Saturday, March 25, 2017


When Miss Ling goes to work each morning, she requires me to open the driveway gate, then to close it after she drives through. Now, to understand what happened this morning, you need to know that for the past month Miss Ling has required me to wear only a shirt to bed and nothing else—no bottom, no underwear.

This morning, as it happened, I was still in bed when Miss Ling was ready to leave, so I jumped out of bed and hurried outside to open the gate. Miss Ling giggled, reminding me that I had no pants. Not knowing what else to do, I pulled the shirt down lower. She asked me to turn around so she could see what, if anything, was visible below the shirt. Her older daughter (Miss D), I should add, had just left, while her younger daughter (Miss A) was still asleep.

As Miss Ling was driving through, she lowered her window and said I was to be dressed like this when opening the gate from now on. She said it in a serious manner, so I bowed and said “Yes, ma'am.” She gave me a power smile, then giggled and drove on.


It is such a privilege to serve the magnificent Miss Ling and her two lovely daughters. I know how lucky I am. And just being able to see those six lovely feet each day is a wonderful reminder to me of my role in this matriarchal household.

Yesterday Miss A (aged 14) showed me her fingers with a new color polish she had just applied. They looked good and I told her so. Then I looked at her beautiful bare feet, which were not polished, and suggested that perhaps I should apply the same polish to those, too, as they should match.
Miss A smiled and said “Maybe.” I said we could even try different colors on each toe. Again, giggles. One day soon I hope I am rewarded with the opportunity.


This morning Miss A handed me her white tennis shoes and asked if I would clean them and dry them so she could take them with her on a school trip in the afternoon.

I thanked her for the privilege and took the shoes. Miss Ling has a special soap for this, I knew, but I didn't know where it was kept, so asked her. I was so glad I did ask Miss Ling, as she told me that only the rubber portions—the toe, along the sides and back—needed cleaning, so I had to take pains not to get them wet as they wouldn’t dry in time. Miss Ling found the soap, then got a toothbrush and showed me exactly how she wanted me to clean them. I followed her instructions, and they looked good and I dried them in the sun.

Later, when dry, I put them in Miss A’s room where she would see them.

Later Miss Ling told me that the toothbrush she handed me to use on her daughter’s shoes was mine!


About a month ago, Miss Ling decided that I would sleep at her feet on Thursday nights. I recall that when I first assumed this position and was fully accessible to her feet for kisses, I asked her if she was worried that one of the girls would walk in (they have full access to our bedroom).

No, Miss Ling wasn't worried, pointing out that they have both seen me kiss her feet before, as well as having had theirs kissed. Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, Miss A quietly opened the door, whispered something to her mother, went to the bathroom to get something, and then left the room.

During this interruption, I stopped worshipping, but Miss Ling continued to wiggle her foot, signaling me to continue, which I obediently did. Miss A saw it all, but, exactly as her mother predicted, took it in stride and said nothing. Miss Ling and I eventually fell asleep, with me hugging her beautiful feet.

I look forward to Thursday nights!


Wednesday, March 8, 2017


Not long ago Miss Ling made arrangements for her younger daughter (age 14) to have her very first pedicure, then informed me that I would be accompanying them to the nearby spa, which offers pedicures and manicures, facials and massage, in addition to waxing. While Miss A was having her feet soaked, Miss Ling began a rapid-fire exchange with several of the spa ladies, including the owner, a very elegant and well-dressed woman in high, high heels. All this talk was in their native tongue, which of course I could not understand.

I did, however, manage to catch one word—“Brazilian.” So it was not a total surprise when Miss Ling turned to explain me that they’d been discussing waxing. Not just for herself, mind you, but for me, as well.

"They will do you,” she said, “for—” And she quoted a local price that equaled about $18. That was a bargain price, Miss Ling said, because she’d explained to the women that I had only light hair growth in my genital area, while hers was much heavier. The higher price for her waxing would be determined once they saw what it looks like. She had told the women that she wanted this done to give us both a fresh look for our wedding. “Of course, I told them that you are always happy to go along with whatever I say, so please turn to the ladies now and bow and nod your head several times.”

I did as told, and the spa ladies all had a good laugh over this.

So, while Miss A’s pedicure was still going on, I followed my ruling wife-to-be into the adjoining waxing room. Miss Ling ordered me to remove my pants and underwear and lie on the table, which was pointed directly toward the door. The door was still open at that point, and there was one other customer just outside, a young woman getting a facial, who obviously could hear everything we were saying—and see inside by simply turning her head.

Off came my pants and underwear, in front of Miss Ling and the waxing technician, an attractive and courteous woman about forty, who was also one of the spa pedicurists. This woman now placed a modesty towel over me before she going over to close the door, but a moment later the towel was whisked away so she could begin working on me.

Miss Ling remained, both to watch and offer occasional assistance, and she and the waxing woman chatted continually. As the woman began trimming my genital hair with scissors, Miss Ling turned to me and said the technician had been asking about my previous waxing experience. Miss Ling had explained that she’d had me waxed once before, during our early courtship, but now that our wedding was coming up, she wanted me done again.

“He will look and feel more naked this way,” she told the technician, “and more under my control.” Miss Ling said she told the woman that I was the type of man who deeply respected women and preferred to be with a type of woman who could exercise firm control. Apparently the technician very much enjoyed hearing all about who was boss and who obeyed in our relationship.

Several times during this conversation, the woman glanced over at me, but never spoke directly to me, only to Miss Ling. Apparently she told Miss Ling that it seemed very obvious that I was a subordinate, and Miss Ling agreed that was very much the case.

Another time during the session the technician left the room, and this time left the door slightly ajar—and didn’t even bother to cover me. Before she returned and closed the door again, two staffers passed by and looked in to see me lying naked with my legs spread.

I must say the technician was an expert waxer. She had no shyness about handling my penis or testicles (though Miss Ling did help out by stretching my testicles when the time came for them to be waxed). After a while, apparently satisfied that I was in capable hands, Miss Ling left to see how her daughter was doing with her pedicure, then returned when it was time to wax the area between the testicles and anus.

Miss Ling then asked the woman if she wanted my legs raised over my head to make the area more accessible. But as the technician said that wasn’t necessary, as she had already instructed me to lift my buttocks off the table and to spread my legs wide. I did, however, get the impression that the woman appreciated the directness of Miss Ling’s question. It showed that Miss Ling definitely wanted all my hair removed.  (I learned later that while some local women like to have this area waxed, mostly it’s foreigners who do it. Except for local “ladyboys,” who also have it done frequently.)

All in all, Miss Ling seemed very comfortable allowing the female technician to take control of my private parts for a good half-hour. Once the procedure was finally done, the technician rubbed in a solution to clean the just-waxed areas and another cream to reduce itching. (It worked, as I have had none since.) At this point the woman indicated to Miss Ling that I was finished and could get dressed.

As I started to obey, Miss Ling gave me a sharp look and told me to remain where I was, fully exposed. Then she turned back to the woman and they spoke for several minutes. The woman smiled, then laughed, and finally covered her mouth shyly at what Miss Ling was saying.
Finally Miss Ling turned back to me and told me it was “time to properly thank your Waxer.” I nodded, and bowed formally to the woman, expressing my thanks. Miss Ling shook her head and repeated the word “properly!” in a louder voice, pointing to the floor. So I kneeled at the woman's feet, bowed and thanked her. Again Miss Ling repeated the word “properly!” The woman was just standing still and smiling and watching me as I looked up to Miss Ling. Then I lowered my face to the woman’s pretty, well-pedicured bare feet and kissed both fervently and once more muttered my thanks.

This time Miss Ling approved and instructed me to get dressed. But she admonished me and said that next time I must obey immediately. “Yes,” I answered, “I will obey and I am sorry.” But my apology and promise was not sufficient. Miss Ling informed me I would be punished when we got home.

I think the technician, who was closely observing this, had a pretty good idea of what was going on. But just to be sure, Miss Ling now turned and translated my scolding to her, word for word. The technician nodded and smiled, then smiled at me and pointed to her own feet and politely thanked me for my special thanks.

It was Miss Ling’s turn to be waxed now. She asked me if I wanted to stay and watch, and of course I said “yes!” Actually, I was extremely excited by this prospect, and Miss Ling could see that, I’m sure.

As Miss Ling had mentioned earlier, her own genital hair growth was much more luxuriant than mine, so there was a lot of scissor work to start with. Miss Ling informed the technician that a previous treatment had caused itching in her vagina, and so the area was examined and the problem discussed in detail. This was all pretty hot from my standpoint. Although I couldn’t understand the actual discussion, I could make a pretty educated guess when my lovely bride-to-be spread her lower lips to show the girl precisely where the problem was.

After a while, despite my obvious preference to stay, I was dismissed from the room and told to wait outside and sit next to Miss A and observe how her pedicurist was doing her job. As I left, I heard both females laughing at another comment Miss Ling had just made, obviously relating to me.

Finally Miss Ling came out, announcing that her waxing had cost twenty-five percent more than had mine. Later, after I had paid for both waxings and for Miss A’s pedicure, plus generous tips all around, Miss Ling told me that the technician who’d worked on us was an employee of the shop, but was soon hoping to leave and open her own studio. She and Miss Ling had exchanged phone numbers in order to keep in touch. The idea, Miss Ling told me, was that a waxing every few months would have less complications and aftereffects.

In the lobby, as we waited to go home, Miss A got an earful of information from her mother about my waxing experience, and about my proper and respectful demeanor in the presence of the other women.

Quite an exciting day, all around!


Thursday, March 2, 2017


I’ve been asked to share some thoughts on the family dynamics of a gynarchic or matriarchal household. First, let me make clear that the following is based solely on my personal life experiences described elsewhere on this blog. This makes mine a somewhat informed, experienced opinion, I’d argue, but an opinion nonetheless. In my examples, I’ll use a family formed by a Wife, husband and children for convenience only. These suggestions can apply to any family type.

To rein in my tendency toward long-windedness, I’m going to use a trite but hopefully effective aid to put my few random thoughts in some sort of order—the anagram. In this case, the anagram is W*O*M*A*N.

The first letter, “W,” stands for Wisdom.

I don’t believe it’s wise to post just a set of gynarchic principles on the wall, no matter how clear and precise, and expect everybody in the household to follow them or be punished. A cult-like isolation is required for such a method by itself to be effective. In the modern world, our kids are influenced by the Internet, their peers, celebrities, teachers, the watchful eyes of various officials, and a thousand other things.

Our ideas regarding female superiority must compete with mainstream culture and win. This is where wisdom comes in. If I could give only one sentence of advice it would be this: TEACH BY EXAMPLES FIRST, AND CONCEPTS SECOND. We have to show our kids that gynarchy works in a practical sense. All adult males in the household, be they fathers, brothers, uncles, “mannies” or non-familial servants, have to show that serving and obeying females is a privilege, as well as a fulfilling and proper way of life.

An adult male ought to go about his chores cheerfully during the day and expect the younger males to help him as a matter of course. It’s not so different from the older patriarchal practice of women taking pride in their culinary and housekeeping skills, and passing that pride and skill on to their daughters. A male needs to show pride and skill in everything from managing the mundane task of monthly bill paying, to fixing a teenager’s broken heel, to cleaning the commode (and keeping the seat down), depending on what the ladies of the house want and expect of him.

As for concepts, they can be taught formally, of course, from any number of sources, just as religious parents teach their kids from scriptures. But in my experience, informal chats and musings are at least as effective, probably more so. For example, let’s say a father or manny is preparing a favorite dessert of Mom’s or of one of the girl’s. One or more boys are helping him. There’s a radio or TV on, reporting some major or minor wrong against a woman by a male (there’s never a shortage of such reports) . Depending on the story, the father might say, “Men like that are a big part of what’s wrong with this world. Look at the way he treated her. The gall! He really thinks he has the right to do that. Real men know better. Real men know that everyone would be a lot happier if women were in charge and led the way.” A boy of any age can learn something from nonchalant comments like these. Girls too, if they’re nearby.

Having said the above, let me admit that formal instruction is vital. We ought to be able to defend our way of life to our kids the same as anybody else. We can use older texts like those mentioned elsewhere on this blog, as well as contemporary ones such as Sheila Ellison’s (ed.) If Women Ruled the World, or Donlan and Graves’ Her Turn: Why It’sTime for Women to Lead in America. A word of caution, though. Don’t get caught up in endless debate with a child. A sharp boy (or girl, for that matter) can pick holes in the most coherent philosophy just for the thrill of it. If that happens, you need to say something like, “That’s enough. This is how we do things here. If you don’t see the wisdom of it now, you might when you get older.”

“O” is for Oversight.

If you’re a male with some authority in the home, you should make sure it’s known by all that everything you do or want done is ordered or sanctioned by the female(s) in charge. In my experience, indicating this fact repeatedly through casual chitchat is effective. For example, you’re moving furniture around, and you might say, within earshot of the kids, something like, “All right. Mom wants this table moved over here, because she and Haley need more room when they do Pilates. Tim, Danny, take the other end and lift. Mom will be back soon, so we better get this done.”

Any male you enlist to help must be aware of who is really in charge, and the younger they are when they learn this, the better. If you’re not sure of what to do, say, “We have to ask Mom” or “Mom needs to know about this,” and, of course, “Wait till Mom comes home!” ought to be a classic phrase in the matriarchal household.

Now, if phrases like those above are repeated enough, I can almost guarantee that before long a child is going to say something like, “Is Mom the boss here?” Your response should be a firm, serious, “Yes, Mom is the boss here.” Say it as though it’s the most natural thing in the world (as it really is), conveying the fact that you wouldn’t want it any other way. If the child wants to know why, give him or her intelligent reasons, but as I mentioned above, don’t get caught up in an argument. Make it clear that we adults think that matriarchy is better for everyone, and that’s the way it’s going to be.

“M” is for Maturity.

Again, setting an example is key. An adult male should not complain about his lot. Don’t grouse or show resentment over the sacrifices you have to make and the orders you have to obey. And, above all, don’t use the children as confidants for your venting. You agreed to live in a matriarchal household, so suck it up. If you have concerns or problems, take them up with the appropriate female, according to the procedure she’s laid down. You are subordinate, and you have to bear that with cheerful, stoic perseverance and pride, as an example to everyone else in the household.

Females are going to have more privileges from birth, and will gain ever more authority as they mature. It is up to you to show the other males how to react. It’s likely that girls will have the bigger bedrooms, more privacy and downtime, more autonomy and money, and, as soon as they are able, the privilege of command. To use a military parallel, you might be an experienced master sergeant, but as your adolescent daughter matures, she becomes a lieutenant, and you have to recognize her authority and obey her within the limits of reason and safety. All females are officers or officer candidates, and males are perpetually enlisted. Your job is to simultaneously aid your wife in teaching the “Officers” leadership skills while setting an example for the “enlisted” and preventing too much resentment among them.

I’ll take time now to mention the obvious. The most important foundation for everything else is love. Boys need to know their place, but they should never feel unloved or unwanted. If they get enough affection and attention, they will be a lot less likely to rebel against the established matriarchal household order. Sometimes it takes conscious effort on our part. As Gynarchists, Matriarchists, Female Supremacists, etc. (choose your term), our natural instinct is to favor the females in our lives, whatever their ages. That’s fine, but we should do it with wisdom and skill.

“A” is for Ancillary Aspects.

This is a broad topic, and I won’t spend much time on it because the details will vary among families. It includes whatever peripherally promotes gynarchy and female superiority. Everything from special ceremonies and celebrations, to art reproductions and decorations, to the books and magazines that lie around the house. I’ve mentioned a few examples from my own childhood in other posts, such as the celebration ceremony my family had when a girl reached menarche, the artwork depicting heroines from history and mythology, and classic books on matriarchy. Even hobbies and craft projects can be employed for this purpose. In my childhood home, a feminist spiritual atmosphere was prominent. I remember my mom having
me help her create a small wall-hanging that put a twist on the famous religious quote. It said: “AS FOR ME AND MY HOUSE, WE WILL SERVE THE GODDESS.”

Again, however, these aspects will vary widely depending on the household. My wife has made it clear that while she wants to retain some Goddess symbolism, she prefers a more “secular” atmosphere overall. She’s going to emphasize more contemporary heroines from the STEM fields and athletics, and naturally I’ll follow her lead in this direction.

“N” is for Normalize.

Every idea and manifestation of matriarchy must be made a normal part of everyday life. Ideally, from the time your family is formed until the last person leaves or passes, female rule and privilege should run through everyone’s life like a string through the beads of a necklace. There would be no necklace without the string, and there would be no family without matriarchy. Like the string, matriarchy might not always be blatantly visible to outsiders, but it will be there, holding the family together.

There’s no one way to achieve this, of course, but in my opinion, a stable, productive household atmosphere, routine but not boring or stultifying, is vital. Males need to know what is expected of them, and females need guidance to enable them to enjoy their power and privilege within the family as early as possible. The senior adults of the family, regardless of gender, need to have their act together. That’s not always possible, but it should be the goal, because if there’s too much dysfunction (I’m thinking of things like drug abuse) among those in charge, matriarchy won’t save the family. Speaking of things that are not always possible, any matriarchal family needs to try hard to find at least one other functional matriarchal or gynarchic family. The sense of community, even among only a couple of families, can have tremendous benefits that are too obvious to need explaining.

Our household now consists of my wife, myself, a son, and a daughter on the way. Using what I’ve learned from my own childhood and from helping raise my nieces, I’m trying to take my own advice—that is, I’m trying to set a good example above all. Her son is only 3, but he already sees that his mother has supreme authority in our home. He watches her tell her older husband what to do and he sees me do it with cheerfulness and alacrity. We want to normalize female authority for him, so when he faces the situation in the future when his younger sister becomes a “lieutenant” and he’s still a “private,” he’ll see it as simply the way things are done. And if we’re successful in getting across the reasons why, and showing how well and happy our family can be, he’ll see it as the way things ought to be done.

To me that’s the most important thing: Passing gynarchy onto the next generation.


Tuesday, February 21, 2017


Two weeks ago we had a photo session for our upcoming nuptials with me dressed in a borrowed suit. (Since all my dress clothes are still back in the U.S., I'm having a suit made for the wedding, but it isn't ready yet). The three “girls” were all dressed up and made up and looking particularly beautiful. Then, yesterday afternoon, Miss Ling informed me that we all had to go to the wedding shop to look at the pictures and select the best one to be framed for the reception. So off we went, and the selection was made, a large photo, probably around 20 by 20, with Miss Ling, of course, casting the deciding vote.

Then it came to choosing the frame. We couldn't agree, and, risking insubordination, I respectfully pressed my point. In my view (though I didn’t actually say this) her choice was, stylistically, right out of the 1950s. But in this Asian country, there are culture issues at stake, and Miss Ling did not understand my objection. But, rather than make a scene, and seeing that several of the female staff in the shop seemed to agree with me, she informed me, in front of all, that she would allow me to choose, but that this was the last time I would ever have my way. Well, there was loud laughter all around at that! Miss Ling and her daughters and I were sitting side by side, with the wedding shop staff around us. To emphasize her statement, Miss Ling pointed down to her bare foot. When she does that, it is her signal for me to stop talking and to listen to her. It can also be her signal to kneel or to kiss her foot. I stopped talking.

Later, after we had left the shop, I asked her about the finger pointing. Did I react properly, or did she want me to kneel and kiss her foot to show my obedience? She said that I should have gotten on my knees and bowed, but without a foot kiss. She said that, with younger people present, including her daughters as well people in their twenties to forties, it would be appropriate for me to promptly obey her order and kneel so all could see her power and my obedience. And that is the response that she will expect
from me from now on. But with older people more her Mother's age, such a submissive response from me would be viewed as disrespectful to them as they would not have seen that and might be embarrassed by it. While younger people, if unfamiliar with such public male deference, would perhaps simply ask, “Why is he kneeling?” Which would give Miss Ling the opportunity to talk about an FLR and all its advantages.

I said that I understood and I apologized for questioning her choice, and then for my inadequate response to her hand signal. I suggested, for future reference, that if I ever fail to react to her signal properly, she simply say “Down!” If she wants me to also kiss her foot, then she should raise it close to my face. That would solve any misunderstanding. She agreed to that and went on to say that she thinks she will be doing this more at home, as well. I agreed that this is a good idea as it will help the girls get good training themselves in male-control, and they will of course be pleased to witness the way their mother continues to have the upper hand over me.

As for why no public foot kiss, Miss Ling explained that that is only allowed in front of her daughters and perhaps close friends, but not at a place of business. I did not mention that, a couple of years ago, I was told by Miss Ling to kiss her foot when helping her choose new shoes in a shoe store—and in presence of the young female clerk.

I didn't bring it up because I believe that not only can women change their mind at any time, but that they are also free to amend their rules at any time.


Wednesday, February 15, 2017


(Arthur’s continues the account of his submissive courtship of the dominant Miss Ling in the lead-up to their matriarchal marriage, and his ongoing devotional service to Miss Ling's two live-in daughters from a previous marriage.)

When Miss Ling marries me and we build a house together, which we both want to do, the plan is for a separate small building for the Power Room, sort of like a mother-in-law suite. (Note: The Power Room is a separate room that Miss Ling uses for my discipline sessions, giving me a serious talking-to, etc. It has one chair for her to sit, and a second chair that I lean over when being spanked, caned, etc.; otherwise I kneel at her feet. I have mentioned to Miss Ling that I would also like to have a proper pedicure chair in the Power Room, and perhaps a massage table as well, and she seems agreeable.)

Before Miss Ling’s two daughters (Miss A, age 14, and Miss D, age 23) came to live with us, the rule was that I was always to be kept naked in the Power Room. Obviously having a separate building for our intimate rituals would give Miss Ling more privacy to express her feelings, wishes, demands and frustrations. She says she is also thinking about adding another chair or two, or perhaps even a sofa, because “You never know, I may have guests.”

The implication is quite clear. At some point I am sure the girls will be invited to witness my discipline sessions (with me clothed, of course) and maybe receive some training themselves in proper execution of discipline of the male. Perhaps one or two of Miss Ling’s cousins or even a few close friends will be invited in to witness how our matriarchal marriage is conducted.

I don't think the girls will be given authority to discipline me outright, at least not yet. More likely they will be encouraged to report any faults or misbehaving or disrespect to their Mother, who will decide what to do, in consultation with them. And if it's decided that I am to be disciplined, I am certain one or both will attend the Power Room session and perhaps even be given the cane or crop to use.

I confess that just thinking about all this can be a bit overwhelming! Like everything else in my future, it is all in Miss Ling’s hands.


Tuesday, of course, was Valentine’s Day—the first one for me with all three “girls.” Miss Ling told her girls that Papa had something for them for Valentine’s Day and would give it to them after dinner. So, after dinner, I was told it was time to celebrate Valentine’s and I was instructed to go to the Power Room. Normally, when I hear these words, I must strip naked and, in the Room, wait for her, kneeling with face to the floor, facing towards the door. This time she said I could sit in the chair and wait for them.

I immediately gathered my small gifts and cards and did as she ordered. Five minutes later the three girls came in. I immediately stood as Miss Ling sat in the chair. The girls stood on either side. Miss Ling told me to kneel before  her. Her daughters giggled as I obeyed. She told the girls that I had something to say, then looked at me and said, “Okay, honey.”

I said that this was a very special Valentine’s Day and how lucky I am to have three Valentines to whom I may say “I love you,” and also that I am privileged to serve. And then to Miss Ling I added a special love message about how lucky I am to be married very soon and how I know I will be in good hands for the rest of my life to serve her, to obey her and to be trained and punished as she wishes in order to make me a better person. As I said these words Miss Ling looked at her daughters and all were smiling brightly.

Then I handed to each a Valentine’s card with a message similar to what I had just said aloud. There was also a small amount of money in each envelope, which they liked, of course. Then I gave to each a small gift: To Miss D a bar of coconut soap, which is supposed to be very good for the skin; to Miss A, a tube of special body lotion; and to Miss Ling a natural shampoo health product. All gifts related to their bodies to keep them “lookin’ good.”

I then asked them if I had forgotten anything? Miss A said that chocolate is customarily given on Valentine’s Day along with flowers. “Ah yes,” I said, “I forgot.” Then I looked in my bag and  said, “Wait a minute.” And pulled out three nicely wrapped brownies fresh from the local bakery. They loved that. Then I said. “One more thing. Come outside a minute.'” And mother and daughters all  followed me to the garden and saw three hanging plants with decorative message and clay hearts. This, too, I was happy to see pleased them very much.

Then Miss Ling told us all to return to the Power Room for one more thing. The girls giggled again. Inside, I was instructed by Miss Ling to kneel before her again. She said that she and her daughters wanted to thank me for my thoughtful gifts and heartfelt words. “We are very pleased at what you have done,” she said, “and here is your special reward.”
With that, Miss Ling extended one bare foot for me to kiss, then the other, and I gave each of her lovely feet a long devotional kiss. Then she turned and nodded to Miss D, who extended a bare foot to be kissed, then the other. Miss A continued to giggle and certainly did not have to be told what to do. She, too, extended a lovely bare foot, then the other, to be kissed. After each kiss, I made sure to say, “Thank you.”

It was a very special Valentine’s Day, one I will never forget. I am such a lucky man.

Remember, men, that women all over the world like to be told that they are special, and that they like and deserve to be treated with respect and devotion. Many women—more and more, in my opinion—also like to be obeyed. Matriarchy gives women the power to ensure that husbands remain always true to their word and faithful. Female power is a wonderful thing! I wish more women—and their males—understood this!


Monday, January 30, 2017


(Arthur’s continues the journal of his submissive courtship of  the dominant Miss Ling in the lead-up to their matriarchal marriage, and his increasing service to Miss Ling's two live-in daughters from a previous marriage, Miss A, age 14, and Miss D, age 23.—Thomas Lavalle)

Yesterday Miss Ling went looking at wedding outfits with a girlfriend who got married two years ago. They had a lot of fun, girls’ time together.

This morning in bed I asked her if she was planning to show her power at the wedding. She looked at me for a few seconds, then said “Secret.” I asked her if she had discussed something like this with her friend. She smiled and said “Yes,” so I may be in for a shock. I said I think her friend has the power. Miss Ling agreed that was true. I asked her if they discussed their female power in their relationships. She said that they did, but would say no more about it. Damn!

I’m pretty sure she wants to show her power in some manner in front of all, but how, I don't know. It’s a pretty vanilla group, and it's a conservative Asian culture. But a show of power would do wonders for Miss Ling’s standing in her family, and also with the girls’ standing with their female cousins.

And of course I think back to our proposal ceremony, and especially the part where I was ordered to kiss the feet of both girls as well as Miss Ling. That was such a very special moment, never to be forgotten by any of us. I wish and hope it will happen again, and that it could become a regular ritual in our matriarchal family.

Meanwhile I'm becoming quite diligent with my laundry duties for all three ladies. Miss D prefers to do her own wash and hand-washes some underwear. But I am permitted to do her ironing after her clothes are dry.

The other day Miss D told me she had no work shirts and had to borrow one of her mother's. After she left for work, I retrieved her dirty laundry, washed and ironed all her work shirts and pants and left them neatly folded on her bed, along with her folded underwear. I also cleaned her shoes and flip flops. During all of this, I was sinking deeper and deeper into submission. When Miss D returned from work and saw all her neatly folded clothes, she gave me a big smile and thanks. I wanted to kneel at her feet at that moment to properly thank her for not being mad that I had done this without permission and to tell her that thanks are not necessary as my duty is to serve her, her sister and her Mom. But I didn’t!

However, because of her pleased reaction, I am assuming that I now have permission going forward to do her laundry. Maybe I will ask her just to be clear. If she says yes, then that will give me the opportunity to ask if she wants me to hand-wash anything. I can mention that her Mother tells me when she wants anything hand-washed. And as for Miss D’s younger sister, Miss A, she now takes my laundry service for granted, including asking me to iron specific items immediately when she wishes to wear them.

Miss Ling has taken my laundry service, or subservience, much farther. A year or so ago she would place her clothes on the bed, no matter where she took them off. I suggested politely that she simply leave them on the floor for me to pick up and put in the laundry room, that she need not remind me, that I would be pleased to help relieve her of this simple task, and that I felt this was another way a man can serve a woman.

Her response was quick and decisive. “I like that,” she announced. “Yes, that will be your job, but I expect my clothes to be picked up promptly.”

I responded with a quick “Yes, Ma’am” and a thank-you. She initiated the procedure that very day, casually dropping her clothes on the floor, and this is now an every-day, or every-night, routine. It would be great if the girls followed their Mother’s lead, but so far she has not instructed them to do so. I do pick up Miss A’s dirty clothes out of the hamper in her room, and, as I mentioned, am hoping to begin doing the same with Miss D.


Today I took Miss D to the airport. She has a four-day break and went back to her home town. I asked her if she was being picked up when she lands. She said no, but would call a male friend. I suggested that she call the friend now, before she takes off, so he can be waiting when she lands.

“You are learning from your mother that the man must always serve the women,” I said respectfully, “so here is a way you can teach him his proper role, and you don’t have to wait for him to show up.”

If you begin to think this way, I went on, in time it will be natural for you, and natural too, for some of your men friends to be under your control if they want to please you. Not all men, of course, but more and more men are seeing the light.

Miss D is still a bit confused with this FLR approach, as this is alien to her culture, but she seems to like what she hears.

I also told Miss D that I had noticed a big load of dirty laundry in her room when I was picking up the trash from her wastebasket. I asked if she would “allow” me to take care of her laundry while she is away. She smiled and said yes, and thanked me. I reminded her that I am here to serve all three of them, just as we discussed on Proposal Day. I said that I want to do it and like to do it.

She smiled again and exclaimed “I  know!” I also told her that she need not be shy if she needs something or wants me to do something. “Just ask or instruct me. I want to serve.” She promised she would.

All in all it was a good discussion we had on the way to the airport. Tomorrow I will wash and iron some of her clothes and leave them neatly stacked on her bed, which will remind her of my proper function in the matriarchal household.

In fact, as soon I got home from the airport I went to clean her shoes, starting with her flip-flops. (BTW, a shoe cleaning always starts with a respectful kiss of each shoe at the toe and inside where the female's heel rests.)