They come into my life on their knees. At first they don't know what
it is exactly that they desire, but it's so essential to their makeup
that they can't help but present themselves in submission to me. I
teach them gaze, posture, rituals. I assign them tasks, instruct
them as to the methods for completion, and inspect their work. I
provide opportunities to do well, to please me, to improve the
quality of my surrounds and my life. I give them guidance, praise,
and above all I give them attention.

The attention I provide is focused and intense. Sometimes I simply
look at them, unblinkingly, for terrifyingly long periods of time.
They squirm under my gaze, confused, until I command them still. I
notice each thing about them: the twitch of an eye, the misalignment
of a collar, the beads of sweat collecting on the upper lip after
kneeling for just long enough. I might comment on those conditions,
assuring them that, indeed, I am paying attention.

I ask many things of them: silence, stillness, focus, breath, self-
knowledge, obedience, adherence to specific protocols, cleanliness.
I ask them for their devotion to the tasks I lay before them. I
require that they are on time, efficient, courteous, respectful, and
demure. I encourage them to ask questions when confused. I build
series of tasks which they can become confident in completing – which
over time, they do unsupervised to provide me, and them, with
tremendous satisfaction and pride in their accomplishments.

This is their primary reward: satisfaction. I make that the reward
because anything else is fleeting, temporary. Satisfaction builds a
supple wall of strength upon which countless additional layers of
confidence and self-esteem will flourish. I want happy bois – self-
aware, confident of their skills, humble and attentive, eager to
please.

And please me they do – for a day, a month, a year, or more. I adore
them, you see. Each kneeling creature is a gorgeous quivering bundle
of desire and hunger and duty, a rare treasured concoction. And
although I am somewhat lumping them into a glob-like category, I
hope it's clear as well that each and every one of my housebois has
been utterly unique from each other, a magical individual. Part of
me falls in love with each one of them – with their availability,
their clarity of purpose, their deep receptive gaze, and the simple
fact that they do what I ask. What pure bliss! And then the day
comes when they are ready. For whatever reasons, they become clearer
about their larger visions in the world, their global purpose, and
they are ready to move on. And each time, although I know the day is
coming, and although I'm wretchedly proud of their decision, it
breaks my heart. Each and every time.

I imagine that while keeping them in service I provide an incubator
for their dreams – so that while folding my panties into specific
little rectangles and arranging them into my lingerie drawers by
color, they are involved in the zen practice of repetition, of
completing everyday tasks, and in doing so freeing a part of their
minds that can then envision their destinies. I believe that
creativity is a spiritual occurrence. And that through the practice
of submission, spiritual consciousness has space to manifest. They
probably just think they are folding panties because I told them
to.. "…only two more pairs left and then Ma'am will let me go outside
to weed the garden, oh goody!" but I like to imagine that they are
folding and daydreaming, creating their futures one pair of panties
at a time.