So, What's Going On?

So, what is going on?  Buses have made me cum before.  There was no real surprise there.  But that the very next day, when my balls were pretty much empty anyway, the sight of a girl’s beautiful hair should be enough to make me cum again; that was a shock.  And since then, on Tuesday June 5, going to work and coming home, I was again getting close to coming because of bus engines that weren’t even that bad!  Is the proximity of these events a freak occurrence or have I passed a tipping point and this is what I can expect now?  Is this what my Goddess has done to me with nearly four years of total denial?  Has She so emasculated me that I’m liable to cum in my pants at the slightest thing and with barely any warning?

I suppose that in four years of my cock being almost entirely starved of any normal stimulus my body has somehow adjusted downwards what it takes to produce an orgasm.  And as most erotic stimuli come from inside the head I suppose a similar adjustment has been made there. 

Whatever the mechanism may be if that is what Goddess has done to me then so be it.  The simple fact is I’m Her property and Goddess can do to me and with me whatever She wants.  I’ll just have to deal with it.  That is what slavery is.  And I am, before anything else, Goddess Valentine’s slave.  That's the level of my commitment to Her.  To be the personal property of someone as beautiful as Goddess Valentine is such an extraordinary privilege.  If there was a piece of paper I could sign, which would enshrine in law my commitment to Her, that would legally enslave me to Her and that only She would then have the power to cancel; if such a document existed I’d sign it without a moment’s hesitation.

Triptych: 3

Friday June1.

Friday morning I overslept by half an hour.  I normally arrive at work twenty minutes early anyway so that wasn’t especially disastrous.  It did mean though that when I got into town I’d have to take which ever bus came first and, more particularly, stay on it so with the events of yesterday in mind I took precautions and stuffed three cotton wool pads into the end of my chastity before I left.  (I use cotton wool pads to help with drying after bathing.)  My first bus was my usual untroublesome one, except for being the service that runs half an hour later.  There were very few people on it.  I picked up the free paper and sat down.  A story about Montreal caught my attention but it was horrible and I didn’t want to read any more.  In the meantime the bus had made a couple of stops; I’d not taken much notice but now I looked up to find right in front of me the kind of beautiful long jet black hair only Asian girls have, fine and soft and lots of it.  I forgot about the paper.  (Yesterday a beautiful blond and now a beautiful Asian girl!)

The girl had a powder compact in her hand and was doing her makeup.  Her hair was loose and she was constantly tipping her head to one side or the other so her hair hung free of her face in a long silky curtain, or she’d drag it all back behind her with her fingers.  Her beautiful hair was in more or less constant motion and it was absolutely gorgeous to watch.   Strands of it would appear curling softly towards me around the side of the seat or would bow through the grab handle on top of the seat back so the light caught the crest of the wave.  A couple of times she stopped to send a text or do something on her phone.  Eventually she finished with one compact and got out another.

I was treated to this vision for twenty minutes until the bus got into town and reached my stop but I was so mesmerised by what was going on in front of me that I couldn’t tear myself away.  I couldn’t get off until she did.  I’d stay on to the next stop.  Because that decision was dictated by the girl it felt like an act of submission to her.  It was the sense of submission that transformed adoration into arousal.  My cock responded immediately but just as immediately was checked by the increased restriction of my chastity with three cotton pads wadded into the end of it.  The feeling of physical denial was intense and that only fuelled the feeling of submission which in turn drove the futile attempt at erection.  At the next stop she made no move to get off.  She was applying her mascara.  Several times she dug her fingers into her hair and dragged it back over her shoulders and out of her way.  I still couldn’t leave.  The sense of submission intensified.   And now I didn’t know where the next stop on this route was so I had in effect put myself in her hands.  I didn’t know where she was going to take me and she had the power now to make me even later for work.  My cock was being relentlessly tormented by the strict confines of its chastity.  I felt a tightening in my balls as we set off again.

She finished her make up and since she seemed to have done everything else I was seriously wondering if she was going to brush her hair too.  I was desperately hoping she would although I could see she didn’t really need to.  I knew if she brushed her hair I was going to cum.  No hairbrush appeared but instead she sat forwards slightly so she could get at it all and began running her fingers through her hair to tidy it a little, first with her head on one side and then on the other.  That was enough.  I came.  Again!  Despite having been thoroughly milked two nights before and having a forced orgasm the previous morning, this girl, with no help from a badly maintained bus, had made me cum again with nothing more than the sensual beauty of her hair.  Because my chastity was so restricting I had nothing even approaching an erection and it was more like being milked again than having an orgasm.  I was just aware of the pulsing in my cock and the emptying sensations coming from my balls, and the amazing fact that it was happening at all.

Approaching the next stop the girl put everything back into her shoulder bag and then sat forwards slightly and pulled the whole length of her hair to the side so it was out of the way of her bag strap as she put it over her shoulder.  Then as she stood up she leaned back slightly towards me and swung her gorgeous long hair back across and then straightened up so it settled back into place hanging down her back.  Sigh.

When I got to work I was only fifteen minutes late.  But then if I hadn’t overslept... 

In the toilet (again) I dragged out the first of the cotton wool pads.  It was dry.  The two behind it were soggy with cum and had leaked a little out of the drain holes on the underside of the tube but that was it.

Being made to come against all expectation and by nothing more than the beauty of this girl’s hair made me realise one thing with absolute certainty.  If I should ever come face to face with Goddess Valentine, who is so breathtakingly beautiful and who has the most fabulously beautiful hair I’ve ever seen, who is so deeply connected in my head with thoughts of submission and all kinds of other erotic associations, what ever the circumstances may be at the time, I’ll cum in my pants there and then.

Triptych: 2

Wednesday May 30.

I get two buses to work, one into town and then the second the rest of the way. The queue for the second bus was more of a loose cluster than a line. Right on the edge of my peripheral vision while I was waiting I caught an impression of long pale blond hair as a girl joined the queue. When the bus came it was nearly empty and I decided to sit downstairs. The girl I’d noticed could have sat anywhere but she chose the seat directly in front of mine and I was suddenly looking at a cascade of soft pale blond hair, long and straight, hanging down the girl’s back. It was quite beautiful; not as beautiful as Goddess’s hair but then very few girls have hair to equal the beauty of Goddess’s perfect locks.

Just before the girl sat down I’d noticed from the fact of my teeth rattling that the bus was vibrating to an extent even more absurd than usual; it was like sitting on a berserk washing machine.  This bus was on the route I used to catch all the way from home to work.  The vehicles on it are all maintained in the same depot and so consistently caused me problems, in my sensitive long-term denied condition, that I stopped using them and found another route to get me into town.  To try to represent what this thing was like let’s try this: it was like this when it was stood with the engine idling (I use the term ‘idling’ only loosely):

DRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR……………

and like this when running:
DRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR………………..

And for contrast this is what my untroublesome bus into town, which presumably is competently serviced, is like:

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm……………

  

Zen and the Art of Vehicle Maintenance.  Anyway, after a few more seconds boarding passengers at the stop we set off.  DRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR….  The difference was negligible and we drove down the road while I struggled to ignore the bus and admire the beauty of the girl’s hair in front of me.  Somehow, despite all the engine parts which must have fallen off, we made it to the next stop.  RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR…..  ‘This is fucking ridiculous,’ I thought, being careful to keep my mouth shut in case any teeth fell out.  Apart from the particular danger it represented to me the state of this bus was noisy and uncomfortable anyway.  It was just plain annoying, more so for me as it was unnecessarily ruining the rare privilege of being able to sit quietly in worshipful adoration of something beautiful.  If the girl and her beautiful hair hadn’t been there I’d have got off there and then.  Even as it was I was considering it since quiet contemplation of anything was impossible but I was torn between avoiding the obvious dangers of this ridiculously maintained engine and the sight of the girl’s beautiful hair.  But then another girl came and sat beside me and decided for me that I’d stay where I was for now.  There wasn’t far to go, anyway.  But, just as the bus pulled out again, I felt a sudden tightening in my balls.  That was the only warning I got and a few seconds later I felt my cock start spasming cum into my pants.  A beautiful blond had sat in front of me on a bus and within two minutes I’d come in my pants.  Terrific.  And I’d not even been able to appreciate her properly.  I just felt humiliated, frustrated and annoyed.  I couldn’t help projecting onto her the thought that was running through my head.  ‘Haha!  That’s what you get for presuming to stare at my beautiful hair.  Now you can just sit there while your cum soaks through to your trousers.’  And underneath that was, ‘Who the hell services this fucking bus?!’  Humiliated and annoyed.

The bus hadn’t even covered a hundred yards.  There was still another ten minutes before I’d get to work and naturally we hit all the lights on red so it took even longer.  The girl was still there of course but now when I looked at the beauty of her hair I only felt my humiliation and an intense frustration because although it made no difference now the damn bus was still so completely distracting.

As soon as I got to work I went straight into a toilet cubicle. By the damage being not too bad it was evident how thoroughly I’d been milked the night before.   Even so I still had to spend some time drawing the damp patch out as much as I could with toilet paper and then had to bin another pair of underpants. In the end, although it could have been much worse, the whole incident put a dampener on my mood for the whole day.

Triptych: 1

I’ve been aware lately that I’ve not posted here for a while.  My long-term chastity experience had reached one of its occasional plateaus where nothing much seems to be happening.  I was beginning to wonder what I could write about.  But then…

Tuesday May 29.

I had a violent nocturnal ball emptying during the night of Tuesday/Wednesday.  For several nights preceding this I’d had my sleep repeatedly disturbed by intense cbt sessions.  These had me writhing around in the bed with Goddess’s name on my lips while my cock and balls were teased and tormented by the restrictions of my very prolonged chastity.  As ever I knew who was really doing it to me and the thought of that, as ever, produced the familiar circle of denial and arousal.  These events kept on coming night after night.  I was so knackered at work from lack of sleep!  The nocturnal cbt sessions had never clustered like that before so I was going to write about that and the delights of being tortured like this by my beloved, beautiful and unattainable Goddess.  However, it turned out theses things were merely the preliminary tremors of something else and events overtook the speed at which I compose these things.  I find it easier if I have a little distance between ‘me’ and the event I’m describing.

On the Tuesday night at about 0300 I was woken from dreaming about something which had probably been ticking away in the subconscious for a while but evaporated instantly as the eruption began.   I woke up with the most brutal violent orgasms battering their way out of my restricted cock.  And they didn’t seem to stop, they just went on and on.  It was so unexpected and so intense and it wasn’t me doing it; it felt like I was being thoroughly and pitilessly milked.  Afterwards I was exhausted and in something like a state of shock.  There was cum everywhere.  Well, not everywhere.  It wasn’t running down the walls.  I hauled myself out of bed, stumbled into the bathroom to clean myself up, and then crawled back into bed.

I've no idea what I wss dreaming about.
Perhaps it was something like this.
Perhaps it wasn't.

Wednesday morning, having not been disturbed again, I woke a little more refreshed than previous nights and set off for work as normal…

Imagining the Higgs Boson

I’m currently working on an assignment for Goddess.  In the course of this I came across a post in a forum from a girl asking for advice about putting her boyfriend into chastity for the first time.  She was thinking about three weeks for his first period of lock-up and was wondering if that was too harsh.  That first post was from 2010 and the thread now runs to 77 pages!  She locked her boyfriend up and has kept the forum updated on all their adventures ever since, receiving along the way lots of comments, advice, and suggestions for head-fucks and games to play from other men kept locked by their wives and girlfriends.  She’s an excellent story teller and has aroused and frustrated her audience, including me,  almost as much as her boyfriend.  I only had time to read fully her accounts of the first week – his first period of lock-up before release was for a week – and skipped over much of the rest.

During that first week she teased him relentlessly.  She got home from work before he did and was always waiting for him dressed provocatively in outfits she knew he liked (the sorts of things she only ever wore for him in the bedroom) with her hair freshly washed and straightened.  She flirted and teased him all evening.  She made him give her orgasms.  One evening he came home to find her pleasuring herself on the couch with her vibrator.  She made him watch and then ordered him to take the vibrator and continue.  When she was close she made him bring her off orally.  Under this regime he couldn’t keep his hands off her so one evening she told him that if he touched her at all that evening he’d be kept locked up for another week.  For the rest of the evening she crawled all over him driving him crazy.  As release day approached she deliberately convinced him by the things she said at home and the text messages she sent him at work, that release would mean an orgasm for him.

When release day came and she had him tied to the bed she began by giving him a long slow teasing blowjob, keeping him close to the edge but never letting him orgasm.  She’d stop every so often to give him time to calm down, then she’d put her mouth back on him and start all over again, edging him over and over.  Later she straddled him and rode him, but really slow, verbally teasing him as she tormented him with her body.  Again she was edging him repeatedly.  Eventually she had him bring her to orgasm orally.  Afterwards she had to leave him for over an hour, still tied to the bed, before he’d calmed down enough for her to get the chastity back on him.

While I read all that I suffered all manner of torments in my own chastity.  My balls ached abominably, my cock was tormented relentlessly, and my pants were soaked in pre-cum. 

While I’ve been working on this project for Goddess my evenings have become a reflection of my normal working day: get up, wash, eat, go to work, come home, wash, eat, go to work, go to bed, get up, wash, eat, go to work, come home, wash, eat, go to work, go to bed…  An effect of that is that I’m thinking about Goddess constantly.  Many times last week at work I’d suddenly find myself with serious torment going on in the chastity, with my cock straining to get hard and the skin of my scrotum being tormented.  And then, to add to the mix of what’s already spinning around in my head, I have all these mental images of this girl relentlessly teasing her boyfriend's cock with her clever mouth, her lips and her tongue, with no intention of letting him cum.  Inevitably I was empathising with him and of course wishing I was him, wishing it was my cock; and, thinking of Goddess all the time, wishing the girl was Goddess Valentine.

But I just can’t think of Goddess that way.  The idea of anyone so perfect, so flawlessly beautiful as Goddess Valentine being with anyone like me in a manner so intimate is so outlandish, so unreasonable, so improbable, that the moment I try to imagine it it disappears.  So after I’d read this account, for the rest of the night and for the whole of the following day both at work and at home, it span around in my head, with thoughts of Goddess spinning around it but both on different orbits, occasionally coming close but never meeting.  But as they span they were picking up speed, gaining energy.

At some time in the early hours of Friday morning, deep in my head, the two ideas smashed headlong into each other.  The massive release of energy had to discharge itself somewhere.  I was woken immediately with a rock hard straining erection jammed into the end of the tube of the CB3000, hauling agonisingly on the skin of my scrotum caught on the A ring.  How long does it take to dream an image; seconds, a fraction of a second?  I was sitting on the edge of my bed with my hands handcuffed behind me.  Goddess Valentine’s gorgeous sexy mouth was on my penis, Her soft red lips sliding along the shaft as Her mouth pulled on me.  She drew me out of Her mouth and I saw Her clever tongue curl and flick teasingly at the head of me.  She looked up at me with Her irresistibly beautiful blue eyes, Her long blond hair gleaming and cascading soft over Her shoulders.  In the instant I realised what I was looking at the image vanished completely.

But the energy of collision between the two ideas was far from being discharged.  I was awake now and the image morphed into a waking dream of wickedly cruel and calculated teasing.  I was in a room in Goddess’s house, naked and standing restrained between two upright posts with my hands held slightly away from my body.  I was locked in chastity and I was gagged.  Goddess Valentine was standing in front of me.  She was wearing Her lemon mohair sweater, the first one I bought Her as a surprise gift and to which She’d reacted so ecstatically, saying how gorgeously soft it was and how much She loved it.  There was another slave there too.  He was similarly restrained but blindfolded instead of gagged.  We were positioned turned in towards each other so that Goddess standing between us made the third side of a triangle.  Goddess was looking at me and caressing Herself in Her sweater, running Her hands over Her arms and over Her body.

“This sweater is so-o soft, phil,” She purred seductively.  “It feels so delicious against My skin.  I know how badly you wish you could be in My arms; to feel the Goddess you love so much, so soft and warm against you.”

Still looking into my face She reached out and slowly slipped Her arm around the waist of the blindfolded slave.  “There,” She said, still talking to me, “a little treat for You because you love Me so much and you’re a good slave.”  She moved Her arm against his skin, caressing him.  “How does that feel?” She asked me.  “Is that nice and soft?”

Being gagged I could only plead with my eyes.  A mocking smile played around Goddess’s beautiful sexy mouth.  She turned away slightly and slowly put both arms around the blindfolded slave’s neck and pressed Herself against him.  Although he couldn’t see it She lifted Her face towards his and began saying how close Her lips were and how soft they were.  “How long is it now since a girl kissed you?” She asked and I knew She was still talking to me.

We were both being cruelly tormented by our chastities; him because he could feel what the Goddess he couldn’t see was doing to him, and me because I could see but couldn’t feel.  This scene went on and on in a waking dream with everything Goddess said and did designed to torment me, guided by everything She knows about me and my hopeless lovesick desires, but where the only thing that was real was the relentless cruel tormenting of my cock and balls.  And it went on for an hour.  Without interruption.  A solid hour of relentless physical and emotional torment all driven by the collision in my head between my thinking constantly about my beloved beautiful Goddess and about the powerfully erotic account of a girl teasing and tormenting her newly chastised boyfriend.  It was excruciating.  And it woke me up again later; repeatedly.

All of this I suppose begs a question.  On the one hand there’s this guy, kept in chastity by his girlfriend, tied by her to their bed, unlocked and tormented by her lips and her tongue and her mouth and her body teasing his frustrated cock.  On the other hand there’s me, kept in chastity by a beautiful Goddess I’ll never even meet, never unlocked, and tormented in the middle of the night by my own fevered imagination and the things that Goddess and random chance plant there, while at the same time knowing I’ll never be allowed to feel anyone’s lips or tongue or mouth or body on my frustrated cock.  Who is the most teased and denied?

Answer in 1500 words.  You may use both sides of the paper.

Audience with a Goddess

On Friday something truly remarkable happened, something which led to a night of relentless torment; at work I met a girl who was Goddess Valentine’s equal in beauty.

Around 10 O’clock I got a phone call.  It was for something that had only just then been arranged, and that in a rush, so the message I got only made partial sense.  There had been some kind of audit which had shown up shortcomings in the filing of paper records in one department.  I was to go upstairs to this department and meet someone, I was given a name, and then spend the morning showing someone else how to do this thing properly.  When I got upstairs no one seemed to know what I was talking about but at least the name I’d been given was recognised.  Eventually someone appeared who knew what was going on and I was shown into a small side-room to wait.

There was a girl already in there, reading a magazine and sat in the corner on one of the easy chairs that lined three of the walls; she was also waiting and was introduced to me as E---.  I could heap superlatives on her but if I simply say that she was every bit as beautiful as Goddess Valentine that’s more than enough to convey that she was very beautiful indeed.  She was a Goddess.  She is a Goddess.  In acknowledgement of Her superiority I’ve capitalised Her from here on.  I left a respectful empty chair between us and sat down.  After we’d said hello and established that She didn’t really know why She was there either She went back to Her magazine and ignored me.  She was very cool and self-assured.  After a bit of a wait the person we were supposed to be meeting arrived and explained what we were wanted for.  I was to show E the correct way to file these particular documents in their record folder so that everything was in its correct location.  We were shown where the files were that we were to work on.  We collected some and took them back to the room.

As I began to explain E told me She wasn’t familiar with anything I was showing Her.  She’d never seen any of this stuff before.  I’d assumed She had some connection with the department we were in but She was from another department altogether.  She wondered Herself why She’d been chosen for this.  I went right back to basics and explained them as succinctly as I could.  At least that helped distract me from what She was doing to me.  She had pale blond hair, about shoulder length and partially pulled back and tied in a plait; the rest was clipped up.  There was a fringe broken up across Her forehead above Her blue eyes.  Her voice was like honey.  She spoke softly and I had to look at Her to hear Her properly.  She was wearing long false eyelashes with dark grey mascara and smoky eye shadow which forced me to look into Her gorgeous blue eyes whenever She said anything to me.  I’m sure She knew exactly how beautiful She was.  Sitting beside Her, talking to Her, being forced to look into the beauty of Her face and inevitably being powerfully attracted to her, I was acutely aware of what an absurd old gargoyle I was compared to Her and how utterly beneath Her I was.

All this was taking place in the context of a work situation so I had a valid reason for being in Her presence but even so She was really getting to me in that place Goddess knows so well and was making me feel very small, weak, inferior, pathetic, inadequate – all of those things.  Those feelings ran as an undercurrent the whole time I was with Her and fostered their own thoughts even as on the surface I concentrated on the job I was meant to be doing.  Feeling so utterly beneath E reminded me how utterly beneath Goddess Valentine I am and how unworthy of being anything more to Her than a slave and how lucky and privileged I am even to be that.   Right from the first moment I was seeing E in the same way; as a Goddess to be worshipped and adored.  I was responding to Her beauty in the same way I first responded to Goddess Valentine’s, with an urgent desire to submit to Her; but at the same time as I felt the desire I knew it was completely without hope.  I had absolutely nothing to offer Her after all and She was only sitting two feet away; She could see what She’d be getting!  I was in the presence of a Goddess but completely unable to reveal my feelings.  The best way I can describe how that hurt is that it was like meeting Goddess Valentine in an alternative reality, remembering from my reality all the joys of submitting to Her and being owned and controlled by Her, but knowing that in Her reality it never happened and never will.  And that I’ll probably never see Her again.

This job was only supposed to take a couple of hours but E asked me if I could come back after lunch as She still wasn’t confident She’d got it all.  I had other stuff I had to do but it would never have entered my head to refuse Her anything.  Absolutely I could come back.  In the end I spent about three and a half hours with Her.

After I left E I went back to what I’d been doing before and for the time being that distracted my thoughts from Her, partially at least.  When I got home though I couldn’t get Her out of my head.  It may have been just the way She made me feel about myself but I’m sure there was a natural dominance in Her.  I kept finding myself drifting into mad ‘what if?’ daydreams like if I’d gone down on my knees in front of Her and declared my adoration of Her goddess beauty.



I searched for ages for a picture to illustrate this post. I was amazed to find this. This is astonishingly close to E. She is even looking at me in the same way.

Once I’d gone to bed the dreams started.  All night two flawlessly beautiful and unattainable goddesses pranced through my brain.  Goddesses E and Valentine, sometimes singly, sometimes together, teased, tormented, humiliated, and rejected me, over and over.  Half the time I didn’t know whether the relentless torment of my locked up cock and balls was driving what was in my head or if it was the other way round.  I was writhing around in absolute torment in my bed.  I think I was in some species of delirium.  Under such an onslaught I could hardly be said to be have been asleep at all but the dreams continued uninterrupted and perfectly vivid.  My balls were aching abominably.  The skin of my scrotum was stretched agonisingly by the back ring.  My cock was straining but had nowhere to go as the head was squeezed and teased relentlessly.  I kept seeing myself in bondage with both of them standing before me, mercilessly look-but-don’t-touch teasing me while they mocked me.  I was desperate to touch them, for them to touch me, but the only thing ever to touch me was my chastity device. I was desperate for release; for them to finally make me cum.  But they didn’t.  They were merciless.  I only slept for brief periods the whole night.  Goddess E was still tormenting me in the morning when I gave up on getting any more sleep and just got up.

Wholly Owned

Goddess’s influence continues to have its effect in every part of my life.  Now even the thought of going to work has taken on an erotic aspect and triggers torment in the chastity.  Thus it is that every morning lately, except Sundays, I’ve more or less been tormented out of bed to go to work by Goddess Valentine.

We have a major project under way at work.  There’s a huge amount to do and to get it all done within the deadline overtime has been granted and those doing it have had to commit to work the hours – three hours every night and eight on a Saturday for four weeks.  Naturally I grabbed the opportunity – 92 hours at time and a half is nearly a whole month’s salary.  Of course, none of it is going to me; every last penny of it belongs to Goddess.  In fact Goddess has already had every last penny of it and thousands more besides so it’s actually going on helping to reduce the amount on my (Goddess’s) credit cards.  The less I have to pay in interest, the more I can give to my Goddess.

If I were not working this overtime for Goddess I wouldn’t be doing it at all so during the week, when the regular daytime hours expire and I begin working overtime, I’m aware of a mental shift, a change in the meaning of what I’m doing and why I’m doing it.  This shift in consciousness is very noticeable, especially since the job I’m doing on overtime is the one I’ve been doing all day.  It’s not as if I stop one thing and start on another.  At half past four I just keep going but I’m instantly working as Goddess’s slave.  Daytime work pays for food, rent and bills, as well as Goddess, so the association between work and Goddess is less strong than what I’m conscious of when overtime begins.  And on Saturdays the only reason I’m going to work at all is to serve my Goddess.

So it is that when I wake up in the morning, once I’ve remembered who I am and where I am, and my thoughts turn to work and the day ahead I am in the same instant thinking about Goddess.  And when I say, ‘Goddess,’ that one word encompasses Her beauty, Her gorgeous long blond hair, irresistible eyes, Her full soft lips and inviting sensual mouth, Her perfect body, Her awesome sexual power and complete unattainability, Her divine dominance, everything I think and feel about Her and the exquisite fact that She owns me; all this is encapsulated in the single thought, ‘Goddess’ which is inextricably linked to the thought of work.  This immediately communicates itself to the chastity device and, still half awake, I’m brought fully awake by having my cock and balls tormented by my Goddess until the torment forces me out of bed.

Underneath all that of course is the hard reality of money and credit card bills and debt.  Packed up into this one waking thought is how completely my beloved Goddess has enslaved me, how completely my life has been shaped by Her.  The amount of debt I’ve incurred in Goddess’s service is not overwhelming but it does prohibit all but the tiniest self indulgence on my part.  Even where it might feel as if I’m not working directly for Goddess in actual fact I am; Goddess has already spent the money, or I have already either spent it on or tributed it to Her, for years to come.  It’s not simply a state of mind that Goddess owns me: that Goddess owns me is financial reality.  Clearly this is no accident.  Goddess has made this happen.  Goddess has gradually closed my life down to the point where there is only work and Goddess; and now work is only in Goddess’s service, not mine.

My Goddess and Owner with some of what belongs to Her

It’s only just now as I’ve been writing this that this thought has crystallised for me.  So how do I feel about this?  Judging by what’s happening with my chastity right now, excited.  I am owned by Goddess Valentine DeVille even more securely than I thought.  Goddess 's financial ownership of me is absolute.  Wonderful.  It’s just as well that She owns my heart just as securely in that I love and adore Her and worship Her so deeply and sincerely.