Amanda’s goals

The other night Amanda mentioned there were three goals she had for me a year and a half ago: (1) making my slavery more public. (2) wooing the neighborhood to accept my slavery. (3) sharing my slavery with others. I had known these were in her thinking, though I don’t recall her talking about them so specifically and intentionally as this, like a list of annual corporate targets.

The COVID lockdown hampered her progress with me. She was saying that now, in mid-2021, she has finally gotten to the point of fulfillment of the three, progress she’d hoped to get to by the end of 2020. She feels this is a failure of sorts. But as she talked it out, she came to accept that it’s simply a six-month delay for her goal-setting, and that COVID was the culprit.

Of the three, the first one — making me more public in my slavery — has been the most diminished. Because of the lockdown, experiences in public places have been few and far between. But most everything here is open again, and yet Amanda hasn’t really taken me out for a good public park exposure. I don’t know why. Work, time, opportunity, most likely.

Still, she now quite often has me in partial undress when we’re out and about in the car. I am kept partly naked around the house almost all the time, even when the random visitor stops in. And we have our walks up on the ridge in back as well as the front road. My exposure to others has become more and more common — which is not to say it has become old hat. I still feel exposed and properly humiliated in it.

Her second goal — wooing the neighborhood — has been almost fully realized. The tea times have worked well. We have one more in a couple of weeks, and that may be the more difficult of the five, but so far there’s been a lot of acceptance of me around the block. She is pleased with this.

Her third goal of sharing my slavery with others has also largely been realized. I’ve observed that she talks about this in two ways — “sharing my slavery” and “sharing me.” I discovered these are different in her mind.

“Sharing my slavery” is about bringing others into my slave life and training, but not specifically for sexual pleasure. For example, she has been “sharing my slavery” with John and Patricia Miller, meaning that she has incorporated them into my slave life and practice. To Amanda’s mind, giving me to Master McKenna, even though it is sexual, is for the primary purpose of my slavery and training, so it fits in this category.

“Sharing me” is about giving me to others specifically for their sexual pleasure. This, I believe, is Amanda’s future intent for me, perhaps a singular goal for 2022. Of course, Kevin falls into this category, although he is so familiar to me, it isn’t quite like what she imagines.

I have all kinds of feelings about this… for another time.

It was a brief but interesting conversation. Amanda has a way of revealing and concealing at the same time. It’s her way. I suppose in a more exacting and strict slavery, I would be told nothing ever. So I’m grateful for what she does tell me. Yet it’s this last part — sharing me sexually — that she is less forthright about. Maybe she doesn’t know yet how to execute that.

In our days and weeks together, as we are out and about now, she observes someone randomly and says, “I’d like to see you with him sometime” or “I could see you and her together sometime.” This is not her version of matchmaking. She means it literally, sexually, randomly, with an emphasis on her watching. That is her kink. One of them.

catching up

I’ve been quiet for a fortnight, as they say, in terms of both writing and living out my slavery. I don’t know why, but for some reason during these past two weeks I have given my mind to the acceptance of just being what I am. You know me, I wrestle in words with this or that, struggle out loud with my place and status — and then I go ahead and obey anyway. For now at least, my angsty brain has hushed up and I have simply given myself to it all. So it’s been a time of subdued obedience, tacit submission to sex and being used for sexual pleasures of others. I’ve kept in my place.

Amanda has been introducing me to more of her lifestyle friends — mostly male doms from her life before me. She introduces me to them boldly as her sex slave. Even though they know what that means, I stand before them during these introductions reddening with shame. Because they know what that means.

It seems now, with COVID on the rise, these lifestyle friends of hers will not be stopping by so often. Amanda is closing up shop for a while.

Our neighbors, John and Patricia, are now fast friends and frequent visitors, in the full know of my life as a submissive slave. Curious but respectful, they’ve asked questions and I’ve answered, increasingly trusting them with what I am. Amanda often has me partially undressed when we are with them, as she knows they enjoy that so much — not just John but Patricia as well. I find a strange delight in the irony of being at their house for afternoon tea, which they are fond of serving. We all sit pretty, and we sip from teacups, and it’s all as proper as Downton Abbey — though all the while my breasts are out and in the wild, pale and perky. So properly inappropriate. But I am comfortable in front of them like this now, and Amanda is thrilled she can show me off to them.

The Millers are probably the first normals who have so fully known and accepted my slavery.

In the middle of these weeks was a visit with Kevin, which is my main excuse for not writing. I go to him always thinking I’ll have time to write, but rarely do. Actually the time is available, but the vibe with him is different and pushes me into another writing space.

There is nothing particular about my time with Kevin to post about. It was sexual but not bondage-filled, although his sexing of me feels dominant in subtle ways. As I’ve written, all men feel that power-play way to me, but Kevin more so. It seems somehow as he fills me with his jag and juice, he extracts from me my independence, and I dissolve into his will.

I am back home now.

Amanda has told me her planned lesbian encounter for me may not happen for a while until COVID subsides again. She has not yet told me who it is, though she keeps teasing me about it. At this point, I’m copacetic. Like I say, it’s a time right now of quietude, of hushed acceptance of whatever might be.


This morning Amanda walked me on a leash. This was the second time I’ve been leashed along the front road, and this time it was much farther — actually the full circle around, and then back.

Amanda kept me clothed. She was testing the leash-walk in front of neighbors who might have been watching.

Amanda has now had “successful” conversations with four of the five neighbors, mostly achieving her goal of wooing the territory.

With them, she has been careful not to refer to me as her slave, and she has decided against trying to broach the idea of my nudity in public. That, she thinks, will come later. For now, she focuses on our lifestyle and the simple idea of walking me on a leash around the development.

No one has objected to this, though one resident, a single woman, doesn’t really understand our lifestyle; she just said, “Do whatever you want. I won’t care.” But most of the neighbors have been open. The elderly couple at the south end gave a warm reception to Amanda. The man said, “We could use some entertainment around here.”

One home at the north end may be a problem, but doesn’t seem to be used right now.

Being walked on a leash is always something that affects me. Even as often as I am put on a leash, it is never something that feels ordinary to me.

Even in the privacy of our house or out in the back forty or up on the ridge, just Amanda and me, being on a leash puts me into a submissive quiet. It’s not a bad feeling — indeed it fulfills me submissively — but it’s sobering within, reminding me that I am a property owned.

Proper leash-walking is about being a shadow to your mistress, staying close, slightly to the side and stride behind. You are tethered to another. Indeed in training, it is done without a physical leash — I shadow her, imagining I am leashed. It makes me even more aware of how I am tied to her and how that is a metaphor for not having my own life but being a shadow to hers.

Today, she walked me in public, now having gained some permission, and interest, of our neighbors. She walked me around completely, then back again, giving people two chances to see me this way. And she made a point of stopping within view to adjust my collar or to point out some phantom thing in the woods across the way — giving anyone ample chance to see Amanda with her possession in tow.

Being walked in the possible sight of curious others peering from windows is another kind of experience. I feel exposed even though dressed. I can’t help but wonder what others are thinking, and I assume pity or judgment or lust. It’s hard for me to accept that passively, and it makes me want Amanda to march me up to someone’s door and give me a chance to explain, to tell them what this is about within me and with her.

Indeed this is what Amanda eventually intends, her vision of the friendly stroll through the neighborhood, visiting and chatting with friends in front yards, with me on a leash and dressed or undressed in some revealing way. In that Amandian utopia, I will be given a chance to explain what I am.

The problem is, as always, we can’t ever really explain submissiveness, much as we always keep trying.

Amanda’s vision

Ultimately Amanda’s dream is to create a slave-friendly public environment. She believes that the general population should accept in its midst a master-slave couple living out their lifestyle.

Her walking me on a leash is about more than her control and subjugation of me — it’s for her a symbol to others of who and what we are. Her idea taking me to a dog park, leashing me and having me walk alongside German shepherds and Labradors is not only meant as a humiliation for me, but also intended to be a visual social statement to others about what she believes should be the normalcy of the D/s lifestyle — just as dog-walking is.

And now she has intentions for our new neighborhood becoming a Petri dish for our social experiment. Of course, even Mistress with all her special powers can’t Bewitch a whole suburban tract into adopting her vision. But our new digs are unique and offer her some possibility.

We live west of the city in the foothills of the Rockies. This house is in an unincorporated area, not in a housing development or part of a formal (HOA) neighborhood. The immediate area is sparsely populated — we have just five maybe six neighbors within a full square mile. Only one home is within sight of ours.

All of our houses are built along the side of a mountain — well, more like a foothill. The lots all slope down to a rural road, though it’s paved. Our back yard is an up-slope to the top ridge of the foothill, and off of that hangs a hiking path that winds around the back yards of a number of these other houses as well.

Frankly, this is one of the reasons Amanda selected this house originally. It has privacy and open space and, perhaps, a manageable number of neighbors.

Amanda, at the very least, would like to walk me on a leash along the public road at the base of the houses, as well as on the hiking path along the ridge. She would like neighbors to know us and not be offended (or call authorities). In her perfect vision, she’d like these neighbors to be our welcoming friends, and invite us in for drinks in the summer, all while I am collared and leashed and otherwise, alternatively, interestingly dressed.

As an aside, regarding Amanda’s vision, it’s important to understand that, if we were somehow to live in a community of just D/s and BDSM people, it would not be the same thing. Amanda’s vision is to submit me to the vanilla world and get them to accept me for what I am.

So she wants to talk individually with our neighbors to explain to them our lifestyle, what I am, and how we live. She wants them to accept our lifestyle, perhaps enjoy it paraded in front of them. In some cases, maybe there would be some negotiation of what’s acceptable and what’s not.

Now, I would never even begin to imagine how a random group of neighbors would come to peace about what we are. And I would never have the chutzpah to approach neighbors and have this conversation. I blush even to imagine it.

But as we know, Amanda is a force in talking people into things. She is unflinching and persuasive.

And, there are some other factors in her favor. These five neighbors are owned by people who don’t have children at home (there’s one she’s not sure of). She had researched that before she bought the place. She also knows that one of the homes is owned by a gay (male) couple. Another place is owned by a recently divorced man who travels a lot and is rarely home. There’s a sixth home, currently on the market and uninhabited.

As it happens, Amanda has already had one positive conversation with one of our neighbors — a married couple in their fifties. She happened to be driving by as they were pulling in their driveway. She got out, introduced herself. Told them about us.

“They are open and curious,” she said to me. “They want to meet you.”

So here we go. Sometimes I feel I got hooked on to the side of a rocket ship.