Worshipping the Deity Sinthia
Chapter 1 - The First Steps to Slavery
Things started innocently enough, or so I thought. One night, while surfing the internet in bed, I stumbled upon adult websites. Eventually, I discovered a BDSM dating site. I'd always had dark thoughts about human nature. Being divorced and living alone, maybe now was the perfect time to explore those long-held urges? What harm could come from a little bit of exploration? And so, with a large dose of fear, I joined the site.
The first step was to create a personal profile. The physical aspect was easy. Standing at six feet tall, trim with brown hair and hazel eyes, I was like the healthy guy next door.
The harder part was to express what I was looking for. It required some introspection and made me uneasy. I had been suppressing my submissive tendencies. After all, how could a successful executive and leader of people be submissive? The truth was that the thought of kneeling before a dominant woman made me hard... there was no denying that!
But as I delved deeper, I realized that I didn't just want to submit, I wanted to be owned and humiliated, degraded, and made to do things I had long considered taboo and even disgusting. This was my challenge—how to put all that into a dating profile?
After much deliberation and emotional upheaval, I filled out my profile with the headline, "Filth Slut in Training."
The description stated that I was a submissive male with taboo inclinations, looking for a dominant woman to fulfill her deepest desires. I attached a photo, lied about my age, and submitted my physical details, along with a generic list of desires - BDSM, CBT, pegging, servitude, toilet duties... half of which I barely understood, and none of which I had experienced!
Minutes after clicking 'send,' I received my first mail. It was from a site administrator welcoming me to the site. An hour later, I got my first Mistress contact, followed by a second. I was excited, terrified, and aroused by the whole process. My journey had begun.
In the days that followed, I communicated with a number of potential suitors. Most conversations ended before they even started. There were many tire kickers and pretenders. Some women appeared recently released from solitary confinement. Others were too young for me. Some claimed to be looking for a life partner, which I thought was the wrong site for that. But a few caught my attention and fit my specifications in terms of looks and kinks.
One such woman was Mistress Sinthia. With a questionable spelling, I smiled at the implications and was intrigued enough to open her profile.
She had posted only one photo, which showed a tall, olive-skinned, statuesque woman in her early forties. Her facial features were sharp, reflecting the craftsmanship of a sculpture. Her eyes were brown, intense, and knowing. Her long black hair was pulled back tightly and secured with a leather tie, hinting at the nobility of a warrior.
She wore a body-hugging black leather skirt, paired with a black leather bra and knee-high leather boots. Her nails, lips, and hair tie were bright red. The impact was striking. Not only was she beautiful, but she exuded confidence and dominant sensuality that bordered on intimidation.
My fascination grew with her profile. The headline read, "Exotic Lifestyle Mistress - Practitioner of Exquisite Perversity."
It continued, "You will fall under my spell and resign your body, mind, and soul. I demand total obedience. Failure to comply will result in harsh punishment. You will be my collared slave, devoted to my carnal pleasures. You will become my servant, responsible for house duties, bidet, manservant, and sex toy. You will relish obedience and learn to cherish the sting of my cane."
She seemed too good to be true—a perfect dominant opposite to my submissive side. I yearned to meet this impressive woman, but what should I say? After several failed attempts, I typed and sent the following:
"Mistress Sinthia, your photo is breathtaking. Your interests intoxicating. This sub’s heart races at the prospect of serving you. Mistress, please let me have the opportunity to kneel before you and plead my case. I can only dream of being in the service of the perfect Mistress."
I waited for her response for two days. Finally, I received a terse reply, "Give me three reasons you think I should grant you an audience. You have until the end of the day to reply."
My mind whirled... what three things could convince her to meet me? I needed to be completely honest. I wrote back, "Mistress Sinthia, your profile makes my heart race, my loins swell, and my mind revel in the anticipation of finally being in the service of the perfect Mistress."
The next day, I received a message: "Tomorrow at 11:20 AM, meet me at the Wild Goat coffee bar and bring $500 cash" - Mistress Sinthia. I immediately scheduled a day off.
The following morning, filled with a mixture of skepticism and anticipation, I arrived half an hour early and parked my car in a spot that offered a clear view of the coffee bar entrance.
At first, the place was busy, but by 11:15 AM, most of the mid-morning coffee lovers had left. When I entered, I saw two elderly men discussing their marriages and a weary waitress clearing tables. There was no sign of Mistress. I started to panic, wondering what I should do: wait, order, or sit down?
Behind my ear, I heard her command: "Get me a double expresso, with brown sugar on the side... you will have tap water."
A tall woman in a long, stylish leather coat approached and sat in the back corner of the room, out of earshot of the two remaining patrons.
I ordered the coffee exactly as she'd requested and paid for it. The waiter suggested bringing it to the table, but I declined, wanting to deliver it to Mistress personally to make a good first impression.
I was unsure about the next step. Should I approach her table and introduce myself? Should I wait for the coffee to be ready? I decided to wait. However, the expresso seemed to take forever!
After what felt like an eternity, the coffee was finally prepared, and I promptly carried it and a glass of water to the table. My voice trembled as I said, "Your order, madam." To which she replied sarcastically, "And about time, boy."
"May I ask to join you?" I inquired. "No, that would imply we're equals, which we most certainly are not. You may ask Mistress for permission to sit at her table." Her tone was commanding.
I took a deep breath to regain my composure, then said, "Please, Mistress, may this sub beg to sit at your table?"
"Sit."
As I took a seat opposite Mistress, I felt her intense gaze. She was analyzing me.
After what felt like an eternity, she looked directly into my eyes and said, "You lied about your age." I dropped my gaze and shifted uncomfortably in my seat, confirming her suspicions.
"Are you a real executive?" she inquired. "This sub is an architect who supervises a team in his firm that builds warehouses." I hoped this information would restore some credibility.
"Why are you here?" she demanded.
"I want to see if we're a good fit... if we have chemistry," I replied nervously.
She nodded. "But what do you seek emotionally in your submission? Not physically, mind you."
My mind raced as I tried to answer her question. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think it has something to do with letting go, giving up control, and releasing some of life's burdens, even if only temporarily."
"Now we're making progress," she said with a faint smile.
"However, there's more to you," she asserted with confidence. "You have a fetish for dirtiness. It's not just about serving; you want to be immersed in the sickening. Do you understand why?"
"Perhaps I'm a pervert," I responded impulsively.
"You are indeed a perverted man," she matter-of-factly replied. "What I'm interested in is why? Do you want to be punished, to inflict pain and humiliation on yourself? Are you dealing with suppressed guilt?" She pressed on.
My heartbeat quickened as I recalled a forgotten memory, triggering a guilty feeling that Mistress detected.
"Well," she questioned impatiently, "What's this secret?"
Nervously, I revealed something I'd shared with only a few others and definitely not a stranger. "I beat my ex-wife."
Mistress picked up the sugar cube and stirred it in her coffee as she pondered the situation. After taking a sip, she put the coffee down. "Non-consensual violence, particularly wife beating, is something I strongly condemn."
After another lengthy pause, she remarked, "If you're sincere about submitting, under my control, you'd suffer pain and degradation beyond your wildest imagination - and you'd learn to embrace it."
I quietly murmured, "Mistress, I get it."
"Provide me with your right hand, palm up," she instructed. She hurriedly surveyed the room to double-check if anyone was observing us, then spat into my hand. "Clean it off with your tongue." I did so without any hesitation.
"Your actions demonstrate your innate submissive nature," she informed me. "We'll now explore taming those demon tendencies of yours! I'll bring you onboard as a sub with a probationary period. Once you wear the collar, you'll be my filthy slave. I'll refer to you as 'filth pig.' Is this comprehended so far?"
"Yes, Mistress," I responded, trying to manage my excitement.
"You'll obey my instructions without question or hesitation. Non-compliance results in punishment, and if you reject a request, our agreement is over," she continued. "Is this well understood?"
She added, "If you reach an extreme situation, you may use a 'safe word.' Your safe word will be 'Maggot,' as you're essentially a maggot. Clear?"
"Yes, Mistress, this filth pig comprehends," I replied, feeling both intimidated and aroused.
"From now on, you'll say... this filth pig understands." I followed her orders, stating, "This filth pig understands Mistress."
She took the final sip of her coffee before inquiring, "Any queries, filth pig?"
"Filth pig has one inquiry, Mistress," I shyly asked. "Could I inquire when we start?"
"Only after you wear my collar," she replied. "First, hand over the money I requested so I can purchase your training tools: collar, cuffs, butt plug, ball gag... Or do you prefer used equipment?"
Without contemplating, I responded, "Filth pig prefers the used gear, Mistress."
"The tools will be used indeed." she confirmed. "Pay me now."
I gave her the money, and she pulled a notepad and Mont Blanc pen from her small purse. After penning a succinct note, she set it on the table in front of her.
As she prepared to leave, she said, "Adhere to these instructions exactly." She exited the room in a matter of moments, leaving me in a trance. It was just 11:35 AM.
In fifteen minutes, my life's course took a dramatic u-turn. I sat there, dumbfounded. "My goodness, did that truly occur?"
While still in disbelief, I carefully unfolded the note. It read, "Take a day off work and prepare to be kneeling naked at my back doorstep at 10 AM tomorrow."
The address was a mere twenty-minute drive from my apartment, situated in an affluent neighborhood. My determination was solidified.
Read also:
- Criminally-Tuned Rhythm Chapter 1
- Neighbors Helping Neighbors in Chapter 7
- The Devilish Mechanisms Within
- House-Sitter Part 4
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