On 20 August I posted Day 1 of Christine’s sister’s first involvement in a weekend of domination of David. Below is the account of day 2.
Before that though a couple of comments:
- I love Christine’s comments to her sister, along the following lines, because I have made almost identical comments whenever I have introduced a new Domme into assisting me in using and abusing bitch-boy. “It gives me serious pleasure to see you treat him very badly. Just do whatever pleases you; be as mean and unfair to him as you wish. There are no limits, he won’t break!… And remember, this all started because this is what he asked for. He is especially scared of you so be absolutely as nasty as you can be!”
- A comment for Christine. I have my sissy maid well scented with perfume. The cheapest. most tacky perfume I can buy aimed at the teenager market. I can tell he associates the awful scent with the use and abuse in all the past times he has worn it. He truly HATES the scent of it.
My sister and I got up about the same time and relaxed together with brewed coffee, fresh fruit and warm croissants. Since we can only have one shower used at a time, due to the water pressure, my sister suggested I shower first, while she looked in on Daisy. I thought this was a wonderful idea and, using the security camera, recorded events so I could later see his look of surprise.
Entering the study, she curtly told him, “Pen down! SIT UP… BACK STRAIGHT…. HANDS ON HEAD… NOW!” It was about a quarter past eleven, so he had been writing for just on six hours. He looked dazed and frustrated beyond belief, his bottom lip trembling. This was the longest he had ever spent doing this tedious written task. “How many?” she tersely enquired. With a quiver in his voice, he nervously advised he had completed six copies and had just started on the next. She picked up the pages and browsed through them while he looked on anxiously. “We’ll check these carefully later. You need to stop lazing around and get doing some chores. Get changed. Then come and find me. And be quick about it!” He was clearly shaking as he quickly reorganised the desk top and scurried out of the room, remembering first to curtsy graciously.
Afterwards, my sister shared how she so enjoyed the power rush it gave her to enter the room by herself and treat him so dismissively. Blushing a little, she confessed it was very arousing to feel the power she held. To see the look of total weariness on his face. How nervous he appeared, and then to think of the unfairness he must have felt, to be snapped at like he was and then sent rushing off to start a long day of strenuous chores; even though he must have been completely exhausted after six hours completing such a challenging written assignment… “I couldn’t do what he has to do; yet I don’t care, I actually really enjoyed being cruel and hurtful to him and imagining how distraught he must be feeling. I so understand why you do this! I am so glad you shared everything with me, and it is even more fun to be involved… I’m not going too far am !?”
I advised her that she was such a natural dominant and that it gave me intense pleasure to see her so involved, and then reassured her, “Please, just keep doing what you’re doing. It excites me to watch you treat him like you do. Just do whatever pleases you; be as mean and unfair to him as you wish. There are no limits, he won’t break!… And always, always remember, this all started because this is what he asked for.”
I felt no pity for him, just joy at sharing the experience with my sister, as I offered further advice on how to mistreat and bully him, before sharing my final thoughts, “I can tell he is especially scared of you and what you might make him do, since you are so much more detached from him than me. So be absolutely as nasty as you can be! I really enjoy treating him like this with you, we have always been so close, and I think this just brings us closer.”
It was to be another hard day for him. I had told my sister to bring all her washing over. That was the contents of the four large bags he had brought in out of the car. This meant plenty of ironing! He also had his normal weekend chores and he was sent out to clean and polish her car too, inside and outside. He was warned it had better look ready to go in the showroom by the time he was finished.
That was a very strenuous task, ‘polish on, polish off’ we had laughed at him as he had looked at us with despair in his eyes, on the verge of tears. It was his very best poor, poor, pitiful me – little boy lost look… please Mummy help me… please Mummy I am so tired, I need you to say that’s enough and give me a big cuddle… he was craving some compassion. To his mortification, in unison, we both just burst out laughing, ridiculing him, before I snapped, “Stop wasting time and get to work NOW,… and make sure you put some real muscle into your work! If I look out the window and see you are not working at a cracking pace… Believe me… I’ll give you something to really cry about!
It’s a very warm day, so I had better see you sweating profusely and huffing and puffing from your exertion!… Because if you’re not, I’ll assume you are taking it easy and then I’ll make you really suffer!” He looked so despondent and pathetic, trying hard to stifle the tears that started to fall down his cheeks, on the edge of breaking down into sobbing… though he did have the good sense to move with alacrity. I was feeling pitiless, and his breaking down in tears was just arousing me more and more. My sister expressed how aroused she was, observing the dynamic, pleased to be a part of it, and wanting to be harder on him too. Her chance was to come on Sunday!
My sister and I went out for lunch, while he enjoyed a stale caul fat sandwich, most certainly not something he enjoyed! Caul fat is the lowest grade of lard, obtained from the fat surrounding the digestive organs of pigs. My sister had brought this along. She knew full well my husband’s aversion to fatty meat from family BBQs. We had him video call us to watch him eat it! He was sniffling, and again teared up when he realised, I was fully supportive of my sister’s meanness. He wretched repeatedly as he forced it down. I felt sure some of his display was designed to make me feel sorry for him and excuse him from finishing his sandwich. Sadly, for him, his hopes for sympathy were met instead with peals of laughter, and sharp words.
A little aside here. In the planning, I had introduced my sister to Mistress Scarlet’s web site, and also given her access to Mistress Scarlet’s Journals. Over several phone calls my sister had shown clear interest and enthusiasm in my regime and domination in general; and checked with me whether she could introduce some new ideas.
We visited him shortly after four o’clock in the laundry. All my sister’s clothes had been washed and gone through the dryer and he had made a start on the ironing; but there was still plenty to go. Smiling I advised him, “We’ve been talking about your presentation as my maid. My sister feels you really need to wear a little make-up to improve the professionalism of your appearance.” He looked on aghast as I continued. “I have really not wanted to add make-up. I prefer you to look like a man who is clearly being petticoat disciplined… But my sister has presented a very strong argument for you wearing a little make-up. Mistress Scarlet thought this was a great idea too.
And I do like the idea of you taking a little extra time each day when you dress as my maid to look your very best. After all, you expect the ladies in your office to look their best and wear make-up, so it is really only proper that you show the same care when working as a maid.
You can take a break from your ironing for a couple of hours now, while we take the time to teach you how to apply your make-up. You’ll then need to do it yourself each day.”
We had an hilarious time teaching him how to apply his make-up, which we had bought that afternoon. He was so utterly humiliated since, despite our good humour and teasing, he had to treat this very seriously indeed and focus intently on applying his make-up perfectly. At first, knowing he had to go through with this and could not protest further, he showed his frustration and resentment by shaking his head, and trying to make out it was something he was incapable of doing. His ‘little boy lost’ ploy again. He still hoped ‘Mummy’ would ‘save him’ if he looked woeful enough. He was still unable to grasp that there was going to be no mercy shown.
Instead, he simply met my icy demeanour, cutting words and hard-hearted approach to his laughable attempts at seeking compassion. We made it very clear that he would learn how to apply his make-up immaculately and ‘tastefully’, or else. He was firmly warned that his presentation had to be flawless. Attention was also paid to his fingernails, which were to be clipped, groomed and painted with a clear lacquer; and his toe nails, for which we had selected a lovely pink varnish. He was also warned that my sister would be examining him on his make-up when she next comes!
Coldly paying no attention to his misery, his face showed the umbrage he felt from the contrast to how I interacted with my sister, showing her such warmth and camaraderie, seeing how we often acted as one.
[The consequence of this, with a little further training during the following week, is that he has a new routine for his presentation as a maid.
He always calls before leaving the office, and we have a meal when he arrives home. I prefer him attired as my male partner for our vanilla time, and dinner is vanilla time. So, if he only has an hour or so of chores that evening then, as in the past, he retains his male attire to complete those tasks, before joining me for the rest of our evening.
On all other nights, immediately after dinner, he has to get ready for his maid’s duties. He is required to shave again and then dress in his housemaid’s uniform and carefully apply his make-up, before starting his chores. I find it tremendously amusing. I had told Scarlet I would never do this, but I did; and I love the regimentation it brings and the role reversal of him having to ‘make himself pretty for work’. Often, he is now the only one in the house wearing make-up and stockings!
He has a routine he is required to follow, and woe betide if I feel his make-up is not immaculately applied. He starts by carefully cleaning his face and neck using cleansing water and cotton pads. Next, he pats a little moisturiser on his face and neck to keep his skin soft. He then moisturises his lips using a lip balm. He then applies foundation before using a brush to apply a little concealer under the eyes, on the chin, and around the nose.
He is then ready to apply a creamy eye-shadow. He well knows, since he found this very challenging to do, that he is to build the colour slowly and in layers and, using a small brush, add a tiny line of shadow under the eye. A smudge of mascara is used to define each lash before filling in the eyebrows to frame his face using light feathery strokes, finishing with a clean mascara wand to brush out the hairs. A cream blush is blended on the apple of his cheeks before it is time for his lipstick. Finally, he uses a thick brush to dust with a loose setting-powder to set his make-up and reduce shine. A splash of perfume follows, before a last quick check that he looks impeccable; that his stocking seams are straight, no creases in his tunic, and he can start his chores! It adds half-an-hour to his evening, just getting ready for work!
He finds this tedious and humiliating, but I am in raptures as I watch him applying everything ever so carefully. He has to sit at the dressing table and really focus on what he is doing. He knows he will be inspected and there will be nasty consequences if his appearance is not faultless. I will often sit and watch him, since I find it so amusing! He squirms in great discomfort, longing to be able to refuse to do this but knowing he must be ever so diligent in the process. It is just delightful to observe his look of concentration. Of course, I will tease him mercilessly too!
It is so amusing as he simply has to take such great care to do everything so precisely. I remind him of how he used to be always rushing me to get ready before we went out in the early days of our relationship, and how he now knows that make-up can’t be rushed!]
Back, to Saturday. We spent an hour or so helping him, but after that he had to do it by himself, then come and see us for an inspection. A few tips, some harsh scolding, a few jokes at his expense, laughing reminders that ‘perfect practice makes perfect’, and he then had to remove the make-up and start again. I don’t think I have ever seen him look so miserable. He was bereft, alone and friendless. He was so depressed and aggrieved, so desirous of receiving just a touch of warmth or compassion. My sister and I acted as one in our pitilessness. Our closeness was so very evident from our constant laughter, our obvious displays of affection to each other, often acting more like teenagers; and we had leisurely enjoyed our day together. This was all contrasting enormously with our callousness and ruthlessness in dealing with him, which was exceeding anything he had ever experienced before, leaving him feeling ever more isolated.
It wasn’t until after nine-thirty that we were happy with his application, and only then could he start on the rest of his chores. No praise, my sister just checked him out carefully, taking his chin in one hand and turning his head as needed to inspect his make-up, him cringing in fear, before she curtly remarked, “Mmmmm… I guess that’ll do. Now piss off back to your ironing!”
I was shocked by her language, so much so that we both burst out laughing. He was totally humiliated and ignored while, blushing profusely, his face a picture of despair and resentment, he curtsied and started to leave the room. My sister’s final words ringing in his ears as he walked out, “I hope you’re not crying again, sissy boy… If you are… you’ll need to redo your make-up!… I have never met a supposedly grown man who cries like a baby girl as much as you do. I hope you’re ashamed of yourself!“ His head was bowed down as, sighing deeply, he slowly shook it from side to side, and morosely exited the room.
My sister rarely uses bad language, and she explained how she was shocked too, but it had just come out, since she was so enthralled with her power over him and wanted to hurt him.
[Talking about this with him later, in vanilla mode, he expressed how unloved he felt, and how close to total despair, bordering on depression, he had felt. He then hugged me closely and thanked me, leading to my having an enormous orgasm from his tender ministrations. ]
My sister and I turned in around eleven. Before going to my room, I went to see him in the laundry. I gently tweaked his nipples as he again looked longingly at my sensual attire. I checked the clothes he had already ironed for any creases, as he watched on nervously, before looking at what was left in the laundry baskets. “It looks like you’ll be going here for another couple of hours at least, with all that bed linen you still have to iron (my sister had brought linen from four beds, plus there was my bed), and it looks like there are a couple of pleated skirts in there too!” I smiled, “I guess you had better sleep in the study again.”
I then nuzzled his neck gently, before lightly nibbling his ear lobe and whispering, “You look ever so pretty in your make-up. We’ll have to get you some nice perfume to complement your looks… Be careful though, my sister will be checking your ironing tomorrow, and she is even more of a perfectionist than me. Woe betide if she finds any creases… and everything had better be folded impeccably.” He squirmed as he thanked me but, as he went to cuddle me, I stepped away, and sharply advised, “Don’t you dare! You still have ironing to complete!…
Now, tomorrow morning… I’d like you at your desk thirty minutes early again. That means back straight, hands on head, BEFORE five thirty! I have set alarms as we did this morning, except your first break is ten minutes only, since there is no washing to put on.” I then turned and left him alone, still yearning for my caresses.
I just love the decadence of this lifestyle. I truly have no concerns over how I ‘exploit’ David. He is well aware of the fact that I have no empathy with what he goes through and that I will never show him any pity. That both excites him, and terrifies him!