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 both exciting and humiliating at the same time.

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 is usually yes, as she tends 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 a pet that cleans things. Mistress allows me to be on my feet when I need to scrub the bathtub  or do the laundry, or prepare meals for her. My meals are usually her leftovers, put in a blender and poured into my dog bowl.

Mistress Has a Thing For CFNM

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

I don’t wear clothes, because Mistress has a CFNM fetish. The only time she allows me to wear clothing is to tend to her garden once or twice a week. I sleep in a cage. And, truth be told, I love it all.

In my previous life, I used to be a big-shot businessman. I wore the expensive Gucci suit, and my sunglasses were Ray Ban.  My Italian leather wallet was 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. Nobody said that I had 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, that 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 my birthday suit.

And it is only now that I realize I came into this world for her.  Mistress keeps me, and  supports both 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.  She will return the clothes I came to her with and provide a ride back to my old house, which is still probably dust free due to the maids and butlers.

What Mistress Wants, I Gladly Give

And I cannot, and would not, have it any other way. Though I started out on this endeavor three years ago, I am content. Mistress often humiliates me, and, at times, cuckolds me, since Mistress brings home the occasional gentleman 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 she required me to.

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 gladly give.

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