Tag Archives: CBT

Stomping Stage photos and videos

24 June 2021

I have made frequent references to how, on the rare occasions bitch-boy gets to orgasm, it is only ever under the sole of my shoe while he is under the stomping stage. Several times a week, his defect is squashed and kicked and whipped with my flogger while he is under the stomping stage. And on the rare occasions he gets to orgasm, his defect is squashed and kicked and whipped with my flogger, as his ‘foreplay’. I have often wondered if blog followers are clear what is entailed. So;

On Twitter there is a Domme called Jewel who uses her stomping stage in a lot of her videos and I provide a link here to a time she gives her slave an orgasm in the manner I do. Jewel does sometimes have her slaves balls atop the flogger but I have heard of hospitailsations resulting from stamping on balls so I do not do that. I get all the pleasure I need from what I do do!

There is a further example of a slave being brought to orgasm this way from the BDSMLR site on this link. I do always wear my wedges though. One does not have to pay much attention to aiming, when wearing wedges while squashing a defect, one can even look out of the window or talk on the cell phone. If one wears shoes with soles and heels the defect is able to escape into the gap between sole and heel.

And here is a photo, cropped for decency, of me with my shoe ready to do the deed. Only on that day I didn’t do the deed after all. Poor, poor bitch-boy. (It is now over 15 weeks since his last orgasm!) This link takes you to an uncropped version of the image on my BDSMLR site.

I hope if anyone was confused as to what I was referring, by writing, ‘brought him to orgasm under the sole of shoe on my stomping stage’, that is now clear.

Nurse Nasty’s new brush

17 April 2021

Following a tip from a fellow Domme, I saw this advertised in a magazine and immediately thought it may be a particularly effortlessly effective tool for Nurse Nasty to use during cleaning phases of naughty, little, stiff birth-defects.

It arrived; and holding it in my right hand and using a light scrubbing motion on the underside of my left forearm, certainly gives me the feeling I was right when I saw it. The bristles are quite sharp and It will indeed be a particularly effortlessly VERY effective tool for Nurse Nasty to use.

The underside of my left forearm is where I try most new toys to be used on birth-defects. It is sensitive skin, but perhaps not quite so sensitive as the skin of a birth defect; but I get a good gauge. It’s a while since a fully restrained and gagged bitch-boy, (with legs secured wide apart in the gynecological stirrups), and he has endured a thorough clean and treatment session from Nurse Nasty. And after the thorough cleaning, as the nettles are now at their most stinging this time of year, I think, to start, a herbal, organic nettle ‘treatment’ will be very thoroughly applied after the cleaning; followed by a skin invigorating ruler smacking, then a ‘soothing’ Linnex moisturise. Of course, pleading for the treatments to stop will not be of value because, as we all know; NURSE KNOWS BEST!

During this first treatment session, Nurse Nasty will no doubt have to sit and rest several times, with her Lelo wand in hand, such will be the patient’s whimpering and pleading and sobbing, she will HAVE TO satisfy her own resultant symptoms! While the patient is suffering the Linnex and feeling so very, very sorry for himself, he will be told he is to get a rest of half an hour, to an hour, and then treatment session two will take place; exactly the same as treatment session one. (I do think double-downs are so good for submissives that need to be left in no doubt they are: truly helplessly in the power of a pitiless, cruel dominant! It helps them sleep so soundly at night.) And bitch-boy is SOOOOO lucky to have all this free private health care!

[The double-down concept is included in my published, Addendum No.1. Simply put, a double -down is when a sub is just finishing enduring a particularly tough time and is feeling VERY sorry for himself, the Domme immediately announces there is forthwith to be another very horrible thing for him to endure. No sympathy, no pity – The Double-Down. Regular blog readers may have noticed Christine M frequently uses double-downs and sometimes even triple-downs!]

Making Comments on this post: Comments do not appear on my blog until I have moderated them. Comments that insult anyone will not be published, nor will aggressive comments. A wide range of views is truly welcome, we all have things to learn, however comments will not be published that take a contrary or critical view to any aspect of the post, but fail to explain why this contrary view is held, or fail to address the reasoning set out in the post to which the comment relates. (Such unexplained comments are simply boring.)


A link to all my publications HERE, including:

Unhappy Anniversary

I engaged in a delightful set of email exchanges with Christine M recently, firstly advising me it was an anniversary for her slave-husband David. It was imminently one year since his last orgasm. I will set out the exchange below.

If you have not been following the accounts of Christine regarding adopting a maid’s outfit for David and the development of her chastity release spreadsheet, I suggest you type ‘Christine’ into the search box at top right and a list of relevant posts will be presented.

Hi Scarlet

Well David has gone just over 12-months since his last release! The good news, for him, is that on Sunday 7 March, he will get to draw for a release using our new Chastity Release Spreadsheet. I detailed this in an email a few months ago. Sadly, from his perspective, this allows for an absolute maximum of two releases in the year, and even if the spreadsheet selects a release, it can still be ‘lost’ if he should misbehave!

I have never seen him so desperate to come. He is permanently on edge and I am so enjoying teasing him relentlessly. Given there are only two releases possible each year, he is being positively over-optimistic. He seriously talks as though he will get a release in March! I think he believes I am going to show compassion for the fact that he has been so long without a release, and ‘fix-it’ so he gets one in March. His hopes are totally misplaced, I am as dispassionate as the computer is about his ‘plight’! The soulless, machine-driven, random computer spreadsheet algorithm will be the sole determinant as to when he will get a release.

Poor dear, given I am working him harder than ever and he rarely even gets an erection, (unless he has a meeting with Nurse Linnex scheduled, Nurse L,); I guess it is understandable he should be getting so excited.

I am so looking forward to seeing his look of despondency when he draws a blank!

All the best

Christine XXXX
Hi Christine
So hot! And so much for me to empathise with.
It is over 8 weeks since bitch-boy last came and it will be many more weeks yet! Although that is trivial compared to David’s plight, given up until last spring, bitch-boy used to cum every 10 days to 2 weeks, (subject to special periods), and with my new regimen, he has only cum twice since last spring, he is beside himself with frustration! I tease him almost every day and I have two or three orgasms on approx 5 days out of 7 days a week, mostly using my wand. This includes on days when there is no DS activity. Just because I am being so cruel and it is such a bitchy power-rush, I seem to be always turned -on!
He has been so close to tears during his recent teasings as I flaunt my body and caress my beasts and special places. I think I may actually get tears to flow without touching him! What a power rush you will get when David is so disappointed.
I also empathise with your absence of compassion as I feel exactly the same. It’s powerful to feel like that! What a decadent feeling it is, when they are at their wits end like it is the end of their world, and you are totally unmoved and unsympathetic. I adore that feeling.
Can’t wait to read about the big day!
Stay safe
PS. Oh, wish David a happy anniversary from me. I wish I could send him a card.

From: Christine
Sent: 01 March 2021 02:14

I will indeed, Scarlet!
You are so right about what makes it even worse.
The total disdain and disinterest I genuinely feel, leaves him feeling even more helpless, frustrated and ‘worried’.
Please feel free to share on your site if you wish.

Hi Christine

I am so looking forward to your account of his anniversary day!




Sunday, March 7 has come and passed. Since David was so excitedly looking forward to the day’s events, I made it a very special day for him! (Which also means I have written far more than I planned!)

He awoke early and was ever so anxious to both please, and later, with doleful eyes, trembling in anticipation, timorously ask about drawing for his release, using the spreadsheet. “Is it the seventh already?” I nonchalantly responded before disdainfully advising that his draw could wait until later; making it obvious it was an unimportant,  nothing matter to me. I was glowing from his ministrations, having had several orgasms, and taking pleasure in thoughts of our contrasting lives. I delighted in rubbing it in that I had just had more orgasms in the past hour, than he would get in the next year.

I continued, by noting he was already late in starting his housework. He was then told to get dressed and made-up, and start on his chores; and to ‘be quick about it’… unless he wanted a hurry-up from my cane! He managed to move with alacrity, though he was clearly inwardly seething at the injustice he perceived in his treatment.

While he applied his make-up, I remonstrated at his self-seeking attitude, mocking his pathetic need to cum; and reminding him that it was just a useless piece of gristle he had between his legs, that I had absolutely no need for it, that it would never ever penetrate me again, nor feel the caress of my hand. It would never even feel the touch of human flesh again!

I also poked fun at him, observing that, since it had been constantly locked up, I had noticed it was shrinking. I then taunted him by advising that we should start referring to it as his ‘teeny weeny winky tinky’. He was crimson with shame and ignominy as I derided him, genuinely fearing he was shrinking. After all, he never gets to see it erect. He has always basked in a little male pride, knowing that he was slightly larger than average. So, this is a much-feared fall from grace for him!

Once he was dressed in his maid’s outfit, I laughed at his feminised state as I curtly told him that I would see if I could squeeze in a couple of minutes for his draw in the afternoon; but he would have to ask me very politely, ‘…. if he might have a chance to play with his ‘teeny weeny winky tinky’, or the draw would be cancelled until next month!

Around two o’clock, he was doing the ironing, when I stridently called him into my office. I had his computer spreadsheet program open, and my iPhone on speaker. Showing complete disinterest in him, I ordered him closer and snappily advised “I’m on the phone to my sister, but she’s fine to hold for ½ a minute while we get your draw out the way,… so, quickly,…. What do you say?” Blushing crimson and cringing in disbelief at my callous indifference for both his dignity and the importance he placed on the event, he quietly stammered, “Can I please draw to see if I can play with my teeny weeny winky tinky?

Ignoring him, I asked my sister if she had heard him. He was devastated by being so publicly shown up. “You need to speak up David;” I continued, “A nice loud voice this time or I’ll assume you’re not bothered about a release!” He swallowed hard, tears welling up, the day was not going as he had dreamed or prayed for. “Christine, can I please draw to see if I can play with my teeny weeny winky tinky? Please?” He was shaking like a leaf, burning up at being so demeaned, yet still so desperate to cum.

With the sound of my sister’s laughter ringing in his ears, I curtly advised, “Take the mouse… click Apply…. Let’s get it over and done with!” He scurried to do as he was bid, lest I change my mind. As might be expected, the message, ‘Try again next week” appeared in the results box. With complete indifference and brevity, I calmly advised, “Fun over. Back to your ironing….” and returned to my conversation with my sister.

As he dithered, frozen in shock, I stormed “NOW!” He had so expected me to fix it so he had an orgasm, that he was stunned, rooted to the spot in disbelief at being both ridiculed and denied. The colour was by now draining from his face as the realisation sank in that he was not getting a release, even though 12 months had passed since his last. My sister passed a cutting remark about his lack of manliness and shrinkage, and we both laughed uproariously. He was crushed, overwhelmed, devastated and further, humiliated by our laughter.

Crankily shaking his head, stifling his tetchiness, he slowly trudged back to the laundry. About 15 minutes later, I quietly left the office, the phone still up to my face, and glanced into the laundry. He was back at his ironing, though he was moving far too slowly and sullenly for my liking. Amusingly, his face was red and slightly blotchy from having shed a few tears, and he was clearly distraught and angry, with a morose, long-suffering set to his jaw, his frustration and disgruntlement no doubt heightened by my coldness and his feelings of isolation.

I ‘woke’ him from his self-centred, misery-filled trance by loudly instructing, “David, unless you want me to give you something to very seriously cry about, I suggest you stop wallowing in self-pity right now, set a smile on your face and put some serious effort and zest into your ironing! You’ve still got plenty to do!” Instantly, I resumed my light demeanour, chatting happily to my sister as I strolled down the hall, laughing as he was again forgotten, a brief interruption, not deserving of my further attention.

I had very deliberately planned his draw to take place during a call to my sister, not for the humiliation, but the deeper message it sent. The chance to cum had become such an extreme focus for David, it was the most important thing on his mind, in his world. I was therefore showing him just how unimportant his release was to me. It was something to be squeezed into my day and quickly gotten out the way. What he saw as an extremely special and important event, was a nothing event for me, less important than a phone call to my sister, who I speak to every day.

I left him for about an hour, by which time I knew he should be just about finished on the laundry. The ironing was his final chore for the day, (though he would need to clean up the kitchen later); so he would have been expecting to be allowed to change back to his male attire and join me for the evening. Given his poor attitude and laziness with the ironing, this was no longer going to be the case.

He was indeed down to the last few items when I entered, hauling in an industrial size laundry bag. His face dropped and he turned ashen at the stern set of my face and the sight of his bag of punishment ironing. This is full of second-hand clothes from the local charity shop. These are items that I selected for their difficulty to iron and the way they easily crease. There are lots of pleated skirts and frilly blouses. It takes him about three hours to iron everything in the bag, hence his utter dismay! Once everything is ironed and neatly folded, he has to put them on a quick wash cycle, and then through the dryer, to ensure everything is full of creases again, before being crushed back into the bag for a future punishment session.

We have three of these bags and, depending upon the time he has available, the degree of my ire with respect to his ‘misbehaviour, or simply ‘my whim of the moment’; is how many bags he gets to iron. Since today was such a special day for him, and to remind him to avoid silly displays of self-interest… I returned a few minutes later with the other two bags. His spirits visibly sank further, he looked so forlorn.

Because it is punishment ironing, and following the advice of others on your site, he has to change into a pair of high-heeled shoes in which small marbles have been firmly glued onto a sole insert. The shoes are also a size too small, making them most uncomfortable to wear. And he would be standing in them for over 9-hours! No wonder he looked abjectly heartbroken; he was certainly ‘enjoying’ a memorable day!

It was around midnight, having missed out on dinner, that he finally joined me. I then lost count of how many orgasms he gave me. I had him moisturise my body with fragrant oils, while I used my wand, showing him, I didn’t even need his tongue! Needless to say, I also constantly teased him about how I couldn’t see what he was so upset about, he’d gone over a year without coming, what was the big deal if he had to go a few weeks more, or even months?

He snuggled close that night though, after I teased his nipples in bed for a good ½ hour, driving him insane with desire and frustration. His tears of disgruntlement replaced with tears of divine frustration. He was in awe and rapture, and I feel certain that he was in a state of blissful contentment when he fell asleep spooning me.

Christine XXXX

Addendum to my BDSM Manual – research

I have been amazed by the popularity of my BDSM manual which has continued to be  purchased in large volumes since its launch four years ago. A lot has happened in those four years in terms of:

  1. my personal evolution, (accelerated by the considerable extra time for DS activities afforded by lock-downs),
  2. a flourishing of very candid, new associations with a good number of Dommes in long-term, real-life relationships, (I am so very privileged!),
  3. developments in new technology  applicable to dominance,
  4. developments in the range of BDSM equipment available as a welcome result of considerable mainstreaming of BDSM.

As a result of my personal evolution and my new associations, I have learned many new techniques to optimise dominance activities. The activities themselves are almost all set out in my original BDSM Manual, but the optimisation techniques are not. And as a result of development of technology and availability of new BDSM equipment, combined with my personal evolution and my new associations, there are also new activities to set out and recommend.

Some of these optimisation techniques are scattered through my blog over the last four years with each technique visited now and again; but my blog is not a book and so each of the technique is not comprehensively dealt with in one single place. The remainder of these optimisation techniques are either matters on which I have been in private email discussion with associate Dommes. or have come from my own experimentation, and lock-downs has been a boon for the time required for that experimentation!

I am 80% through writing my Addendum book and I am at a stage where I really would appreciate some help with research. I think one thing that sets apart my original BDSM Manual and this (draft) Addendum, from other publications, is my understanding that, how I behave and feel and how bitch-boy behaves and feels, is not necessarily how the majority in our wonderful DS world behave and feel. And this blog and my Domme email acquaintances have been and are a superb way for me to check this out on any given activity; thanks to the generosity of engagement from so many Dommes and submissives.

So this first research question

…. is about submissives pleading with all their heart, (and prolonging that pleading). In advance, I thank you all for your help. First I set out some selected paragraphs from my draft,  Addendum No.1. My three research questions follow.

I define Heartfelt Pleading as: Pleading and begging and beseeching that the submissive does that is totally  genuine and sincere and meant with all his heart. Whether he is pleading for something:

  • not to happen,
  • to stop happening, or,
  • to happen as soon as possible.

He really, really means it! It is not a game. It is his REAL LIFE and at that moment, he is genuinely and profoundly desperate for his pleading to be accepted and for whatever it is; to happen, not to happen, or to stop happening.

  • You may have been edging him for a long time and he has not had an orgasm for a long time and thereby you will have induced his heartfelt begging to be allowed to orgasm.
  • You may have been caning him for quite some time and he feels he cannot take any more and thereby you will have induced his heartfelt begging to stop the caning happening any longer.
  • You may have decided he will never, ever get to penetrate you again and on the occasion, you tell him you will have induced his heartfelt begging for the prohibition to not happen!

There are reasons inducing pleading is so valuable to you, as well as him.

It is valuable to him because his OVERIDING NEED in order to be content in life, is to feel he is; helplessly in the power of a pitiless, cruel, dominant woman. If he is genuinely pleading with all his heart, he is totally immersed in that feeling he needs. It is not a game. It is real. It is what he has dreamed of since adolescence. If he is induced to heartfelt pleading, he is one hundred percent in no doubt that he is living the existence he craves.

It is valuable to you because it is exhilarating and exciting and decadent. It provides a huge power rush as it is so clear to you that you have one hundred percent of the power and he is helplessly in your power and you are decadently pitiless. You are not playing a game, you are living a REALITY of having total power over another. But there is another benefit for you. Because he is one hundred percent in no doubt that he is helplessly in the power of a pitiless, cruel, dominant woman, and YOU ARE that woman then, (if not at that moment), for certain when his head hits the pillow that night, he is in awe of you, he worships you, he cannot do enough for you, he cannot contemplate not being with you all the time.

You may, as a habit, cut-off

Being able to induce heartfelt pleading is one turnkey differentiation between REAL DOMMES who get all the benefits of being a Domme, and pretend Dommes, who get very little from DS games. So, if you are unable to undertake activities that result in heartfelt pleading, you are getting no more than five percent of the benefits of being a Domme and your submissive is constantly sad and discontented; 24/7/365.…………………………………….

……………………………… You may wonder, will some submissives begin apparent heartfelt pleading immediately they are under duress? In my experience the answer is NO, for two reasons. The first reason is simple pride. Over the past 30 years or so, most people, (but especially males), are brought up to be powerful and in control. It is shameful to be pleading with all one’s heart, especially a male to a ‘weak’ woman. The second reason is because of their submissive cravings. They crave real life domination. They want the proof that this woman dominating them is pitiless. They know if they pretend to engage in heartfelt pleading before they ‘need to’, the duress may stop before they have experienced pitilessness and REAL helplessness. 

So, my research questions are:

  1. Is the above paragraph generally true regarding submissives holding out on pleading until the level of duress means it is real and heartfelt?
  2. Have any Dommes come across a submissive, or are you a submissive, who is so resistant to pleading it almost becomes a ‘health and safety’ matter? Or do all submissives end up pleading with all their heart.
  3. Any other agreeing or dissenting comments on the selected extract paragraphs?


Easy Spike Turning

[29 December 2020] I have posted about the ring of spikes a couple of times before. The last post was on purchasing longer spikes from an online hardware store. This post is for any Domme who owns a similar ring of spikes. While bitch-boy was working on some DIY the other day, I noticed in his open tool box an array of what I learned are are called hexagon driver bits.

I had the previous day been using the ring of spikes to my great pleasure and bitch-boy’s squealing and whimpering misery, but the one annoyance being the unhelpful, L-shaped Allen key that has to be used to twist the spikes inward and outward. Shown on the right on the photo below. 


After testing a few hexagon driver bits I found one that exactly fitted the spike orifice. Below is the bit and below that the bit in action. It is now soooo easy to twist each spike in or out, or in and in some more! No more grappling with the L-shaped Allen key!











A link to all my journals HERE, including:

Two more, current, Real Life Accounts

[5 December 2020] Two accounts, martialled and edited from recent comments on this blog; as I know many blog followers do not read all the comments although reading all the posts.

NOTE: I have ordered a pair of vampire gloves. (Mentioned in the second account and pictured below.) bitch-boy is seriously fretting, as he should be; given my devoted, deeply sadistic  attitude when applying any form of dickie-discipline!

The fantastic Mistress-wife in the second account clearly enjoys raising and dashing hopes and I hope her husband has brought to her attention my various blog posts on this important topic; first instigated by the amazing Lady Jessica and found by a search using the phrase; ‘dashing hopes‘.  

Tease, ball-kicking and Denial

To keep me submitted, interested and also for letting me blow off some steam has been the strap on. She uses that for my needs while still leaving me craving her and wanting to do everything for her. It started with her only allowing me to cum from masturbation when she was butt-fucking me. Once that was etched into my brain, it went to the next level of only allowed to cum from anal stimulation. But is hasn’t happened yet. Now I’ve come to crave her butt-fucking me over anything else and when she’s tired and doesn’t want to put in any effort, I’ll either straddle her or do it on the floor in front of her for her to watch.

She has let me out of chastity twice over the last 5 months to try and penetrate her. But I could only manage a semi and she laughed, kicked me in the balls a number of times and locked me back up. I was disappointed in myself to not be able to perform for her but that still was one of the most intense teases that ever happened to me. With the strap-on I get frustrating pleasure while helping my prostate and never losing the urge to want to pamper her; and she gets whatever she wants with minimal fuss

Our relationship is just as normal as anyone else’s except I’m in chastity and she’s the key holder.

She was always dominant and I was submissive deep down. It just took years to finally get to a place where it worked. I’ve always worshipped her and always will. We/I found that once I came, especially when I done it myself I became very irrational and cranky. And it put me somewhere I didn’t even want to be mentally. She enjoys having me under her and I want that urge always burning in me to satisfy her. So chastity was the logical next step. We dabbled on and off over the last 10 years but it slowly became more permanent recently. She’s been using the strap-on on me for longer than chastity so the two just went together. It was her that actually introduced anal into our relationship. She has always enjoyed her being the giver and enjoys leaving me feeling used. Of course oral is a big part of our relationship and is my favourite thing to do. Always has been. It gives her pleasure while automatically making me more submissive. As I said before, our relationship is normal. We’ve kids and the both of us work. It’s not some fantasy of her running around with a whip. It’s normal most of the time but I pick up more chores now than I’ve done before as I’ve got that extra drive to please her and she has more time to relax.

When the kids are in bed she does enjoy being pampered however she wants. If we had more space she has said she would buy a fucking machine with a remote control so she could use it when she’s tired but still wanting me to feel her authority

As things stand, the only chance of orgasm for me is through a strap-on butt-fucking, which is going to be the way for the foreseeable future as it seems to be working very well for us. As of writing this, I am completely in sub space and love her treatment of me, so I can’t see us wanting to change it.

It has an unbelievable mental grasp on me that I cannot shake, and in all honesty I think she can do it better than I ever could. It’s really all on her terms that I get fucked to be honest. She normally wouldn’t go any longer than two weeks. Sometimes a few times a week, sometimes once a fortnight and then it’s really up to her as to how long it lasts. If she wants to butt-fuck me for half an hour or 5 minutes is really in her hands. Sometimes she will tell me when my balls are full that she will try to make me cum from anal and other times, like a few weeks ago, she might do it in the middle of the night in bed while I was sleeping. She just rolled over and started fucking me. So that’s completely for her pleasure and not mine. I still leak a fair bit so she still has me thank her for milking me and releasing the pressure. If I’m uncontrollably horny and I want her to butt-fuck me, I have to beg, which also is a great way to keep my mind submissive.

She has also started using kicks to my balls as a way for me to ask. If I ask her to fuck me, I have to take 20 kicks to the balls and then she will do it. I haven’t been able to manage that yet. 13 is as most as I’ve got. But on a good note is, I stop pestering her then and almost immediately fall to her feet uncontrollably kissing them. If she wants me to go down on her, it’s 5 kicks and I get to do that for her.

Well that’s some of our routines and I’m in heaven pleasing her to be honest. I’m very lucky

Tease, torture and denial

What is your criteria for being a BAV? I’m asking as I think I might be one. My wife no longer allows me to enter her. When I interact with her pussy she insists that I am caged . Primarily I service her with tongue and fingers. However when she wants penetration, she has a strap on for me to use on her. She edges me extensively; however I’m only allowed orgasm when she decides; via three methods.

1. humping her patent high heels. She makes me kneel in front of her, holds them up for me to hump, while she laughs at me and masturbates with her wand.       2. She locks me in my cage and takes me anally until orgasm.     3. When she feels most cruel, she heavily restrains me and stimulates me with her vampire glove . She frequently asks me, if I miss being inside her; when I say ‘yes’, she says ‘good’.

After a long period of edging the vampire glove produces the most intense and painful orgasm imaginable, though the post orgasm torture is worse. As to why I’m a Bav, we have been toying with BDSM chastity for years. she has always loved teasing and denying me. She adores playing with my penis but vibes on not letting me inside her. She has no desire to cuck as monogamy is important to her, she still enjoys penetration, hence why I service her with a strap on. For a long time i was allowed inside provided I didn’t cum; however her constant edging and teasing of me has rendered me incapable of the hard animalistic fucking she likes when she’s being penetrated, becuase I would cum instantly I was inside her. We also had a period where I was being totally denied penetration as she was training me to orgasm solely from anal penetration.

It doesn’t seem appropriate for me to be allowed inside her anymore is probably the best summary, as she has rendered my penis incapable of giving her what she needs. It is probably the defining factor of her domination over me. My last penetration was fairly recent; 28th of August 2020; however prior to that we are talking maybe only 3-4 times in the previous 3 years.

This path has been going in this way for some time and it even if it’s not the direction I would have chosen, if you ask someone to truly dominate and control you, you cannot complain when they do so their way. I’m certainly lucky that my fantastic wife allows me more orgasm’s than many of the subs mentioned on this blog. 

As requested by you, I spoke to her at length about me being in the BAV register and last night showed her the register and your blog. She asked me a question ”How many times do you think I have told you in the last few year that I will allow you inside me or said I’m going to suck you” I thought about it and answered “lots; maybe three figures” . “And how many times have I?” The answer was six for inside her, and zero for being sucked.

She then explained that for her letting me think I was going to get lucky and then denying me was a massive sexual rush. That I may or may not be a Bav for the rest of my life but she won’t tell me, as she wants me to always have a tiny hope to use against me. But that she reserves the right to ad me to the register if and when she so chooses and if she so chose, it would be in my full and with my real name. She found the BAV tattoo interesting, as she discussed with me having me marked in a similar manner. She is working on the design herself. She is favouring a design which is essentially a combination of two keys entwined with with roses with a heart with a lock in the middle . It would cover the entirety of the front of my pubis. I have been put on a diet and exercise regime so that it will look attractive rather than awful.

Human Mummy Bondage

Further to my post on a bondage image I really liked I first received the very helpful comment directly below. On posting that, I received more very useful advice on the same topic from Rhoda, which is appended at the foot of the post.

Advice Notes 1

Dear Mistress Scarlet,

The picture and related video look to me like they use pallet wrap (Saran wrap in the US?) which is an industrial version of kitchen cling film – polyethylene film which sticks to itself. It is quite cheap and easy to obtain from Amazon or office suppliers. A later video on the same users account (nuo pyppy) shows the same bondage with a few additions, in which the sub falls over sideways, revealing more of how the wrap was applied.

If used well, it can create utterly inescapable bondage. Indeed you may recall that Christine M described (https://msscarletuk.wordpress.com/2015/12/27/extreme-christmas-perversity/#comment-7016) previously using it to bind David for his extreme Linnex sessions. In my personal experience, (Mistress Alecto has used pallet wrap to bind me many times) 3/4/5 layers is usually ample.

I would offer the following suggestions from personal experience:
1. Buy wide and narrow rolls of wrap – the wide ones for the torso or ‘covering wraps’ (top layers), and the narrow for limbs, hands, etc. Or you can just but a few wide (400mm) rolls and cut one in half (or 1/3+2/3) with a hacksaw.
2. Buy a good pair of paramedic scissors, or a safety (recessed blade) knife to remove the wrap at the end. Also get a dowel or similar to act as a handle for the roll.
3. Some people wrap the head, but I don’t see the point of this when you can just use a rubber or leather hood. Also head (or neck) wrapping runs the risk of interfering with breathing.
4. Remember plastic wrap gets very sweaty inside, so if your sub will be wrapped for more than an hour or so, think of hydration
5. Start by wrapping the limbs (narrow roll), and then wrap the body, The limbs will then stick to the body (or each other) anyway you want (e.g. straitjacket pose) – you can then wrap over the top to hold everything in place.
6. Start wrapping the arms & upper body first with the sub standing, so you can walk around them to wrap, then lay the sub down and do the legs second. If you start by immobilising the legs, so the sub has to lie down, it becomes difficult to wrap the upper body.

I hope that is useful.

Advice Notes 2

I have wrapped up smallbear many times. Some further tips would be-

Different brands of cling film have different stretchiness so try several to find the best.

Make sure you hold the roll so the film unwinds as if you were unrolling a carpet.

When laid flat with legs wrapped together, the pelvis is tilted forward causing back pain after a while in the less supple-a pillow under the knees stops this.

Hands can be wrapped whilst holding a foam tennis ball-stops wiggling fingers picking holes and prevents the hands cramping if wrapped as a fist. (I have often just wrapped and taped his hands as very cheap bondage mitts)

Parcel tape works as well as duct tape. It is much cheaper but is harder to tear off lengths.

Put cotton wool ball over the nipples before wrapping, makes it much easier to cut holes for access!

It takes practice, so might be worth some “training” sessions, say just the arms and upper body, before trying a big scene.

Have several pairs of safety scissors, you might need to find a pair in a hurry!


For info on my BDSM manual, in several formats, click on an image below.

Bondage Novelty Living Installation

Below is a screenshot from  this video on Twitter!

Yes, difficult to work out on first viewing isn’t it. Best to watch the video from the link above to see what is going on.

I can just imagine having bitch-boy so bound, and tormented with the electrics. I adore the utter helplessness and the exposed, vulnerable genitalia. He would be in my peripheral vision while I got on with something else. He would be gagged and wearing ear buds playing white noise, and allowed only to make the quietest of whimpering and pleading noises.

He would not have cum for a very long time, see below, and he would not get to cum the day I did this. I would probably subject him to it for 2 to 3 hours. Then he would be locked back up in his chastity cage. I would have several orgasms during that time of course.

My new chastity regime for him continues. I know it is not as mean as other Dommes who feature on my blog, but he is seriously struggling with it and he also knows he is moving slowly but inexorably toward having his final ever orgasm. He has not cum for 7 weeks or been out of his cage in that time except for a few  rather ‘intense’ dicki-disciplne sessions which perhaps make him wish he had not been let out of the cage at all.

Before that orgasm under my shoe, his orgasm denial period was 17 weeks when he had an orgasm but the new regime began.

Will I ever replicate the video. I doubt it. All the time taken for him to shave from the neck down to his toes, and then me applying all the duct tape, and then removing it! All too much effort for me I think.

Workplace initiated Domme/sub predicaments


To add to the treats in my last post.  First, below are two real life accounts from Workplace Dommes. As I wrote in my last post, as regular readers know, I adore accounts of real life Domme/sub relationships, especially long-term relationships.

BUT, I truly adore real life accounts of other types of real life Domme/sub relationships. Accounts of real life female domination, where there is no ‘romantic’ relationship; such as a workplace initiated domination and submission arrangement.

So having trawled though my collection of real life accounts from my collection of Madame magazines of the 1970s and 1980s, below are two accounts of workplace initiated Domme/sub predicaments. Long term predicaments for the sub.   I am spoiling you, because under the menu tab option above left,  DOMMES LETTERS, as well as the two accounts below, there is one other work based account. When you hover on that DOMMES LETTERS tab, there is a drop-down option of Workplace Initiated Predicaments.

And in due course, There will be another drop down option, Workplace Dommes.

Formatting these accounts has taken hours of time for poor bitch-boy. Not that I feel any pity for him. He is my slave after all. Drudgery work is one of the things he is for, as well as suffering in many other ways for my pleasure.

Please let me know if these new features are worth me spending bitch-boy’s time on. I obviously can fill his days in other ways that please me!


Account 1

Dear Ms. Candida,

I expect you will think I am a bit too young to know very much about male domination and that sort of thing. I am nineteen next birthday. My ambition is to become really expert so I read your magazine from cover to cover every month. I even learn some parts off by heart! I get lots of magazines on the subjects of spanking, punishment and domination bought for me by this bloke I’m going out with. Your magazine is my special favourite. I first met this bloke about six months ago when I was working as a “temp” in Portsmouth. He is miles older than me — 54 to be precise — but we get on really well. I got the feeling that he was a bit “kinky” after I had been working at his office for a week or so. He seemed to have a thing about stockings and suspenders. He kept asking me if I wore them rather than tights. When i said that I did he said he thought I was fibbing. He bet me five pounds that I couldn’t prove it. It was the easiest fiver I have ever made. All I had to do was hitch up my skirt and give him a quick flash. A couple of days later I won another bet over frilly knickers. After a week after that I arrived into work to find a little gift on my desk. I opened the package and to my surprise I found what I can only describe as a “G-string”. It was a little leather triangle to cover the cunny with three tie-things. There was a note with it:

“I bet you would not wear this!” Well, I’ve never been one to turn down a challenge so I was off to the toilet to change without hesitation. Later on when I went into his office to take dictation I detected a definite glint in the naughty boy’s eye.

“Well?” he said. “Is it a bet?” “Not for five quid!” I said, firmly. I had no intention of flashing my bare bum for a fiver! “I was thinking of ten,” he said hesitantly. “Make it twenty-five and you’re on!” I replied.

He agreed. I knew he would. He was almost dribbling at the mouth by this time. Besides, he’s stinking rich and twenty-five quid means nothing to him. Mind you. I think I would have done it for a tenner. I’m not proud where money is concerned. But he didn’t know that, did he? I made quite a show for him. I lifted the back of my skirt ever so slowly and gave my bum a nice little wiggle. I’m quite pleased with the shape of my bottom, by the way. Some people might think it’s a bit on the plump side but I’ve found blokes seem to like it that way. He certainly did. He was panting like a stallion and his words of praise were music to my young ears. Suddenly, I let my skirt drop back into place and I noted his sigh of disappointment with great satisfaction.

“Twenty-five  quid,   please!”  I snapped.

“I’ll double it if you’ll let me touch!” he blurted out. “Just once! Pleeese . . Pleeeeeeese . . . !!!”

FIFTY QUID! Wow! For one touch! What girl in her right mind would refuse? His hands were really gentle so I let him stroke and fondle me for about five minutes. Ten quid per minute — not bad, eh? I would have let him have longer but the buzzer on his desk sounded off. He had a visitor waiting to see him. Poor thing! His trousers were bulging fit to burst. “You’ll have to do something with that”, I said playfully. “What do you suggest?” he asked. “There’s a loo down the hall,” I replied, “you can do what all naughty boys do at times like this”. “But, if I do that I’ll have to be punished afterwards,” he said, pouting like a disobedient fourth-former.

“Only if you get caught in the act!” I quipped.

The buzzer went again. “Damn!” he exclaimed. “I wouldn’t have time anyway!” “You’ll have to wait until lunchtime,” I smirked. “But be careful! It will only be us two here and I might pop in to see what you’re up to!” At lunchtime I waited until the other girls had been gone for about ten minutes. Then I locked the office and sneaked along the hall to the loo. It was occupied. I knocked firmly on the door.

“Who’s in there?” “It’s me,” he replied as if in panic. “What are you doing?” “N-nothing . . .”, he stammered. “Liar!” I hissed. “Open this door at once!”

He slipped the catch and the door opened. Quite frankly, I cannot hope to describe what I saw. He looked too ridiculous for words. Try to imagine, if you can, this middle-aged, balding, tubby man with his trousers and underpants at half mast with his right hand clamped firmly around his tool and his left hand cupped beneath the swollen head to catch the come. I could hardly stand up for laughing. It really killed me to see him like that. Caught bare-bummed with his prick in his hand!

“Don’t tell! Please, don’t tell!” he begged. “I’ll give you anything you want! Pleeeese . . . .!!”

At this I calmed down. Obviously, there was profit to be made. “Sorry!” I said with great piety — all false of course. “I must tell! I shall telephone your wife.”

“No! No! Please! Don’t do that. . .!!”

Well, I thought he was going to have a heart attack on the spot so I reassured him that I had only been joking. However, I also let him know that I would be expecting a few favours and surprises as a reward for my discretion.

“You’re a very bad boy! We shall have to find a way to punish you,” I added.

At this his attitude changed from one of panic to obedient submission. “I’m very sorry. Miss,” he mumbled. “I promise to be good from now on.”I liked this new attitude.

“Promises!” I snapped. “Promises are like pie-crust. Easily broken! You need something to remind you. I’ve got just the thing for you, my lad. Go to your office . . . and don’t bother to pull your pants up. You will only have to take them down again for what I have in mind!” He shuffled off holding his trousers at half-mast. His bum wobbled beautifully. It was a pinkish white colour and smooth like a baby’s bottom. I would soon change that!

I have always preferred the old- fashioned, wooden hairbrushes to the modern plastic things. I had one in my bag on that day. It was a real beauty. Nice and heavy with a wide, flat back — perfect for the job at hand. I took it with me into his office where he waited, trembling like a leaf. His tool was still up like a rod.

“I see you are still in the same state,” I said. “We shall see what a little taste of the hairbrush can do. Bend over the desk!”

He obeyed and presented my brush with a pair of quivering targets which were impossible to miss. Folding back the tail of his shirt, I took a position close to his left and placed my free hand in the small of his back. His whole body shuddered as I laid the brush lightly upon his right bottom- cheek in order to take aim. It’s not so long ago that I was on the receiving end of a spanking myself — my mum used to warm my bum quite often when I lived at home — so I know just how the poor man felt as he waited for the first smack. A mixture of fear, excitement, panic and anticipation which races through the entire nervous system makes it impossible to relax.

Time seems to be suspended. You feel weak and very, very vulnerable. You are aware of how ridiculous you look — especially from the rear where you have everything on display. And you wait. . . and wait. . . and wait…. I kept the trembling wretch in suspense for almost five minutes during which time he was reduced to a slobbering wreck. The power I felt was beyond belief and by the time I laid the first smack my cunny was gushing with sizzling juices.

I am sure that by your standards the spanking that I gave him was a pretty feeble effort. However, I did get a nice rhythm going and the brush popped and bounced from cheek to cheek quite merrily. Crumbs! You ought to have heard him squeal. He’s such a cry-baby! You would have thought I was burning his bottom with hot irons instead of giving him a well-deserved but really quite mild dose of the hairbrush. Do you think ten smacks on each cheek is excessive? I don’t! I’ve had twice that for leaving my room untidy at home. The silly boy didn’t know how lucky he was. Mind you, he does now! Since that time I’ve had plenty of opportunities to demonstrate what a real bum-punishment can be like. Twenty little smacks with a hair brush is pure pitty pat compared to the sort of chastisement I dish out to him these days. Still, for a beginner I didn’t do a bad job. His bum was like two rosy apples and really quite hot to touch.

When I released him he scurried back to the loo to “tidy himself up”. The fibber! I knew he was in there wanking himself off. But then so was I! Right beside him in the “Ladies”.

After that first time it all went a bit quiet though I did get rather nice presents: chocs, make-up and stuff like that. Then one afternoon he said that he was going to Birmingham for a few days and would I like to go along with him? Of course, I agreed. On the way he told me about his home life. Poor old soul! His wife is a proper ice-maiden. No real sex at all. The best he gets at home is permission to rub himself off on her bum through her nightie! While he does it she lays on her side reading a book. How about that? And to get this from her he has to beg her on his hands and knees, lick her toes and all that stuff. He does all the washing and cleaning around the house as well. And here’s a weird bit. She’s got a thing about underwear.

Every time she goes to the loo she changes her knickers. The poor old twit has to wash and iron about fifty pairs of pants every week on top of everything else. She’s got a private toilet too. He has to clean that three times a day — mornings, evenings. last thing at night — more at weekends. I’ve never met her but the girls in the office say she’s a fantastic looker. She’s younger than him —about thirty-five and the girls think she might be a lesbian because one of them saw her walking arm-in-arm with a girl in Navy uniform a short while ago. I don’t know if tt. -;’s true but one thing is for sure — she treats her men pretty badly!

I felt quite sorry for the poor bloke by the time we got to Birmingham and when he gave me £250 spending money I felt even more sympathetic. I had a free afternoon so I thought I might buy him something to cheer him up a bit. As luck would have it I came across a super sex shop quite near to where we were to stay. I think the bloke who served me was surprised to see what I bought but it didn’t stop him from taking the money. When my bloke got back from his business meeting I had all my new things laid out on the bed. He went bonkers with joy.

There was a leather sheath-like thing with a little padlock and key for him to wear when he was out on his own, a little clamp that fitted over the balls with a brass screw that could be tightened, a pair of leather pants with a false penis inside which went up your bum when you wore the pants, a thing called a tawse for spanking and three brand new canes in different thicknesses.

“Well?” I said. “Have you been a good boy today? Let’s have a look”. He offered no objection and like a good little boy he unzipped his fly and lowered his trousers. Examination of his underpants disclosed no telltale signs but that meant nothing. I turned my attention to the root of the matter. There was no doubt. He had washed himself well but the redness around the knob end and under the drawn-back foreskin proved that he had indulged himself at least once that day and probably more. Faced with the evidence he confessed. With trembling hands he obeyed my command to undress down to his undervest. I laid the three canes out in a line and made him make a choice by the one-potato, two-potato method. He selected the medium implement. By this time his “root” had started to trouble him again. I was going to have none of that. Two sharp cuts with the cane across the shaft took the swelling down quite quickly.

“The devil makes work for idle hands.” I said. “I think we’ll put those naughty hands of yours to good use. I think six of the best on each is the usual number. Right hand up, please!”

The cane cut him square across his open palm. It must have stung like mad because he screwed his face up tight at the sudden burn.

“Left hand. please!”

He winced again and tucked both hands beneath the opposite arm pits. “Right hand!” I snapped coldly. He raised his hand and there was real fear in his eyes. He was not enjoying this one little bit! I was!!! The first stroke had left a deep scarlet stripe across his palm. The second cut in nicely beside it. This time he squealed for the remaining strokes. By the last cut he was crying quite bitterly. I set down the cane and lay back on the bed.

“Fetch me some tea!” I said wickedly.

It was one of those hotels where you can make your own tea and coffee. Well, you can just imagine the mess the silly boy got into. He could hardly hold a cup in those throbbing, freshly caned hands let alone make and serve tea. He was all fingers and thumbs. It wasn’t made any easier by my goading either:

“Come on, you stupid lout! Am I suppose to wait all night? Perhaps you need a stroke or two more to spur you along!”

Finally, he managed to serve me a cup of tea. Taking a huge mouthful I spat it back into his face.

“Muck!” I exclaimed. “Right hand!” He shook his head violently — not in disobedience but in desperation.

“Right hand!” I said quietly. Slowly the hand was raised into position. I took up the cane. His eyes pleaded more longingly than words. Slowly I measured the instrument against the raw, swollen surface of his outstretched palm. A shiwer of excitement ran through my body as he winced in anticipation of impending pain. He waited transfixed as I raised the cane. Then, suddenly … I placed  my cup and saucer upon his hand. “Try again!” I said. “And this time get it right … or else!”

As it happens I had no intention of caning his hands again so quickly after the previous six-of-the-best on both palms. Hands, unlike bottoms, are delicate and they have little in the way of natural padding. I have no qualms about inflicting pain. Quite the opposite. However, I have no desire to cause anyone lasting damage. His hands were already in a bad condition. More punishment administered at that time might have crippled the poor chap. I hope you approve of my action — or was I over-cautious?

The second cup of tea he managed to serve was a good deal better than the first though he still found the work very difficult. He served it very prettily too so I rewarded him by letting him hold his hands under cold running water for a while. You ought to have seen them — all shades of scarlet, blue and purple with sharp, straight ridges where the cane had striped the flesh. He moaned with relief as the water cascaded over his throbbing palms. What a kind mistress I could be. How generous. How sweet . . . But not for long! His night of punishment was only just beginning. Enjoy your moment of respite, my lad. It won’t last long.

Next I turned my attentions to an area which was a hundred times more sensitive than the palms of the hands. I made him lie on his back on the bed with his legs spread a little to give me access. The little clamp fitted remark- ably well and when I took up tension on the screw his ball-bag began to strain very nicely. At first it was just uncomfortable for him but after a couple more turns discomfort became pain. His balls became more defined within the bag and the skin grew taut and took on a shiny look. Another half-turn and he was sweating. I began to turn the screw in fractions. Each squeeze increased the pain level. His balls stood out like a pawn-broker’s sign — less one. His fingers clawed at the bedclothes and he thrashed his head from side to side. Actually, the pain wasn’t all that bad.

The man in the shop told me that the decive had a special release spring which prevented any serious injury. It was in my bloke’s mind more than his balls. Still it was nice to see him chucking himself about and quaking in terror. When the device was firmly fixed in place I made him get up and walk about the room. Having his balls caught like that made him bow legged and he could only get about slowly. However, I found that I could make him move a bit faster by flicking the bottom of his tightly- stretched ball-bag with the tip of the cane. Not too hard of course. Just enough to make him jump. He looked really funny from the back with his fat bum-cheeks wobbling like pink jellies and his balls hanging down like a pair of ripe tomatoes.

By this time it was getting on for eight thirty and I was feeling a bit peckish. No din-din’s for the naughty boy of course but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t treat myself to a slap-up meal. He would have to wait in the room. But if I left him he would be up to something. I knew that. Well, I also knew how to put the block on any ideas he might get!

The leather sheath was a tight fit over his partly erected tool but I finally managed to get it firmly in place. The thongs were a wee bit short — especially when I put them around his paunch — but after a lot of tugging with my spiked heel rammed into his back for extra leverage I got them to snap together. As luck would have it the third thong, which was designed to go under his crotch and up between his bottom-cheeks, was just the right thickness to go through a small hole in the ball-clamping device so I killed two birds with one stone. By the way. Here’s a tip worth knowing. Leather stretches when it is wet and contact as it dries. If you soak a leather restrainer before putting it on the longer you leave it the tighter it becomes. The little padlock snapped shut with a little click and my naughty boy was safe from harm. Now all I had to do was give him something to occupy him for the couple of hours that I would be away. I remembered my detentions from school. I must have written thousands of lines in my time. He had a note pad and pens in his briefcase. It was perfect.

It took me quite a time to dream up a good line for him to write. At last I came up with : “I must not play wankies with willikins.” I did not give him a set number of lines to write but told him that I expected to see four lines for every minute that I was gone. For example, if I was away for one hour forty-one and one half minutes I would demand to be presented with no less than 406 perfectly written lines. Not an impossible target but one that would be very difficult to attain. There would be no time for slacking.

As it happened I was away for a little over two hours. I met some girls in the bar, got chatting and time simply flew by. When I returned he was still slaving away. He didn’t make his target though. I can’t remember the exact number he should have written — about 560. I think. He actually did just over 400 — and with his hand all caned and throbbing too. Not bad really. Of course I didn’t tell him that. I acted very severe and told him that he was to get up early next morning and do three more hours of line writing before he left the room. He thanked me for being such a kind and considerate Mistress. Not in words, of course. He was still gagged. He just fell at my feet moaning and shaking his silly head. I read that to

“Oh, thank you. Mistress! You are so kind. I love writing lines for you to tear up before my eyes. All that work torn to shreds in seconds. Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

Now. I could well have been wrong. He might have been saying:

“Oh, no! Please, Mistress! No more lines. My hands hurt me so much! Please have mercy! Pleeeeeeese . .pleeeeeese …..!!!”

I plumped for the first interpretation. and since he was so pleased I told him that he could do three more hours when he came in the next night making six hours in all. I added that if he kept on thanking me in the way that he was I would probably double the dose to twelve hours. This piece of information had a strange effect. He stopped moaning and remained stock still at my feet. Perhaps he thought twelve hours might be too much of a good thing.

When I released him from his restraints both his tool and his ball-bag were red and burning hot. His tool in particular was very swollen but there was nothing unusual in this. I gave him a drink of water which he slurped doggie-fashion from a big ashtray — next, I gave him one minute to have a wee-wee and wash himself down in preparation for stage two of his punishment. Within a few moments after that he was returned to his restraints. I examined his hands. They were still sore and swollen. Quite obviously I would have to turn my attentions to an alternative portion of the naughty boy’s anatomy. You won’t need three guesses to name what I had in mind. I am sure . . . Where else but that feature of the human frame which seems to have been designed specifically for the purpose of punishment — THE BOTTIE!!! Oooooh! My bloke does have such a lovely bum, too! So plump and round and spankable. Who could resist such temptation? Certainly not me! He had quite a bit of trouble getting over my lap. As I have said he’s quite a roly-poly and having his root and his balls under restraint didn’t help much either.

Nevertheless, after much wriggling and whining I finally got him settled with his bare bum-cheeks nicely hoisted for my attentions. The “tawse” was made of a piece of heavy leather strap with a grip cut into one end and split into two tongues at the other. It was quite light and not designed for severe punishment. A “warmer” more than anything else and that is just what I used it for. I wanted his bottom to be tingling fresh and glowing all over so that when I switched to one of the canes he would feel the smart of each cut to the full. His bottom bounced beautifully under the tawse and I found the instrument remarkably easy to use. I also liked the flap-slap sound it made as it smacked down onto the softness of his bum. He, of course, made a great fuss. He always does. The big baby!

Well. little did he know it but I planned to give him something to fuss about when I had finished playing pit-pat. I can’t remember how many smacks I gave him. About ten or twelve on each cheek as before — but much lighter than the hairbrush spanks he got at the office. His bum was hardly smarting at all. He really is a cowardly-custard. Honestly, he is! Well, I’d just about had enough of his antics. He needed a lesson and by heaven he was going to get one! Without further ado I liberally shoved him off my lap and he landed with a bump on the floor. Then I gathered up every pillow and cushion in the room and piled them on the bed. Finally, I stripped for action down to my pants stockings and suspenders. I kept my high-heeled shoes on to give me the height I would need.

He literally crawled into position over the cushion. It was the first time in my life I had ever had a man before me beneath the cane. Quite honestly, I was trembling almost as much as he was and I’m ashamed to say that in the heat of the moment I lost control. Without any stimulation I came in my pants. After that I was even more determined. To think that this male worm could have  been  partly responsible for such humiliation. His bottom would have to pay and pay dearly! I measured each stroke slowly and savoured every groan he made and twist of his body. I caned from both sides of his bottom to ensure that both cheeks were evenly covered by the tip of the stick.

“You can get up!” I snapped coldly. “It’s over”.

With that I dispatched him to a corner where he was made to kneel with his hands clasped upon his head under pain of further punishment if he moved a muscle. I went back to the bar where the girls I had met earlier was still having a high old time. I finally returned to the room and released him from his restraints at about two-thirty. I was feeling quite randy so I made him suck me off a few times before I retired. I slept the sleep of the pure at heart. He slept on the floor!

The following morning he did his three hours line-writing without complaint. I then dressed him in his new knickers with the false prick, patted him on the B.T.M. and sent him off to work. For my part, I had a pleasant breakfast and took a casual stroll down to the sex shop. I got back to the room around three-thirty with a whole new bundle of “goodies”. I could hardly wait for five o’clock. But it was worth waiting for … I would love to tell you about it and get your views on my progress to date but this letter is already much longer than intended.  With your permission, maybe I might write to you again?

Account 2

I have thoroughly enjoyed reading all the letters you have published concerning petticoat punishments, and I have myself put it to use with devastating success. Our office manager at my work was in his forties, an unmarried, well-off ex-public school boy who still lived with his mother, and was an arrogant pain in the neck, always laying down the law to the girls in the office.

My chance to turn the tables on him came about when, at the office party, he made the fatal mistake of fondling me as we met in a corridor, and trying to unbutton my blouse. Realising this was a heaven-sent opportunity, I pretended to be extremely upset and in tears, and after a quick huddle with a couple of my office girl friends got them to play their part in his downfall by going back into the party and telling him they were having to take me home as I was very distressed.

I phoned in sick the following day, and could imagine how the bully felt, not knowing what was going on. Sure enough, just before lunch he phoned me to find out how I was, and I told him, managing to sound very upset again, that I was emotionally upset and felt I had no option but to report the incident to the directors, as I felt he could behave like that again. He was aghast at this and asked if he could come and see me right away to sort the matter out. This was even better than I had planned, and I readily agreed.

When he arrived I made it clear that I had every intention of reporting the matter, and the arrogant bully started to crumble before my eyes, offering all sorts of inducements to change my mind. I was adamant though, and I let him suffer for several minutes until I felt he was desperate enough to agree to what I had in mind. When I felt the moment was right I introduced my planned suggestion that I might be prepared to drop the matter if he would agree to reverse our roles away from the office and see what it was like to be powerless and to suffer indignities at my command, as I was required to do by him all day.

Not really knowing what he was agreeing to, but desperate enough for anything, he looked confused but quickly agreed. I told him to phone the office to say that he would be late back, informing him that first of all he would be “interviewed” for his new position. My intention was to find out more about him, to see how far I thought I could go with my plan. What I found out delighted me! It appeared he was, underneath, not really a bully at all, but really rather submissive. It appeared he had always been under his divorced mother’s thumb, and had been bullied at school himself.

Being Scottish, living in Scotland, and a firm believer in Scottish traditions, she had insisted on him wearing a kilt at certain times, which had lead to remorseless ragging by his English public school classmates. It seemed that his arrogance was really rather a defensive front, and one which I intended to cure! A submissive who had been forced by a dominant woman to wear a skirt – my mind boggled at the possibilities this opened up.

I handed him the pen and pad I had ready and told him to write an account of what he had done at the office party in full detail, and sign and date it. At first, he refused point blank, immediately realising the devastating use such an account could be put to. I simply grabbed my phone and began dialling. He looked very frightened and asked who I was calling and when I responded with one of the directors’ names, he looked close to tears, but agreed to write out his statement. The first attempt had insufficient detail, but the second attempt was adequate. I took the finished article and locked it in my car. When I came back I could see I had broken him.

I informed him that we had some shopping to do. When he queried this, I told him that the first thing we were going to do was to get him what I felt was appropriate clothing for his new role, just as he always insisted we office girls were “correctly dressed for the office”. I then told him that when subordinate to me he would be known as Nancy Pansy, and that he should address me as Miss Allison. This established, (with a reminder as to the consequences of non co-operation), and first ensuring that he had his cheque book and credit card with him, we headed for the shops.

First of all we purchased a lovely short kilt, not really a kilt of course, but a skirt that would remind him of his previous shame as a schoolboy. Then we went to the local shop that stocked uniforms for the nearby girls’ private school, where, to the great amusement of the rather stuffy shop staff, we purchased the largest sizes of gym-slip, blouses, blazer, hat, and, of course, regulation school knickers. It was a revelation to find that the largest sizes were a fine fit for a small man. Next we visited a charity shop, which provided a lovely pink satin party dress, which I could easily take up to make it nice and short on my nancy-pansy boy. Finally, and even more humiliatingly for him, we went to a specialist dance shop the proprietor of which was an old friend of mine, and where he was forced into a leotard, tights and some very nice bouffant petticoats – by this time he was clearly stunned into a dream like state of submission, and I knew he was mine to do with as I wished.

Nancy Pansy appeared at my house two evenings a week and when required at weekends, where I taught to be useful around the house, to learn various “girly” skills whilst wearing his school uniform, and, what he seemed to find most humiliating, learn a few short song and dance routines whilst wearing his dance outfit. If he failed to please in any way he was over my knee, skirts and petticoats up, for a very sound spanking with a hair brush which was adequate to reduce him to tears when need be. After spanking, he had to curtsey sweetly and thank me for taking such trouble with him. It was lovely to have all my housework and ironing done by my little skivvy. His behaviour to the ladies in the office improved considerably, and after about four months, when this improvement was being discussed in the “Ladies” one day, I took the plunge and invited three of them to come to my house that Saturday to see why.

Nancy Pansy arrived and I immediately took him upstairs and started dressing him in his school uniform. As I was doing this I dropped the bombshell that some friends were coming to tea and that he was to serve them. He was mortified, but was far too far in my power by now to do anything about it. He was so close to tears as I kept reminding him of his forthcoming encounter. He begged and begged and I just laughed in his face.

I thought he would die with shame when he opened the door to curtsey to the three girls from the office, who could scarcely believe their eyes! As he served tea from a trolley they kept asking him to get things from the bottom shelf so that his gym slip rode up exposing his stocking-tops and knickers. They were laughing so much they were almost in tears (so was he, but not tears of laughter). Having been primed by me whilst he was out of the room, the girls then asked when they were going to see him dance – I saw by the look on his face that he wasn’t going to enjoy this at all. He was undergoing a living nightmare that just kept getting worse.

I took Pansy upstairs and as he removed his gym slip I laid out his dancing outfit which almost brought him to tears when he saw the frilly satin knickers and petticoats. “You will wear these under your kilt so that the girls will see your frilly undies as you dance”, I laughingly told him. With a frilly blouse, and a very large ribbon in his hair, he looked a real sissy for the girls, and of course his petticoats made his little kilt stick out a treat. The girls roared with laughter again as he performed a little dance with his kilt and petticoat bobbing up and down to reveal his frilly satin panties.

This was all some time ago, and I am now leaving the area for a new job, and I believe Nancy Pansy thinks his torment will end. But one of the other girls has taken a real interest in taking over my role and making the most of the power over him. She is a real bitch and I think his humiliation and housework will be continuing for some time to come!

A.P. Edinburgh



A link to all my journals HERE, including: