A story about a lesbian domme who conditioned me to accept that women are superior

This story takes place a few years ago. I had already been lucky enough to have had a few Domme/sub interactions on here, but this is about a very specific one. She was a bit different: she fully identified as a lesbian, and said she didn't feel any actual sexual attraction towards me. She liked the power dynamic in dominating men though. She described it to me once by saying how the knowledge that the attraction and desire only flowed in one direction made the power imbalance much more pronounced and enjoyable, and I definitely came to agree.

Serving her was a lot more strict and regimented. To her, the goal was to full ingrain what already drew me to her: the need to submit myself, to make myself less a man and more a toy, and above all to recognize the superiority of women. She still had me stroke and edge, but it was with a purpose. It was to meant to tell me that I was less; that I wasn't made to experience pleasure, only to give it. That my body and my cock were tools to be used for a women's satisfaction only, not for myself.

There was routine. Starting first thing every morning, and every four hours after, I had to "present" myself. That meant finding someplace secluded, stripping myself down completely naked, kneeling, and sending her a photo of me, erect and exposed, for her inspection. Only then would I be allowed to stroke, for as long and as many times as she felt that day. Again, not for my pleasure, but for her satisfaction. To further ingrain the lessons she was imprinting into me. And so I didn't stroke in silence: I had mantras she had taught me.

• "My body and cock belong to Mistress."

• "I was made to serve women."

• "Only women deserve pleasure."

• "I am just a toy for women."

These four sentences, over and over again, ingrained deeper and deeper into my brain with every stroke, and every edge. Only with those words could I earn the right to touch. Only with those phrases in mind, guiding my thoughts and actions, could I submit myself in a way she found satisfactory. Only then would she enjoy me, use me, take pleasure from my complete and total submission to her.

Then, after she decided it was enough, that was it. I'd thank her, stand, dress, and go back to whatever I was doing, trying hard to blend back into the world and not let anyone know how completely I had just been taken control of. She'd remind me, of course; she was kind and considerate of me, never cruel, but always, always reminded me of my place. Which was fine with me, because I loved every minute of it.

There's no good explanation for why we eventually stopped talking. We drifted a bit after a while; I think after enough time, the interest just wore off for her, which I understand. At some level though, I think she decided her job was done, and she had properly ingrained her words into my brain enough for her satisfaction. And hey, she's probably right.