Acting, living as a pet is a BDSM commonplace.
It has been a familiar fantasy of mine. Profoundly humbling. How do have I envisaged it?
Not allowed to rise above my knees. Using the toilet excepted? Or led on a leash to the backyard when I need to pee?
Perhaps forbidden to speak: whimpers, animal noises, gestures my only way to convey a need. Fawning at my owner’s knees.
Eating and drinking only from bowls on the floor. Would I even eat human food?
Swatted when I’m found at fault. Perhaps treated a bit more harshly than we treat our dogs and cats. But stroked as well as a reward.
Being her pet offers a rich spectrum of kind and hard control.
Curling up at her feet to rest and await her pleasure.
For the role to really reach deeply into my mind I fear I’d need more time than we’ve yet had for play. One of those reasons I wish I had a sure way of blocking out external distractions (aka fomer lovers).
Given that time perhaps my ache to surrender would haunt me less.
Female Supremacy: Men are the Slave Property of Women