Ever wonder what kind of a man lets himself become a woman’s slave?

Well, I’m that kind of man. And I let it happen because it’s mostly pure heaven.

I’m the thirty-four-year-old slave of a willful, bossy, often bad-tempered twenty-three-year-old brown-haired bitch named Trisha. However, she also happens to be a knockout, a part-time figure model and show girl. I am also her lapdog, house pet, piglet, or anything else she chooses to call me, and I come, whenever and whatever she calls me.

Like if Trisha is watching TV and she snaps her fingers and says, “Here, pussy slave,” I practically get rug burn scooting over beside her on the floor. Then she’ll hike up her miniskirt or peel down her jeans, straddle my face with her luscious thighs, grab hold of my ears and yank my face into her heavenly snatch. Of course, I won’t

know till the last second whether Trisha wants me to lick her little clit or press my mouth to her pussy lips, but

I’m ready for whatever she dishes out.

Just being in my mistress’ presence gives me a hard-on, so you can imagine the “agony and ecstasy” I go through when Trisha stretches her incredible naked self in the sun on her private terrace and lets me give her a head-to-toe hot-oil massage. Or lets me spend hours in her boudoir assisting as her intimate body slave, shampooing, drying and brushing her luxuriant hair, pumicing her feet and painting her perfect toenails, drawing her bathwater and helping to trim and style her pubic nest. At such times I am kept nude so that my mistress can monitor my perpetual arousal.

She will occasionally run a slender fingertip over the tip of my rock-hard cock to check for wetness (which she likes to find) or squeeze my already aching testicles till I am whimpering. But I am forbidden to touch myself at such times.

Each time I enter Trisha’s presence, I prostrate myself and touch my lips to her feet. In public our special “greeting” is usually modified to a modest bow of my head and a kiss on her extended fingers, though more than once she has made me kiss her feet in public too! And when after too many hours of arousal from her presence, I am reduced to whimpering at her feet, begging for relief, often she will pity me and bring me to swift ejaculation with her lovely feet while I writhe on the carpet and stare adoringly up at her.

But sometimes Mistress Trisha will become annoyed by my pathetic begging and slap me. Or tie me up and leave me in her dirty laundry hamper while she goes out for an hour, or two. I never know what to expect, which is how my mistress intends it.