In Search of Ms Right on the Interwet

Looking for Miss Right on the Allexcited69, how he failed in the class of Ms Napoleon Jill..

Warning: this story is a figment of my imagination. All characters, places, venues are made up and fictional. The story revolves around a lonely Slave looking for Mistress Right on the internet.
Some scenes contain raw language, southern slang, explicit sex and some verbal violence and humiliation. Reproduction of this story is prohibited without the express consent of the Author.

Keywords of this story: Female Dominance, female-led relationships, chastity, tease and denial, total power exchange, Southern Slang expressions,
sales methods, enrollment, eco-villages, permaculture, veganism, Georgia, Yankee, Redneck, Correction, whipping, conditioning, obedience, granny, smoking, begging, Zone, depression, bi-polar, boots, leather, total power exchange, social realities, trends,
Slave, mistress, FemDom., collar, whip, shoe-wax, bondage, masochism, black corsets, Mistress, gaga, licking pussy, oral worship, fantasies other dreams

There I was on another rainy Autumn day with my dick in my hands. lost in the alleys of the Interwet, this time I gravitated to tumblr to see some graphic images of a dom dishing out a whipping to chastity wearing obedient slaves. I could nt say that I was living a life of abundance but hey, we were in the midst of an economic depression, with no jobs, no funds. What else could I do . I lit up my bong and inhaled deeply.

The THC was getting to me. I hadn t smoked in a few days and I loved the sensation when you truly relax, let go, get into the Zone, the subspace zone of a male slave that is on his knees, begging his Mistress to let him lick her boots or worship at her altar.

I loved women,money, nice cars a lot but none were gravitating to me. The law of attraction had failed me miserably or maybe my obsession with femdom would one day lead me into a true life of submission to a powerful women, possibly somebody coaching her Clients into empowerment and feeling good about herself while having her boot on my dick...and keeping me in a cage in the basement of her mansion.

I had toyed with the idea of coaching myself and had attended various seminars in California and was thinking of relocating there.

This week, I attended a series of on-line hangouts by some coaching lionesses. They were coaching a bunch of girls and women into empowering their lives, from claiming what was theirs, from realizing the full value for their services.It was all good and I am for the empowerment of women, of kids, of dogs...of all of us.
Empowerment means different things to different people but there
were bound to be abuses in any Power Dynamic, be it in business or personal. As long as people were put under pressure, the stress built up and Sex and Sports were still the remedy brought down to us by the Romans, two powerful triggers in releasing our stress. My mojo had been low but I had decided that i needed to step up my game, get my mojo back in gear. I was about 30 lbs overweight which made me self-conscious. I felt fat, inadequate and lame.

I always get stress, pain , whippings mixed up. the story is about all three of these but still lots of sex or desire for sex.

I was one of the lone men who had somehow been accepted into this scholarship (free) program..a crash program delivered every two days. . There were two types of Coaches in this world, I was told ; the 97% who earned less than 10k per year and then the 3% of stars that captivated their audience and made 6 f or 7 figure annual incomes. i needed to step up my game and above all decide what type of coach I wanted to be.

However, my postings on the Facebook for this teaching group were completely ignored and the girls were having a Sister party. They responded with love, empathy to all the female postings with words of encouragement. For me, this program was an exercise in powerlessness, a form of humiliation I despised yet craved at the same time. I knew deep down that I could be powerful any time I chose to so this was a lesson in humility that the universe had sent my way.

So, I felt like the plant that somebody forgot to water.

The URL links for the homework were not made available to me so I felt even more marginalized and powerless.

Was this intentional on their part. I started fantasizing about me serving them drinks, while naked and collared, in their live workshop sessions.While there, they were either ignoring me or giggling, I was not allowed to talk and my gaze was to be kept well below their waist...preferably on the the boots of Alexis, a lawyer turned hippie. But no, this cant be right because hippies dont wear high boots...rather they were

My fantasies were always filled with incongruities like that which made it hard to manifest anything but a boner.

Without the assignments, about archetypes and moneymaps, I felt like a tourist in Egypt. I basically got about 50% of the highly technical discussions about hourly rates and how they were obtained. It was all about monetizing your pussy, your booty. Since I had neither, I felt kind of excluded. Most of their talk revolved about their visions, their game plans, their current versus perfected or unlimited pricing, the target clients and the leader of the group is a this self-affirmed hippie that put out a strong FemDom vibe. It sounded like a workshop for gold diggers that put on an air of empathy, compassion and sustainability , permaculture, retreats , as long as you were a woman. The girls were cogitating their money plans. As you will find out by reading this story, there is nothing more dangerous than a woman with a smile.

I felt a bit like Mr Cellophane, a character in the musical Chicago that felt like he was transparent and invisible. I felt like I didn t matter, didn t fit in, powerless, unloved and beaten down. I did post the youtube of it on their site but it was completely ignored.
I know now how the Palestinians or other oppressed people must feel like.

After my fix of THC , I fell into dreams of a different flavor,regaining my stillness, my inner harmony, a better tomorrow, a simpler life in the woods, maybe in a tiny house in an eco-village in Indiana, Colorado or Oregon or in some Mongolian Yurt on some raised wood deck, overlooking a lake in a beautiful forest. A place where time stood still, where flies could be heard, where my Mistress, wrapped in eco -lankets, was asking me to put more wood into the wood stove to keep her enchanted vegan body from catching cold.

When I am stoned, I become bolder. So it was that night. that I said to myself . I must <> and do as Thoreau had said: >>Go into the direction of your dreams and the universe shall somehow conspire to make your vision into a reality in uncommon ways ...<<

I fell into tumblr in the femdom section, my default mode when I get into a reactive slave mindset....

On the one side of the page was a side..picture of a Mistress in boots, holding a whip. It was an ad for a Femdom Dating Site. I clicked on it, got transported there, registered, verified my email , downloaded a picture, set up my profile and was ready to go to sleep hoping that tomorrow Serendipity would in some way surprise me.

I heard another Coach of mine say to me this week : <

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This story is 1301 words long.