The Dominatrix manor by the sea

“How do you feel about the idea that I hypnotized you and took over your brain, and now your only purpose in life is to serve me?”

I’m on the phone with my submissive, e.

“I don’t feel anything about it, Mistress. That’s just what happened.”

e. has served me with steady devotion for three years. He is distinguished by his serene and unassuming nature, his funniness, and (of course) giving me everything I’ve ever asked of him without exception. For my birthday this year, my wish was to take a few close friends on a beautiful vacation to Portugal, at a Victorian mansion a few steps away from the Atlantic Ocean. To this, like to all my other desires, he applied himself faithfully.

Our days consisted of lounging about and picking flowers, sunbathing in as little clothing as possible at the beach, cooking lavish meals, and using and abusing his serviceable nature to do all our household tasks in the meantime. Sybil, of course, ran a tight ship, ensuring that he understood how every person in the house liked their coffee, how to scrub every surface sparkling clean, and curating our long shopping lists, so that he was always hauling in large bags filled to bursting with fresh produce and clinking bottles of wine and port. Wu delighted in feeding him strange little scraps of food off her toes as we gathered around, giggling in amusement at his wonder-struck compliance. And if he needed any additional encouragement, there I was, holding the remote control to his shock collar. Just to give him a little extra boost of adrenaline, of course.

At the end of this week of utter bliss, I took e. to the ocean — a moment of indulgence he hadn’t yet had, what with the endless days of little tasks and ordeals he’s endured in his mild-mannered way. I asked him to lay upon the rocks and close his eyes. Slowly, I guided him into trance as the tide rose and the waves rolled in, until the cold ocean water covered his feet and woke him up again.