Mommy and I had an incredible date night last night. We met at a nice bar mid-way between our two towns, where a band was performing. The bar was clean and comfortable, with a nice outdoor area as well. They had good drinks and good food. We drank, we laughed, and we danced.

We were the first couple to venture out on the dance floor, and we immediately caught everyone’s attention with our provocative movements. Some cheered us on, another woman kept following us around, taking photos and videos of us. She said we were "so frigging hot" and "very sexy". Several other women approached Mommy to tell her what a "cute couple" were are. This made Mommy very happy. I was being the good public boyfriend, a trophy for her to show off. I hope I made her feel proud.

We also talked about a possible future together, and dreams that I thought were unattainable suddenly seemed possible. We talked about our dream home, and about me being a prisoner there. We talked about me being kept naked so she could always see my bruises. (Maybe we could be remote enough that I could be naked outside the house too?) She wants to own my completely, my body and my mind, and I want that too.

She makes me feel so small and worthless, which is what I need most of all. She said that she needs to protect me from myself, so I don’t hurt myself. She apologized for breaking her promise about not hurting me physically, but I told her that it didn’t matter, and it doesn’t. Breaking a promise to someone with so little worth doesn’t matter. I deserve to be lied to and manipulated. I like that I have to be in constant fear of what she may do next, and that fear makes me feel closer to her. And she has showed restraint and patience. I want to be trained to be able to take more pain, so I can be a better slave wife. That’s the least I can try to do for her after she has done so much for me.

She talked about wanting to break my nose, something she mentioned before, so it must be something she particularly fantasizes about. She said if she did it just right, it would blacken both my eyes. She said she wanted to bust my lips open. She says she has a rage within her, always just beneath the surface, and she wants to let it out on my body. I want so much to be that person for her, to be able to take that pain and abuse and to be in a living situation where I can be constantly bloodied and bruised and where only Mommy will see it and admire her work.

The first time she mentioned breaking my nose, she asked me what I would tell the ER doctor that would treat me. (I wouldn’t have assumed that she would allow me to have medical treatment after.) I said that I would say I had fallen, and she scolded me: that wouldn’t be good enough to be believed. I needed to come up with a more convincing lie to protect her, so she can abuse me with confidence.

I will of course, but I suspect its not that necessary. Professionals and society in general bend over backwards at even the hint of domestic violence against women. There are unlimited resources for these women: shelters, support groups, etc. For men, there is nothing. In most places, domestic violence is defined in such a way that it can only be a man doing it to a woman, so that if the police are called to a situation in which a wife is beating and threatening to kill her husband, they will arrest and charge the husband for domestic violence, because that is what the law mandates. You can easily find examples of exactly this situation in news reports online. At best, if I even wanted to tell the police that Mommy had hit me, they would just laugh at me. Men who are abused are completely alone and helpless. And I long to be inside that trap. I want to bathe in that pool of shame and agony. I want to drown in it.

I begged her to make my life miserable. And I just had an insight: maybe the key is that I want my outside to hurt as much as my inside. I want others to hate me as much as I hate myself. Maybe that’s the balance I seek to feel at peace.

Until then, I have to try to be better for Mommy. I already work out for 2-3 hours every morning, but that’s not enough, I will start working out in the evening too. I will restrict what I eat even further than I already do to be a fit as I can be. I am at an age where I really need to think about hormone replacement therapy too. Maybe Mommy would inject me, so that I can be stronger, fitter, more desperately horny. All of these things will allow me to do more for Mommy, to serve her tirelessly, to take more of her abuse, to be a shinier trophy to display.

I have also purchased books on housekeeping so I can be ready for a day when I will be responsible for making sure Mommy is comfortable all the time.

She is all I think about now. Everything I do, I do with the thought of gaining her approval. I wouldn’t be motivated to work out more for myself, to be healthier, but I am very motivated to do it for her, so she can show me off, and beat me harder.

I am so thoroughly happy whenever I think about her. I feel like I am floating on a fluffy cloud. How can I not be completely devoted to someone who makes me feel so bad, and so good, at the same time?

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