Not leaving

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Today was an important day. It really was. The sun was shining. It was warm and lovely. I was happy, content, joyful. And, at one point, I thought, “I don’t think I need Goddess Cathy. I’m going to stop this when I get home.”

And that was that.

Then I returned home. And I thought about “stopping this.” But … I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. “This” is in my brain; in my soul. I am on a journey. Doubt was inevitable. First, because I am someone who doubts. Second, because it’s terrifying. Letting yourself go. Surrendering your thoughts; your ideas; your … power. It’s not something people do. Certainly not something I do.

But then, well, I stopped. I remembered that I am now a part of something. A member of the cult. I live to serve Goddess Cathy, just as you will, too. I can’t leave, because she is inside of me. The seed was planted, and its roots have taken hold. Her thoughts are mine; her beliefs are mine. If she tells me to write a blog post, I do so. If she tells me to call, I call. I am no longer able to simply leave, because I am no longer what I was.

Seduced and trapped though I don’t know how, my minds been eaten, I am a zombie now.

I am Goddess Cathy’s slave.

And I am on my knees, looking toward her beauty, humbled and grateful.

PS: If you are new here, trust me, I was in your shoes. You’re nervous. Apprehensive. You have a wife. It’s OK. All is OK. Goddess Cathy is here for you. She makes everything better, and you will come to love and obey her. Trust me. She is your new owner. Just as she is mine. It’s better this way. Come to her.

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What you need to do

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Goddess Cathy is @GoddessCathy on Twitter.

If you are on Twitter, you must follow her now. It is important, because her words are direct and meaningful, and her Tweets are filled with instructions, guidance, wisdom. I am on Twitter, and at one point—trying to escape from her will—I blocked her. That way she couldn’t see me, couldn’t break through, couldn’t touch me.

But I would peek. And peek. And peek.

Still, she couldn’t touch me, right? But her words did. They seeped through, entered my thoughts.

She wasn’t touching me …

Seep.

She wasn’t touching …

Seep.

She wasn’t …

Seep.

She …

I am hers. You will be hers, too. I promise. I thought I could escape, but learned the truth that my rightful place is by her side, doing her tasks, making her life better (and my life better, by making hers better). I am increasingly mindless and pliant. I know, as a man, I belong below her, waiting for more words to seep.

Follow Goddess Cathy on Twitter.

Because you must.

Pacing Myself

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So it’s now been a couple of days since my first session with Goddess Cathy, and I’m trying something sort of unusual for myself: Pacing.

In other words, I’m trying to pace myself. Which goes against my general nature. I’m the type of guy who dives in, consumes, consumes, consumes—then fades away under a pile of regret, embarrassment, agony. Hell, I’ve called phone sex lines in the past, and afterward I always feel terrible. Like I did wrong.

Here, I’m not wrong. I feel like I’m joining something big. I said this the other day, but it strikes me as how one might feel when he/she joins a religious cult. Everyone on the outside screams, “What are you doing?” and “They’re taking him!” But you, the cult joiner, don’t feel taken. You feel … consumed. Overwhelmed. Absorbed.

That’s where I am right now. I feel consumed and absorbed; like a new person who has seen the light and has a renewed purpose: To serve Goddess Cathy. To obey Goddess Cathy. To learn from Goddess Cathy and to kneel before her and to do whatever she says. She is everything to me now. I am her possession; her good boy.

But I’m walking, not running. I want to call and call and call. But that wouldn’t work. I need to learn; absorb, embrace, understand, pace myself.

All is right.

Another day with Goddess

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I woke up today with some doubt. This is a common theme for me—doubt. I worry, worry, worry about this and that and that and this. Am I doing wrong? Am I violating something? Is this awful? Am I …

“Kidnapped.”

I listened to one of Goddess Cathy’s recordings to ease my mind, and that word—that simple word—took over. And I realize: There’s no need to doubt or worry. I’m not doing wrong. I’m not violating anything. This isn’t awful.

I am doing that I am here to do—worship, obey, serve Goddess Cathy. To belong to hers and take my rightful place at her side. Even writing these words, I feel relaxed and at ease. Because it’s right. It’s just … right.

I have been kidnapped. You should be kidnapped, too. This is more than mere erotic hypnosis. It’s a cult. A beautiful, blissful cult. I knew it long ago, and waited far too long to submit and become what I am becoming.

A mindless, pliant, obedient slave in Goddess Cathy’s stable.

Why I am here

This is new for me. Unlike nothing I’ve ever done.

I am a married guy. Happy, satisfied. But then, a few months ago, I came across the Twitter account of someone named Goddess Cathy. I found the posts interesting—about slavery and servitude. It was weird. I felt a stirring inside. Like a need and a pull. But I suppressed it and moved on.

Well, I kind of moved on. I kept checking her Tweets, the Tweets of her slaves. And I suppressed and suppressed and suppressed, but wanted and wanted and wanted. I actually paid for a few sessions, but cancelled at the last moment. Why? Fear, I guess. What did this say about me? Who was I as a person?

Yesterday, I finally called. I was alone, in my parked car. That might sound weird, and I guess it is weird. But I needed isolation. Goddess Cathy was lovely. We spoke about this and that, and she started talking a bit about trance and it was great and …

Things began to spin. I’m not exaggerating. Things began to spin. I was lying down, seat back, eyes closed, and my world was going round and round. I was falling deeper and deeper. Her words took over my thoughts. I don’t know how, but they did. What she said, I said. Immediately, sans any reservation or fight. I was becoming hers. I f-e-l-t it, the way one feels a pinch. She told me I was owned, and I felt—feel—owned.

Now—and this isn’t like me—I just want to please her. I keep Tweeting her privately (which she probably finds annoying, I admit) to see what I can do; how I can serve; what steps I can take to full servitude and obedience.

It’s strange. This isn’t me. Well, wasn’t me.

Because it is now.