Pain in upper left abdomen after bathroom

GERD for 20 years. Omeprazole or Pantoprazole the whole time. Before I started treatment, I had all the classical symptoms and the acid destroyed most of my teeth. After treatment, I mostly had stomach cramps and back pain, with a lot of bloating, but no actual reflux. Also, it's difficult for me to burp, as if my esophagus got thinner or something.
Lately, I've had symptoms close to Orthopnea - shortness of breath while lying down (mostly at night) and a slightly tight chest. Thing is, I'm not gasping for air or anything or respirating faster nor any swollen feet. I do have a bicuspid aortic valve, but I read that Orthopnea is usually from left ventrical dysfunction, which mine is fine. Kind of feels like a stuffed nose, except in my lungs/throat, hard to describe. Sit upright and it almost immediately goes away. I've noticed my omeprazole has started to not work as great lately and find myself taking antacids and pepto. Might be the garlic and lemon juice I've added to my daily diet (removing them now). I'm thinking of taking a second dose in the evening and seeing what happens.
Also, last year I developed allergies and had trouble breathing for the first time in my life around the same time as now last year. Could be that too, or both. Also, a history of anxiety.
Anyone else?

Hey guys!
Figured I’d update here so I have someone to talk to about what I’m going through. Not going to lie, it has been very emotionally challenging. Yesterday was day 2 post op, and I woke up feeling amazing. I had minimal pain—like a 1-2/10. I was getting up and walking around the island a few times every time I would use the bathroom. Unfortunately, in the middle of the day, my husband had to clean my belly button and it went downhill from there. He undid the binder, which made me feel incredibly insecure (that’s the best way I can describe it. The binder feels like it’s holding me all together and it feels like I’m going to fall apart without it). He had to wipe my belly button with an alcohol pad, which felt so gross. It didn’t hurt and was mostly numb, but from what I could feel, it felt like he was touching the insides of my body haha. After that, he had to put the binder back on and that’s where things went downhill. At first he put it on too tight and it wasn’t completely covering the bottom of my incision, so he had to redo it. This happened about five times. Because it was so tight, my belly button started to burn. The binder was also rubbing against my incisions and burning. The process of taking off and putting on the binder so many times was so terrible and it brought me to extreme pain for hours. Also, I have extreme searing pain near one of my drain sites when I walk. It’s the worst part of walking at the moment. I’m currently taking so many meds: oxycodone, Valium, gabapentin, ibuprofen, and occasionally Tylenol. I’m on a pretty good schedule, but breakthrough pain still makes its way through at times. The addition of ibuprofen has been a lifesaver.
Today is the morning of day 3, and I was instructed to shower today. I’m honestly terrified and not looking forward to it. I’m currently in my recliner feeling pretty good, but after my issues with the binder yesterday, I’m dreading this.
Finally, you may have seen my post about my mother in law potentially having cancer. Well, we found out a couple of days before my surgery that she does in fact have stage 3 colon cancer that spread to the bladder. She ended up needing surgery the same day as me. While they were in there, they said it may be stage 4. They tested her lymph nodes and we are waiting on the histology report. This has increased the stress of recovery as she wants my husband to leave me alone to be with her, even though she is in the hospital with care from doctors, and my sister in law has stayed with her day and night. I have been in so much pain, and it is extremely upsetting that his family expects him to abandon me. They are also gossiping about me getting the surgery, even though we’ve spent 21k, had this planned since October, and didn’t know the extent of what was going on until two days before my surgery. My mom will be flying out next weekend, so my husband can go be with his mom then. But I have no friends or family here as I moved out of state, and he is my only support person. I don’t regret doing the surgery at this time, but his family making me out to be evil and demanding him to leave me alone has made me very angry.
Anyway, that’s my vent and update for the morning!
Also, PLEASE DRINK WATER. I was behind on hydration yesterday—totally forgot to keep drinking. It made things so much worse!!

I've been watching this sub for a while, reading about everyone's experiences with IEMs, and have been getting very curious. Not wanting to spend a ton of money, and also wanting to experience the inexpensive IEMs that people say punch way above their weight class, I ordered a pair of white TANGZU Wan'ers a couple of days ago. Just got them last night and jumped out of bed this morning to give them a try.
I thought I would share the experience I had with them over the course of 15 songs. It's the same exercise I do with every new set of headphones or speakers I get, although this time I just went with some tracks I happened to have on my phone this morning.
The other headpones I use regularly are my Focal Bathys and a pair of Grado SR325x with G-pads that I mostly listen to records with on my ancient, but still really great hi-fi system.
Here's what I found out.
Note: I plugged into my LG G7 Thinq with Quad DAC and am running Poweramp. I mostly set the EQ to the SA02 Crinnacle pre-set as it seemed to get the best balance for my ears after playing with a bunch of pre-sets and trying on my own, as well. All songs are FLAC files at 24-bit, 192kHz.
Knife Edge - The Alarm
It's been years since I've heard this song and I only recently added it to my phone so this seemed like a good opportunity to hear it again. The song starts with a synth run that definitely showed me this "bright" or "sparkly" part of these headphones I've heard people talk about. As soon as the guitars came in, I almost yanked them out. My first thought was, oh man, I'll never use these for guitar music, but maybe it's just the production on that album. I'm also really sensitive to highs on any song and usually EQ them well down, so no surprise on that front, but still, a little more aggressive than what I'm used to.
Houses of the Holy - Led Zeppelin
Okay, that's better. Guitars sound great in the intro! Then Robert Plant starts singing and there's that sparkle again. John Paul Jones' crunchy bass gets buried way back there, has no oompf behind it, no texture, and we're starting to get kind of muddy and congested here. The cymbal hits are making my eyes water for some reason. Let's try one more.
Buick Makane - Guns 'n' Roses
Yeah, that's fucking terrible. Absolutely fucking not.
Partyman - Prince
Where's the bass? Really. Where the fuck is the bass? That gated snare sound is kind of painful and the synth hits are there somewhere, but way in the back. Definitely not how this sounds in other headphones.
Lake Tahoe - Kate Bush
Oh, okay. There we go. Vocal and pianos. The piano sounds very true, the voices are wonderfully reproduced. Also, a surprising amount of separation between Kate, the piano, and the choral singers. Kate has a much deeper timbre on this album than on her first ones, and it really shines through here. Delightful!
Nikes - Frank Ocean
RIP Trayvon, RIP my ear drums. Even at really low volume the snare drum punches through with the same energy of Mike Tyson trying to bite my ear off. The imaging on this song has the depth of Miss South Carolina. It's like the audio version of watching sports highlights from the 90s on YouTube.
Keep on Movin' - Soul II Soul
Yes! Here we fucking go. Great separation. Each instrument is clear and in its own spot. Bass is not too punchy, but it's there and driving the bottom up to set up the snare nicely, with high hats way over on my left side. Like, waaaayyy over. I think it has a lot to do with the way the snare is set up to register more of the bottom than the top end. Lovely vocal reproduction, as well. I ended up listening to this whole album.
School - Supertramp
This is pretty much a headphones album, IMO, so this could certainly be a benchmark song. I was half expecting the harmonica at the beginning to be a bit painful based on other experiences, but with the way it kind of floats in from the back it's actually really nice. Again, great separation of instruments, especially in the intro section. The scream from the kid made me jump out of my chair a bit, but it never doesn't. Bass and drums hit really nicely here and set a great foundation with the rhythm guitar. Soundstage is wide, everything is in its right place. Even that bridge with that baritone sax and the waka waka guitar sounds great. Nicely done!
Life's What You Make It - Talk Talk
I had high hopes for this one based on the last song, but it didn't quite hit where it usually does. Still getting nice separation, but it sounds a bit flat, doesn't have the same tonal qualities I usually get from listening to this album. I'm starting to see that any song with a highly tuned snare is going to overpower everything else. The mids have disappeared and the highs are just way too far to the front.
Turtles All the Way Down - Sturgill Simpson
Hey, this is great! Nice foundation, vocals are nice and clear, the guitars are bright but not overpoweringly so, and it makes me want to do one marijuana and listen to this again.
Mode for Joe (Rudy Van Gelder Stereo Edition) - Joe Henderson
This is my favourite jazz album. And it sounds pretty good! Joe can be a bit screechy in that kind of Coltrane-esque way, but he's also very laid back and purposeful. He sounds great here. I don't know if it's cheating to use the stereo version, but I really love how full this sounds. Even Bobby's vibes are really well produced.
Once (We Out Here Compilation) - Nubya Garcia
Yeah, this sounds wonderful. I keep being surprised by the wideness of the soundstage. We've got drums doing a kind of jazz/trip-hop/drum n bass thing and an upright bass propping the whole thing up. They actually sound really nice, very much in the spot they should be as foundation. There's a bit of a bass solo and you get a really nice sense of the bwow bwow bwow (to use some really super technical music terms) of the upright bass. Piano and sax both sound accurate, geniune.
Heptabod B (Arrival Soundtrack) - Jóhann Jóhannsson
I listen to a lot of soundtracks and Jóhann is my favourite composer. It's not so much that there are a lot of moving parts in this track, it's more that all the sounds are so different from the others that made me curious about how it would sound. The rhythmic foundation set up by what seems like a bunch of sinjeun (wooden sticks) being played together along with a deep synth sound really shines through. The strange vocal part is reproduced clearly, and I can hear everything that's going on without being overpowered by any of it. These did a nice job on the entire album.
Sensa voce (Cabrini Soundtrack) - Gene Back
This is a soprano backed by a symphony and it sounds wonderful. The highs are crisp and clean, no caffeine. The lows punch in nicely—not rumbly, but deeply, truly; perhaps madly if one were to be that influenced by popular culture. Very satisfying. Starting to feel a lot better about this gear. Again, the entire album sounds fantastic, even in the more dramatic, operatic ranges that it goes to.
Get Innocuous (London Sessions) - LCD Soundsystem
Hey, that's not bad. But still really super bright despite the deep bass line that's driving this whole thing. Once again, I'm surprised and delighted by the separation, but the high hat and cymbal crashes are a bit much, even with the highs tuned way down. For reference, a couple songs on, All My Friends sounded way better as it doesn't have as much in the way of punchy high hat and cymbal crashiness. I think we're missing something in the middle range here, though.
Conclusion:
These headphones really seem to rely on the recording a lot more than others I have. That said, there's definitely a right combo of music and headphones here. When they sound great, they just... sound great! But any music where it's very treble-forward to begin with is not going to work for me with these.
All in all, I'm not disappointed with them, but not amazed, either. But they're pretty great, for $25, for sure. When I do use them, I'll definitely be staying within a certain zone, but it will also be fun to continue experimenting and seeing what I find out.
Thank you to all you IEM freaks for pointing me in this direction. It was a great way to spend a Sunday morning, and I'm sure I'll be spending a lot more time with them.

So I took an at home test yesterday and got a BFP…yaaaay!! But also had some brown spotting pretty much every time I went to the bathroom and also some cramping - this just started yesterday really. I’m currently 9dp5dt.
But since about 3dpt I’ve had a sharp, almost stabbing pain on my lower left side. It comes and goes and isn’t excruciating - but has sent me spiraling down the rabbit hole that this one is an ectopic. Especially coupled with the spotting. No shoulder tip pain which I’ve heard can be a sign as well.
I’m freaking out and am wondering if anyone has had anything similar? I go in for my beta tomorrow and am going to mention all this to my doc, but just hoping to get a tiny bit of peace of mind before then. I’m obviously really happy to have gotten a positive test result, but having gone through two losses already I feel like I can’t help but be worried.

here are some things you should know first.

1. I think she might have adhd or autism, though it's never been confirmed.
   
2. she's very sheltered
   
3. her parents are weird
   
4. She is lonely
   
5. I'm her only friend.
   

this is going to be long btw.
So, our friendship formed when we were in year 4 (3rd grade) and she has't left me alone after that. All it took was one small act of kindness -- and boom. She's obsessed. I've only started to talk about her to my family recently because now I understand that her actions are wrong. But everyone I've told has all downplayed me or ignored me because it apparently 'sounds like the plot of Baby Reindeer'.
For YEARS in our primary/elementary school, no one liked her. Even when we were in Secondary School. And it's mostly because of her lack of personal space, reading a room, touching people weirdly (including me), guilt-tripping, manipulation, gaslighting, hurting people mentally and hurting people physically. There's a lot of stuff to go through.
I hit puberty early - i was about 8-9 and later got my period at 10. Amy always used to go though my bag and would get mad if i told her to stop. A lot of the time she'd take stuff out of my bag, open stuff that wasn't her's or if she'd see stuff like tampons, pads, bras, she'd call me a slut, as a joke, despite us only being 10-11. She also used to hide my bag or thro it against walls and stuff inside would often break. I am and always have been horrible at telling people no, which is why she does all this weird stuff - cuz i can't say stop.
One day, I was at her house and was on my period. i asked to use her bathroom and at first she wouldn't let me but after a while she eventually agreed and let me. Because i was on my period - keep in mind i had heavy ones - it smelt weird after: kinda like metal, she told me. And then skip forward about a year, i was sat at a table with some of my friends: Amy, Cathy, Dora and James. For no reason, Amy brings up how I made her bathroom smell weird and that I left blood everywhere. Luckily, Cathy, Dora and James said that they didn't care and it was weird of her to bring that up. She acted sad the rest of the day and kept stabbing me in the thigh with a sharp pencil.
I have to stop writing but I'm not finished. I'll be writing the other part later but idk what to say.
sorry if any of this offends u.

Hi I’m Li 14 (f) and my sister Dia is 17. It all started in December, my sister asked me and my mom if we could got to our schools rival basketball game, of course me being happy that my sister wanted to hang out with said yes. Little did I know that was a big mistake. During the game me and my sister got separated and she snuck off and left the building so I was alone with a lot of people that I didn’t know. I have extreme social anxiety and I have to calm myself down in big crowds. During that time my sister was hanging out with her foolish friends and got Sa’d. After that there was a shooting that we were caught in the middle of. Thankfully me and her got out because I observed the crowd and noticed that the police were not calm and were putting on vest. Fast forward to January my sister got raped. She snuck out again and I was the one that had to tell my mom. And my mom is really sensitive. But when I told her the only thing that she was talking about was different ways to beat Dia and the scary thing was that she would actually do it, si I begged her to be optimistic about why she might have snuck out. I told my mom to wait to call the police until 9 a.m. During that time I went to what I knew best which was going mute and not talking, crying, and cleaning. I didn’t have thoughts, ideas, it was like there was a black hole inside of me. When I felt like the time was right it told my mom to go outside, and there was a police officer driving past and my mom flagged him down, when the police officer was in the house, I heard crying but when I saw my mom it was her fake cry, not her real one, it made me feel disgusted, and like she only wanted the attention. There was only one person that I knew she could be at but we were on bad terms, and that was my dad. He was the first person that I called, after one ring he answered, and I asked where is she to him crying and sounding defeated, he told me to calm down then we need to talk and that she is okay and it would be best if we meet up. So we all meet up at my great aunts house. I saw my dad for the first time in over a year, and although it wasn’t on the best terms, I still wanted to run up to him and cry, but I didn’t because it wasn’t about me it was about Dia. She told me, my dad, my mom, and my great aunt that she was raped and threatened. My dad being the protective guy that he is said that we should go and talk to the police and got to the hospital to confirm that she was sa’d. We stayed in the hospital for about 10-12 hours taking shifts, because there could only be 2 people back there at a time. My mom and stepmom talked to each other for the first time, and I hung out with my dad and younger sister Ayah. The process took a long time, but it was confirmed that she was raped. After we left the hospital, we went back to our moms house and started packing to stay with our dad until everything was situated. When I got done putting the last suitcase in the trunk, my mom leaned down at the window at 11:50 p.m. and said “ I hope y’all are up and ready for school” after she said that I started crying, like what did she not get by her daughter was raped, it’s not something that goes away in a few hours. I lost so much respect for her after that. And for the next couple of months we were living with our dad full time until the case was figured out. During that time me and Dia would make jokes on our moms mental and physical abuse. One day our stepmom overheard me and asked what we were talking about, and if everything was okay at my moms house, and me and Dia saying yes, because she had normalized the abuse for years. But my stepmom told my dad and they had a talk on abuse and how it wasn’t normal. My dad and stepmom then contacted their lawyer and told him what happened. Then my sister Dia said that we should write letters on how the abuse was carried out, and why. And I agreed that it should be fine, but it wasn’t, during the time of her writing her letters, she would stay up trying to perfect them, she started sleeping in my room because she felt scared, and me being comforting, said yes, but that would be my biggest mistake inviting her in my personal space. One night she climbed up my stairs on my bunk bed and held my hands and stared into my eyes at like 3 in the morning and that scared the heck out of me. I’m not one to have any fears but whenever she came near me she scared me so much as if she was possessed and I can feel when something isn’t right but that’s were she got me. Every time me and her were alone she would say something that made no sense, and I felt like I was going crazy until she left to go to the bathroom and it was me, my stepmom and my dad, I had a panic attack and told them how she was acting, and at first they thought I was jealous, because she was getting all of the attention, but I don’t blame them for thinking that way. That night when they all went to sleep, Dia cried at my doorway where I couldn’t see her face, but there was light behind her, she said “I’m the sacrifice” and then left out of the room and went down to the second floor. I was so scared that night because I thought she was going to be harmed, or do the harming. It didn’t take me that long to fall asleep but I told me too long to wake up. All I could hear was my dad calling my name and I eventually got up. I unlocked my door, I walked out to my sisters outside my room. My little sister playing with cards, cards that I had never seen. And Dia looking menacingly in the corner of her room. My stepmom had jury duty that day and my dad was going to take her. As soon as they left my sister had two phones in her hand, and started talking about how we’re Dominican, mind you we are African American and Indigenous, and my little sister is mixed with African American and Haitian, so I was so confused and I looked at my phone for the time and Dia tried to take it say that the wasn’t real and that everything was fake the she started yelling. And attacked me, I was on the edge of my lower bunk, and my litter sister was right next to me. I put her in the corner of my room, to protect her because I thought I was going to have to fight Dia physically, which I’m 5”2, 115 pounds and I’m buff, and do weightlifting and know mixed martial arts, so I kinda of could hold my own, but she didn’t know her strength, she’s smaller than me, but it felt like I was trying to fight a leopard. But my dad ended up calling me and telling me to bring my little sister down to the car because they didn’t have a good feeling, and by the time he took her in the car Dia was acting as crazy as the joker. And apparently she called the police with my mom and made it seem like there was child abuse going on at my dads house but honestly it was the complete opposite, I’ve never felt a sense of normalcy in years. We went down to the first floor and the police were at the front door, they asked specifically for all the women in the house, because there was an incomplete call and they said it was a women’s voice. The only person that I thought of was my sister Dia because she was the only one with the house phones in her hands. And the police asked if everything was okay and she turned to my stepmom and said she needs to leave and said a lot of bad stuff, but in conclusion, she assaulted two police officers, recorded like she wasn’t acting completely insane, and she also lied and said that me and her were kidnapped and that she’s 18 and I’m 16, which I talked to the police separately and told them that she had been through a lot, and that we were not kidnapped and that we came here on our own terms, and that I’m 14 and she’s 16. The police were very nice and understanding. Because we are black in a mainly white neighborhood my dad begged them to please have mercy on her and I’ve never seen him cry like he did that day, it broke me mentally and cause my trust issues to go up. That day was long a traumatizing because I get really scared when people are yelling at me are shouting. My stepmom and dad fought so hard for my sister and me and now they have major trust issues with everyone, I feel really bad for them because Dia has put our younger sister on the line of possibly being adopted because of her false lies, she also lied and said that I was doing heavy drugs and I had to take a drug test in front on my dad and stepmom which was humiliating and I degraded my name and I felt like I didn’t have purpose on this earth because of my sister Dia. We had court and the judge said that I had to go back with my mom, hi to therapy, and that I wouldn’t be able to see my dad until the next weekend, I took a walk during the court case and I was apparently wanted by 50 different sheriffs, they found me and I was really confused, I gave my dad and stepmom one last hug that day and cried profusely, I saw about three other sheriffs crying as well. My mom made two walk me to her car, and made it seem like I was a prisoner just missing the chains and jumpsuit. I ended up talking to one of the sheriffs and he gave me some good advice to keep my head up and keep going, so that’s what I did and I talked to him about possibly getting myself emancipated, which I don’t really want. I went in the car with my sister and she was yelling a crying the entire time I was in the car and scared the absolute crap out of me. That next Friday I packed my clothes and stuff that I wanted to go to my dad’s house, and my sister started coming at me with words and I tried to take my water bottle back from her and she kicked me in my stomach and told me to start crying but I didn’t and I pushed her back off of me, I’m self defense and I got so mad at the fact that I couldn’t really fight her, so I let out every word that would hurt someone and I never cussed that much in my life but I didn’t notice how much I was cussing until I heard my Nana at the bottom of the stairs, my sister went downstairs and laughed at me, and then she went into the living room where I sleep every night and she took my Beats, phone charger, and epi pen and hid them throughout the house. She’s had so many episodes that I feel like I’m going crazy, I have multiple videos of her episodes out of self defense. My mom told me that I couldn’t text or call my dad, so I snuck and called him to inform him of what has been happening, I believe that it’s child endangerment if my mom leaves me alone with my sister. She honestly does stuff or says stuff when my mom leaves me alone with her. She was jealous of me and tried to attack me, she even threw a full candle at my head because she thought I was the cause of all of the false and childish decisions she made. She still has episodes a lot, and I want to live with my dad. She put such a negative effect on their lives, and now we all have to go to court because of her lies. She even knows who raped her and she protects them with her whole life and lies for them, and she lied about my dad trying to kidnap us, she ruined her relationship with a lot of people and all for what? Just to fit in, it’s really sad how much people change their lives for other peoples judgment. Today is my birthday and I’m at my dads house. I really don’t want to go over to my mom’s house. I really need advice. I just want a better and more peaceful life.

I was in a short relationship with a girl that broke up and after that I often spent time with a younger godfather. Now I'm 26(M) and he's 18. As we were going out for drinks together and hanging out, he once invited that friend who is the same age as him, where we became very close very quickly. I think what brought us together was the loss of our parents (I lost my mother and he lost his father).
At first I thought he was much younger than me and I thought what should I do and talk to him, he should go with his friends. But for several months he called me every day, told me things from his childhood, confided in me many times, he often told me that he loved me like an older brother and that he would never want to lose such a person from his side, he became very dear to me .
I often liked to make him happy with gifts that he really never asked for. I don't think a day went by that we didn't hear from each other in those 6 months and we mostly went somewhere every day.
He plays volleyball. There was a need for him to go to a city 50 km away from the city where we live in order to train volleyball in another club. When he found out, within 15 days our contact faded. He started lying and manipulating me. I was in awe and surprised and I tried in every way to keep him so that we could at least stay on good terms if nothing else.
I was going through a very difficult period because my dad got sick and I showed all my emotions in front of him, even though I don't do that. I often cried to explain to him that I think that what he is doing is not good and I think that I made a mistake because the more I begged him in some way, the more he moved away. He told me that he was tired of our friendly relationship and that he didn't want to see me anymore, that there was no need for me to write to him. I noticed that he became inseparable with one friend from the club's dormitory.
I can't describe to you the pain I experienced and I suffered for months... It was very difficult for me to understand that if I dedicate myself to someone as a family member, more than to any girl or any friend, it would be returned to me like that.
A few months after that, I happened to meet him in the city where we hung out after going out and I asked him to give me a ride home, to which he agreed. I didn't want to go back to the past, we exchanged a few sentences about who does what in life and that's it.
After that, he started contacting me from time to time, where we again entered the phase where we heard each other every day. Then he asked me to buy him a computer so that he could play in the club's dormitory where he lives in the city where he trains volleyball. I hesitated for a long time about what to do because it was more in my head that he wanted to use me just to get something, so I let him go for a while. And he didn't stop calling every day for about a month and a half. Then, when I thought about it, I decided to take that computer from him. After that, we heard from each other again from time to time, but he called. I let him call when he wanted so I wouldn't bore him.
Shortly after that, he went to play for the national team, where he also called me every 2-3 days whenever he had time. I thought he finally realized what he did and how much he hurt me.
In the meantime, my work brought me to the same city where he lives and he asked me to find an apartment near his dormitory.
That's what I did, but partly because, believe it or not, my company is 300 meters away from his dormitory.
For 6-7 months he came to my place, slept, we joked, played games, I often let him bring his girlfriend after night parties. I bought him whatever he wanted, fed him, clothed him, not a hair on his head failed. Everything was the same as at the beginning, and I was very glad that it was so.
Until about 2 months ago... he started constantly lying to me, manipulating me (just like when he first broke contact), he often told me that he would come to hang out and he didn't show up, there was a period when he I waited for 7 days in a row for him to write to me that he could not come and in the end he left with that one friend and other friends.
He no longer calls or writes to me, whenever he comes here, and that is once every 10 days, after I have asked at least 5 times when we will see each other. I see that it is often difficult for him to answer on the phone, and sometimes it happens that I wait for several hours for him to answer my message.
I feel like shit again, I don't know what to do anymore. I feel very lonely again. I don't want to go through a period of suffering and sadness again, but it seems inevitable.
I think my biggest mistake is that I never said 'no' to him. When I talked to a couple of friends, they told me that I was a fool for allowing all that again, because he doesn't know how to appreciate anything and that he is ungrateful and that most of the others would be satisfied with a tenth of the things that I gave him.
His birthday is in a month and he supposedly called me among the first and I don't know what to do, not because of the present but because I don't feel like going there at all and I don't feel wanted. After his birthday, he goes to the national team again and will be gone for two months.
Any advice would be helpful. Thanks in advance

I've been poking around this sub some trying to determine experiences similar to mine.
I'm ~11 days post-op on L4-L5 revision from 10/2021, just started another round of prednisone yesterday and my left leg feels the same as it was prior to this revision.
Background: 5/4/24 felt the disc "went" again, got an appointment on 5/9/24 after an agonizing few days of 8/10 pain, did a round of prednisone and got on gabapentin / flexeril, brought the pain to a 5-6. MRI revealed gnarly re-herniation. Had surgery 5/22/24, was feeling better for a few days while mainly laid up in bed, started moving more, feeling like I was on the right track, this past Thur / Fri / Sat felt like I went off a cliff back down the rabbit hole. I've been very mindful of my form (no BLT), nose-n-knees pointed same direction, log rolling, etc.
Last week I tracked my steps pretty diligently with my phone:
Sun 5/26, 2800 Mon 5/27, 4400 Tue, 5/28 4200 Wed,5/29 5400 Thur, 5/30 2200 Fri, 5/31 3100 Sat, 6/1 7600
The amount of steps directly correlates to how I'm feeling, with more steps indicating a better day, except yesterday when I did 7600 steps to try and see if walking more would help me feel better. Spoiler alert: it didn't.
I am comfortable on my back and laying on my right side, pain is 2 out of 10. I can only lay on my left side for a few moments before it gets uncomfortable (5 out of 10). Sitting in most chairs really sucks (7 out of 10 within a minute), although my driver's seat is actually a somewhat similar comfort level to laying down, 3 out of 10 (I took a short drive this AM to see how I was able to handle being in the car).
Does anyone with revisions have any insight into their experience and how things went the first few weeks after surgery? How did it turn out for you after a few months?
Feeling very discouraged because the first surgery was an immediate success to 0/10 pain with only minimal aching in my surgical site. Hoping it's just inflammation and that it slowly calms down over the next few weeks.
Thanks for any insight!

The second half of a long chapter.
“Oh, professor page,” I heard Anna yell from the living room, “You better get your ass out here quick.”
I quickly rinsed off my hands scurried into the living room, greeted by the two couples sprawled out on the sectional couch in their swimwear, Anna and Kelly in string bikinis and Archer and Paul in speedos. My cock was never limp that day, but there were moments – typically, those of the most intense humiliation – when it was harder than others. Seeing the four fit young bodies in all (or at least, most of) their glory was one of them. And while my gaze naturally was first drawn to Anna’s toned, long legs and taut midriff, followed by Kelly shorter, but still attractive legs and pretty toes, I would be lying if I didn’t admit to admiration of the slender, muscular swimmer bodies of the two young men as well.
My eyes also drifted over Paul’s bare feet. It was the first time I had seen bare the feet I had kissed in the bar through his sneakers or in the apartment through his thick wool socks. I was curious, naturally, but didn’t want to be too obvious, so quickly averted my glance before getting a good look. I need not have worried, however, as I would be spending a great deal of time up close and personal with his bare feet (and Anna’s) in the months that followed, starting a few minutes later. Paul did not have the same obsession with having his feet worshipped as Luke did, but there is no question that he greatly enjoyed the power trip of having an older authority figure quite literally at his feet.
I must also confess that in addition to dwelling as long as I dared on the breasts of Anna (like Brooke’s, ample but not overly large) and Kelly (slightly larger and, to my mind, less proportional to her shorter frame), my eyes also flittered over the speedo-clad crotches of Paul and Archer. Speedos leave so little to the imagination. While I was mortified when forced to wear a speedo, my inadequacy on full display, these two young athletes were completely at ease. Their muscular, chiseled bodies were one explanation for that; the size of their bulges was another.
“Perhaps the professor page can stop ogling our bodies long enough to get us all another round of drinks,” said Anna.
Kelly said, “I think he’s staring more at the boys’ bodies than he is at ours, Anna. I’m jealous.”
“Most cucks are closet fags, so that’s no surprise,” said Paul.
I wanted to object that I wasn’t gay, closet or otherwise. I wanted to say, “What about you, someone who enjoys humiliating other males, forcing them to dress in feminine clothing, spanking their bare bottoms with your bare hands, perhaps other, more intimate things….What does all of that make you?” But I dared not I was say anything of the kind. Instead I simply confirmed their drink orders and hurried off to make them, checking on my stroganoff. And being honest with myself, while I knew beyond a doubt that I was not homosexual, I did have to admit that I was not immune to the physical attractions of dominant, young alpha males. Did I have this attraction prior to the events of the last seven months when Luke came onto the scene like a cyclone? Probably on some level, yes, but it had been latent. No longer.
When I returned to the living room with a serving tray holding their four cocktails, trying hard not to spill any of them, Paul said, “We know our page boy knows how to clean shoes, but what about other personal duties? Who besides me would like a foot massage?”
“That sounds like an excellent idea, dude. Count me in,” said Archer.
“You two boys go ahead. If he does a good job, Kelly and I may have him massage our feet as well,” said Anna.
“Start with Archer. On your knees, of course, page,” said Paul.
“Yes sir,” I said, kneeling before Archer, and beginning to work on his feet with warmup twists and arch rubs. His feet were somewhat calloused, but well formed.
“Ah, that feels good. He’s actually not too bad at this,” Archer said.
Pointing at my crotch, Kelly said, “Look, his little cock is stiff again. Are you excited to massage my boyfriend’s feet, professor?” As she spoke, she pressed her toes lightly against my cock through my tights. It surprised me that it was Kelly, rather than Anna (or even Paul), to first touch my liberated cock.
“No, Princess Kelly.”
“No? But your little stiffie says otherwise. Are you not being honest with us, professor?” She pressed a little harder with her foot, smiling wickedly.
In truth, the entire situation was incredibly arousing and, therefore, incredibly humiliating. Which made it still more arousing. It was a viscous cycle, one which I had been getting increasingly used to with Luke and Brooke. But the dynamics with my students and Archer were different, and, if anything, more intense. Was it the greater age disparity, the bigger inversion of authority, the fact that there was an element of coercion involved? All of the above? Brooke would tell me that I think about these things too much. She would counsel me to go with flow, enjoy the game, embrace the sheer eroticism of it all. I tried valiantly to do just that. Can one be valiant in accepting servitude and abuse?, I wondered (see how I over analyze everything?!)
Lancelot would no doubt have answered my question in the affirmative. Yet, his servitude was solely to Guinevere, and the abuse and humiliations he suffered were solely to satisfy her commands, her whims. Whereas Brooke was not even aware of my servitude to my students. Still, I could tell myself – with some degree of honesty – that the indignities I was suffering at their hands were because of my devotion to Brooke. Because I was in their power as a direct consequence of my obedience to Luke, and I was obedient to Luke for Brooke and Brooke alone. The frail heartbeat of chivalry was still detectable (to me, at least). Perhaps the time had come to tell Brooke of my predicament with Paul and Anna? But there was something so shameful about it. Would it diminish me in Brooke’s eyes in some different, profound and irrevocable way? Or would she hug me, perhaps even thank me for my sacrifice, and tell me everything will be okay?
These were the myriad thoughts that ran through my head as I also contemplated my response to Kelly’s fraught question. “No, princess, I mean, it’s all of your feet…,” I answered,lamely.
She snickered. “Well, you are the Liitle Foot Page, so I guess it makes sense that you’re turned on by feet.”
“Pretty much all submissive guys are turned on by feet. Issac is insane for my feet,” said Anna. You will recall that Issac was the young male slave in Paul’s and Anna’s stable.
“Not just submissive men. Cindy loves worshiping your feet too, babe,” Paul said to Anna. If you recall, Cindy (who, like Issac, I had not yet met at that point) was another member of Paul’s and Anna’s stable of slaves, a fellow student at the college whose intense crush on Paul was not reciprocated. Instead, he put her squarely into “ the friendzone,” eventually introducing her to Anna. Cindy was now a submissive servant to both of them, grateful to be part of Paul’s life under any circumstances.
Anna said to Kelly, “I don’t know about you, but I love having my feet pampered and having my toes sucked, and love the sight of submissive creatures groveling at my feet. At the same time, I couldn’t imagine in a million fucking years being the one doing the sucking or groveling. I have no desire to be that close to anyone’s feet.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I wouldn’t even want to kiss Archer if he sucked my toes. Ew, gross,” said Kelly, with a little shudder.
Archer interjected, “Yo’ve got nothing to worry about there, darling. You have pretty feet, but I have zero desire to kiss or lick them.”
“Or course you don’t, you’re not a perv, like the good professor here. Professor pervert, kiss the bottom of the foot you’re massaging. You don’t mind having your feet kissed, do you sweetheart?” Kelly asked Archer.
“No, I have no problem being worshipped. And I’m secure enough in my masculinity that I don’t care if it’s a submissive cuck like this loser doing the worshiping.”
“That’s what I love about you, sweetheart. You’re masculine, dominant AND open minded. That’s like icing on a yummy cake.,” Kelly said, as she started to kiss Archer passionately. “Professor, keep kissing the bottoms of my man’s feet while we make out.”
I kissed the balls of Archer’s feet, trying to avoid the callouses. I wondered: aren’t swimmers more prone to plantar warts, walking around all those bacteria-riddled pools and locker rooms in their bare feet? I knew plantar warts are highly contagious. Could I get warts on my lips or in my mouth? I made a mental note to research this on-line later. From extensive experience with Brooke and Luke, I was well aware of the aphrodisiac effect my submission could have on a couple dominating me. The exact reasons for this still remain something of a mystery to me. Just like you have to be a masochist to understand certain things, I guess you have to be a dominant or a sadist to understand others.
As if reading my thoughts, Anna said, “I think submissives’ brains must be wired differently. They have to be for them to enjoy feet so much. I mean, sometimes after we work out at the gym, Paul and I will rest our feet right on Cindy’s face. Can you imagine? Our sweaty, wet socks covering her nose and mouth. You’d think she’d have some self-respect and tell us to go to hell. Or, at a minimum, that she’d complain about the smell. Not that my feet smell, of course, but Paul’s smell something awful after he’s been working out,” she smiled at him.
“Yeah, right, babe,” Paul replied. He then explained to Kelly and Archer, “Don’t believe anything she says about her feet not smelling. The smell of her foot sweat is overpowering.”
“Bullshit,” Anna said, smiling and hitting him on the shoulder. “But, like I was saying, far from protesting, Cindy actually inhales the smell of our sweat socks and our sweaty feet. She almost looks as if she’s in ecstasy, like she’s smelling perfume or fresh flowers or something. And she even looks happy when she’s licking the toe jam and lint from between my toes. It’s disgusting. But it’s pretty funny watching her. And I like the sensation of her tongue on my toes.”
“It’s what I’ve been telling you for awhile now, babe. Submissives are intellectually inferior. They’re sexual deviants. By humiliating and abusing them, we’re giving them what they want, what they need, in fact. So there’s no reason for us to feel bad when we mistreat them. We’re actually doing them a favor,” said Paul.
Paul was a Psychology major and fancied himself some sort of authority on this subject apparently, although it was clear to me that he was greatly oversimplifying what were, in reality, very complicated human relationship dynamics. He also had a facile understanding of human intelligence. Under different circumstances, I might have tried to engage him in a debate. But to have done so at that moment would have been the height of folly, so I kept my mouth shut and my fingers busy.
After spending 15 minutes on Archer’s feet, I massaged the feet of my three students for the same amount of time (timed by Paul). Paul and Anna kissed each other while I worked on Anna’s feet, much as Archer and Kelly had done. Each insisted I respectfully kiss the bottoms of their feet after finishing the massage. Paul was last. While I massaged his feet, Anna prodded my balls with her high heel shoe, laughing as my cock twitched through my tights. Having been denied release for so long, my biggest fear was that all of the stimuli – the scantily-clad, young bodies, the humiliating dissection of my fetishes, the pressure of Anna’s foot (which she occasionally brushed against my the underside of my shaft) – would cause me to ejaculate. The thought of that was beyond mortifying, so I did everything I could possibly do to distract myself mentally.
Their ongoing conversation about feet did not make my task an easy one.
“Rollins, you’re actually pretty good at this. In a sensible world, you would be spending your time in your classes massaging all of your students’ feet rather than lecturing to them. It’s a better use of your talents.” There did seem to be a general consensus that I have a knack (was Paul’s term, “talent,” too strong a word) for giving foot massages. I guess there’s at least one thing I can do well with my hands after all, I thought to myself.
“Now, Paul. Don’t be cruel. I’ve had some pretty good courses with Professor Foot Page. I don’t see any reason why he couldn’t lecture while he massages everyone’s feet.” Kelly giggled.
Anna snickered. “Can you picture it? I can. He would be dressed just as he is now, crawling from student to student.”
“Yes, and then he could massage the feet of all of the other faculty members of the English department,” said Kelly, giggling.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t already massaging Neil Lawson’s feet. Lawson already has him fetching his coffee. Or he did today, at least. There’s definitely something going on there,” said Paul.
I couldn’t decide whether to be relieved Paul didn’t know any specifics or to be distressed that he was so suspicious – and that his instincts were correct. I remained silent.
Paul continued, “He obviously has a big foot fetish, like most submissives. Rollins, you ought to consider having a whole chapter dedicated to foot worship in that book you’re working on. You’ll be a real authority on the subject before we’re finished with you.”
Putting aside the implicit threat in his last remark, Paul actually might be on to something, I thought. I had been struggling with the organization of my book, which had really evolved quite a bit over the last six months. While I still aimed to show how medieval courtly poetry was what started the rich history of male masochism in western literature, I was increasingly focusing on contemporary BDSM cuckold fiction and what had clearly been an explosion in interest in that lifestyle in recent years, globally.
Miraculously, I was able to get through the massages and constant teasing without ejaculating. About halfway into my 5-hour stay at the condo, I served the four of them dinner, trying to remember to curtsy at all the required moments. They had changed back into the clothes they were wearing before their swim, Anna and Kelly in short skirts, stockings and heels and Paul and Archer in jeans and polo shirts. Anna kept her little notepad next to her plate on the table, and occasionally wrote in it, causing me further anxiety. When not going back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, I was expected to stand by the table at attention – to refill glasses of the wine I had purchased, fold the napkins of anyone who got up from the table, or do anything else ordered of me. My cock tented out my tights the entire time, of course. My self consciousness about this at least had the advantage of taking my mind off my hunger somewhat, as I enviously watched the four of them eat the meal I had prepared (I sampled the stroganoff as I was cooking it, and thought it came out quite well).
Anna invited everyone to critique the meal afterwards, and it was generally agreed upon that the beef and mushroom sauce was delicious, but that the pasta was overcooked. The salad and dressing was a success, but the Italian green beans less so. I was grateful that Anna had not required me to also prepare dessert.
“Well, Professor maid, it seems that both punishments and a reward are in order for your uneven meal and service. You also earned demerits for failure to curtsy on at least four occasions – I’m sure that I missed others – and continued deficiencies in your technique. Also for how you walked in heels earlier. The mushy pasta and beans were also unacceptable. On the other hand, the stroganoff itself was excellent, as was the salad and dressing. The boys will administer your punishment, and Kelly and I will grant you your reward.”
I replied, with a curtsy, “Yes, princess. Thank you, princess.” The truth of the matter is I didn’t know which of the two caused me greater dread: the punishment or the reward.
“Which should we give him first?”, asked Kelly.
Paul said, “Definitely the punishment first. We need to leave enough time for the redness of his ass to fade in case Luke or his wife want to punish him as well when he gets home.”
“And a submissive freak like him will probably enjoy his reward more with a sore ass. I’ve calculated that he’s owed 120 spanks. 100 from today, and the 20 we didn’t give him on Tuesday that he was due. Which one oy you strapping young men will do the honors?”, said Anna.
“This is going to be so much fun to watch,” said Kelly gleefully.
“It’s going to be hot,” said Anna. “I get all tingly watching Paul punish the slaves. Especially the beta males and sissies.”
“I know you do, girlfriend. Me too,” said Kelly. “I think it’s only fair that each of the boys give him sixty spanks, so you and I get to enjoy this equally,” said Kelly.
“Sounds good. Okay with you guys?,” said Anna.
“Fine. After you,” Paul said to Archer.
“Happy to dish out some discipline to the old cuck. Should we take him up to the dungeon and put him over the bench?”, asked Archer.
“No need to. We have to use our hands for now because we can’t leave any asting marks on his ass. So just take him over your knee,” Paul replied.
“Oh, how I wish we could cane or strap him! I think the cane is a lot more persuasive than just your hands. And the welts can be lovely,” said Anna.
“Someday, babe. You just have to be patient,” said Paul. “Not one of your strong suits, I realize.”
“Don’t worry, ladies. I will make sure his spanking is plenty persuasive. Get over my knees, old man,” commanded Archer.
“Yes, sir.” I draped myself over his knees, incredibly ashamed as I felt my hard cock press through my tights against the jeans covering his firm thighs.
“Do you feel his little stiffie on your leg, honey?,” Kelly asked, tittering.
“I do, but not for long. I’m going to beat it out of him. By the time I’m finished with him, he’ll be as limp as one of the overcooked noodles he served us,” said Archer. I felt his sizable hand resting on the center of my tights-clad bottom. Without warning, he lifted his hand and brought it down sharply on my right cheek.
I typically tried to be stoic in such moments, but the ferocity of his strike (and the suddenness of it) caused me to cry out, “Ouch!” I heard the amusement of our audience.
“That’s right, honey. Give it to him good! Pull down his tights and give it to him on the bare,” said Kelly.
Archer did as Kelly requested. What followed were repeated, loud smacking sounds of flesh striking flesh – as Archer carefully alternated cheeks – accompanied by a slow but steady buildup of pain. The tights had offered negligible protection. The sound was the big difference, but it seemed to provide a more satisfying sensory experience for my three students, who were witnessing the remarkable spectacle of their professor being punished like a naughty child. By the 30th spank or so, the pain was intense. And Archer was correct, my cock had deflated under his relentless assault on my bottom. Not as severe as a cane or strapping certainly, but a hand spanking that rivaled Luke’s in intensity.
I heard Kelly say, “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Look at that shade of red, will you?”
“Not as lovely as welts, but not bad,” added Anna.
By the 50th spank, my attempt at stoicism was a distant memory.
“Please, sir. Please don’t hit me so hard.” He ignored me, delivering the final ten with extra zeal, if anything. When he was finished, it was difficult for my mind to process the fact that my chastisement was only halfway complete.
After Archer pushed me unceremoniously onto the hardwood floor, my tights still lowered to just below my poor, tenderized bottom, Kelly ordered me to stand up. I started to pull up my tights as I stood, but she said with surprising sternness, “Did I say you could pull up your tights, professor? Leave them down so we can all get a proper look at your little cock. Turn around and stand before us. Put your hands on top of your head.”
When I complied with her order, my cock was still quite limp, somewhat shriveled even. But almost as soon as I stood up, I felt it began to stir under their scrutiny.
“Look at the tiny, hairless thing.,” said Anna, smiling contemptuously.
“Pathetic,” said Archer, with a sneer.
“Oh, look. It’s starting to get bigger. That was quick! It must like all of the attention,” laughed Kelly.
With each humiliating comment, it grew harder. My ass was burning, but no longer under a constant barrage (for the moment, at least), the sensation only fueled my involuntary, indeed most unwanted, arousal.
“It looks like it’s up to me beat his hard-on back out of him,” said Paul, patting his knee. “Come over here, Rollins, so I can finish your correction. Leave your tights down. You have 60 more coming.”
As this was unthinkable to me, I felt compelled to try to negotiate – or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say, grovel. When I walked over to where Paul was sitting, rather than lie over his knees, I dropped to my own, at his feet.
“My lord, Sir Archer’s punishment was quite severe. I’m not sure that I can take another 60 right now. I beg you to show some mercy to your lowly page by deferring some of my punishment until next Tuesday.” I then grasped his right foot with my hands and began kissing the tops of his brown, leather shoe. “Please, my lord.”
That Paul was triumphant, bringing me to my knees and abasing myself at his feet – even without being expressly commanded to do so – was clearly evident in his supremely smug, self-satisfied expression. It was painful to behold, but not as painful as another 60 spanks on my already wounded bottom would be. Groveling was a skill that I been refining over the last several months with Luke, so I continued my efforts.
“Please, my lord. Surely you and Princess Anna have some more dry cleaning that needs to be done or some other errands that need to be run. Your humble page is at your disposal.”
“This is a trip,” said Kelly.
“It IS a sign of strength for a ruler to occasionally grant mercy. What do you think, babe?”, said Anna.
“I’m considering it,” said Paul. “Sharing information might help your cause, page. Tell me, what is the story with you bringing Neil Lawson a cup of coffee today? That coffee shop is on the other side of campus. Is that a service that you regularly provide for him? Before you answer, you should know that if I sense you’re not being completely truthful, I’ll add 20 spanks to your punishment now, rather than reduce or defer any of it. If I find out you’re lying after the fact, the consequences for you will be dire.”
To say that I felt somewhat trapped at that moment would be an understatement. I certainly didn’t want to reveal any information to Paul about the nature of my relationship with my colleague, and yet I felt that not doing so was perilous. The slippery slope, again.
So, I continued my descent. “I bring Neil a cup of coffee four days a week, my lord.”
“Why? Are you his lackey or something? You’re senior to him on the faculty, right? Shouldn’t he be the one bringing you coffee, if anything?”
“It’s true that Neil doesn’t have tenure yet but he’s up for tenure in the spring. But it’s not like junior faculty members run errands or anything like that for senior faculty members. It’s just that Neil knows that I’m on a diet and feels that the exercise will do me good. He takes a personal interest in my health and physical fitness, as my friend.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me. I’ve seen Neil lifting weights with Luke at the gym a couple of times. It looks like they’re getting to be pretty chummy.”
“Yes, my lord, they like to work out together. They bond over sports.”
“Interesting. Is Neil aware of your weekly weigh-ins and punishments for failing to lose weight?”, Paul continued his interrogation.
“Yes, my lord,” I answered, deeply ashamed.
“Well, you’ve definitely lost quite a bit of weight, professor. Keep up the good work!”, said Kelly, with seeming sincerity. What a surreal moment this was, I thought to myself.
“Thank you, Princess Kelly.”
“Does Luke allow Neil to witness your weigh-ins and punishments,” Paul asked.
“Yes, my lord. Twice.”
“Keep kissing my shoes when you’re not speaking. Does Luke allow Neil to participate in your punishments?”
“Yes, my lord. Once.” I started kissing the bottom of his right shoe.
Being humiliated and punished by Luke was shameful. Neil’s participation in my punishment and humiliation made it infinitely more so. Being humiliated and punished by my students was incredibly shameful. Them knowing that Neil, another professor in my department, not only was aware of, but even took an active part in my punishment and humiliation was indescribably shameful. It was more than a slippery slope. It was quicksand. And I was sinking deeper by the second.
Paul was not yet done with his interrogation, however. “What other services do you provide for Professor Lawson, besides bringing him coffee?”
I hesitated. But mindful of Paul’s warning (he did seem to have some mysterious ability to intuit and/or discover things about me), I came clean, thereby deepening the pit in which I was sinking: “On Wednesdays, when he has several back-to-back classes, I have started to massage his feet in his office.”
“I knew it! Last week when I walked into his office and you were there, you were acting very nervous. I saw his shoes on the floor next to his desk. There’s not really many reasons to take off your shoes and socks on a freezing day. I had a sneaky suspicion that that’s what was going on. You’re an even bigger beta than I could’ve conceived of, Rollins. Is there anyone you’re not subservient to?”
“Yes, my lord….I mean, prior to 10 months ago…I wasn’t submissive to anyone….except in…my…my, imagination. Everything’s different now…”
“You’re leading a male masochist’s dream! Lick the bottom of my shoe. Do you realize how extraordinarily fortunate you are, old man?”
“Yes, my lord,” I said before reapplying my tongue to the sole of Paul’s shoe.
“This discussion has been very useful. You’ve given me all kinds of ideas about how to further enhance your submissive experience to make it truly exceptional. To make it world class. All the building blocks are already in place. We just need to find a way to integrate them,” Paul said.
“Look how hard his baby cock is! He loves the idea!”, said Anna.
“Now lie down across my lap. The new information I learned just now has caused me to feel magnanimous, so I will grant you mercy by deferring 20 of your spanks until Tuesday and pardoning 10 altogether,” Paul said.
At that exact moment, having my remaining punishment cut in half (at least for that day), I was more grateful about the present reprieve than concerned about any possible future danger that might result from Paul’s increased knowledge. It was only later, during many restless, sleep-deprived nights, that I began to really worry about the possible implications of Paul knowing that I was also submissive to my fellow professor.
“You are very kind, my lord,” I said as his hand came crashing down on the center of my ass. The irony of the moment produced hearty laughter from both Anna and Kelly.
My tights were still lowered, so my erect, bare cock pressed against the denim – a coarser variety than Archer’s – of Paul’s jeans. How much shame could one person endure in a single evening? But it was only 8:30 PM; I still had over an hour left with my young tormentors.
Whereas Archer’s technique was to alternate cheeks, Paul preferred picking one spot and sticking to it for repeated spanks. He focused on the center of my bottom, initially 10 strikes where the crack of my ass began and then moving methodically lower until the final 20 were on the area closest to my scrotum. Unfortunately, Paul hit harder today than on my last visit, no doubt making sure he at least matched the force of Archer in front of the two young women, who were watching with rapt attention. As he delivered the final twenty or so spanks, the pain was searing and I began kicking my legs more and more and squirming around on his lap in a futile attempt to alleviate it, or to escape. On the bright side, my erection quickly subsided under the intensity of his assault.
“Stay still, or I will add the 30 back,” he warned, sternly, grabbing my right arm and holding it tightly behind my back with his free hand.
When he was finally done, he roughly pulled up my tights, producing a wedgie effect, and almost playfully swatted my bottom twice, saying, “You may get up now. Go stand in the corner. Hands behind your head.”
I did as commanded, but Kelly objected, “Why did you pull his tights back up? I want to see what shade of red his ass is now.”
“Lower your tights, page boy,” ordered Anna.
“Yes, princess,” I said, following her command. My eyes were wet with tears, but I was hoping they wouldn’t notice. I wanted to at least deprive them of the satisfaction that they caused me to cry.
“Do I hear sniffling, professor? Did getting spanked by his big, mean student make the poor, wimpy professor cry?”
“No, Princess Kelly.”
“I’m not sure I believe you,” Kelly replied.
“Look at his ass. The color reminds me of raw hamburger meat. Are you sure it will heel quickly enough, babe?”, asked Anna.
“Archer and I hit him hard, but not hard enough for any permanent bruises. The color will fade quickly,” said Paul. “Sort of like a sunset. An intense color that fades quickly.”
“Too bad. It’s such a lovely color, “ said Kelly.
After 10 minutes, during which they passed around a joint and continued to tease me, Anna said, “You’re right, the color is starting to fade already. Turn around, you naughty page boy, and face us. Keep your hands on your head.”
“Well, the color of ass may be like setting like the sun, but his little cock is compensating for it,” said Kelly, with a giggle.
“Pathetic,” commented the eloquent Archer.
I looked down to see my cock standing at attention through my tights, wishing I could simply disappear. I stood there shamefully for another twenty minutes as they finished a second joint.
After they finished, Anna said, “We’re running out of time before the good professor turns into a pumpkin. It’s time for your reward, professor. Obeisance!”
Recalling last week, I quickly dropped to the floor down on my belly and clasped my hands behind my back.
“Very good. You remembered,” Anna said. “Now slither on your belly to our feet, as we taught you.”
I began my humiliating belly crawl across the floor – only a few feet, but it felt like many more – my hard cock grinding into the hardwood, once again fearful that the combination of the potent humiliation and the stimulus to my cock would result in me ejaculating en route. Fortunately, it did not. Once I reached them, I craned my neck up to look at the four pairs of shoes hovering above me, and planted a kiss on the top of each, as I had been instructed during my last visit.
Anna then said, “Kelly, switch places with Paul, please.”
Once she did, Anna ordered me to lie on my back next to where she and Kelly were seated on the sofa. Rolling over, I winced with pain as my bottom touched the floor. From experience, I knew that sitting would be uncomfortable for the next day or two.
She then said to Kelly, “Do you want to provide the olfactory stimulation or the tactile stimulation?”
As if this was a routine occurrence in their lives, Kelly said, “Oh, definitely the tactile stimulation. It will be fun to toy with his little dicklet. Besides, based on what Paul said about your foot sweat, you’re the one who can provide the best olfactory stimulation.” Kelly chuckled.
“Very funny,” said Anna, smiling. “Very well.”
Anna removed her heels and placed her moist stocking-clad feet directly over my nose and mouth. Kelly kept her heels on and began pressing the toe of her right heel firmly into my balls, through my tights. She then began lightly kicking my balls. It was mildly painful, but not so painful that it caused my hard cock to deflate; it was painful yet still highly arousing, a well calibrated approach that suggested to me that Kelly had some experience tormenting others along similar lines.
“Take deep breaths, professor,” Anna ordered.
Her feet indeed had a strong, distinct odor, at once malodorous and fragrant, sour yet sweet. As I inhaled, Kelly began grinding her heel directly into the underside of my cock, pressing it into my body. Only about three minutes into this sensuous torture, my cock erupted, my semen seeping copiously through my white tights. I groaned involuntarily as I orgasmed, a groan of simultaneous ecstasy and despair. Because I hadn’t come in so long, I produced what was for me at least, a prodigious amount. What appalling, exquisite humiliation! I tried to imagine what it would be like facing my three students in class next week, or for that matter, any time again for the rest of my life. It was certainly a moment that would never be forgotten by anyone in that room.
“It looks like our professor enjoyed his reward,” Kelly said, snickering. “And I could tell when he was about to shoot his wad, so I moved my foot away just in the nick of time.” She picked up her heel and pointed at it, “See no icky professor goo. It’s clean.”
Anna said to me, “You see, being enslaved to us is not all about punishment. There are rewards as well, occasionally.”
“Yes, thank you Princess Anna, Princess Kelly.”
Well, at least I wouldn’t have to lick up my ejaculate this time. Paul threw me a towel. I was permitted to clean myself up and was then ordered to put the towel into the washing machine (by itself, as Anna didn’t want the towel I soiled to be near any of their clothes or linen). I then cleared up the kitchen. Finally, I was allowed to change back into my street clothes. Before I left the apartment, I was required one last time to bow down before each of them, kiss their feet and thank them for allowing me to be of service. I then went down the elevator, relieved to see a different doorman (one who I had never encountered before), who more or less ignored me as I exited the building.
I pulled up to my house at 10:20 P.M., surprised to see the light on in the kitchen. When Brooke and Luke went out to dinner on Thursdays, Luke usually drove, so it was not unusual to see Brooke’s car in the driveway. Maybe they had just forgotten to turn off the lights?
But as I entered the kitchen, I was alarmed to see Brooke sitting alone at the table. Expecting to be asked where I had been, I started trying to think of plausible explanations.
However, Brooke simply looked up at me. She had a glum expression on her face and her eyes were bloodshot, as if she had been crying. Something was definitely up.
“Hi, honey,” I said, nervously.
“Hi.”
“Where’s Luke?”
“He’s gone.”
“Will he back later, or is he staying at his house tonight?”
“He’ll be staying at his house every night from now on.”
“What are you talking about? What happened?”
“Go get a bottle of scotch and two glasses. I need a drink.”

I am 32 years old, and was so worried when I was diagnosed with gout. I was so confused, because my lifestyle is relatively healthy (or so I thought). I am 6’3’’ 270 and powerlift 6 times a week. I am not ripped, but have never been considered overweight or have a good physique.
I drank myself crazy when I was in my early 20s (American rugby), and destroyed my left ankle playing rugby to 28 yo. I had full ankle reconstruction, and have stuck to the gym as my competitive outlet since then.
I had week to month long stints maybe 3 times a year where I could barely walk. I thought this was all related to my surgery because it was located in the same foot/ ankle. I never got a toe flairup. I would get localized flairups in my toe joints but never on the toe itself.
I was going crazy and the pain was unbearable, but I thought that was just my life now. I started allo one week ago and am excited to have my life back. After doing some research, and reading stories here, I am so happy that I can enjoy my life again, and that I am not going crazy.
Thank you guys for being a knowledgeable and supportive sub.

This chapter was too long to post as one, so I’m dividing into two parts. Apologies for it being a bit disjointed.
On Thursday morning, after Luke left early for work and Brooke went for a run, I removed from Brooke’s closet the the gossamer jacket I had worn to the Ren fair and put it into the trunk of my Prius along with the canvas shoes and white tights that had completed my humiliating “Little Foot Page” costume. I dared not disappoint Anna a second time.
Fortunately, I didn’t have any punishment writing lines to complete after I cleaned her and Paul’s apartment on Tuesday. Brooke didn’t force me to wear any new feminine accessory that day. She was so fond of the choker that it had become an almost regular part of my daily attire.
As she kissed me goodbye that morning before I left for campus, she fingered the choker and my neck, saying, “I like this on you. Maybe I’ll order another one with a subtle little ring on it.”
I often couldn’t tell when Brooke was joking or not.
“You mean something where someone could attach a leash? Like a slave collar? Please, Brooke. This is bad enough.”
“No, it wouldn’t have to stick out like that. I said ‘subtle,’ didn’t I? The ring could be flat against your neck. That style is very common. It’s sexy. But I do think we can get you a proper collar to wear at home. I’m thinking leather with silver studs and a nice ring in the front. That one will definitely stick out. Luke and I will look for something on-line.”
Again, was she joking or not? She gave me her full, dimpled smile as she spoke, but that didn’t tell me conclusively one way or another. Nevertheless, her smile, her touch and the nature of the conversation all conspired to cause my liberated cock to grow hard in the lace panties I was wearing under my khakis. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice, so she wouldn’t lock me back up; several hours later, I was wishing that she had noticed.
Except for regular cleanings, and one or two supervised, humiliating releases, I had been locked up pretty consistently over the previous 2 1/2 months. Therefore, I truly enjoyed my freedom most of that Thursday. I had an almost incessant erection, fortunately mostly concealed by my khakis (which were looser than most of the pants I was permitted to wear), even while waiting in line to get Neil’s coffee and while walking across campus in a light snow to bring it to his office. The phrase “microaggressions” had become trendy on college campuses such as mine, referring to insensitive comments people make that are discriminatory or insulting, often even without intending to be. As I knocked on the door to Neil’s office, I thought to myself how I was being subjected not to microaggesions at my college, but rather to microhumiliations. Such as fetching Neil’s coffee.
“Come in,” said Neil, through the door.
Remarkably, seated in the one chair across from Neil’s desk was Paul Betz. Yet again! Alarming and suspicious. Or was I simply being paranoid? Neither of them made any effort to get up from their seats.
I was holding the cup of coffee in a paper bag. Feeling like an idiot, I placed the bag on Neil’s desk.
“Thanks for the coffee, pal,” Neil said, as he removed the cup from the bag. “It’s a bit cold.”
“Sorry, it’s snowing out there,” I replied, absurdly, as if it was even remotely somehow my fault that his coffee wasn’t hot.
“No worries. I’ll warm it up in my microwave. Paul and I were just discussing some swimming techniques. Paul’s team has a big meet this weekend. Is it okay if I catch up with you later?”
Paul looked up at me with an arrogant smirk. I thought to myself: how much strategy could there possibly be to discuss? You jump in the pool and you swim.
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
And just like that, I was dismissed. The coffee boy had delivered the coffee and was no longer needed. Why should I care about suffering this microhumiliation in front of Paul, who a few hours later would be subjecting me to any number of macro humiliations? Simply because he was gaining even greater knowledge about me, the nature of my relationships with others in my social circle and the breadth of my submission. Knowledge is power. More knowledge about me, more power over me. Nothing good could possibly come of it.
Paul was his usual arrogant self in class that afternoon, and it was clear that he, Anna and Kelly were all in exaggeratedly good moods, no doubt savoring the thought of interacting with me under radically different circumstances only a few hours later.
Anna was wearing black tights, a short, plaid skirt and black ankle boots. She propped her feet up on the desk in front of her next to Paul’s and said, “Oh, look how dirty my boots are from all the puddles of slush.”
Paul added, “Mine too. Fortunately, our shoeshine boy will be visiting later.”
Kelly sitting two seats to their left, giggled and said, “The cold weather makes me ravenous. What’s for dinner tonight, Anna?”
Anna grinned and answered, “Beef stroganoff. Our shoeshine boy is also an excellent cook, supposedly. A real Renaissance boy.”
“Not a Medieval boy?”, said Kelly. She and Anna both laughed.
Scanning the room, I didn’t believe the other students were picking up on all of the innuendo (or, if they were, I didn’t think they understood what it meant). Nevertheless, one serious female student, not part of Kelly’s clique, looked at me as if to say, “Why are you letting these clowns do and say whatever they want? Why don’t you take control of your classroom?” How I longed to do just that, to put the three of them in their place with some witty remark, as I would have done in the past. The pain of Paul’s spanking on Tuesday still fresh in my mind (if not on my bottom), however, I bit my tongue and timidly began my lecture.
After class, I went to the grocery store to purchase all of the ingredients for Anna’s prescribed menu of beef stroganoff, Italian green beans, and a starter spinach salad with warm bacon dressing (she had even directed me to her preferred recipes on-line — I had tested the salad and dressing on Brooke, with positive reviews). I also purchased the two bottles of not inexpensive red wine specified by Paul.
When I arrived at their condo, holding multiple grocery bags, my nemesis doorman was lying in wait for me, like a snarky Cerberus dressed as a bellhop. My underworld was eleven flights up, however.
“I’m going to apartment 11B. Paul Betz.”
“I have to announce you. Who should I say is calling?”
“The cook. Please tell him the cook is here.”
He spoke into the intercom phone, smirking at me, “Mr. Betz. Someone calling himself the cook is here to visit you. Although I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy who announced himself as the maid on Tuesday. May I send him up?”
Still holding the phone, he then addressed me: “Mr. Betz said they are expecting the maid, not the cook. What should I tell him?”
I sighed. “Please tell him the maid is here.”
“Mr. Betz. He is now no longer pretending to be a cook, but has announced himself as the maid. Very good, sir, I’ll send him right up then.” He put down the phone, his expression more smug by the second, and said, “You may now go up. The elevator…”
I interrupted him. “I know perfectly well where the elevator is, thank you.”
He stopped smirking to glare at me with annoyance for a moment, before resuming his smirk as I entered the elevator with my shopping bags.
When I got to their door, I got down on my knees and waited. Behind the door, I heard talking and sporadic laughter. They only kept me waiting about five minutes that day, and fortunately I was spared any encounters with Paul’s and Anna’s neighbors. It was during those five minutes on my knees, staring down at my cock pushing out my khakis, that I came to the belated realization that it probably wasn’t a good thing to be free of my chastity cage in the circumstances in which I then found myself. As I continued to wait, a sense of panic began to set in, which paradoxically only increased my arousal.
When the door finally opened, I was greeted by Kelly. I was eye level with her short, blue skirt. I looked down at her sheer stocking-encased legs and black, strap-on heels before looking up at her grinning face. She had been wearing jeans in class, but had obviously dressed up for the exciting occasion of being served dinner by her submissive professor. I have not really described Kelly’s appearance much before now, other than to say that she is attractive. Kelly has shoulder length, thick, brown hair and sort of a button nose. She is slender, but not as tall as Anna or Brooke. I would describe her more as cute than truly beautiful like the other two. However, by “cute,“ I don’t want to suggest that Kelly isn’t sexy. She is, but more in a teasing, playful way than the regal Anna. Sometimes it’s those cute, playful ones that you really have to watch out for, I was to learn.
Generally speaking, it occurred to me that, on the cusp of turning 40, I was surrounded by – and subservient to – a number of meaningfully younger people, most of whom were well above average in the looks department. There are a lot of overweight Americans – more in Ohio than in the Northeast, I thought (I’m sure Neil would have said that observation was still further evidence of my elitism) – including a lot of overweight students on my campus. For whatever reason, however, I was this bookish, unathletic guy now surrounded by athletes (Luke, Paul, Anna, Kevin, and even my one contemporary in terms of age, Neil), or fitness freaks (Brooke) or the generally attractive people who they chose to associate with (like Kelly, Laura, and Brooke’s estranged friend, Michelle). Growing up, my social circle tended to consist of the less attractive – the geeks, the nerds, the social outcasts. So, being surrounded by the cool, beautiful people was new for me, and exciting. So much toned, taut young flesh. Of course, I was not, nor am not now, their equal. Not even close. I’m their servant, their lackey, their toy. But that’s part of what makes the dynamic so exciting, so arousing. For me, certainly. But also for most of them, I believe (Brooke excepted; I am confident that there is a lot more depth to our relationship with each other, than to our relationships with all the others).
As I looked up at Kelly, these thoughts running through my head, I consoled myself that at least I wasn’t being subjugated, teased and tormented by physically repulsive people. Remembering Brooke’s advice to go with the flow, I tried to tell myself to be grateful for small favors.
“Hi, Professor Rollins!“, said Kelly, brightly.
“Hi, Kelly,” I sheepishly replied.
“Oh, come now, professor. We’re not in class now. I think the proper way to address me here is Miss Kelly, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, Miss Kelly, of course.”
“You may enter,” she said. Seeing Paul behind her, I remembered to shuffle on my knees into the apartment, bags in either hand.
Paul said, ”What time do you need to be home tonight, Rollins? Where are Luke and Brooke?”
“Thursday night they almost always go out, sir. If you recall, that’s why we picked Thursday evenings for me to…to come here. Luke is taking Brooke out to dinner tonight at a restaurant near his house. The earliest they’ll be home, I think, is around 10:30, unless they decide to spend the night at Luke’s. I’d like to be home by 10, just to be on the safe side, sir, if possible,” I replied.
Kelly said to Paul, “I like the ‘sirs.’ I see that you’ve been training him well.“
“You may leave at 10. That means we have you for 5 hours. Put the food away and then get dressed,” ordered Paul. Anna and Kelly’s boyfriend, Archer, were sitting on the couch in the living room.
“Wait a minute,” said Anna. “Did you bring your Ren fair costume this time?”
“Yes, Princess Anna.”
“‘Princess?’ I really like that. Call me ‘Princess,’ too,” Kelly said to me, giggling.
“Yes, Princess Kelly,” I replied.
Smiling with delight, Kelly asked Archer, “Do you wish him to address you as Prince Archer?”
Archer, who I later learned was Paul’s teammate on the college swimming team, said, “No, he can just call me ‘sir’.”
“You’re no fun,” said Kelly.
“Put on your Little Foot Page costume, professor,” said Anna.
“Hold on,” said Paul. “If he’s serving us dinner, shouldn’t he be dressed as a waitress? Or as a maid? What about the pink uniform Chrissy wears? That’s sort of a waitress maid hybrid,” Paul explained to Archer.
“Or what about the Hooters uniform?”, asked Archer.
“But the Little Foot Page uniform is so cute!”, said Kelly.
Anna said, “Well, everybody seems to have an opinion. The only way to settle this democratically is through a vote. Let’s all write down our top choice on a scrap of paper and toss it into my baseball cap. There are three options and four votes, so there will be a clear winner.”
“I think he should model each uniform first, so we can make an informed decision,” said Archer.
“Great idea, Archer! Who doesn’t love a little, impromptu fashion show? Kelly, please tear up four pieces of paper and get a pen while I show our dear professor where we keep Chrissy’s uniforms,” said Anna.
I listened to this rather extraordinary conversation while still kneeling in the entrance hall. I had managed to will my erection down, at least partially, so had escaped detection for the moment. Obviously, this was only a temporary victory, however.
After being permitted to stand, I first put away the food and then followed Anna upstairs into the dungeon. She opened a closet and pulled out two plastic bags that she draped over the spanking bench.
“Here are the other two uniforms you will model for us. I want you to start with the waitress uniform. Make sure you wear the black stockings and the heels with the dress. And the cap. There are hairpins in the bag you can use to make sure that it doesn’t fall off your head. Once you’re dressed, we’ll be waiting for you in the living room. I expect you to walk the length of the living room, stand before us, curtsy, do a slow 360, face us again and curtsy a second time. Then walk back up here, put on the Hooter’s uniform, and repeat the same steps. Remember to put on the flesh colored pantyhose; they’re what really make the Hooters uniform, don’t you think?”
I had never darkened the doors of a Hooters before, but nodded my ascent.
“Well, the pantyhose along with the white socks and sneakers. You didn’t bring those, did you?”
“No, princess. Besides the shoes I’m wearing, I only brought the canvas shoes I wore to the Ren fair. As you commanded, princess.”
“All the more reason the Hooters uniform just won’t cut it tonight. But we have to humor Archer, don’t we? So, wear your canvas shoes with it. You’ll look preposterous, but that’s the point, I suppose. Right?”
“Yes, princess.”
“You’ll finish with your Little Foot Page uniform. The same steps. That’s my top choice, so make sure that you really sell that one. I’ll be watching closely. If you fail to do any of the steps I just told you, or don’t do any of them satisfactorily, I’ll ask Paul and/or Archer to take you over their knees and spank you, hard, 10 times for each mistake. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Princess Anna.”
She left me in the dungeon to change. Paul’s description of the first uniform was accurate. Imagine a pink maid’s uniform, with a V-neck, black collar, black buttons and a black apron. It came with a matching cap, pink with black trim. After putting on the dress, I rolled the sheer, black stockings up my legs and smoothed out the skirt, my fully erect cock still concealed for the time being beneath it. The short skirt only came down to my mid thigh. I then put on the heels and the cap, fumbling with the hairpins, and regarded myself in the mirror. I was dressed like a fetishized waitress in a retro diner. Could I look any more ridiculous? As I practiced curtsying a few times in front of the mirror, I answered my own rhetorical question.
Worried about keeping my students and Archer waiting, I descended the stairs and followed Anna’s instructions, listening to the strange sound of my heels clicking on the hardwood floor of the living room.
As I curtsied before the four of them relaxing on the couch, Kelly giggled with glee and Paul said, “Now that’s an appropriate uniform for dinner service.”
“It is, yes, but we see Chrissy in it all the time. A little variety is nice,” Anna replied.
As I went through my steps, I watched Anna hold the same little book they had used to record my shortcomings in cleaning – my demerits as they called them – and make notes in it with a pen. That couldn’t be a good thing, I thought to myself, although I was quite certain that I was following her instructions to a T.
After I did my 360° turn, I did a brief second curtsy, as Anna had ordered, but she stopped me as I was turning around to go back upstairs.
“Wait, professor maid. Curtsy to us again, but this time make it a deep curtsy. I want to make sure that you’ve been practicing.“
I did as she commanded, bending my legs, one behind the other, lifting my skirt with my hands and holding the dipped, bowed position for a few seconds before straightening back up.
“What do you think?”, Anna asked Kelly.
“Not too bad for a relative novice, I suppose, although his technique could definitely use some work,” said Kelly.
“Do you hear that, professor maid? You need to spend a lot more time practicing your curtsying. Also, you’re walking in the heels better than on Tuesday, but you’re still pretty unsteady. We expect our servants to be graceful,” said Anna, imperiously, as she made additional notations in her little notebook. “You need to practice walking in heels somewhere besides your time here with us. We do not tolerate on-the-job training here. Got it?”
“Yes, Princess Anna. I understand.”
“Good. Move along now. We need to decide on your uniform so you can start serving us cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.”
I hurried back upstairs as quickly and gracefully as was within my power and changed into the Hooters uniform. I put on the nude pantyhose first, my cock distressingly hard beneath the transparent nylon. So much for further concealing my liberation from chastity! Freedom can be a dangerous thing, I was to soon learn. I next put on the U-shaped, white T-shirt with the big orange letters, the two ‘Os’ doubling as eyes for the owl. The shirt was tight against even my flat chest; I could only imagine what it must’ve felt like to the well endowed women for whom the shirt was designed. Next, I pulled up the skimpy, bright orange shorts, hoping like hell that they might hide my erection. They did quite the opposite, in fact. Made of some synthetic fabric, they were incredibly snug and almost looked like a bikini the way they rode up the side of my legs next to my crotch. The shorts hugged my small balls, the outline of which was readily apparent through the fabric, my cock making a small, but unmistakable protrusion above them. As humiliating as the waitress uniform was, this was worse, I felt. I groaned as I observed myself in the mirror. I then put on my canvas shoes and descended the stairs to begin another degrading catwalk.
Archer laughed and clapped. “Thats fucking hilarious. Look at the loser!”
“Ha ha, look our professor has a little stiffie,” said Kelly, pointing at my crotch and snickering.
Anna said, “Oh, my God. Paul. She’s right. Look! They must’ve taken off his chastity cage.”
Paul said, “Well, this opens up all kinds of new possibilities, doesn’t it?”
“It most certainly does!”, agreed Anna.
This conversation, so intensely humiliating, resulted in my already hard cock twitching beneath the tight orange shorts, growing harder still.
Kelly said, “But he doesn’t have any boobs. What kind of Hooters waitress is that? At least Chrissy is growing boobs, thanks to the hormones.”
As I was curtsying, Paul asked, “What happened to Chrissy’s breast forms?”
Anna answered, “We let her throw them out after she started growing her own tits.“
“Too bad,” Archer replied.
Anna added, “And the whole outfit just doesn’t work without the white tennis shoes and socks. Also, our Hooters girl forgot to do her second curtsy.” As I turned back around to comply, Anna added, “No, no professor pantywaist, it’s too late now. That’s another demerit, I’m afraid. Now hurry along and model your last outfit for us.”
I scampered up the stairs and quickly changed into my Little Foot Page costume from the Ren fair, the one inspired by the Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale’s painting, a favorite of Brooke’s. How I wished at that moment that it was her I was dressing for instead! The short, nearly transparent jacket barely concealed my cock, jutting out shamefully through my white tights.
Remembering Anna’s insistence that I really “sell” this outfit, I took special care to complete each step to the best of my abilities. I held my back straight and practically pranced into the room and across the living room floor. I held my curtsy longer than usual, somewhere between the duration of a regular curtsy and a deep curtsy.
Both of the girls applauded, gleefully.
“See. The foot page costume is adorable. And it’s unique,” said Kelly.
“But pages don’t serve dinner. Pages do all kinds of other things for their masters, like clean their clothes and shoes, help them get dressed, deliver messages, and so forth,” said Paul.
“Oh you’re such a stickler for authenticity. I’m sure plenty of pages served their masters and mistresses meals as well. They were utility servants, and I’m sure did whatever was required of them,“ said Anna. “Besides, with this uniform, we have the best view of his hard, little cock. Look, it’s fun size!“, she added, pointing.
“With equipment like that, it’s no wonder that his wife cuckolded him,” chuckled Archer.
“From the look of him and his attitude, I’ll bet Luke is hung like a horse. Is that true, professor baby cock?”, asked Anna.
“Yes, Princess Anna,” I answered meekly.
“Look how red his face is!,” said Kelly. “We’re not embarrassing you, are we, professor?”
“Yes…I mean no, Miss…I mean Princess Kelly.”
“Okay, it’s time to vote,” said Anna.
“Why bother. We all know which one will win. Archer will vote for Hooters, I will vote for sissy waitress, and you and Kelly will vote for this silly page costume, inappropriate as it may be,” said Paul, sulkily. “So, the foot page it is.”
“Oh, goody!”, said Kelly, clapping her hands together with delight.
“Time for cocktails! Take everyone’s order,” Paul said to me sternly, seemingly still annoyed that he didn’t get his way.
Paul and Anna had a well equipped bar, so making the drinks was relatively easy. Anna insisted that I curtsy after serving each person. I, of course, would’ve felt ridiculous curtsying under any circumstances, but felt particularly so dressed in my page costume. Paul had a point; there was something incongruous about it. After serving them, I began prepping for dinner in what was truly a chef’s kitchen. The meat needed to simmer for a while to be sufficiently tender.
Anna had shown me a little brass bell that they would use to summon me for drink refills or anything else they desired. I heard it jingling about 20 minutes into my prep work and hurried back into the living room.
Paul said, “Archer and I are ready for refills.”
“Yes, sir.”
“From now on, curtsy every time you enter or leave a room any of us are in, and every time any of us gives you an order,” Anna interjected.
“Yes, princess,” I said, curtsying as I took their glasses.
By the time I returned a few minutes later with Paul’s and Archer’s fresh old fashioneds, curtsying again, Anna was also ready to for new martini. Of course, by the time I returned with her martini, Kelly was finally ready for her second cosmopolitan. Would this ever end?, I wondered. How would I ever have time to prepare the rest of dinner?
Fortunately, rather than request a third old-fashioned Paul said to the others, “Let’s go for a swim.” I was back in the kitchen working when the four of them left the apartment to take the elevator down to the building’s large indoor pool. Things got more interesting about an hour later when my young superiors returned to the apartment in their bathing suits.

I’m 33f. I have been experiencing very heavy, painful periods pretty much from the beginning. They are very regular (every 28-30 days) and approximately lasting 6 days. On 3 days of 6, the bleeding is very heavy. I will soak through the largest tampons in 1-3 hours, with large clots (definitely larger than a quarter). The pain is/was debilitating that I managed with Advil. I have not been on birth control for about 11 years.
I have seen two family doctors about this in Canada. One about 9 years ago, another about 4 years ago. Both times they ordered a pelvic ultrasound, which came back normal. And I was told basically nothing is wrong. PCOS has been ruled out. Last Pap smear was in May 2023. Also normal.
Additional background… I was recently pregnant (unplanned) and had a healthy baby girl in January. No complications during the pregnancy, which suggests to me everything is working properly.
My periods have returned, and although the pain has subsided dramatically (I understand this is typical after pregnancy) the heavy bleeding is back. It’s very frustrating because I basically need to ensure I’m close to a bathroom at all times in fear of bleeding through my pants.
Is this really normal? I live in the USA now, and I’m considering seeking a third opinion from a US doctor. Getting referrals to specialists, or more than 5 minutes of a doctors time in Canada is very challenging (understandably). I’m hoping a US doctor may be able to help me better.

Just diagnosed with methane and GI doc has ordered the Xifaxan + neomycin combo. While I'm waiting on those to be filled, I've been thinking. Is it wise to jump into treatment without knowing the root cause? Without knowing food sensitivities? Without a care team who knows my history? Or should I just go forward with this treatment that's finally here after at least 4 years of dismissal and suffering without a diagnosis?
I'm at such a point of low trust in healthcare, I'm feeling on edge about next steps.
Some additional context about my care team:

• IMO diagnosis came after a breath test following two 20-minute appointments with a GI nurse practitioner who had SIBO herself with a root cause of food poisoning. She ordered and I did an endoscopy, colonoscopy and ultrasound which ruled out other stuff. In my initial appointment, I told her I may have had food poisoning. But the more I read about SIBO, I'm not sure that was my particular cause (said it bc I suspected SIBO and wanted to be taken seriously). She sent me the prescription instructions via patient portal and we don't have a follow-up appointment until late August. Seems rather cold, at best, and risky, at worst.
• A dietitian who happens to have functional medicine training did a GI effects stool test and says my results of high inflammation and dysbiosis suggest I have leaky gut and/or food sensitivities. She wants to do a low-FODMAP based elimination and re-introduction with me over about 6 weeks. I've done just one week of low-FODMAP to reduce symptoms. She says we'll pause for GI's plan to have me eat more normally while on antibiotics.
• I started paying out of pocket for a new integrative primary care doctor who doesn't take insurance before I knew I had SIBO. Now come to find out, he doesn't seem to have much experience with it. Didn't expect me to test positive and has not done a thorough, proactive evaluation of my health history. I wanted someone to give me true primary care and take the lead on managing my case and give me a roadmap for a treatment plan.

Is it too much to expect that just any GI or primary care doctor will effectively manage a SIBO case? My sense from this subreddit is yes, but asking to get clarity.
I have a phone consult with a doctor a few hours away from me who specializes in SIBO. Wondering if I should become his patient and let him guide me through a more clear, methodical roadmap and streamline my care through his team?
Not expecting anyone to diagnose my root cause here lol, but wanting to share the overview of my history in case it makes a difference for the questions above. Also, I'm curious about others' similiar symptoms/experiences and hope maybe it can help someone to read mine.
Health history and symptoms:

• I'm a 36-year-old woman. 5'10" and I only weigh 113 pounds right now (lost about ten pounds in this current flare but was previously 120ish). I've struggled to gain weight my entire life.
• Seemingly healthy childhood but possible unaddressed dairy issues
  • I wasn't breastfed, my mom said the dairy formula didn't work either and I had to have a soy formula. In childhood I was never tested for lactose intolerance, the story was just that I "didn't like milk but cheese and ice cream were fine". I continued to eat the latter two and always prided myself on being open to eating anything.
  • I was diagnosed with depression at age 8 and did antidepressants on/off through my early 20s. Otherwise always was told I'm very healthy (despite never really feeling that healthy or energetic).
• I had a doctor suggest IBS while I was studying abroad in London at age 20 (which sadly I didn't take seriously), and then migraines with aura started at age 21, then rosacea at age 22. Frequent UTIs and antibiotics throughout my 20s. Allergic to two antibiotics now. Hemorrhoids started in mid-20s. At 32 (when the pandemic started in 2020), I had my first "flare", two simultaneous problems at the time diagnosed as:
  • another "UTI" after sex despite negative test results, got 3 rounds of antibiotics for possible kidney infection
  • symptoms of "GERD": loss of appetite, globus, burping, food sitting in belly for hours, gas, bloating, abdominal pain, back pain
• Since that first flare brought on by stress of the pandemic and possible unwanted pregnancy, I've experienced:
  • 2 other major flares (lasting 4ish months each)
    • 2023: conflict with live-in boyfriend leading to break up - sensation of slowing motility/early satiation followed by constipation followed by intense pelvic pressure and bloating plus frequent urination. resolved after months and getting myself into pelvic floor PT.
    • 2024: intense work stress paired with delayed period/fear of pregnancy with new boyfriend of 2 months followed by constipation, dry scaly hands, followed sensation of slowing motility/early satiation with intense stomach gurgling/churning, food sitting in belly for hours, burping and varied acid reflux symptoms including globus, excess saliva, throat bubbles with any food/water or change of position, back pain, dandruff (seborrheic dermatitis), red eyes
  • on/off symptoms / notable findings in last 4 years:
    • tingling/random brusing in fingers, random itchy rashes kinda like hives, random vibrating feeling in lower abdomen, nerve pain/twitching in inner groin, eye, and leg
    • more headaches during menstration
    • loved cilantro historically, but on/off tastes like soap (especially during major flare)
    • gum inflammation I can't seem to resolve with improved brushing/flossing, etc.
    • inflamed cervix on pap smear
    • cloudy urine
    • A1C1 near prediabetes level
    • vitamin deficiencies (D and B12) - had to request my own tests
    • on my home scale, my BMR was always 3-4 years below my current age but now it's 2 years above my current age
• All 3 major flares were times I was eating LOTS of fibefodmaps thinking I was helping my health
• Other notable things:
  • I have a PT who believes I might have hEDS even though I don't meet the diagnostic criteria
  • I had a pap smear in 2019 that showed HPV positive for high-risk strain; 2024 pap smear showed clear
  • May have developed orthorexia after the first flare and trying to heal myself with food. Might have also struggled with eating enough calories on/off in life due to stress and feeling full early in meals throughout my life.

How do you blow off steam when pregnant??
I am only 8 weeks pregnant but it has been tough since this is a high risk pregnancy after recurrent loses i am put on bed rest so i cant go out or do a lot of things i was doing before. on top of that i have to get daily injections and some painful injections weekly anyway all in all it has been alot and while i have support and a caring husband he gets exhausted too obviously and he still has his life he still goes to work he still sees his friends every weekend he still gets to smoke or occasionally smoke a joint to blow off steam and i am left at home miserable with nothing to do..and needy too because i have no one besides him and its putting too much pressure on him too but what do i do?? how do i do blow off steam as someone who’s pregnant and high risk?? is there any healthy way to just relax and get an escape ?? i know this may be controversial and i am come off as ungrateful but im in a bad place and its all just getting to me..just looking for advice on how others cope in similar situations? looking for a friend…

Hello,
Basically what the title says. I am not sure if this (in the photos) is an outbreak or not.
Backstory: Back in January i developed acute neuronitis. Researching how to deal with it online, i stumbled upon many people on reddit saying sometimes the cause could be HSV. I then got tested for both IgG and IgM. My IgGs were as follows: HSV1: 1.4 (negative is up until 0.6) HSV2: 32.9 (negative up until 0.5)
My IgMs were: HSV1: 2.79, positive is above 11 HSV2: 3.59, positive above 11
So i was diagnosed with HSV, both strains, but no active infection at that time.
Immediately after, i developed some bumps on the middle finger from the left hand. I did have some tingling/burning before.
Now, i had the same symptoms for prodromes. A bit of tingling, burning, and the bone seemed to hurt(which i accounted it to nerve pain).
But looking at pictures of OBs, mine never seemed to be as large, as many, or develop into groups of blisters. They look and feel as though i have a splinter that inflamed the tissue around it and are developing an infection.
What’s more confusing is the OB site. Never had genital OBs, or oral. (Knock on wood, dont want to jinx it lol). I know this could be whithlow, but how frequent is it?
I have been taking 1000MG Lysine a day ever since i got diagnosed as well.
My questions to you are:

1. Do you think i have an active OB?
2. How long do you think i’ve had both, based on the IgG?
3. I took valtrex 2000 mg/day, but the blisters/symptoms did not subside, on the contrary. See below pics

I have read every article, journal paper, every reddit post to educate myself and find the answers. But these bumps don’t quite look like anything i’ve seen online, althought the prodrome is there beforehand.
Any help with my questions is appreciated.
Link to initial pics day 1-2: https://imgur.com/a/ob-not-ruetDRg
Link to days 3-5. Although i took valtrexz, 2000 mg/ day, they did not subside, on the contrary on day 4 i got a new blister on the tip of my finger and my hand was hurting like it was the nerves hurting, and i got a redness along the path of the pain that stopped under my pits. Which is why i’m confused if it’s either HSV or Dyshidrosis. On day 5 the redness is gone, and some blisters dried out and are now red in appearance. https://imgur.com/a/8NJUhcQ

Hello. Migraines run in my family and both my sister and father have been on medication for it for years.
Yesterday, I had the worst migraine I've had, and I have a gut feeling they will get more and more regular. That said, I'm unsure how to know what is a symptom of an incoming migraine, what is a cause of one, and what is nothing/a coincidence.
33f. I have an IUD and don't get periods often, so I don't know if my cycle is related.
Over the last week, I've noticed that I have misplaced things more than usual and three times, I felt a very sharp, alarming pain behind my left ear. I had never felt this type of pain before. My jaw has also been very tight.
Two days ago, I woke up with a stiff neck. I then traveled somewhere by car and got an unusually bad case of motion sickness and nearly vommed on the side of the road. I was out all day and drank very very little water (oops), and had one beer at night.
Yesterday, I woke up after a night of truly awful sleep and and my neck was incredibly stiff and painful. I messaged it a bit and as soon as I got up, I was helllllllla nauseous. Not knowing it was an incoming migraine, I ate yogurt with a fake sweetener in it. Then I laid in bed for the next 5 hours barely functional. I read over the symptoms and causes of a migraine and I ticked soooo many boxes.
How the heck do I figure out what contributed/caused the migraine, what was a symptom, and what was coincidence? Do I just keep a log? I have a stiff neck probably twice a month. Is there a chance that these are almost-migraines that weren't triggered to become full migraines?
Side note, this shit fucking sucks. Sorry y'all deal with this regularly. 😩

Pulling a loose molar - I believe it is #2 upper right, it is my only molar, I have 9 'frontish' teeth left after that. It is very loose and can wriggle it back & forth 1/4" without too much pain, however it becomes somewhat excruciating if pulled on. If left unmolested there is no pain or swelling but is very hot/cold sensitive.
This molar became a problem about a month ago, so I started a 3+ daily heavy salt water with 25% of 3% hydrogen peroxide rinse. I also started a tooth fairy fund but am still several months away from seeing a dentist.
Nearing 70 years old and had to decline medicare because of cost - very rural no other options.
Yesterday, I just noticed out of the blue it had gotten very loose, which is why I though about pulling it myself - Today I am gonna check to see if a pint of vodka can ease the pain to see what kind of pull pressure I can endure, or maybe see if just rinsing my mouth with 50%+ grain alcohol will kill the infection over a couple of weeks and try to pull then?
What is the consensus of this infection clearing on its own vs pulling it cowboy style before it gets too bad?

I need the catholic perspective.
I'm married and have been for 9 years. We have 3 kids under 10. Recently I've started fantasising about other women, but not sexually. Let me explain.
I've always wanted a traditional wife, one that stays home and looks after the kids and house. Not in a way that makes her my slave but just someone who makes it so others don't have to watch the kids more than is necessary, keep the home in order, etc.
I come from a large family and always wanted many children. I earn decent money and my salary allows my wife to stay home and do pretty much what she likes. Our home is owned outright so no rent or mortgage
For context, I work in construction and am out the house by 7am and back by around 5pm five days a week. I have a different diet to my family so do my own cooking, I don't smoke or drink, don't take drugs, go out except for work, have never touched another woman and actively avoid situations that could potentially result in all of the above.
I pay for all the bills, the vehicles, the taxes, holiday, kids, etc. I give her around 1k a month for food and fuel for her car.
The last 3 or 4 years have been tough. Our youngest was born in 2021 and since she has hinted at going on contraception because she can't handle another child. We got pregnant last year and she miscarried. She later said it was a blessing because she wasn't ready.
She is short and snappy with the kids, being outright horrible to them a lot of the time for little things they do that she doesn't like. She says she's depressed etc but she went to therapy and the therapist told her it was my fault!
I come in from work every day and the house is a mess. Breakfast dishes still on the table, sticky kitchen floor, no hoovering done, clothes and stuff everywhere etc. I told her mess disturbs my peace and enjoyment of my home so cpuld.she stay on top of it, but she's not seemed to have tried at all since that conversation.
She spends most of her time 'playing' in her garden. That's what she enjoys doing most. I tried to tell her we have responsibilities, hers is the home and mine is work and when those are taken care of then we can play. She said she doesnt do it because she doesn't want to and can't be bothered because it's not a priority.
She also took on some voluntary jobs which I think are great. But I have to ask if voluntary unpaid positions are taking precedence over the main duties we have, what then? I tried to say if she worked and I sat on the console all day a d she came home to a mess shed be livid but it didn't seem to register.
She claims its hard but yesterday I got the kids fed and dressed, cleaned the entire house top to bottom including kitchen bathroom dusting and hoovering and gave them their lunch, whilst looking after them. Was very easy, took me less than 2 hours out of my day.
On her day to day, she usually drops the kids at school and then has free time all day but chooses to spend it in the garden or volunteering.
So there's a God fearing girl in my local coffee ship who I've been chatting to when getting my coffee for the last year. She's very sweet, beautiful, always smiling with sincerity, a good laugh and a nice person. I know she is attracted to me the same as I am to her, you can just tell sometimes.
I fantasise about giving her my number, finding out she wants what I want in life, and divorcing my wife so I can finally have what I want - a wife who wants fo live rurally and have a big family with me, raise them in God's name and be happy. But really i want my wife to want that, and to do it with me.
If we had no kids I would have left already. The problem is our children. I desperately don't want my family to be broken up. I want to be a unit for them. To try to work through things for them. But after several conversations nothing changes and life goes on with me never getting what I need out of the marriage.
My wife is now talking about getting a full time job which would mean my kids having to go to before and after school club and also go to day care in every school holiday. This is not what we wanted for our lives when we decided to have kids but she's adamant.
My problem is if I leave, it gets worse for my kids not better.
I am planning to go to my local church and try to speak to a priest about it (real therapy) but do you all have any advice? I'm broken.

I was reminded recently of a memory from when I was around 11 of my mother having a meltdown on the stairs. She kept repeating to me 'I wish you were dead, I wish you would kill yourself, I wish you were gone already' etc. The worst thing was that she wasn't saying this maliciously, she was just sobbing violently with so much sorrow and hurt. because of this, I can't help but feel like her words held truth. this was a very abrupt, candid meltdown, free of her usual manipulative undertones which suggests to me that maybe I really was a more difficult, a more bothersome, a more unlikeable child than others my age. her words haunt me everywhere I go and they hurt all the more because I really was very suicidal at that age. it was like she had read my mind and confirmed the idea that the only way to help the people around me was to kill myself.
I am 16 now and thankfully living with my father instead. I see her only occcasionally and when I do, she typically puts some effort in to be fairly normal and have an ordinary conversation with me without any usual violent breakdowns or arguments. I should be grateful for this, but this normalcy instead angers me. the fact that the hatred in our relationship is now one-sided from my end is a strange role reversal. I do not think it's entirely real either, there is something decidely fake in her eyes and I don't believe her friendly demeanor is true. however, when I dare mention how we 'don't have the best relationship' I'm met with confusion and denial to why is this the case. any effort to bring up the aforementioned memory or any that preceded is quickly dismissed. my mother seemingly suffers from selective amnesia and cannot recall any instance when she mistreated me or acted cruel towards my young self
to worsen this, my father also considers the relationship I have with my mother to be faulty from both ends and believes I should've put effort into fixing it. this appears to me unfair, and I don't see why the burden of mending a broken parent-child relationship should be put on the child. the explanation for this was that since my mother will not possibly even contemplate the possibility of attending any form of therapy then I should do so instead (the therapy ended up being terrible and I have not attended therapy ever since). I also doubt he sees our relationship as abusive, pathological or dysfunctional in any way. I feel guilty even typing the word 'abusive' as though all the pain and horror of my childhood was purely a product of my imagination. recently on my 16th birthday I told him it was a shock that I was already at that age and he replied that he has been treating me as an adult for years. perhaps that is why our perspectives differ
my brother is 14 and still living with my mother and his bitterness towards her at least somewhat confirms my beliefs that the family we were raised in was not entirely normal. I'm not even entirely sure myself what occured when I was a child; I am left with few memories and those that I do hold are scattered and the events are unclear. for example, I vividly remember being around 8 or 9 and begging God to kill me, which is my earliest recollection of suicidal thoughts (although I was not yet entirely familiar with the concept at the time, hence why I thought I had to ask God for death rather than take the matter within my own hands). I don't know what led to that moment nor what happened after but I never asked Him of anything ever again. because of these memories, I know that something was very very wrong, either with me or my familty, but the lack of clarity on the source of this still brings me a lot of anguish
to anyone in a similar situation, did you ever end up recollecting those memories? is it better to break contact or try to change things? how do you know if your childhood was abusive or whether you really were at fault? are some children really worse to deal with than others, or am I right to consider the actions of my mother as unforgivable? I am tired of endless doubt and I want answers