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

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10 Responses to Two exerpts from my published journals

  1. he is a most blessed slave indeed!

  2. BraceletMe says:

    Mistress Scarlet, I came across your blog recently and have to say you really are amazing and awe-inspiring (to use one of your words). You are a great writer and I absolutely love how passionate you are in your use and training of bitchboy – how I wish there were others like you. I’m going to go back and make a few comments – starting from the beginning – I’m hoping you and other might see them.

    “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.” That is my favorite comment from this particular entry – you get such pleasure out of subjecting him to such degradation! I wouldn’t normally want to submit to such drudgery myself but I believe I would think differently with a superior such as yourself!

    • I would be happy to receive your comments.

      Obviously he does not want to submit to the drudgery which is one reason I get pleasure from making him. There is a fascinating phenomenon associated with extended periods of very harsh drudgery-domination backed up my frequent painful punishment. After three or four hours of this, bitch-boy’s sense of reality clearly becomes distorted. He seems to drop into a false reality where he truly accepts that his status is as low as it can be and very harsh treatment and drudgery is the totality of appropriate existence for him. Not that this helps him come to terms with the pain, drudgery and unfairness of my punishments and demands.

      It can be argued that through my years of conditioning, he is now always in a level of false reality, and I would not disagree. But this is different and deeply profound.

      Once I have him in this state however, I find I just get more pleasure and become even more harsh and unfair. I often wonder what would happen if I were to keep in this profound false reality for many days on the trot. Something I may experiment with during our next holiday.

  3. BraceletMe says:

    Mistress Scarlet, what an honest thrill for me that you felt my comment worthy of such a detailed reply! If you seem to be enjoying my comments, I will be having quite a bit more to say and will eventually work my way through all of your entries.

    That must be a tremendous feeling for both of you when you force him into such punishing servitude for an extended period of time. He would probably hate it while he was experiencing it but at the same time he would be loving the thrilling satisfaction he knew you were getting from it, which would further make him feel that he was exactly where he belonged. And the whole thing is made even better that even after you’ve driven him so low, you become more and more unfair (and by then, he wouldn’t even feel that you were being unfair!), making him feel even more sad for disappointing you and making him feel sorry for himself! If it was me, by the end of it, I would be desperately hoping for just the smallest bit of appreciation from you, not to receive it would probably be more crushing than the whole rest of the experience.

    On a personal note, I have to confess that your blog has had quite an effect on me (and I haven’t even read it in full detail yet), Mistress Scarlet. I have been into female domination for over thirty years (I’m fifty years old and looking to retire this year) and don’t believe I’ve ever come across a Mistress as passionate about and who seems to get so much enjoyment training a male. How couldn’t a slave feel that he ought to be serving and doing whatever was required to please you, even suffering to a certain extent, after you had gotten hold of him? I mean, c’mon, this drudgery training (very boring, of course) has to be about the last thing any male would want to submit to and that’s not even taking into account being put under the crop at the same time but the way you go about it with such an intense purpose, makes it obvious to me how very lucky bitch-boy is. I am sure an extended period of this, the longest ever, would make him appreciate you that much more.

    If you were to ask him, I wonder if he would fall helplessly to his knees begging for such an opportunity?

    I will leave it at that, actually was planning on commenting on the next suitable blog entry (along with throwing in a little more of my own story, such as it is or isn’t) but not sure if my own passionate interest in yourself and your exploits might possibly make you uncomfortable. Hopefully not – you simply leave me feeling compelled to write!

    So, I will wait to hear a few thoughts as you feel appropriate and will then proceed (or not), accordingly.

    • He would never beg for one of the lengthy extreme servitude periods – they are so harsh and also mostly mind numbingingly tedious because of the nature and extent of the chores. However, during one, once he is driven down to a false reality, he would never think of begging for it to stop. Firstly I guess because he knows his begging would fall upon deaf ears. Secondly I believe, perhaps subconsciously, his submissive soul is at its most secure place.

      Your passionate interest in me and my exploits does not make me feel uncomfortable.

  4. Goddess' -pet (westfal) says:

    very interesting mental/psychological concept which you use to frame bb’s captivity=’ false reality’, as once you have set that up for him, and with him as originally no doubt he was an enthusiastic co-conspiritor in it !, then it seems to facilitate whatever cruelties and degradations you wish to impose on him, almost like a stockholm syndrom- Mistress Scarlett style!

  5. Goddess' -pet (westfal) says:

    yes, and that perhaps explains how it is so effective as it continually builds on deepening and expanding his subjugation along the lines of 2-3 steps forward/deeper and no steps back!

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