The Withdrawn Artist

The guy I admired in high school was a shy, silent, artist, very anti-social but with the most gorgeous long curls you ever saw. His session would be very service oriented for two reasons. First, I spent many years of my life putting him up on a pedestal so I would enjoy turning the tables and having him put me on a pedestal and treat me like a great lady. Second, since I enjoy the behavior modification aspect of dominance and pruning away people’s bad habits, I hope, through service, to make inroads in his anti-social behavior.

I would want to start out with an in-depth foot bath and massage. I would be very insistent that he handle my feet with extreme reverence. He would have to handle them as if they were sacred relics made of fragile glass and the beautiful hair which I was never allowed to touch would be used like a towel to wash and dry my feet. His treatment of me would be similarly reverential. While kneeling at my feet, he must never raise his eyes to mine and he must always address me as “My Lady.”

The next part of the session would be where I would teach him the proper way to treat a lady. He would need to learn useful tasks like how to correctly greet a lady, including bowing and kissing her hand, helping her into and out of her coat and shoes, and making sure she is always adequately provided with drinks and nibbles. Then, would either go out to a nice restaurant or have dinner in but, either way, he would have to dish up my salad, slice my bread, refill my glass, and pull of my chair for me.

But it would be worse than that. He would have to do the thing he fears most: talk. While teaching him these physical skills I would also instruct him in the proper way to carry on a polite conversation and expect him to follow my lead to the best of his ability. There could be no silence at the dinner table or while we were sitting together before. I would expect him to keep the talk flowing at all times, regardless of how foolish he felt the things he was saying were. Although he might not turn into a charming conversationalist on the first night, this would merely be another excuse to see him again and continue his training.

If he messed up or failed at the tasks I set him, I would not become angry, would not yell at him or strike him. I would be sad. I would be disappointed. At least, when a slave is punished, it allows him to release some of the guilt of having let his mistress down. But this one would get no such thing. He would simply have to bear the burden on his own shoulders of knowing that he failed me, that he was unworthy of my expectations.