bitch-boy suffers through Coronavirus

No! bitch-boy has not contracted the virus. We are both safe and well. (Perhaps it is wrong to say safe in bitch-boy’s case; as he is not safe from me and my depravities!)

As you all know neither him nor I work and my home is in the deepest countryside. Coronavirus is spreading fast now in the UK and I have decided we shall self isolate for a few weeks. I will not allow bitch-boy to leave the home at all, (I am so protective of him), and I will not socialise other than by phone and I will do all my yoga and exercise at home.

What this means is day after day, I will be full-on dominating my poor puppet. No respite from my presence. Far from being a miserable, boring incarceration for me, it is a little adventure for me, an opportunity, and for him! All those hours, day after day! Imagine the durations of sensory deprivation bondage possibilities. Imagine all those hours and hours of games that he will play with his dollies. And it is so good that the stinging nettles have just had their first use of 2020; and there are huge patches of young shoots on the surrounding land. Imagine my orgasm count!

So it is certainly the case that my very fit and healthy little puppet will be suffering as a result of Coronavirus!

Oh he so HATES being set off on two hours of colouring-in with dolly. Imagine when that is day after day after day, no days off while I am out anymore. Or not being set off on two hours of colouring-in with dolly, but five hours, or eight hours! And the same again the next day. ( It has been fascinating in the last few months to learn that all Dommes in long term relationships relish enforcing the misery of tedium on their puppets. It may be endless chores, or endless writing lines sitting as a desk dressed as a schoolgirl,  or sent out to do a menial, degrading job to earn a little extra money, to be frittered away in seconds by their Domme on some decadent treat.)

And its not just colouring-in, there is Dolly Potty Time, Reciting nursery rhymes with actions to his dollies, playing outdoors with dollies in the pushchair, Potty /Heels dilemma time, etc, etc,

And the terrible burdens of choice us poor Dommes must cope with! If I have him in sensory deprivation bondage for five or six hours:

CHOICE 1; do I have him in his penis restraint and diaper him with lockable plastic panties over the diapers, (with lots of ‘liquid’ and piss ice chunks to be consumed, and perhaps tip a jug of my piss into his diaper before I secure it.

OR,

CHOICE 2;  do I leave his birth defect exposed so I can visit from very hour or two to apply nettles or Linnex? And then listen on the baby monitor downstairs to the miserable whimpering?

The tough choices us poor Dommes have to make! Really! How do we cope?

 

My 16th journal –  LINK

 

13 thoughts on “bitch-boy suffers through Coronavirus

  1. Hi! First of two posts
    A red bulb in a otherwise pitch dark room conceals the true colour of crayons etc. Leads to a lot mistakes and the need to repeat endlessly, and impossibly,until the task is done properly. It reduces smallbear to tears of frustration at the drudgery and all the lost “privileges” it costs him!

  2. Hi! Second of two.
    Still working out the detail but I might treat smallbear as if he had the virus, keeping him locked in his isolation room, window blackout board in place.
    Only seeing me in “full protection”-I could improvise with his hooded rainsuit, wellies, thick pvc gloves and a respirator-faceless, remote and anonymous.
    No sense of time, the same totally bland meal served randomly and nothing to do but one of our drudgery tasks, deprived of any pleasure from my brief presence.

  3. Ms Scarlet…. the recent & ongoing events did indeed have me thinking of such an outcome for not only b-b, but all FemDom/sub led relationships. It is indeed a positive approach to an otherwise negative situation. Enjoy !

  4. My dear Mistress Scarlet

    What a pleasure to read about such a caring and healthy ménage, chez Scarlet! An inspiring vision of how we can look after one another and preserve our values – a ray of hope, in these dark times. I imagine you have already given bb whatever treatment you decided upon for his five or six hour treat, so there is little point in voting, but my own view is that being such a creative and generous lady, my dear, you will have found some clever way of giving him the benefit of both.

    Our own domestic situation is – as so often – parallel to yours. We live on the outskirts of a smallish town near a forest. Skivvy has for some years been working from home for three days a week, at the job he hates (and I love for all the money it brings in). We have also for some years been dreaming of the day when the teleworking can become full-time and we can finally dispose of the ridiculous disguise he puts on to pretend to be a ‘responsible adult man’ when he goes into the city. Well, that day has come – although for all our sakes I hope only temporarily, on this occasion, so the business suit and other long trousers have a stay of execution and will hang in the cupboard unworn, rather than being ceremonially burnt.

    Like you, I am particularly concerned for my boy’s health in these difficult times. Accordingly, I have increased his daily exercise routine, including a good run of six circuits around the garden each day. Naturally, he does not over-dress for that, or he would miss out on all the benefit. It is still rather cold, even in this unseasonably warm March, so I take the opportunity to warm his backside with a good hard swing of the leather strap, as he comes puffing past the back door to our cottage. The warming effect is noticeable and he is always profusely grateful.

    Diet is also very important, to fight off infection. We visited our local supermarket where a lot of people were stocking up on the necessities. No panic-buying as such, but I did notice that toilet paper was going fast. Fortunately, I have skivvy as an alternative and he himself can always use newspapers or just wash with water from the garden hose, so we have no worries on that score. People were going for dried pasta and rice, as well as many tinned items, but I noticed to my delight that the tinned spinach was almost untouched. When I pointed that out to skivvy and ordered him to load up the trolley, he looked aghast – perhaps feeling guilt for denying our fellow townspeople their share of this most nutritious of vegetables! As I said, though, no one else seems to want it (I can understand that: it tastes foul and you won’t catch me eating it) so we loaded up and now my little Popeye gets a whole slimy can every day for his breakfast, to keep him healthy and strong for all his chores.

    As I said, skivvy was already working from home three days each week, so the closure of his office (from this coming Monday – but he was last in on Thursday) will make less difference to us than to others. His work consists of playing around incomprehensibly (but very lucratively!) with numbers, along with numerous calls, emails and – in normal circumstances – meetings with colleagues and clients who believe he is an adult male, although perhaps rather an odd and reclusive one.
    We are all set up for teleworking. They say it’s important to work in an environment set up professionally, exactly as if one was in the office, so that is what he does. Well… in part.

    He has a dedicated study, with a desk in the middle under which sits a computer and on which stands a ridiculously large curvy screen. He also has a printer and so on… as I said, all set up for a fully professional working day. The Internet connection is good (we are rural but not remote – France is like that) so he can make videocalls with reasonable quality. On the walls behind him are some shelves with investor reports and suchlike, and a video caller would be able to see part of the window and the outdoors beyond.

    What such a caller would not see, of course, is the other wall. The wall skivvy faces and can see, around the massive screen, while he works. That wall might look a little odd to someone not familiar with a healthily tyrannical domestic lifestyle. There is a rack and from the rack hangs a row of implements: some made of leather, some of wood. All rather unpleasant-looking, at least to a prospective recipient! There is a whiteboard, with lines forming a table permanently marked across it. This contains various notes, (smudged from being frequently erased and followed by new notes being added) such as ‘morning tea too cold Tues’ or ‘sulky look Tues eve’, then numbers. That might be a little hard for an outsider to interpret, my dear, but I am sure you and your readers will understand perfectly well and understand, also, the feelings skivvy is likely to experience when confronted with it in his direct line of sight, throughout his long working day. More positively, there is a large photographic portrait of me, with a wooden object below it. It is a kneeling board, that I was able to obtain from a church that had decided to go all happy-clappy and coffee morning and no longer saw a need for an item created to allow worshipers to spend hours on their knees in devotion. I most certainly did, so I bought it, the unnecessary padding came off, the hard kneeling board was beautifully varnished and it once again serves its original purpose, albeit for the worship of a rather different deity than the male Christian God.

    They also say that it is important to dress as you would in the office. Again, that is what skivvy does. Well… again, in part.

    His top half is thoroughly business-like. He wears a freshly-ironed shirt, suit jacket and tie. Actually, that is rather unnecessary, even when physically in the office, because most workers dress down except for client meetings. However, I insist on the old-fashioned formalities so he wears a suit and tie every day to the office and his co-workers consider him to be a bit of a weirdo. They find it particularly ridiculous that he maintains the same dress code for teleworking. I expect they laugh about him, together, when he is not there. Lovely thought. So, he sits there, dressed for a 1950s office, doing his thing with maths and money. Whatever that is. I have no reason to care, as long as the pay-checks and bonuses arrive.

    His top half is thoroughly business-like, yes. But not the rest. Round about his stomach – below the sight line of the camera – things get a little more… interesting. The shirt and the jacket both simply stop, cut raggedly about a quarter metre below his tie. Beneath them a rather fearsome leather corset is visible. It must be most uncomfortable but it is always on, during working hours. The little padlocks see to that. And this same device keeps him sitting smartly to attention all day, because at the back his jacket and shirt also have large missing areas, to enable the corset to be attached in several places to the traditional wooden chair on which he sits. It holds his shoulders loosely pinned back (not too tight, he needs to be able to type) and then a series of straps run down the uprights of the chair back, keeping the whole ensemble perfectly rigid. Each morning before work, I strap him into it (it remains attached to the chair), then secure the whole ensemble with one little padlock, the key to which I put on the edge of his desk. He cannot quite reach it, from his immobile position (the chair legs are permanently fastened to the floor). He can very, very nearly reach that key, but not quite. So, it sits there, tantalisingly near, until I decide it is time for him to finish work. To finish paid work, that is. Plenty more work to do after that.

    Further down, skivvy’s ensemble becomes still more bizarre. Thick scratchy woollen stockings in summer, bare shaved legs in winter. Feet strapped into a pair of low-heeled ankle boots that are… goodness, are they nailed to the floor? Yes, they are. That must become rather frustrating after a few hours. And between the waist and the legs an extraordinary bulging item of pink and white, all made from thick rubber. The pants are tightly elasticated at the waist and legs and occasionally I reinforce that with masking tape. Because within those rubber pants things get quite unpleasant over the course of a long working day and we don’t want any nasty smells – or worse – leaking out. I don’t suppose skivvy’s co-workers ever wonder why he does not take bathroom breaks when he works from home. Of course he does, although without the ‘break’ as such: he just then has to sit in it. There is a padded nappy inside but not one of those awful modern ones, with absorbent linings that keep the skin dry and fresh no matter how much is poured into it! No: this is a thick square of towelling material that gets thoroughly soaked and remains wet and – if skivvy fails to hold it in – slimy and sticky all day. It takes some cleaning, but we have set up a tin bath in the shed at the end of the garden for that, so skivvy diligently scrubs it under the cold tap at the end of each day, his incentive to get on with it reinforced by the way his bare, cold, still wet bottom is exposed to the March elements while he does so, with no warmth whatsoever provided by the steel contraption around his waist! It is rather old-fashioned, I’ll admit, but I’m nostalgic like that. Sometimes it causes skivvy the most terrible nappy rash. It makes the areas betwen his bottom and legs awfully sore, the poor thing. Ah well, can’t be helped.

    And so: we intend to keep calm and carry on, my dear Mistress Scarlet! Cannot abandon the important things in life, just because the world is collapsing around us. ‘Keep buggering on’ as Winston Churchill used to say: a precept I intend to put directly into effect as soon as I finish this letter. Skivvy is even now kneeling between my legs, using his lips gently to cover the tip of my strap-on with lubricant. Not too, much, skivvy, or you won’t feel it properly, will you?

    It’s so nice to have him around all day, every day. I know some wives dread the prospect of their husbands just hanging around the house, but I think this could bring us closer together than ever before. It must be so nice for him not to have any human contact except with me, the only person in the world who knows exactly how he needs to be treated, all the time. He is delighted with the arrangements of course, and spent two hours on his knees before my portrait yesterday evening, reciting various gratitude prayers.

    I am sure your bitch boy is suitably thankful too, for the extra attention you are paying him, my dear.

    Yours in sincere sisterhood

    Lady Jessica

    1. We certainly do have a lot in common! Given he has to work while under your ‘care’, you have certainly made sure he stays aware of how his partial pretence of being a real man, is nothing more than a partial pretence.

      bitch-boy, and I have to say myself too, are experiencing quite extreme emotions each day. Mine are rather more pleasant than his though.

  5. Lady Jessica I love that you have skivvy wear scratchy woolen stockings in the summer. But I was wondering if you have considered making the wretch wear scratchy itchy clothing at other times- wooly panties, itchy wool skirts , sweaters etc. If, by chance, you have read any of the comments I have sent to Scarlet, you may recognize that I make my sissy husband; pussie, dress at all times in the itchy uncomfortable “girly” outfits. I do so to make sure pussie is constantly reminded of its status as a lowly sissy.
    Carla

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