Monthly Archives: November 2010

Fifi Sprinkler Pool

Sitting naked on my lounger sunbathing while bitch-boy, in a nappy, rubber pants, baby’s bonnet and mittens; sits in this Fifi paddling pool in 12 inches of cold water, was so amusing this summer. Under £15 for so much pleasure! His humiliation is extreme and so much begging can be heard when I announce, on a gorgeous summer’s day that the weather looks fine enough to get the paddling pool out. He has some plastic ducks to play with (after much threatening of dire punishment) and I am wondering what other water toys to buy for next summer.

Pool at Amazon

princess umbrella

Another great purchase from the web. from Amazon, –

Girls Fun Princess Umbrella Brand New With Tags

This is only £3.99 and is just so humiliating for poor bitch-boy to have to hold over his head when sent out into the garden to ‘play’ in his little girl’s outfit – holding his enormous dolly with his other arm. How he hates it! BTW, ‘play’ simply means standing in a predetermined spot where he can be seen from several rooms in the house. Obviously it does not have to be raining for insistence on use of the umbrella – it can be insisted on just in case a shower may be on the way. (Please note that the underlined descriptive words are the link to the Amazon page)

Work-day morning rituals

I thought I should post about what happened yesterday morning before I left for work.

For work-day mornings I have a number of rituals that bitch-boy must follow which, as well as providing me with amusement and pleasure, are designed to firmly remind him of his relative status compared to me, before he begins his day without me while I am at work. There is a detailed description of the rituals in my soon to be published (on Lulu.com), 2nd volume of diary extracts. However my reason for posting is that I occasionally administer a deterrent punishment before leaving for work and I did so yesterday.

When I was ready to leave the house, I instructed bitch-boy to go up to the bedroom and prepare himself for a caning. He looked confused and asked what had he done wrong. I answered that he had done nothing wrong but I felt a deterrent punishment would be good for him, to remind him of what happens if he does do something wrong. He answered timidly that he already knew. I responded that I nevertheless wanted to be certain there was no doubt in his mind.

Minutes later, at 7:50 am, he was strapped face down on the bed, a 15 inch foam tube under his hips to raise and stretch his buttocks. Between sets of 5 hard cane strokes, I lightly ran my fingertips down his shaved perineum and balls causing his little cock to twitch in his tight restrainer tube – no doubt because he has not cum for 12 days.

There is something very decadent about delivering a punishment so early in the morning for no other reason than deterrent. I left the house with a big smile and was wonderfully set for the day ahead.

Sadism is natural

In the begining I could not accept the word sadist being applied to me. If bitch-boy called me a sadist I would become defensive internally and verbally. A subsequent phase of my development found me accepting internally that I was a sadist but I found I was too inhibited about it to be able to say it out loud. However, I am now completely content to accept and to say I am a sadist. In fact I often tell bitch-boy that, because I am a sadist, the rest of his life will involve very frequent episodes of suffering simply for my pleasure.

I heard this theory on sadism and dominance which really makes sense to me. It goes like this:
Sadism and dominance are natural human traits. (Although few would care to admit it.) 

Firstly, whenever situations like wars and armed conflict arise anywhere in the world, and some people obtain a position of absolute power over other humans, with no apparent chance of retribution or punishment for what they do, the people adopt sadistic behaviour routinely. (not just the Balkan states, Africa, the Nazis and the Japanese – even the British – look at Kenya circa 1949 and the USA – look at Abu Ghraib circa 2004.)

Secondly, children as young as five years old bully other children. A five year old cannot be evil.

 The 100% certainty of these two phenomena is overhwhelming evidence of how sadism is natural.

Mammals that live in packs have a hierachy. The hierachy is maintained by physical violence and often random acts of violence. (Reminders from the more dominant to the lower level entity of their level, by the more dominant doing whatever mean thing they want, when they want.) Humans are pack mammals and a few thousand years of trying to introduce societal standards of behaviour, will not have eradicated subconscious drivers developed over millions and millions of years of evolution. So, give a human absolute power over another and remove any chance of retribution or punishment and they will assert their dominance with acts of sadism and obtain pleasure from that, because pleasure is the reward our subconscious gives us when we follow good pack mammal behaviours. It is no different to the pleasure of stroking or being stroked, another pack mammal trait used to build a bond between pack mammals providing they all know their place in the hierachy.

So pleasure from sadism is no different to the pleasure from stroking or the pleasure of your team (pack) beating another team (pack) in team sports like football. It is good pack mammal behaviour and so it is rewarded by your sibconscious with pleasure sensations.

I do not suggest that because someting is natural through evolution, it is moral. It is not a justification – just an explanation.

Two exerpts from my published journals

The first of my journals recounting my day to day life as a dominant wife has been published on Lulu.com as a download: LINK or paperback LINK

Here are a couple of excerpts.

EXCERPT 1      ……. Helen arrived, filling the house with the scent of Chanel Number Five. Alice served tea and warm scones with butter and jam while she and I made disparaging remarks about him and had a generally amusing time at his expense. I also gave him three on each palm with the tawse for getting some crumbs on the table cloth, after which he had to kneel down and kiss each of my shoes, thanking me for taking the trouble to punish him so that he might become a better maid. Helen wore a lavender coloured linen suit and plum coloured high heeled court shoes. Her long straight blond hair was parted at the centre and dangling ear rings occasionally peeped out. She had full feminine lips, painted with a ruby red. She also had very, very long square cut, French polished finger nails. I remarked on her beautiful nails and she responded that when one never has to lift a finger in house or garden or supermarket, it was easy to maintain long nails.  Helen had a full figure, unlike my slim athletic body, but it filled her fitted suit with very attractive feminine curves.
 
Once the tea was finished Helen and I retired to the sofa in the drawing room, each with a glass of chilled white wine. Alice was instructed to stand with her nose against the wall. The sun continued to shine in through the freshly cleaned windows and occasionally bird song filled a momentary pause in our conversation.  I grinned wickedly and asked Helen if she would like some live entertainment. Alice let out a quiet sigh of despair. Helen looked at him smiling cruelly and said that some entertainment sounded like a wonderful idea.

‘Well Alice, go upstairs and get changed. I want Belinda Jane standing in front of me in five minutes. And she had better have her dummy in her mouth and be holding her dolly, if she knows what’s good for her. Oh and I think a pair of your plain pink school girl knickers. ’ Alice hesitated with head bowed.

‘Don’t hesitate Alice, off you go, or would you like some more of the tawse to help you along your way?’ Alice looked imploringly at me and I returned a cruel resolute stare. He could see there was to be no mercy and so he curtseyed and reluctantly left the room.

After six minutes I headed off towards the stairs to find the overdue Belinda Jane. I found him in the hall. He was properly dressed and ready but he had not had the courage to actually enter the room looking as he did. I just laughed and began to lead him by his wrist towards the lounge. He asked if he could go to the toilet but, with malice aforethought, I said it would not be fair to delay Helen’s entertainment any longer.

Belinda Jane was actually trembling with humiliation as he stood in front of his smiling, laughing tormentors while Helen commented on how utterly ridiculous he looked. Despite imploring looks for mercy to me, I made him perform several nursery rhymes, with actions including Little Bo Peep and Little Miss Muffett while Helen and I both laughed loudly and cruelly. He then received three with the tawse to the back of each thigh for failing to lisp a few words and so he then had to repeat the rhymes again. He was utterly crushed by the end of his performance. All pride and resistance eradicated. I stood and advised Helen I would only be a minute and walked out of the room. As I was leaving I had to smile as I heard Helen harshly instructing Belinda Jane to get his chin up off his chest, look her in the eye, and describe to her in fine detail what he was wearing, without forgetting to lisp.

I returned with two jugs full of liquid, a baby’s feeding cup and a folded towel. Belinda Jane gasped and whispered,

‘Pleath no Mithtreth, pleath, pleath.’

‘Silence Belinda, you will speak when you are spoken to.’ Helen looked confused realising the items signalled something dreadful for Belinda Jane but not knowing what that was.

I explained to Helen that the large jug contained cold water and the smaller my fresh urine. I then went on to explain that Belinda Jane would be performing another little act for us that afternoon. I placed the folded towel on the slate floor in front of the sofa and instructed a, now close to tears, Belinda to stand on it. I then filled the feeding cup with two thirds water, one third urine and passed it to Belinda who, knowing the ritual that he must follow, reluctantly began to consume its contents. The feeding cup is actually for use by dementia suffers and purchased by me on the internet. Using dishwasher proof glass paint, I had bitch-boy paint on some pretty hearts and sweet teddy bears to my exacting specification.  The feeding bottle was refilled again and again

Helen arrived, filling the house with the scent of Chanel Number Five. Alice served tea and warm scones with butter and jam while she and I made disparaging remarks about him and had a generally amusing time at his expense. I also gave him three on each palm with the tawse for getting some crumbs on the table cloth, after which he had to kneel down and kiss each of my shoes, thanking me for taking the trouble to punish him so that he might become a better maid. Helen wore a lavender coloured linen suit and plum coloured high heeled court shoes. Her long straight blond hair was parted at the centre and dangling ear rings occasionally peeped out. She had full feminine lips, painted with a ruby red. She also had very, very long square cut, French polished finger nails. I remarked on her beautiful nails and she responded that when one never has to lift a finger in house or garden or supermarket, it was easy to maintain long nails.  Helen had a full figure, unlike my slim athletic body, but it filled her fitted suit with very attractive feminine curves.

Once the tea was finished Helen and I retired to the sofa in the drawing room, each with a glass of chilled white wine. Alice was instructed to stand with her nose against the wall. The sun continued to shine in through the freshly cleaned windows and occasionally bird song filled a momentary pause in our conversation.  I grinned wickedly and asked Helen if she would like some live entertainment. Alice let out a quiet sigh of despair. Helen looked at him smiling cruelly and said that some entertainment sounded like a wonderful idea.

‘Well Alice, go upstairs and get changed. I want Belinda Jane standing in front of me in five minutes. And she had better have her dummy in her mouth and be holding her dolly, if she knows what’s good for her. Oh and I think a pair of your plain pink school girl knickers. ’ Alice hesitated with head bowed.

‘Don’t hesitate Alice, off you go, or would you like some more of the tawse to help you along your way?’ Alice looked imploringly at me and I returned a cruel resolute stare. He could see there was to be no mercy and so he curtseyed and reluctantly left the room.

After six minutes I headed off towards the stairs to find the overdue Belinda Jane. I found him in the hall. He was properly dressed and ready but he had not had the courage to actually enter the room looking as he did. I just laughed and began to lead him by his wrist towards the lounge. He asked if he could go to the toilet but, with malice aforethought, I said it would not be fair to delay Helen’s entertainment any longer.

Belinda Jane was actually trembling with humiliation as he stood in front of his smiling, laughing tormentors while Helen commented on how utterly ridiculous he looked. Despite imploring looks for mercy to me, I made him perform several nursery rhymes, with actions including Little Bo Peep and Little Miss Muffett while Helen and I both laughed loudly and cruelly. He then received three with the tawse to the back of each thigh for failing to lisp a few words and so he then had to repeat the rhymes again. He was utterly crushed by the end of his performance. All pride and resistance eradicated. I stood and advised Helen I would only be a minute and walked out of the room. As I was leaving I had to smile as I heard Helen harshly instructing Belinda Jane to get his chin up off his chest, look her in the eye, and describe to her in fine detail what he was wearing, without forgetting to lisp. 

I returned with two jugs full of liquid, a baby’s feeding cup and a folded towel. Belinda Jane gasped and whispered,

‘Pleath no Mithtreth, pleath, pleath.’

‘Silence Belinda, you will speak when you are spoken to.’ Helen looked confused realising the items signalled something dreadful for Belinda Jane but not knowing what that was.

I explained to Helen that the large jug contained cold water and the smaller my fresh urine. I then went on to explain that Belinda Jane would be performing another little act for us that afternoon. I placed the folded towel on the slate floor in front of the sofa and instructed a, now close to tears, Belinda to stand on it. I then filled the feeding cup with two thirds water, one third urine and passed it to Belinda who, knowing the ritual that he must follow, reluctantly began to consume its contents. The feeding cup is actually for use by dementia suffers and purchased by me on the internet. Using dishwasher proof glass paint, I had bitch-boy paint on some pretty hearts and sweet teddy bears to my exacting specification.  The feeding bottle was refilled again and again ………..

EXCERPT 2     ……. When there are physical chores to be done, one of the roles I like to employ for bitch-boy is that of sub human slave. This is akin to a theme of slaves in Roman times. After breakfast and a shower I announced to bitch-boy that I required use of the sub-human slave. He looked frightened and so he should. I like my sub-human slave to experience the most degrading and menial drudgery and harsh punishment for infractions. It gives me a very pleasurable feeling of extreme superiority to generate and sustain such a marked difference in our status.

I had him strip naked except for the penis restraint which is padlocked through his frenum piercing. I fitted on him a heavy leather collar and wrist cuffs and padlocked each in place. Finally I made him put on a pair of dark brown gladiator sandals. I was wearing olive coloured, very tight, jodhpurs, tucked into brown high heeled boots. I also wore an expensive cream silk blouse, tucked into the jodhpurs. I wore a belt of wide chain loops and I stored several small padlocks, with their keys, in some of the belt loops. My hair was pulled back into a ponytail and I dripped with jewellery.

I always start a sub-human slave period with a deterrent whipping. Secured over my dining table, I swished my long, thin crop through the air a few times, watching for the faintest twitch from him in response. I allowed the crop to hang from my wrist by its handle loop of soft leather.
 ‘You are a slave with no name until I tell you otherwise. Your slave number is 721.’ I lifted his head by the hair and, with a marker pen, I wrote the numbers onto his forehead. I also wrote the numbers onto his right forearm.
 ‘So, slave 721, I need to ensure obedience from your servitude and I am going to do so by whipping you now, a deterrent whipping, so that you will know what to expect should you be foolish enough as to transgress.’  He uttered the first syllable of a begging word and in a shout I cut him dead.
 ‘Silence! You never, ever speak unless directly ordered to do so! For that impertinence, you will receive a punishment whipping directly after your deterrent whipping.’ After about ten minutes of whipping he was whimpering. I paused.
 ‘That was your deterrent punishment. Now it is time for your punishment for speaking without instruction to do so.’ I resumed with the whip. I wanted him in absolutely no doubt as to the consequences of any misconduct or disobedience. I achieved my goal and momentarily studied his bound and sobbing form. The sadistic pleasure from administering the whipping, combined with the image of his misery and with thoughts of the day ahead, filled me with an overwhelming desire for an orgasm. Leaving him where he was, I lowered my jodhpurs and sat in a comfortable chair out of his sight, but within earshot and I brought myself quickly, to a wonderful orgasm. I lazed in the afterglow for a while studying the red marks on his rump. Having fully recovered, I released him from his bonds and while doing so reminded him that I was an unashamed sadist and he would do well to remember that when conducting himself in his drudgery.

I set him to work with a bowl of water with a little detergent and a small toothbrush cleaning the slate floor of the kitchen. I knew from experience that this would take him at least two hours to do properly. From time to time, during the several, lengthy enjoyable phone calls I made in that time, I wandered around the room in which he worked, my heels clicking ominously with each step. I ignored him completely. I was pleased to observe that his fear of me ensured that he simply continued his tedious task without a pause. At the end of the morning I urinated in a jug and instructed him to crawl after me as I led him to the patio, just outside the back door. A low bright sun occasionally peeped between the fast moving clouds. I told him to kneel facing me, hands behind his back. He noticed the jug and looked most disconcerted. I knew he knew what it contained. Without further ado, I very slowly poured the contents of the jug over his head. The momentary scent of ammonia drifted away in the breeze as a squall of dry brown leaves rustled as they circled in the corner of the patio before settling on the flagstones when the breeze faded away.
 ‘You can kneel there until you dry.’ I left him outside in the stiff October wind for five minutes and then had him crawl back to the kitchen to resume his floor cleaning; now smelling slightly of my precious nectar, which had dried on him apart from his still wet hair which was yet to dry. The repetitive, back and forth, brushing sound of the toothbrush being worked over the slate floor slabs filled me with cruel satisfaction and amusement as I relaxed on the sofa flicking through a magazine……….. END OF EXCERPTS