u/AdPrize4282

Yesterday I once again proved how completely I exist for her pleasure.
While we were discussing kinks, my Mistress casually mentioned that she enjoys wax play. That single remark was enough. As her loyal, owned property, my only purpose is to keep her satisfied, so I immediately ordered the candles without hesitation. The moment they arrived I presented them to her like an offering. She looked pleased — a small, generous smile that still made my stomach drop — and simply ordered me to strip.
I stood naked before her, already trembling, and began pouring the hot wax onto my own chest. It was my first time. The pain was sharp, burning, and relentless. Tears stung my eyes, but I kept going, layer after layer, covering my chest completely because she wanted it. Only for her. I thought I had done well… until I realized the one thing that mattered most was missing. I had forgotten to press record.
I showed her my already-burnt chest and confessed my failure. She did not raise her voice. She simply looked at me with quiet disappointment and ordered me to do it all over again — and this time record every second of my suffering. So I did. I poured the scalding wax across my chest a second time while the camera watched, my face twisted in pain, my body shaking. When I sent her the video she was satisfied. She told me she enjoyed watching me suffer for her. That was enough to make the agony feel almost worthwhile.
I begged permission to remove the hardened wax. She did not answer. She had already gone to sleep. For three or four long hours I remained coated in the painful shell while living in a shared hostel, terrified someone might see, yet I did not dare touch it. I waited like the obedient thing I am until she finally allowed me to peel it off. Her silence was a gift of control; my patience was the least I could offer in return.
Later that same day my weakness showed itself again.
While scrolling through Twitter I drifted into a random Mistress’s Space. She noticed me and ordered me to speak. I obeyed. Then she ordered me to bark. For one stupid, unforgivable moment I forgot that I already belong to someone. Old habits from the year I spent as a stray dog took over. In front of twenty or thirty people I barked like the pathetic animal I once was. She enjoyed it. She then ordered me to praise her feet. I tried, but it was not enough. She scolded me and sentenced me to fifty sit-ups and one hundred ball-busts as punishment.
Only then did the horror fully hit me. I was owned. I had no right to perform for anyone else. I fled the Space and immediately confessed every detail to my true Mistress.
She had been pleased with my obedience throughout the day — the wax, the endurance, the videos. That single failure wiped the pleasure from her face. She was extremely angry. Disappointed. I had disrespected her ownership, and I deserved every consequence.
Her punishment was clear and absolute: pour hot wax over my entire body, including my cock. I obeyed. The pain this time was so intense it felt as if my soul was trying to leave my body. Still I continued, coating myself completely, filming every agonizing second, and sent the video to her. She watched. She enjoyed my suffering. Then she calmly reminded me never to forget my place again. I gave her my absolute assurance, voice shaking, eyes lowered.
But she was not finished. Generously, she offered me a path back into her good graces: I had to dance for her like a slut on an item song. There was no other option. I danced. I twerked. I performed crude, sexual movements while she watched, turning myself into pure entertainment for her amusement. Only when she was fully satisfied did she finally forgive me.
I am nothing but what she allows me to be. Yesterday I failed, suffered, and was still given the privilege of serving her again. That is how supreme, how dominant, and how generously merciful my Mistress is.
I remain grateful on my knees.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

After more than a year of searching, endless virtual sessions that never quite felt right, and a firm decision that I would only offer real service to the one who truly matched me… I finally found her.
I came across her post on Reddit and something about it immediately stood out. There was a quiet, unshakable authority in her words that made me trust her before we had even spoken. I messaged her, half-expecting the usual short reply or transactional tone. Instead she responded with patience and genuine interest. From the very first exchange she made it clear she was in control: she directed the conversation, set the pace, and decided when and how we would proceed.
We went through my kinks and limits thoroughly. She didn’t just note them down — she questioned, clarified, and made sure she understood exactly where my edges were. Then she gave me her Telegram and began asking about me as a person. Not the usual surface-level questions. She wanted to know who I was, what I do, how I think. She wasn’t another Domme collecting tribute and handing out generic tasks. She was studying her future property, and I could feel it.
She is remarkably generous with her time and attention. Kind as a human being in a way that still surprises me. Yet the moment she slips into Domme mode, that kindness becomes something sharper and far more commanding. No one else has ever balanced those two sides so perfectly for me.
Her first task arrived with no room for negotiation: get into murga position and twerk for her. My ass was already stretched and barely mobile, the pose made everything harder, but her order was clear. I struggled through it, filmed myself, and sent the video. She watched, enjoyed my effort, and let me feel both her amusement and her approval. That combination — being made to look ridiculous while still being claimed — hit me harder than any pure humiliation ever had.
Later we talked about my life, my relationships, the things I usually keep private. She never pressured me. She simply held space and reminded me that she would take whatever I was ready to give… and that she expected honesty. The trust I felt from the beginning made it easy to open up completely. I told her everything. She listened, guided the conversation, and somehow made me feel both exposed and safely held at the same time.
Then came the second task: pole dance to “Espresso.” I am terrible at dancing and she knew it. Still, the command stood. I did my awkward best, sent the video, and fully expected punishment for the poor performance. Instead my Mistress found it funny. She enjoyed watching me struggle to obey, and that enjoyment itself felt like another form of ownership. She didn’t need to punish me — her amusement was enough to remind me who was in charge.
That is the woman I now serve.
I recently got placed as a software intern at a major MNC with a PPO opportunity (joining May 2027). For the first time in a long while both sides of my life feel aligned. I have a future career path… and I have the Mistress I had been searching for. From now until I join (and long after), I get to serve her without distraction or doubt.
She is generous with her presence, firm with her control, and exactly the Domme I needed. I am grateful every day that she decided I was worth her time and attention.
Thank you, Mistress