The way to a slave's heart is though his fantasies

Richard (Polyfetishist) wrote in "My Commonplace Masochistic Fantasies" about a series of images and fantasies that he masturabtes to.

He writes that his fantasies are "just as banal and ill-proportioned as any other man with slavish and masochistic desires" and goes on to list some common scenarios that turn him on. Interestingly, reading his list was like taking a peek into my own dark closet of extreme BDSM fantasies. These particular darkly tinged erotic scenes are extreme, but they are all interesting in that they point to some fairly universal themes.

Richard writes that his strongest fantasy is to be in a TPE relationship (total power exchange), and it is mine as well. I often think of my marriage as such a relationship. I refer to my wedding ring (which I am required to wear, while Mistress Laura can choose to wear it or not) as my "mini collar".

In my fantasy, my Mistress is cold, distant, only expecting service, special forms of address, postures and gestures, without regard to how any of it makes me feel. There is no warmth or love here, only complete ownership and loss of control. Here is a representative snippet of my fantasy:

My owner rarely touches me. I long for any physical sign of affection from her. I am naked, chained by my ankle to the cold floor of the shower stall, waiting for her to start the morning routine.

She walks in on me suddenly and I am late in getting into "the position" --- kneeling, both hands interlaced behind my head, my mouth open in an exaggerated way.

She grabs my hair roughly and forces my face to the floor, causing me to lose my balance.

"You are to anticpate my arrival, slave. When I come in here, you are to already be waiting in the position."

She pinches and crushes my balls savagely and I cry out. "Oh, poor baby," she says with a sneer, then she walks into the shower and squats over my face. Her warm spray of piss hits my face and hair and I can not escape the pungent odor. She pinches my nipples till I cry out in pain. She has me hold my buttcheeks open while she quickly inserts and locks in place my buttplug for today.

Walking back out of the stall, she unlocks my ankle chain and throws a towel at me, "Towel yourself dry, slave. You have your laundry and cooking, and I want the garage completely cleaned today. Serve me my breakfast in half an hour, sharp!"

I am forced to go about my day with the smell of her urine all over me, wearing nothing but the leather straps that hold the buttplug in place. I hear her taking a shower as I cook her breakfast.

The real life Mistress Laura is nothing like the stern, unbending, sadistic monster of my fantasy life. She is warm and loving, inherenently careful, and concerned with my well being. However, since she knows of my desires, she can use my fantasies in everyday little scenes by bringing forth some of the feeling of the unbending and harsh Mistress. This is an interaction that actually happened early on:

"Slaveboy, this toast is cold. Come here," she says, motioning for me to kneel.

Twisting my nipples savagely, she lectures me about how I have been lax and that I need more training in even simple things like making her toast. I wince in pain and I listen, my hands behind my head, kneeling by her side.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," I manage to say a couple of times.

"Kiss my feet now, and go make me a proper slice of toast!" she commands. I quickly do as she says, kissing her feet and running to the kitchen to make her toast. When the toast is done, I quickly butter it and run back to her.

"Mmmm... good boy. Much better!" she strokes my still sore nipples lovingly and I moan in unexpected pleasure.

She has not had a cold slice of toast since then. :-)