Monthly Archives: March 2011

The deceptive tempation – reality is not like fantasy

On the journey to my absolute power over bitch-boy, we would often read posts and articles from the web, describing absolute power relationships. Again and again, the warning would sing out loud – reality is not like fantasy. The effect of this phrase on bitch-boy and on any sub is to fuel the fire of surrender, despite its simple factual accuracy.

Now, bitch-boy so regrets that he will never fuck again, that he cums rarely and often in very humiliating and or painful circumstances. That he does all the housework, the grocery shopping, the laundry, that he is cuckolded, that he is regularly, harshly punished. He whines to wind the clock back and I remind him of the many times we read that phrase – reality is not like fantasy. He was excited by the phrase; but he had his chance. I enjoy my life far too much to wind back the clock. I am sure however that in the deepest recesses of his submissive soul, his life under my complete control satiates him absolutely, despite all that he has to endure.

Yesterday, for over three hours, I entertained a Mistress as cruel as me. We had not met before. She was simply a perfect kindred spirit and superb in her dominance. bitch-boy suffered new and profound levels of humiliation. My guest and I really enjoyed ourselves and the event will be repeated.

I will publish the warning and paradoxically submissives will respond with excitment – silly creatures – Reality is not like fantasy.

Cuckolded Again

It was my turn to host my ladyfriend overnight yesterday. I had bitch-boy working very, very hard all day until the house was spotlessly clean and tidy. New linen on the bed, food prepared. I then sent him off to a very cheap hotel, all locked up in his chastity tube – 15 days since he last came.

The bottle of champagne I shared with my ladyfriend cost more than his nasty little hotel room!

I have lots to tell him about the sexual pleasures I enjoyed.

My 2nd journal published on

The second set of extracts from my diaries has been published on as a paperback or download (download option is on the right of the Lulu screen). Here are two excerpts.


Having finished a second cup of tea, I rose and slipped on my dressing gown and bitch-boy knelt, and guided my feet into my slippers which are four inch heeled, black mules; each decorated with a little tuft of black ostrich feather. I proceeded to dress bitch-boy in his black and white maid’s uniform. I chose his black Mary Jane shoes which have one inch heels and his white ankle socks topped with a lacy frill. Over his uniform I fitted him into his cream, full length PVC apron. It has masses of large PVC frills over the shoulders and at the hem. I pulled his auburn bob-style wig onto his head and topped that off with a little black and white maid’s hat. I applied shiny, plum coloured lipstick to his sullenly pouting lips, a lime green eye shadow fully up to his eye brows and the coup de grace, a pair of one-inch-long false eyelashes, obtained from an on-line fancy-dress party site. As always he begged momentarily before the application of the lipstick, the eye shadow and the eye lashes. As always I ignored his begging completely. He whines to me, from time to time, that the false eye lashes are constantly in his field of vision. I love that thought! He is short and stout in build and he had one day’s growth of beard on his face. The result is that he cannot, in any way, try to hide in the guise of a real woman. He is clearly, exactly as I desire, a man dressed against his wishes as a maid. He is no transvestite and hates being dressed as a maid.

I led him to stand in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom and I sat on the bed, at his side.

            ‘Look at yourself in the mirror. What do you look like? You’re pathetic aren’t you; allowing your wife to dress you like this. How ridiculous do you look? But you got yourself into this position didn’t you. Wanting to play some bedroom games of domination and submission; and look where it’s ended up.’ I finished my diatribe with a question spat out with aggression.

            ‘You look utterly ridiculous don’t you?’

            ‘Yes Mistress.’ He answered quietly and emotionally, looking down at the floor. I continued with my hostile onslaught.

And I hope you know that I love this life. I love having you as my slave and toy. I am going to look after you carefully and I am never going to let you go. You know that don’t you?’

            ‘Yes Mistress.’

I instructed him to return to looking at his reflection and I continued my verbal assault for a few more minutes; pointing out and ridiculing various elements of his outfit and make-up. I had him watch himself curtsey, on my demand, several times. Satisfied that I had debased him sufficiently to ensure an obedient, docile state, I turned him to face me.

            ‘Now little Alice, here is your list of chores. You will dust the whole house, vacuum the whole house, polish the mirrors and tidy the kitchen.’ I ran my eyes over his chore timing list.

‘Those chores should take you one hour and twenty five minutes.’ I should explain, dear reader, that I have watched him while I timed him, carrying out every chore in every room and, so now, when I give him a chore to do, I know exactly how long it should take him. So there is no chance of him grabbing a sly break when I am not monitoring him.

‘Now, before you start I think a deterrent punishment would be a good idea. You have a hard day ahead of you and I want to ensure you know what will happen if you are slow to obey or you are indolent.’ He looked at me with a meek expression as he spoke timidly.

‘Oh Mistress; I do already know what will happen if I am slow to obey or indolent, and I promise I will not be.’ I responded calmly and quietly.

That’s as maybe, but a deterrent punishment can never be a bad thing can it? Particularly as it will give me pleasure; now get in position.’ After I had given him 20 with the wooden paddle and 20 medium strokes with the cane, I had him commence his chores while I first got dressed, and then relaxed reading the papers, having made a note of the time he began his chores. I wore very tight low cut jeans and a cropped T-shirt exposing my flat stomach and the tops of my hip bones. Four inch heeled, black, pointed-toed boots on my feet. My hair was in a pony tail and I wore full make-up. As always when not in my direct control, he wore his penis tube, locked in place through his penis frenum piercing. [His chastity device and regime are fully described in the 3 September 2005 entry in volume 1.]

One hour and twenty three minutes later he presented himself in front of me indicating his chores were completed.

            ‘All done pansy?’

            ‘Yes Mistress.

            ‘Good. Well let’s check the vacuuming and dusting shall we?’ He looked miserable at the prospect of my checking. I cuffed his wrists behind him and attached a dog’s leash to the ring through his clitty piercing. As we walked from room to room, the scent of fresh polish filled the air, together with the sound of the heels of my boots clicking on the hard floor surfaces. I ran my finger over a good sample of the dusted surfaces. I found dust on the top of some candle holders and on a section of woodwork on the stairs. Both times, I presented the line of dust on my finger to his face to indicate the evidence and then wiped the finger across his tongue, to clean the dust from my finger. Every time I found a small speck of detritus on the floor; that was also deposited on his tongue. Each time his tongue was employed he pulled a revolted face which amused me greatly, as it always does. At the end of the inspection I totted up the demerits for the infractions and he was duly bent over to receive 25 with the cane. The peace and quiet of my cottage momentarily shattered by the sound of cane striking flesh and bitch-boy begging and pleading and gasping. If he thought his chores were over he was wrong.

            ‘Now bitch-boy, I want you to clean the bathroom, and the toilet needs to be clean enough to eat your food from, if you know what I mean.’ I smiled wickedly as his begging began. He knew exactly what I meant and was very unhappy.

            ‘Please no Mistress, please not that, please?’

            ‘There is no negotiation; you know I enjoy feeding you that way. Now go and get on with it. You have 17 minutes.’

16 minutes later he again presented himself in front of me, indicating his latest chore was completed. The inspection regime was again followed but this time I found no fault. I instructed him to prepare and serve my lunch. While I ate my lunch, he knelt at my side on a square of coir matting with his nose pressed to the wall and arms folded behind his back. He pleaded not to have to kneel on the coir matting which he advised me was very, very painful. I responded that that was the point of it. When I had finished my lunch and he had tidied things away, I instructed him to join me in the bathroom, after collecting a tea spoon and a tub of black cherry yoghurt from the kitchen. As he turned to do so, he let out a deathly sigh and his chin dropped to his chest.


You’re right Nadine; it is far from neat. It’s almost as though the creature has deliberately dissented.’ Bitch-boy emitted a whispered and drawn out ‘please’, his expression now filled with anguish. I ignored him and continued speaking.

I would say it warrants 12 from you with the cane; would you agree?’ Nadine’s eyes sparkled as she looked down at the bound toy at her feet. We both knew that 12 strokes was quite an excessive amount of strokes for this largely fabricated infraction. Particularly as we also both knew, although he did not, that he had 50 strokes still to come. She looked down at him as she responded.

‘Oh yes, I agree; 12 strokes from me’. Her tone moved to callous.

‘Forehead to the floor bitch!’ With bitch-boy appropriately positioned she took her time delivering the 12 strokes and they were very hard strokes. I watched with a mixture of fascination and satisfaction; observing the unashamed cruelty and pleasure in Nadine’s eyes. I became very aroused. From the third to the last stroke bitch-boy repeatedly whispered begging entreaties for the punishment to cease, but of course he was ignored. In response to each of the last five strokes his legs wriggled pitifully which for some reason always turns me on. He was very close to tears by the end, occasionally emitting little sobbing noises. Following the last stroke, Nadine looked at me and her smile revealed excitement and pleasure. She returned to stand next to me with an arm around my waist as before. While we both looked down at the distressed bitch-boy, we whispered an exchange too quiet for bitch-boy to hear. She spoke first.

Aren’t I becoming naughty, and I’m really horny now.’

‘So am I, whatever you are turning into, I approve.’

‘Let’s get upstairs I want to cum.’

‘Just hold on for five minutes darling.’ I squeezed her and she reciprocated. I bent and grasped bitch-boy’s hair, pulling him into an upright kneeling position.

Shall we see if you get to have that lovely orgasm?’ Reaching down I removed the masking tape from the padlock on his restraint tube. The nail varnish marks were composed of a very dark plum coloured dot followed by a candy apple pink dot. He quickly scanned the keys laid out in front of him. After a few seconds I spoke with mock sympathy, as though talking to a young child.

Oh dear, little maggot, you obviously failed to find the correct key. A chance of a lovely 20 fingered, lubricated climax, relieving you of all that pent up sexual frustration. But you did not work hard enough did you?’ bitch-boy let out a series of sobbing, sighing noises. I ignored his noises and spoke again.

Now ironically, Nadine and I both feel the need for some wonderful sexual release. So we are going up to bed and you can make your way up the stairs after us, with your funny, silly crawling style, and you can kneel in front of the closed bedroom door and listen to the sounds of satisfying sex, just so you do not forget what that sounds like, because it will be at least a week before any such sounds are emitted by you won’t it. And oh yes, when we are fully satisfied, you have got 50 more cane strokes to look forward to haven’t you.’ He miserably looked up at the two smiling amused, cruel and contented faces above him, first Nadine and then me. There was a look of heartfelt pleading in his eyes, but I also caught the look of awe and wonderment that our ruthless decadent cruelty and lesbian sexual excess had created in his submissive, sexually frustrated soul as he looked up at the beauty of the women towering above him and the full injustice of the ramifications of my words sunk in. As Nadine and I turned to leave him to slowly and laboriously follow us on his knees, in his bondage, Nadine surprised me yet again by raising her foot to his ribs and pushing him awkwardly over with the sole of her shoe. He cried out as his shoulder hit the floor; more in shock than pain. I laughed as I spoke.

What are you turning into you little devil.’ She smiled broadly in response, raising her eyebrows impishly. As we reached the top of the stairs, I could hear bitch-boy, downstairs, begin his slow shuffle to our bedroom door.        

Three quarters of an hour later, Nadine and I opened the bedroom door having dressed ourselves after our noisy, naked, utterly satisfying lovemaking. On the occasions when we know the desperate, denied bitch-boy can hear us, each of us does seem to make even more noise than normal during orgasm. I think this is partly because it is fun to do so, thinking of how it makes it worse for poor bitch-boy, but there is also an element of increased spiteful arousal while experiencing an orgasm, (or three), in such circumstances. Bitch-boy looked up at us, now clearly very uncomfortable in the bondage he had been enduring for nearly two and a half hours. His expression was forlorn and beseeching. A thrill of power and yet more arousal coursed through me as I thought about how pitiless I was, given I now intended he should receive his 50 cane strokes for wasting our time.

            ‘Time for 50 strokes of the cane isn’t it bitch-boy?’ He began to whine.

            ‘Please, please Mistress. Please no more, please, please no more tonight, please Mistress, please.’ I ignored his whining. I knew it was episodes like this one tonight, when I continued his mistreatment past when he was already broken and exhausted, that in the weeks and months to come, he would look back on and then hold me in deepest awe. I spoke as though making a reasoned argument, one equal to another.

            ‘But bitch-boy, where would we all be if you were due a punishment and it was not delivered. We would have anarchy. We would have a breakdown of order and discipline. You know I can never, and will never, allow that.’ He responded timidly as he looked at the floor in front of my shoes.

            ‘Please Mistress, you could give me the strokes another time, please.’ I looked towards Nadine and she adopted a bemused expression and shook her head from side to side.

            ‘It has to be tonight bitch-boy because Nadine is off on a shoot tomorrow morning and she really does want to deliver half the strokes as it was her time as well as mine that you wasted earlier.’ Nadine made a sound of agreement and smiled. Bitch-boy began to breathe with short panting sounds, obviously distressed but resolved to his fate.

After some discussion we decided that bitch-boy should receive half the strokes, then spend some time in the corner and then receive the remaining strokes. Given Nadine and I both wanted to share equally in the task at hand over two sessions, a number of strokes divisible by four was needed, so the 50 was increased to 52, allowing each of us to deliver a set of 13 strokes before the corner time and then another set of 13 after it.

Bitch-boy now had the demeanour of a living mannequin, following orders and being pulled this way and that with no resistance at all. He was secured bent over the end of the dining table. Wrists bound behind his back. Nadine is left handed and so we stood either side of his taught arse and delivered alternate strokes with about a 30 second gap between each stroke. He was sobbing after the first stroke and actually crying properly after the seventh. I realised I was becoming aroused again and I could see Nadine was as well; her eyes sparkling with exhilaration. Each of the three of us was experiencing extremes of emotion. I knew the subjugating effect of this caning, following the earlier events of the evening, would be excellent for bitch-boy’s conditioning and would stay with him for weeks, or even months, to come. His arse took on a deep red hue and the skin hardened with the assault. At the end of the 26, after he tearfully thanked, first Nadine; and then me, for taking the time to make him a better slave, he was released and pulled by his ear to stand in the corner of the sitting room, his arms folded behind his back. Nadine and I sat on the sofa with refreshed drinks and chatted for twenty minutes about the DVD recently watched. Then it was time for the second set of 26 strokes.

These were delivered as before and produced the same response in all three of us; tears for bitch-boy, arousal for Nadine and arousal and satisfaction for me. At the conclusion, in accordance with his training, bitch-boy, between sobs, thanked each of us in turn for taking the time to make him a better slave. This time though I had him kiss our shoes as he thanked each of us. He appeared to do so with the utmost veneration. I then announced that Nadine and I were retiring to bed for more orgasms and then sleep. I instructed him to tidy the sitting room and kitchen, stow away the bondage and discipline items that had been used and then he could go to bed, having set his alarm to wake his Mistresses with tea and toast at 7:30am the next morning. I had one more thing to mention as he knelt before us; utterly broken and compliant.

            ‘Oh and don’t think that you might find the key to your padlock while you tidy away the keys around the house. I have just realised that it is in my purse in my bedroom. It’s been there all the time. Never mind hey bitch-boy, no one ever said your life serving me would be fair did they?’ I smiled broadly and Nadine chuckled as we turned and headed to the bedroom, leaving bitch-boy kneeling on the floor, shoulders hunched low, his chin resting on his chest, breathing shallowly and looking like he might burst into tears again.