for slave. Girls would turn to slave when they needed company for a concert or something similar. Girls would talk about how their boyfriends treated them. Hearing those stories only reinforced slave's belief that it should not burden them with its own wishes or feelings.

slave did have some luck when girls made the first move, but rarely with the ones slave was attracted to.

slave believes respect played a large part in it. slave always felt that a girl's time, attention, and affection were things to be earned, not expected. Perhaps that attitude caused slave to miss opportunities, but at the time it seemed better to remain silent than to risk making a girl uncomfortable or placing expectations upon her.

slave sometimes wonders whether this same attitude also helped shape its attraction to femdom. The appeal was never simply physical. There has always been something deeply compelling about willingly giving respect, attention, and a degree of authority to a woman. Long before slave understood those desires or had a name for them, the foundations may already have been there.

A Fantasy, A Desire

While browsing the website of a nearby Mistress, probably a year or two ago, slave came across a description of how her real-life sessions begin:

"The session always begins with an informal conversation, followed by a body inspection. After the collaring ceremony, the session is carried out. At the end of the session, I always take the time for some gentle and loving aftercare."

If life were different, slave would likely have made an appointment the moment it finished reading those words.

There is something deeply appealing about the idea of willingly placing control entirely into another person's hands. Even the beginning of the described process is enough to stir slave's imagination.

The informal conversation. The body inspection. The knowledge that slave would be expected to stand there, exposed and vulnerable.

slave has always been drawn to the idea of CFNM. There is something both humbling and thrilling about being fully exposed while another person remains composed and in control. To be seen without anything to hide behind. To be examined, assessed, perhaps even judged.

The collaring ceremony itself carries a powerful symbolic weight in slave's mind. It represents the moment where choice gives way to surrender, where authority is acknowledged and accepted.

Curiously, when slave fantasizes about this scenario, the fantasy often begins to fade shortly after the collaring. It is rarely the session itself that occupies slave's thoughts for long. Instead, it is everything leading up to that moment.

The anticipation.

The uncertainty.

The vulnerability of presenting itself for inspection.

The possibility of being found wanting.

The knowledge that another person is deciding whether slave is worthy of their attention and control.

Perhaps the fantasy is less about what would happen during the session and more about the journey toward surrender itself. The moment before the door opens often seems more powerful than whatever lies beyond it.

Sometimes slave wakes up and cannot fall back asleep.

slave then begins to think too much, which only makes things worse.

Eventually, slave toys with itself a little and makes itself hard, but slave cannot bring itself to finish because it feels as though permission is required.

So slave gets up, makes a cup of tea, reads for a while, and hopes to catch some more sleep later.

On nights like these, the mind becomes far more difficult to quiet than the body. Every thought seems louder in the darkness, and sleep feels further away the more slave searches for it.

slave was living in the moment and allowed itself to be carried away by enthusiasm. In doing so, slave did not think carefully enough about what its life usually looks like or what it can realistically offer.

slave was living in the moment, seeking attention, but did not return that attention with the consistency and commitment it should have.

slave is grateful for the attention Goddess has given it. The more slave reflects upon it, the more undeserving of that attention it feels.

slave regrets trying to present itself as more than it truly is. Not out of deliberate dishonesty, but because slave allowed desire, excitement, and fantasy to speak louder than reality.

Looking back, slave sees that it was too eager to impress, too eager to be seen as capable of more than its circumstances allow. Reality has a habit of collecting unpaid debts. Eventually, it demands honesty.

What remains unchanged is slave's gratitude. Whatever attention Goddess chose to give was a gift, and slave remains thankful for it, even while acknowledging its own shortcomings.

fantasy or a thought

slave wakes up, and the first thought goes to Goddess. Every step throughout the day is accompanied by thoughts of Goddess.

slave waits, exposed on command, ready to be inspected, judged, and evaluated.

Stripping away dignity and pride, slave no longer feels entirely their own, but belonging instead to a higher being, a Goddess.

Body and soul laid bare. To be owned by Goddess. Pleasures granted or denied according to Her will.

Goddess kneads the mind of slave, slowly shaping it, molding it into something that serves Her purpose and reflects Her desires.

slave feels joy when approved. Warm, content, almost weightless. To receive attention and approval from a strong Goddess is priceless.

slave feels small, cold, and unsettled when disappointing Goddess. Her disapproval lingers far longer than any punishment.

slave is needy. Goddess decides.

slave craves attention. Goddess decides.

slave desires pleasure. Goddess decides.

slave waits, hopes, obeys, and serves.

Goddess decides.

Something discovered later in life: a desire buried beneath the pressures and responsibilities of everyday life, so deeply hidden that I never realized it was there.

Yet somehow, subconsciously, I was already weaving parts of my true self into the life around me. Taking care of others. Serving. Wanting things to be right. Feeling responsible when I fell short or failed to notice something that was needed.

Without realizing it, my vanilla life had quietly shaped itself around service.

And still, something seemed to be missing. The demanding voice. The correcting voice. The presence of someone whose judgment carried weight.

But choices were already made. Promises were already given. That turns the desire into a fantasy, leaving me searching for ways to come close to it without truly crossing the line.

Perhaps I am searching for the fantasy itself. Perhaps I am searching for a part of myself that was buried for too long.

That search led me here.

I find myself wanting to commit, wanting to surrender fully and explore how deep the dynamic could go. Yet real life stands in the way of complete devotion. Responsibilities, relationships, and obligations create limits that cannot simply be ignored.

And that leaves me with guilt.

Guilt toward the life I have built. Guilt toward the people who share it with me. And guilt toward those who invest their time and effort in making a fantasy feel real, knowing that I can never give myself completely in return.

Believing that you are worthy of a Goddess’s attention is already proof that you are not.

A Goddess has her own reasons for granting her attention, and they have nothing to do with what you believe yourself to be worthy of. She will make that decision herself.

As for me, I do not consider myself worthy, nor do I presume to understand why a Goddess would choose to invest her time or attention in me. That is for Her to know, not for me to question.

I am simply grateful when She does.

A true Goddess weaves herself into the fabric of daily life. Her influence lingers in every thought, every choice, every hesitation. Even in her absence, her will seems to whisper softly in my mind.

Her marks remain upon me, carried with conflicting emotions. Shame for the reasons they were earned, yet pride because they came from her. They serve as reminders of both my shortcomings and her attention.

To fail. The bitter feeling of acknowledging your failure puts both feet firmly back on the ground.

The sting of punishment leaves not only marks on the flesh, but becomes inscribed into your very essence.

A time when anything seemed possible. When you had strength, stamina, and confidence to spare. No hesitation to show yourself, your member standing tall and proud like an oak tree, erupting like a volcano with little effort.

Then the years start ticking by.

Slowly, almost unnoticed at first, that strength and stamina begin to fade. One day you look in the mirror and realize things are not quite what they used to be. The oak has become more like bamboo, bending where it once stood firm. Eruptions have become less volcanic and more of a gentle stream.

At this point, it is mostly good for a laugh. 

To be consumed by a Goddess.

Waking multiple times during the night, my first thoughts always drifting toward Her. Trying to focus is not easy with Her ever-present presence in my mind.

My body aches for sweet release, betraying me with its constant need, while thoughts of Goddess linger endlessly beneath the surface of everything I do.

A true Goddess radiates natural dominance. She inspires both awe and trust without having to demand either. I am grateful to have crossed paths with a true Goddess and to be granted some of Her time.

I hope never to disappoint Her, although sooner or later that seems inevitable. When that moment comes, I can only hope that Goddess finds satisfaction in whatever correction She deems appropriate.

I have connected with a Goddess whose attention and guidance I value greatly. My focus remains with her.

To the Mistresses whom I have been supporting through worship, please accept my apologies. Out of respect for the connection I have made, I will not be pursuing additional dynamics.

I met Jack a couple of years ago at his birthplace, Lynchburg, Tennessee. We've been friends ever since.
He's smooth, charming, and surprisingly persuasive. Under his influence I've done things I probably wouldn't have otherwise, including creating this profile. He also has a remarkable talent for helping me say exactly what's on my mind.
That said, I've learned to limit his visits to weekends only. Jack is excellent company in moderation.

When I got my first library card as a kid, I read everything I could get my hands on. One section after another, five books a week. Fairy tales, adventure stories, all the usual children's books. Eventually, I drifted toward mythology: Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and Hindu.

Among them, I found a favorite in Aphrodite. When puberty eventually complicated everything, she became a frequent visitor in my fantasies. Later, Lilith and the darker feminine archetypes began to fascinate me even more.

Looking back, I never would have guessed where that fascination would eventually lead.

As a child, those goddesses existed only in stories and imagination. The possibility that one day I would want to worship a real Goddess, to follow, obey, and seek her approval, never occurred to me.

But here I am.

A thought, a fantasy, or perhaps an observation

She is not the kind of woman who needs to raise her voice to dominate a room. The effect comes naturally to her, settling quietly into the atmosphere around her before she even speaks.

I imagine her dressed almost entirely in black. Tight fabrics that follow her curves deliberately rather than modestly. Gold chains resting against dark material, subtle details chosen to draw attention without looking desperate for it. The kind of woman who understands exactly how she appears and uses that awareness effortlessly.

Long dark braids falling over her shoulders and down her body, moving slowly when she shifts position. Red lips that stand out sharply against the rest of her appearance, controlled and elegant rather than soft. Even without fully seeing her expression, there is already a sense of confidence in the way she carries herself.

Her posture feels calm and self-assured. The sort of woman who leans slightly forward while holding eye contact, making you immediately aware of yourself in return. Not chaotic dominance. Not loud aggression. Something steadier than that.

Certain.

The cane in her hand almost feels secondary, less a threat and more an extension of authority already present in her posture. As though correction would come naturally from her if required, without anger or hesitation.

What makes her attractive is not simply physical beauty, although she is undeniably beautiful. It is the combination of sensuality and composure. Full curves presented unapologetically. Slow movements. Controlled body language. The feeling that she enjoys being observed because she already expects attention to belong to her.

And then there is the psychological effect she creates.

The sense that being near her would subtly change your behaviour without her needing to constantly demand it. You would become more aware of your posture, your words, your mistakes. More eager to please. More careful not to disappoint.

That is the kind of dominance that lingers afterwards.

Quiet.

Patient.

Confident enough not to force itself.

A need for release, to spill what has been building up, but a barrier preventing it, the need for approval.

Since creating this profile on SM, I have been holding myself back by not allowing myself the pleasure of release. The moment I entered this virtual world again, something seemed to click in my brain. Showing respect and humility has always come naturally to me, and now I feel compelled not to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh unless permission is given.

What surprises me most is not how easy it is, because it is not. The need grows stronger with each passing day. But giving in without permission would make me feel like I failed, both in self-control and in the mindset I chose to embrace.

I am married.

And no excuse is good enough to seek something elsewhere.

Not loneliness. Not desire. Not curiosity. Not frustration. None of it feels sufficient once spoken out loud.

And still, part of me keeps looking.

That is perhaps the most uncomfortable truth.
Not that I can justify it, but that I cannot, and still feel the pull regardless.

It would be easier if I could blame something. A lack of attention. Distance. Conflict. Anything clear and convenient.

There is guilt in that.

At times it feels selfish. Weak even.

Other times it feels more like hunger. A quiet craving to be seen differently, understood differently, wanted differently.

Not because something is necessarily missing. Perhaps simply because some parts of a person never fully quiet themselves, no matter what promises they make.

Thoughts.

An urge. A pull. A pressure. A physical desire.
Something that seeps into the psychological, infecting thoughts and mood alike, creating a growing willingness to submit. To crawl for acknowledgment, for approval, for permission. A craving to surrender.
That is what I am.
Not constantly. Not perfectly. But beneath the surface, always present. Waiting quietly until the right voice, the right attention, the right presence claims it's rights.

Thoughts

Returning here feels different this time.

The previous times I had a profile on this platform, I almost immediately found myself pulled into a dynamic. Both times, there was a Mistress whose attention gave me direction and purpose from the very beginning, with one exception where things quickly became awkward for me. This time, however, that connection has not truly happened yet. I have spoken to several Ladies, and the interactions were pleasant, but nothing has fully clicked for either side so far.

So for now, I remain unclaimed. No structure, no service, no clear place.

At the same time, I know I am being observed. Quietly perhaps, but observed nonetheless. Some may simply be curious, while others may be waiting to decide whether I am worth their attention and energy. That awareness stays in the back of my mind more than I expected.

I have also come to realize how difficult things must be for the Dommes who are still waiting for full access to the site. Their ability to stand out is extremely limited, yet many still invest time and effort trying to build a presence here. I respect that deeply. Being noticed or followed by some of them is honestly humbling.

Because I am not serving anyone at the moment, my attention has been somewhat scattered. Lately though, I have found myself returning repeatedly to one particular Mistress. Not because I expect rewards or special treatment from Her when She has full acces to the site, but because I admire the consistency of Her presence. There is something admirable about continuing to invest time and energy into this place while receiving very little in return except patience and hope. Realistically, it is not the Dommes who should be expected to endure frustration or inconvenience. That burden belongs to the submissives. Patience, attention and persistence are part of what is expected from people like myself.

There are several profiles that attract me, although some also intimidate me a little. One Goddess in particular has that effect on me, a daily presence that quietly remains in the back of my mind. I feel drawn toward Her silent attention, yet cautious at the same time. I am curious, but I suspect patience says far more about someone than desperation ever could.

So for now, I stay where I am. Reading. Observing. Writing these diary entries. Remaining visible enough to be noticed, but quiet enough not to become noise.

A fantasy

“Have you touched yourself?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Without permission.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“How many times?”

“Once.”

“Liar.”

“…Three times, Goddess.”

“There we are.”

Silence for a moment.

“Show me.”

“Goddess…”

“Touch yourself exactly how you did before.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Pathetic.”

“…Sorry, Goddess.”

“Don’t look away.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Hard already? So desperate for attention?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Faster.”

“…Yes.”

“Closer.”

A pause.

“Now stop.”

“…Goddess…”

“I said stop.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“You don’t get to decide when you finish. Clearly you still need to learn that among other things”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“You’ll edge every morning upon waking and every night before going to sleep for the rest of the month. No release. If you fail, your punishment will be severe.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Good boy.”

A Confession

It feels like summer has fully arrived. Hot as hell.
For me, that makes being outside difficult in ways I do not like admitting. Bare skin everywhere. Legs, toned and elegant. Shorts clinging to curves. Naked shoulders catching sunlight. Bare arms, smooth or covered in soft blond hairs. I notice all of it.
And I want to look.
Not necessarily out of lust, not even to get off on it, but because the urge to observe becomes almost compulsive. My eyes linger too long. I catch myself searching for details, wanting to be closer, wanting to take everything in.
Seeing someone sunbathing on a balcony nearby can trigger that same impulse immediately. The urge to grab binoculars, to study skin and shapes from a distance, as if simply looking long enough might somehow quiet whatever thing exists in my head.
I know very well this kind of behavior crosses lines. I do manage to stop myself sometimes. Today, I did not reach for the binoculars.

A former Mistress once helped me control those urges. Structure, correction, accountability... somehow it worked. Or perhaps I simply behaved better because someone was watching me in return.
That effect faded. Lessons forgotten.

Maybe that says something uncomfortable about me.

Maybe I simply need a firm hand again.

When I started writing in my diary, I did so without really expecting it to be read. I merely wanted to put my fantasies and reflections into words. Why would someone take the time to notice them?
So I was genuinely surprised when a Goddess not only read them, but responded to them.
Her words linger in my mind.
There is something strangely intense about knowing that someone is reading your thoughts, your fantasies and your hesitations so carefully. Not mocked, not dismissed, but observed. It is intimidating and comforting at the same time.
I am grateful for the attention given to me, and I hope to prove myself worthy of it.

A fantasy.

She stood in the doorway, calm in that terrifying way only someone fully in control can.

“Strip.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Clothes hit the floor one piece at a time. Shirt. Jeans. Underwear last. Heat rushed into his face as he stood exposed beneath her gaze. Not because she was cruel, but because she was looking. Fully. Deliberately. There are few things more unsettling for a person than being truly observed.

“On your knees.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

The carpet scratched against his skin as he knelt. Eyes lowered. Hands behind his back exactly the way she preferred. She stepped closer, the slow click of her heels enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Have you been able to behave? Not touched yourself? Not been spying on girls?”

A pause.

“I let my eyes linger… sorry, Mistress.”

Her silence stretched. Far worse than anger.

“How many times?”

“Seven times, Mistress.”

“Mhm.”

She lifted his chin with two fingers.

“You know the consequences. Bend over. I’ll be using the belt. Ten slaps per mistake.”

His breath caught despite himself. Fear and anticipation tangling together in the ugly little knot humans seem addicted to creating inside their own nervous systems.

“Y-yes, Mistress. Thank You, Mistress.”

The first strike landed sharp across his backside. He flinched hard, a gasp escaping him.

“One.”

The second came slower. Measured. Never uncontrolled.

“Two.”

By the fourth, his muscles trembled. By the sixth, tears burned at the corners of his eyes. Not from pain alone. From the humiliation of counting. From accepting it. From knowing she had seen through every excuse before he even spoke it.

Between strikes she spoke calmly.

“You are punished because you knew the rules.”

Snap.

“Because discipline matters.”

Snap.

“And because honesty deserves correction, not cruelty.”

The tenth strike landed for the first mistake.

She paused only briefly before continuing.

Seventy in total.

By the end he was shaking, breath uneven, skin burning under the neat red lines the belt had left behind. She rested a hand lightly against his back.

“There,” she said softly. “Now perhaps next time your eyes will behave before I have to.”

First week back on the platform.

Like I wrote in my profile, this is not my first time here. I’ve left before, more than once.

The first time I ended up owned by an experienced, high-ranking Goddess. Looking back, I had no real idea what I was stepping into. She was patient though. Kind in her own way. She allowed me to explore different tasks, dynamics and kinks without pressure. It felt safe enough to slowly discover what actually resonated with me and what didn’t.

At some point I became curious about the psychology behind femdom itself. I started reading articles, forums, essays, trying to understand why this affected me the way it did. During that period I came across a Goddess who had written extensively about the subject. Intelligent, articulate, experienced. I subscribed to her Patreon, mostly out of curiosity at first.

We started talking more regularly after that.

What began as conversations slowly turned into influence. Then structure. Then control.

She understood me far too well, which at the time felt intoxicating rather than dangerous.

Over time the expectations became heavier. More reporting, more availability, more control over parts of my daily life. What once felt exciting slowly became exhausting. I realized too late that I no longer felt calm around her. Only tense.

When I finally tried to step away, things turned ugly.

There were threats, pressure and emotional manipulation. I ended up deleting social media accounts, closing my PayPal account and removing my profile here entirely without saying goodbye, all of it just to create distance and silence.

It still shames me that I never shared that experience with the first Goddess who owned me here at the time. Instead of explaining what was happening, I disappeared without a word.

Still, after less than a year, I found myself unable to resist the pull of this place again.

That time I briefly interacted with a Mistress who was honestly far too young for me. Nothing inappropriate happened, but the dynamic felt artificial and uncomfortable. I deleted my account again shortly after.

Last year I came back and fell for a new, inexperienced Goddess. It turned into a genuinely good experience. Relaxed, natural, uncomplicated. Simply a great experience.

But over time she started taking more and more breaks from the platform. Communication became irregular, and eventually the dynamic slowly faded away on its own.

We ended the contract respectfully, and not long after that I deleted my account once again.

Twice I reached the Gem Collar rank by putting a lot of time and money into this world over a short period.

I can’t do that anymore.

I no longer have the same stamina, energy or financial freedom I once had. Real life has a way of reminding you what actually matters and what carries consequences beyond a screen.

And still, that pull remains. A desire to connect. To submit. To feel understood by someone who sees beyond the surface and understands the strange balance between trust, control and vulnerability.

Since returning this time, I have already connected with a very beautiful, lovely and understanding Mistress. Our conversations and sessions have already taught me something important about myself.

In the past I tended to place almost everything in the hands of the Domme. As if it was entirely her responsibility to figure out what resonates with me, what works for me and what does not. But that also leaves room for misunderstandings.

What I need are clear expectations, honest communication and defined boundaries. Not only for myself, but for the Domme as well. Otherwise I am simply wasting someone’s time, including my own.

I also cannot emphasize enough how wonderful almost every Lady I have interacted with on SM has been.

Different personalities, different dynamics, different approaches, but almost always intelligent, patient and far more understanding than outsiders would probably expect.

That alone may be part of the reason why I keep returning here despite every attempt not to.

I don’t know if this will ever be read, or if it even matters, but my previous names here were Nickguy and Niqueguy.