CFNM Humiliation Pet

I am not sure how to go about this, so I will just say it.  I am a CFNM humiliation pet. It is my first time writing this sort of confession down and it’s exciting and humiliating.

I am the slave of a mean Mistress, and, well, I love it. That, I do not mind admitting out loud anymore. For the longest time, it was rather humiliating. You can call it erotic humiliation if you wish, but either way, humiliation is humiliation.

It does not matter if it turns you on or not. What matters is “Does Mistress like this?” The answer was usually yes, as she tended to laugh her perfectly formed ass off at every turn.

What you have to understand is that I am not on a human level with Mistress. I am basically a dog who could clean things. I was allowed to be on my feet when the bathtub needed to be scrubbed, or the laundry done, or meals prepared for her. My meals were usually her leftovers, put in a blender, and poured into my dog bowl.

Mistress Had A Thing For CFNM

My collar was not one of those fancy ones you see online, made of leather or steel. It was a plain nylon collar, the kind you would see on an outside dog. I even had a tag on it, in the shape of a bone, that had Mistress’s contact information.

I was kept without clothes, as Mistress had a CFNM fetish. The only time I was allowed clothing was to tend to Mistress’s garden once or twice a week. I slept in a cage. And, truth be told, I loved it all.

I used to be a big-shot businessman. I wore the expensive Gucci suit, and my sunglasses were Ray Ban. I had a wallet of Italian leather filled with hundred-dollar bills. I owned a Mercedes, a BMW, and a Ferrari.

I had a house big enough to be called an estate. The trophy wife. A fleet of maids and butlers at my beck and call. A string of meaningless one night stands with just about any woman who would crawl into bed with me.

And it was not until I met my strict Mistress that I realized all of it was meaningless. Keep in mind, I still have it all. I was not told to give even the slightest bit of it up. Mistress made it clear when I was allowed to live with her that she has no need for any of it. And, as I found out, it had no need for me.

The Only Thing That Has Meaning For Me Is My Strict Femdom

These days, the business I thought would fall apart without me keeps on running, and a tidy sum is deposited into my account in my absence. My suits remain at the estate, along with the cars. The only suit I wear now is the one I received on the day of my birth when I came into this world.

And it is only now that I realize I came into this world for her. I am kept by my Mistress, who supports herself and me. I am a burden on her, one that she can easily manage, but still a burden. I bring nothing into our household because that is the way she wants it.

One day, when she is bored with me, she will cast me off. I will be given the clothes I came to her with and a ride back to my old house, which is still probably dust free due to the maids and butlers.

And I cannot, and would not, have it any other way. Though I started out this endeavor three years ago, I am content. I’m often humiliated, and, at times, a cuckold, since Mistress brings home the occasional gentlemen caller.

I know my place in life…under her booted heel. If Mistress wants me to be a pet, crawling on his hands and knees when not doing chores, then I will be her pet. She is my sensual Mistress. She is my owner. And I freely give to her my all. That is my confession to you. And I would not change a thing unless it was required by her.

And, so, tonight I will eat her blended leftovers from last night, which was a half-eaten steak, some green peas, and a glass of wine with a cigarette butt in it, and bask in the sensual humiliation of it all. Because, when all is said and done, what Mistress wants, I will give.

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