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.
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.
A wonderful account from Christine M including her sister spending time alone with DAVID and making him very miserable.
Easter
My sister is truly vicious and heartless in her treatment of David. When they first met, they never ‘clicked’ and my sister is 20-years older than him which didn’t help.
David had been told to take time-off for Easter since I had booked in to learn gliding at the local Aerodrome, which is about ½ an hour from here. I had not shared that my sister was coming over!
On the Thursday before Good Friday, he came home from work and was curtly told to change into his sissy frock, rather than his maid’s attire. (The sissy frock was from PDQ’s online store.) He looked at me aghast as he abhors wearing this ridiculous attire. I still didn’t let on that she was coming over so, dressed in his humiliating attire, he looked at me in absolute despair, completely mortified, when he saw her car coming up the driveway. It was a look to behold, and he immediately started trembling uncontrollably. My sister loves the added humiliation his frock delivers, so he knew he was in for a rough evening! My sister was staying until the Tuesday, so he was in for a great deal more misery than he realised.
As has been requested, I should describe his frock.
When choosing this I wanted something that would be dreadfully humiliating for him and make him feel acutely ridiculous when wearing it. It also needed to be practical, in the sense he would still need to be able to do his chores when dressed as a prissy sissy.
We love to tease him about how adorably sweet he looks and fuss over the details of his dress. It is beautifully made of soft shiny satin of the palest blue, with a high ruffle collar that is trimmed with lace and has an enormous pink satin bow at the centre. The figure-hugging bodice has a white satin lace sash which is also tied in a large bow at the rear.
Huge puff-sleeves are elasticated at the hem of the sleeves with wide pleated lace trim. The skirt is full and falls over a bouffant petticoat, flaring it out. It is adorned with large matching pink satin bows all around the skirt, and hemmed in beautiful shiny frilly glass-silk.
An over-sized, pink hair bow is clasped in his hair, and the outfit is completed by white, frilly lace ankle socks, each with a pink bow on the outer side; pink ballet slippers; and matching panties made of soft, shiny satin, with an elasticated waist and leg openings, also trimmed with dainty glass-silk lace and cute dainty pink rose buds. The panties are on full display as the skirt only falls down to just below his buttock line, leaving his long, shaved, thighs exposed too.
A large pink dummy is also pinned to the bodice with a pink ribbon. The dummy is of course dabbed with a foul product designed to prevent people biting their nails. This he has to suck on when not required to speak.
Following Mistress Scarlet’s lead, he also has three ‘dollies’. A pink teddy, Lickel Pwetty Pinky Winky Teddy Weddy Pinkitikins, came first. My sister and I thought of nice long names to be much harder for him to cope with! Then came a rather old and worn rag doll, who he calls My Vewy Vewy Best, Most Favowite Dolly Wolly. And finally, a large plastic dolly that had seen better days with her painted eyes and lips chipped, Bubby Wubby sookie wookie babykins.
After my sister arrived and the usual ridiculing of David was done, including him introducing his dollies to much merriment, with my sister shaking her head contemptuously, making him feel even more stupid; she sternly turned to him, popped his dummy in his mouth, and with David looking more anxious than ever, told him that she had a surprise for him and I would be leaving him in her care for a little while. The dummy was quavering in his mouth, and he pleaded with wide eyes for me not to leave. I simply laughed contemptuously at him, as I nonchalantly left the room, advising my sister, I would be in the lounge if she needed me. His face continued to beseech me not to leave him alone with my sister, and my last view of him, saw him trembling like a frightened rabbit caught in a spotlight, his eyes opened wide in fear.
I could tell it was all too much for him to believe. He doesn’t find my sister attractive in any way, and he knew he was in for an evening of wretchedness, as he stood quaking before a very imposing, ‘authority figure’, who he knew held him in heartless contempt.
Needless to say, my sister was very cold in dealing with him. I watched using the camera in the kitchen, on the big screen through my Apple TV. Leaving him alone was so that it would leave him feeling more fearful and ever so rejected. My sister coldly laid down her rules. “You DO NOT speak unless I ask you a direct question. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you otherwise. You do as your told, without comment or complaint. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” He nervily nodded his head.
“If you don’t understand something, raise your hand and await my permission. If it is anything other than a question seeking clarification of what I have just told you to do, YOU WILL DEEPLY REGRET IT! I have no interest in anything you might want to say and if I want your opinion… I WILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS! ARE WE VERY CLEAR?” He struggled to nod his agreement, he was so overwhelmed!
I enjoy hearing him beg and plead so, even though his pleas always fall on deaf ears, this was going to be a new and frightening experience for him!
She then told him that when she does ask him questions, he had better respond in his most simpering little girl voice, making sure to lisp and giggle as he has been taught and to express his most sissy desires… OR ELSE! Please read Mistress Scarlet’s books for how he has been trained in all his little sissy mannerisms and how he has to play with his dollies. He rightly feels like a total ‘prick’ when he is treated like this, and don’t we remind him of this! My sister is particularly nasty and cutting in her remarks.
He was then seated in a chair with arm rests, and securely strapped in place, with his legs spread wide apart and his frock pulled out of the way. He was whimpering by now but knew better than to ask what was going on. I don’t think I have ever seen him look more scared, he was so exposed, so trapped, so alone. I wasn’t there and my sister, who he finds so malicious towards him, was in total control.
Once he was securely strapped in place, a pink hairdressers cape was placed over his dress as my sister grimly advised him, “Now that you’ve grown your lock-down hair longer, and since you love to dress up as a little sissy, I promised Chrissie, I would give you a nice girlie perm with lots of tight curls.” He looked horrified and I could see him flexing against his bonds, in panic, hoping to escape.
He was really getting panicky when she then picked up and flexed a really nasty looking rattan cane of mine, showing him how bendy and whippy it was, despite being as thick as her little finger. She flexed it so the two ends almost met, before swishing it loudly through the air. She then lightly tapped it along the length of his exposed inner thighs as she ominously warned him that, if he so much as whispered a word of complaint, even under his breath; showed the slightest signs of disobedience; or failed to lisp and show his enthusiasm for being a little sissy; she would be bringing the cane down on his tender inner thighs.
Smiling wickedly, she noted he would get three strokes on each leg, but if there was a next time, it would be four strokes… then five…” He was petrified and wincing as she kept tapping his inner thighs. There was no doubt he knew she was not making an idle threat, and the pain would be horrendous. I must share the dialogue as it was quite hilarious.
She took his dummy out of his mouth and coldly asked “Daisy, are you looking forward to getting your hair permed?”. He was too alarmed to reply and was given a stern warning and reminder, with the cane tapped harder on his inner thigh, prompting him to ever so fretfully lisp, “Yeth, pwease, I weally weally want a perm. Thank you (XXXXX).” He even tried to smile as he knew he was required to be enthusiastic in his role, he didn’t want to taste her cane, that was for sure.
Whilst he looked totally distraught and crushed, I know that deep down he felt she would not give him a real perm. She then started on his hair, mocking his lack of manliness, laughing at his plight, and really scaring him. She started by reassuring him that the perm wouldn’t last for ever, that it would soon wash out… then, seeing his cautious look of relief, she smiled, “… after three to four months!” This left him teary eyed and ever so upset.
His hair was washed and conditioned and then, ever so slowly, wrapped very tightly around small spiky plastic rollers, as he squirmed uncomfortably, while she dispassionately mocked him. She told him how sissies couldn’t go gliding, but they would be finding lots of fun things for him to do, while she went with me each day to watch.
“Your whole situation is quite laughable really… Isn’t it?” ….
Then in a mocking tone, “I remember you used to be ever so brash, going on and on about your ‘daring adventures’.” She used her fingers to mockingly indicate ‘daring adventures’ in inverted commas… Then, as if speaking to a simpleton, “You don’t do anything that might be ‘unsafe’ now do you?” she smirked.
“You prefer to stay at home and do chores, write lines and play silly games, don’t you?”
“You really are a silly twit, aren’t you?”
I might note here, her questions are NOT rhetorical. He has to answer her in full sentences, or else. This piled on the humiliation, while she kept wrapping his hair in rollers. Imagine being asked if you feel like a silly twit and having to advise, ‘Yeth, (XXXXX), I weally feel like a thilly thwit.”
Sneeringly she noted, “You’re so pathetic! I remember when Christine first told me about going out with you. She said she was shocked that you wanted to be with her, because you were so much younger,… dashing and wealthy… and were used to dating sexy young ladies and lots of sex no doubt.”
“Well, you can’t wank-off anymore though, can you?”
“Can you even get an erection, can you?”…
“I didn’t think so. What a poor excuse for a man you are! Isn’t that right?”
“No point you having a penis is there?”
“Couldn’t please a woman with it if you tried, could you?”
He squirmed in utter humiliation as he responded to each question. He is ever so upset that I have shared all these once ‘ever-so-private’ and intimate details with my sister. Humiliation had never been on my agenda until Mistress Scarlet coaxed me down the path, and now I just love it. This further upsets him, knowing that we have so much fun at his expense!
“Do you remember what your mates used to say when you first went out with Christine?”
“You all used to call her ‘old thunder thighs’?
“And didn’t Christine overhear your best mate comment how he couldn’t understand what you saw in her, reckoned she must really put out in bed! Didn’t they? Why else would you go out with her?”
“But you don’t get anything at all do you? Not even a quick hand-job!” He squirmed going redder and redder as he kept answering her questions.
“Did you ever tell them you got nothing?”
“I didn’t think so! Too arrogant to tell them she put you in chastity! And what happened after all that?” He then had to tell her how he was grounded and forbidden to see his old friends. He had to resign from the sports clubs he was in and sell his share in the boat that four of them owned together.
“They all had a good laugh at that I bet!” she mocked, “considered you were ‘totally under the thumb’. You would have been a right laughing stock at the rugby club wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe we should track down a few of the sexy young ladies you used to date? Invite them over for a Saturday night dressed like this! They’d totally piss themselves laughing at you, wouldn’t they?”
“Would you enjoy that?”
“You could sing nursery rhymes and dance for them. Wouldn’t that be a lot of fun?”
He was ever so mortified as she kept mercilessly on at him like this. He had to not only take her mockery, he had to respond that he would really like to do this!
“Which nursery rhyme would you like to sing and dance to?” she continued relentlessly as he fidgeted teary-eyed.
He was of course now on the verge of tears again, which brought more ridicule and caustic remarks as he advised which nursery rhyme he would like to sing for them! And she wasn’t letting him off the hook any time soon… she went on to make him answer why he picked that one, what he liked most about it, which was his favourite line and why! What other nursery rhymes did he like?
“I suppose you want to sing one to me now?”
“Beg me nicely and might let you …” she taunted.
After he begged and pleaded, she dismissively derided him, “My goodness! You’re supposed to be a grown man, and here you are getting a perm, playing with dollies and begging to sing nursery rhymes!” then more irritably, “go on then, if you really must!” she snapped, “you can sing it if you really want to!” He blushed profusely as he sang his little nursery rhyme for her. As he finished she caustically remarked, “What a total prat you are! What are you?”
She then switched tack, “Do you remember how you used to argue with me too?”
“and how you once told Christine you thought I was ‘bossy bitch’?” He squirmed in extra fear as she reminded him of this, and he had to lisp that he did. I could also see he was particularly hurt that I had shared this too with my sister, it seemed it made him feel completely friendless.
“Well, you are a lot more polite now, aren’t you?”
“Now don’t worry Daisy, we have lots of fun things for you to do while we are out… you have all your chores… and you can wash my car… and I brought all my ironing over for you. You love ironing don’t you?”
“And tomorrow… you’ll get to spend the day colouring in with your dollies. Then on Saturday you’ll be spending the day singing and dancing to your favourite nursery rhymes. Sunday is a full day of disciplinary ironing; (Scarlet,I must update you on how I have made this worse than ever for him)… and on Monday, you can play with your dollies again… Doesn’t that all sound like a lot of fun?”
Finally, his worst fears eventuated when she took out the harsh smelling perming solution and started to liberally apply it to the rollers. This caused him to make the dreadful mistake of whimperingly begging and pleading for her to stop.
There was an eerie silence broken only by his whining apologies as he saw the stern set of her face and the irritation in her eyes. She put the solution down and picked up the malevolent cane and lined it up along his left thigh, steadying her aim, her arm rose up high and behind her head. The cane swooshed down as promised, and struck down onto his inner thigh. This was instantly followed by an emotional squeal.
He continued to squeal uncontrollably as the pain continued, his body taut against his bonds as he struggled to deal with the agony, his head shaking wildly in desperation. She waited about a minute between strokes, to drag out his misery. No pity was shown, and the cane bit home 5 more times as promised, leaving him a squealing, squirming wreck.
She then continued as though nothing had happened, waiting until he calmed a little, though still clearly in great discomfort, before noting, “Let’s hope you don’t require a repeat dose Daisy!”
With everything in place, she connected a hood to her hairdryer, which was then placed over his head. She then left the room to join me, leaving him squirming in fear.
He was alone for about an hour before she returned to him. A hair net and a silk scarf were then put in place and he was released. He was ever so shaky, his inner thighs were clearly very sore still, and with bruising beginning. He then got to turn down our beds and get ready for bed himself. He didn’t sleep comfortably with a head full of curlers. My sister had wound them very tightly, so as his hair dried, they would have pulled on his scalp. Also the spikes would have made for further discomfort as he tried to sleep on his side to avoid the worst discomfort.
He was allowed an early night, but told he had to be in my office with his colouring-in book, his egg-timer and his dollies, and to have started colouring-in BEFORE 5:00 am! Readers need to look at Mistress Scarlet’s books to see this procedure, but it is very humiliating for him, and it is all recorded on camera.
I think this makes it even harder for him, and I love the way modern technology maximises my freedom and his humiliation. He is in the room all by himself, and he never knows if I am watching, if I will play the recording back, or if I will just totally ignore it and never open the file or even open the app!
Yet he must assume he is always being watched, as the consequences of being caught out are so dire! He must therefore maximise his ‘enthusiasm’ and effort for hours on end; no matter how humiliating it feels, how abandoned and lonely he feels, how stupid he feels, or how tedious and monotonous and exhausting it is. There he is, colouring-in and talking to his dollies, or singing and dancing to nursery rhymes, dressed like a sissy prat, ALL BY HIMSELF!
I might say he does also suffer the humiliation and cat calls of dancing and singing in front of us too, but once we get bored with him, he is dismissively sent off by himself. Imagine being snappily told, as he was, “You really are a stupid, boring prick prancing around like an idiot singing nursery rhymes! You are so annoying! Piss off out of here. Go sing and dance by yourself in the study where we can’t hear you! GET OUT NOW! We don’t want to be bothered by you! PISS OFF!” But the camera monitors him nonetheless.
It was gone eleven on the Friday morning before he was summoned to have his hair combed out. We had a hilarious time at his expense. His head was a mass of tight curls in which we secured his big hair bow as we mocked him. He was crimson and clearly very miserable indeed. Sadly, for him, he let a few ill-chosen, adult words slip out while expressing his concern with what we had done to him.
He had to be secured again, in order to receive eight more strokes of the cane, which were again brought down hard, on his now even more tender inner thighs. He was again squealing in agony. Once he had recovered a little of his composure, we simply continued our harangue, quite unconcerned by his very evident distress. He got to spend the afternoon on chores, before being sent to do a few more hours of colouring in, before bed.
A lovely point of embarrassment occurred when he asked me, in a private moment, about his weekly chastity release draw. I coldly advised him to ask again when my sister was with me the next morning.
It was so amusing to watch him turn crimson, dressed as he was, and ask, ever so politely, “Pwease Chwistine, may I make my weekly dwaw for a welease?” I smilingly advised, ‘Of course, you may… But since it is most inappropriate for little sissies to cum, we will not be revealing your result, though it will of course be removed from the spreadsheet. So you had better hope it isn’t your last release option of the year.” He was so nervous now, knowing that he only has one release left for the year, and it might be lost without him knowing! Since he had already lost two ‘reveals’, for earning Linnex punishments, this could be his third lost release option, though he doesn’t know if they were. And nor do I!
David was kept occupied as described above for the whole time my sister was with us. He also got to ‘enjoy’ some disgusting meals that my sister prepared for him. I must share these too but I think I have written more than enough!
I might share that my sister and I didn’t actually go gliding; I was with David on the Wednesday through to the Saturday, when we spent the entire time in vanilla mode, though he still wore female lingerie and his curls. The Sunday was a catch-up day of chores though, before going back to work on the Monday. I also used heat tongs to straighten his hair before he went back to work.
Three weeks ago, 6th May, I made another step-change in my chastity and denial regimen for poor bitch-boy. A big one, that I will describe shortly in this post. It is not big in comparison to the regimen of the puppets of Miss Anne, or of Christine M, or of Brigite, but for bitch-boy it is HUGE. And for me too.
I will also use this post to mention that last September I began collecting entries for a new Journal. (It will be Journal No. 18.) But I only write an account for a journal if it involves something new, so given the lock-down, there had not until recently been many new things to write about. I mention the forthcoming journal because it is easiest for me to describe the latest step-change by way of an excerpt from the draft Journal No. 18 which describes events on the 6th May this year.
I don’t think I have ever made clear in this blog that on the 6th June 2020 I started a new chastity and denial regimen for bitch-boy. The two ‘new’ aspects were he was not allowed out of his cage even to wash his genitals, (he could do so between the cage bars), and, instead of having an orgasm, as a general rule every 10 days to 2 weeks, the denial periods became much, much longer. (This is all set out in detail in the impending Journal No. 18)
(In the 11 months of that new regimen up to 6th May 2021, he had only cum 5 times. On 6th May 2021 he had been 8.5 weeks without orgasm and he has still not had an orgasm as of the date of this post and he knows he will not be getting one until at least 7th June at the very earliest. The 6th June 2021 is his one year anniversary of his new chastity and denial regimen. )
Excerpt from my forthcoming Journal No.18, for 6th May 2021
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I stood in front of the full-length mirror looking at myself and I called him up to me. He entered the room and I heard him emit an outbreath of emotion. I turned to him and, while I spoke to him, I began the pose routine I had used earlier.
‘Am I beautiful puppet? Do I make you desperate?’ He was almost sobbing as he emotionally answered in the affirmative. I stayed my distance so he could take in all of my body without having to look up and down.
‘Given your age and your shape, I am totally out of your league aren’t I. You are so, so privileged to be married to me, with a body like this. Far more than you deserve. And that’s why you have to suffer isn’t it. Suffer for the privilege. Suffer a great deal. Like you are suffering now.’ I paused and he actually started making sobbing noises of, I assumed, sexual frustration. I was REALLY enjoying myself.
‘Well I have made a decision and I thought it only right I should be looking my most sexy when I advised you of this decision. You know in the last eleven months you have gone between six weeks and seventeen weeks between orgasms. And you know I am almost certainly moving you to a state of never having an orgasm again for the rest of your life. Well, your orgasm frequency this past eleven months has all been quite haphazard and while I am happy with that as a way forward in general, I have decided you will never, for the rest of your life, cum without at least a six week gap since the previous orgasm.’ He began to breathe in short gasps. He was about to speak but instead I continued.
‘The only way that will change is the six weeks will be increased. Increased to two months, three months, six months? I don’t know yet when or how big the first increase will be. Perhaps I will jump from six weeks straight to six months! And obviously the minimum period of six weeks will still only be the minimum denial period. You will frequently go periods of much longer than whatever the minimum period is at the time. Two orgasms six weeks apart will most likely be a very rare treat.’ He dropped to his knees, close to tears. My formalisation of what had been a random minimum was devastating for him. He has learned so many times that when there is a click of the ratchet, it NEVER gets clicked back. My cunt was now very wet! He crawled to me and began kissing my feet while begging me to reconsider. He was holding onto my long heels while he kissed and begged. My only response was to tell him to let go of my heels. He did so and he put his palms flat on the floor. I remained silent. I simply looked down at him begging and worshipping in his state of extremely emotional distress. Such was my arousal I actually put my finger to my clit and very gently stroked while I looked down at my distressed puppet as he continued kissing my feet and pleading. I lived in the moment relishing my feelings of cruelty, absolute power and unreserved heartlessness.
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I should add that my orgasm count has increased quite dramatically as a result of his new denial regimen. Vanilla days before his new regimen, I almost never had an orgasm. I now have 2 or 3 orgasms on around 80% of vanilla days. And I tease him with my body for at least 5 minutes, around 80% of vanilla days. His constant and extreme sexual frustration and his suffering as a result, has me aroused every time I think about the cruelty of it and think about my levels of pitiless cruelty, my power over him and the extreme unfairness – Just from vanilla days each week, I have more orgasms than he will have in three years. And more orgasms every single DS day than he will have in 2 years.
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Making Comments on posts: 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 a 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 contrary comments are simply boring.)
Well the responses to my research post of 20 April 2021 were large in number, (thank you all), and fascinating in content; and there was a consistent experience of the phenomenon researched, by all but one of the many submissives who responded. That phenomenon is; that for 99% of submissive males, if they are denied orgasm for around three or four weeks or more, then a desperate sexual frustration builds up, THAT IS ONLY RELIEVED FOR AN HOUR OR SO AFTER AN ORGASM. THEN THE FRUSTRATION FULLY RETURNS AS THOUGH THEY NEVER HAD THAT ORGASM.
It is the words in bold that are important. This phenomenon was reported to me by my bitch-boy and it seems is just about universally experienced. This is good to know if you are a Domme, because there is a clear interconnection between a submissive’s level of desperate sexual frustration and how submissive and obedient he feels and how in awe of his Mistress he feels. Many, like bitch-boy, felt the pre-orgasm level of frustration/submissiveness return in less than an hour after orgasm, (poor puppets), if the orgasms are at least four weeks apart.
If you have not read all the comments on my post of 20 April, you may find them worth a read, both from the point of view of learning about this issue but also because there are some very cruel Mistresses, enforcing some very harsh regimes, that make for quite a hot read! Regular readers will know I made a huge step change with bitch-boy’s chastity regime on 6 June last year. Hence this issue arose. The bullet points are excerpts from some of the comments.
I thank you sincerely if you responded on this issue.
According to my Mistress’ philosophy, men should be lifelong deprived of ejaculation, as that is the only way to keep them continuously on edge and totally focused on their Mistress’ desires.She says (Miss B) that the mental agony of waiting for an orgasm is more powerful when the period of abstinence is rather short, but when the chastity is extended for a lifetime, there are other ways to torture mentally the slave, bringing him fruitlessly to the edge, (depending also on his inborn fetishes) like showing herself nude or masturbating,wearing leather or lace lingerie, getting him sniff her at close distance, but without touching, rubbing his cock under the sole of her boots, etc.This year, on October 16th, will mark the 8th year of my total chastity. In a way it’d be almost better… if it weren’t for Mistress that, taking off my spiked cage for a few minutes, crushes and rubs my cock with her boots, when she feels in a playing mood…
I really I would like to know the answer. I tend more to allow a very rare orgasm just to put him in mental agony and remind him of what he loses.
If I make a remark [about my level of suffering] I am either ignored or get a sarcastic answer. Compassion is out
My wife only allows one orgasm per month, but it is always ruined. Almost immediately I crave another orgasm, and for a few days afterwards I’m more desperate to cum than I was before, and can’t stop thinking about it. But that might also be because of the way she makes me cum and the ‘shame’ involved, which is very affecting at the time.
my Wife has grown accustomed to ruining them. Right after that, i really want that second orgasm and her denying it without pity really is the key to keeping me in subspace.
….In effect, my chastity device became a refuge from her torture. After a couple years of this treatment, she concluded I would be happier if my penis were left alone, and she quit releasing me. I have now been continuously locked for over three years, and she has shifted her attention to torturing my testicles regularly. She has always enjoyed playing with them while she has considered penises symbols of female oppression.
Since 2002 she has kept me locked all the time with releases about once a month if I was good up until 2019. She upgraded me to a custom fit Cherry Keeper device and extended my releases to only one every two months.
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.)
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For info on my BDSM manual, in several formats, click on an image below.
For 6 months now I have been living in strict lockdown with my beloved mother and my slave-husband, “worm”, in a single-family house that provides perfect privacy. In this private environment, I can enjoy many BDSM activities with my slave during the day and at night. The power and control over the slave have become tighter and I really wonder where he finds the stamina and courage to endure this highly unforgiving, pitiless and humiliating daily routine.
It is clear that what dear Ms. Scarlet often blogs about is true, the more severe, harsh, and unforgiving I become towards him, the more awe he feels for me, the greater becomes his submission and blind obedience to my cruel will and whims. Allow me to review since I haven’t blogged about my life and experience with the slave in a while. Of course, he always wears a tight and short chastity belt that really limits his ability to get an erection to a minimum, and to put it elegantly it is a totally uncomfortable cage for his cock.
His last orgasm was in January 2020. Yes, you read that right ha-ha, the poor boy hasn’t emptied his swollen and aching balls in 15 months. No ruined orgasm, no prostate milking, no other drainage for his balls. Just constant and relentless teasing for the slave, he hasn’t even experienced an erection in all that time. If it gives him any pleasure, the only pleasure is to remove his chastity belt for 5-10 minutes at the end of each month, provided he is extremely obedient, humble, hardworking, and demonstrates exemplary behavior suitable for a slave for the entire month. When the chastity belt comes off, his hands are tied behind his back, I place an ice cube bag around his testicles, and in this way, I prevent any erection, hence any pleasure he might feel.
For him of course, even so, even for 5 minutes without the chastity belt is 5 minutes in comfort and bliss. Poor little slave… How can he take such abuse? How can he stand to live in this misery? Is the mind and soul of a submissive man an abyss after all or is it not? I sense and have discussed it with him and he confirms that he would not change this life for all the gold, luxuries, and comforts of the world!
Another aspect I want to raise is this. I don’t know what is in place in your countries and how married men think. In my country, most married men often complain or curse or hate their mothers-in-law and think that they stand in the way of their happiness and a harmonious marriage and that they influence their wives. This is not the case with my husband. I swear, you will not find another man in the whole world who adores his mother-in-law so much, so incredibly and indescribably! Ha-ha-ha-ha! You will not find another man who obeys his mother-in-law so blindly. You will not find another man who takes such great and good care of his mother-in-law. You will not find another man who shudders in fear when his mother-in-law simply pouts or much more raises her tone of voice; ha-ha.
Of course, my mother also takes good care of the needs of her son-in-law and slave. There isn’t a day that she doesn’t impose educational punishments, various humiliating tasks, and instructions, advice, and orders.
We are a happy family living in perfect harmony, without friction and quarrels. All this would not be possible if we did not live in an FLR marriage. I am lucky and grateful to my slave who introduced me to this wonderful life and believe me: I would never go back to my previous life, I could not last an hour in a vanilla relationship.
I once again express my thanks to Ms. Scarlet and all the wonderful dominant women on this blog and to some kind and conscientious subs and slaves who participate here and with their writings have helped me to strengthen and deepen my dominance over my slave. As I am not fluent in the English language, I am not able to write long messages. This takes up a lot of my time and energy. If there is interest I could continue, describing some moments from our daily life in lockdown.
NOTE: My mother is 20 years senior to the slave. The life I describe is real and not a fiction story. That means there is no sexual service of any kind from the slave to my mother. I would not allow, nor would she tolerate, such a thing.
Of course, it is an intimate relationship as the slave performs maid duties in my house giving her body and feet massage, take care of her feet and hands, comb her hair, and similar maid services. He helps her to take her bath and in dressing her but the slave is always blindfolded in these situations. When he lived with us only as a slave, before we were married, I speculate that there may have been more intimacy between them, I never asked or discussed this with my mother for obvious reasons.
My mother, despite her age, is still a charming woman, but clearly an elderly woman. I don’t know if the slave finds her attractive or not, I don’t care, and nor does it matter. He is a slave and will serve her to the last moment of her life.
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.)
I received a link recommending me to a Mistress’s blog in the French language and a post regarding enforced chastity.
A benefit of being a mistress-wife is one has a husband-slave; so I immediately instructed him to use Google Translate and produce and tidy up an English language version of the post. I do like the style in which it is written; so here it is, in English.
The day my husband’s chastity level went up a notch …
I offer you a little step back in my life, because it was a key moment in our evolution, my husband and I. We talked about it recently, and it was as if two old friends were talking about exploring together in their youth. Except that in our case, the story was made at its expense and that the exploration in question will have been that of a more explicit submission on its part, which I immediately transformed into more supported domination on my part, with an irreversible ratchet effect.
This evocation had the effect of reminding me of what had happened, what had been said. I remembered for a long time the words exchanged in detail, and then it had sunk a little into the great number of my memories on this theme. But it all came back almost instantly, and I realized the same was true for him. We could have replayed it, so to speak 🙂 It means one thing: this moment, for him as for me, will have been a turning point. To the physical dimension, sex and the chastity cage, was added an intense psychological dimension. It would therefore be a shame not to tell you about it, it may inspire some sisters.
At the time, we had a rather imperfect chastity cage. Too closed, too large, too primary ring. We had made extra holes with the drill! And laid out the ring with resin. This is the Casto session, one of my specialties. I still have this cage, I’m going to dig it up to take a picture of it, just for fun. But I’ll put it at the end, it’s not very nice … In the article, I prefer to illustrate with personal photos of the key carried, since we are talking about chastity.
So back then, I used to cage my husband from Monday to Friday. Release on Saturday morning, if he had been obedient, or a little later to frustrate him, but never beyond Sunday noon.
That week, he was still in a cage on Sunday morning, around 10 a.m., and began to wait seriously for the end of the ordeal. Without having specially prepared my shot (for once!) And as I found him a little confident of him and of the near release, I said to him while putting on makeup in front of a mirror in the living room: “I am sure that at the bottom of you would like to stay in a cage longer ”.
There is like a blank, a kind of swallowing, and a whisper… “well no, I would like you to free me…” (I would point out that at that time my husband was fucking me, which is now totally excluded). I continue, while putting on makeup: “Yes, I will clarify: you would like me to release you, but deep down, you would like me to FORCE YOU to stay in a chastity cage”
I hear him stammering that no, he doesn’t see why. I explain to him that his body, which wants to enjoy, which is legitimate, wants liberation, but that psychologically, his brain is certainly dreaming, secretly, that I force him to go through and force him to go on Monday without liberation ”.
As he continued to denigrate (although more and more softly …), I turned to him by asking him a simpler question: “if you consider the fact that I could impose it on you, since I have the only key , you find it exciting, you can’t deny it! ”
He replies that yes, it is true, and especially since he is already in a cage and it is cruel. Very good, good answer. Second question: “And what turns you on, you necessarily like it, right?
Yes, of course, he said. “So the prospect of me imposing this cruel exercise on you excites and pleases you, which means that you secretly dream about it without daring to admit it to me.” When he admitted that it was true, he lost an important first run. He could never go up the slope, especially with what will follow.
But already at this stage, at the time of release, with more than 3/4 of a day to enjoy his sex before being put back in a cage, no key, no hold on me, evoking his excitement, c ‘was coming to throw myself into my net without being able to resist the rest. It was cruel of me, but I love to indulge in this cruelty so much. So I tightened the net…. “So say it, in full, looking me in the eye!” “.
He did not immediately formulate it completely and I had to do it over several times, adding what was missing, but finally, facing me doing my hair and tying my hair, eyes in the eyes. eyes, he complied:
“Yes my dear, I wish you could keep me in a cage longer, without freeing me, even though I want to be able to cum. I would like you to impose it on me.” At this point, as if I was hesitating … I asked him to come up with 5 arguments for me, 5 good reasons, 5 convincing advantages, so that I would agree to impose a much longer duration on him. And that he would tell me that in the early afternoon, while reminding me of what he had just confessed to me.
I have already written an article on this idea of making the companion ask for these own tortures (“the paradoxical management of the submissive”, from memory). You will have noticed that I have introduced the term “sharply” at this point, and let it marinate with it all looping through the brain. It’s a phase of accepting the domination of the other that’s important, I think, and you have to allow time. Like when you marinate game before cooking it: it has to work, the resistance must soften.
At around 3 p.m., seeing that I was not taking care of him, he came to me to talk to me on his own. A very good point. He reiterated the sentence above to me, and he listed the 5 arguments for me. I remember it well enough:
“You have to keep me in a cage longer …
– because you want to control me and it’s a form of control
– because it will make me more attentive
– because it prevents me from masturbating
– because you like to carry the key with you
– because it accentuates our D / s relationship ”
It was okay, but I wanted to win a second round, and an idea came to me at that point, which I hadn’t had. I asked him to rephrase without using neutral forms, and with him as the subject. We had to explain, but we had time… I had put him in front of me, 10 cm lower than me, with very high heels, a tight outfit and the key securely in place. After a while it was better, like:
“I think you should put the cage on me longer and not release me because if you release me:
– I would no longer be under your control in the same way
– I risk turning away from you
– I risk masturbating
– so that you can keep the key
– so that our D / s relationship continues to progress ”
It might sound a bit the same, but it actually isn’t, especially eye-to-eye. You certainly understand that said like that, it becomes impossible for me to release him. He feels it, and he’s lost this round.
And why not push it in a little more. I decide to focus on the 3rd point and ask him: if you feel that we are not going to have sex right away, are you likely to masturbate, or is it likely that you will masturbate? Or even certain?
It was hard, but he admitted that depending on the time, it was probable or certain… So he had to formulate correctly, eye to eye and hands behind his back “if you release me, it is very probable even certain that I will masturbate ”
So I told him that I was going to keep him in a cage, and that for it to be a real chastity session, I was going to order a tighter, smaller cage, and that I was going to focus on locking it down. and audits.
In the morning, he was sure to be released, and a few hours later, he asked me to keep him longer, and especially not to release him because he would go straight to masturbate, knowing that this is one of the things that angry the most.
He was in the cage for 4.5 weeks, whereas so far he had not exceeded 7 or 8 days. It was cruel to him, but there had also been sincerity. And so as I indicated in the title, this was the time when we made a big step forward in the use of the chastity cage, and consequently in other aspects.
Looking back, he told me that the most terrible thing for him had been that it had been demonstrated that durations of several weeks, even several months, were perfectly possible, and that I would have no restraint in imposing them if necessary, including repeatedly.
A bit long article, but I wanted to detail the mental journey, which is always done in two
We made David’s Sunday draw in bed around 9-30 am, after he had spent quite some time pleasuring me to several orgasms. I am not sure who was most surprised, when his draw popped up, granting him a release! One of his two possible releases in a year. It seems there had been purpose to his prior expectations of early success. He was wide-eyed with elation after 13-months without a release.
We had been out together all-day Saturday and had had vanilla nights at home on both the Friday and Thursday evenings so; David had a full-on day of chores ahead. I advised him he could plan on getting his release ‘this evening’ and that, since he had gone for so long without a release, ‘I would make it very special for him!’
He worked tirelessly all day, but it was still close to eight o’clock before he got around to starting on the ironing. He still had a good two-hours’ worth to do, when I went in a ½ hour later. I pleasantly advised him that he could “leave that for now”, as I had everything ready for his release, if he would like to join me in my office. He of course followed excitedly behind me.
I was dressed in a long, billowy cotton kaftan, with a floral design. Nothing sexy, I like it as it is stylish and kind of conceals my large behind. On entering the room, he started to tremble, and his smile vanished, as he stared in dismay at the full screen image displayed on my large computer monitor. This showed by sister, who was connected by FaceTime! He looked at me aghast but knew better than to complain.
I smiled over at him and warmly advised, “Since this is such a rare and special occasion, I just knew you would want to share it… And (my sister) was pleased to accept your invitation. We’ve been chatting for a while and, as you can see, in honour of the occasion, we have both opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate… in fact, we’re each three glasses in, and probably a little tipsy! Now… don’t be rude, say ‘Hello’ to (my sister) and let her know how glad you are that she could join us.” Blushing profusely and stuttering, he reluctantly, but politely, did as he was told.
I then explained how everything had been set up. His flesh-lite was secured tightly to his punishment bed, so he could kneel in front of it and penetrate it without needing to hold it…. “and… I’ve turned the bed round, so you will be directly facing your audience.” He was looking terribly uncomfortable and tried to plead that he really was too embarrassed to come in front of someone else. I dispassionately dismissed his concern.
In front of my giggling sister and her ‘cat-calls’, I had him lower his three pairs of panties to his ankles, and then pull his skirt and slip up high and out of the way at the front, where I secured them in place with two large safety pins. That morning, I had had him wear a garter belt, rather than his usual girdle, to hold up his stockings; so, his chastised appendage was now fully exposed. I then cuffed his hands behind his back, before unlocking and removing his chastity device. Needless to say, a few tweaks of his nipples and his defect sprung proudly erect. “Well,” I grinned, “your little bit of gristle certainly wants to show off to (my sister)!”
My sister was by now joining the conversation with various disparaging remarks, mocking that. “.. it wasn’t anything to ‘show off”; but it did look all girly and cute being so clean shaven, “It certainly doesn’t look like it belongs to a real man! And it’s so small!” she snickered as he went a deeper shade of red.
We then mocked him about being a BAV and laughed at how he only got to jerk off twice a year at most. “What a little Nancy you are!” she laughed as she sipped her champagne, “It’s a good job you have a tongue!”
I then put two condoms on it before advising that, since it had been so long since his last release, I had better remind him of his rules. I sternly warned, “You have one-minute. You are not to let your organ so much as brush against the flesh lite until after I press my stopwatch and tell you, ‘Go’. If you start even a fraction of a second too early, your release will immediately end, and you will be punished. So, keep it at least 6-inches away. Once I say ‘Go’, you can start thrusting away to your hearts content. I will countdown the last five seconds, and you need to have pulled out BEFORE I advise, ‘Stop’, or you will be very, very severely punished.” He was looking ever so nervous now, trying to not look into my sister’s smiling face, positioned right in front of him.
“My, my” she laughed sarcastically, before breathlessly proclaimed in mock wonderment, “…what a stud you must be… can you really last a whole minute?” If it were possible to blush a deeper shade of red, he would have; especially as I added, “I very much doubt it!” giggling, “we don’t call you the fastest gun in town for nothing, do we, David?”
Snapping that it was not a rhetorical question, he was forced to shamefacedly agree with me, as my sister laughed even louder. Turning to my sister, I joked, “HE thinks he’s a real stud if he manages thirty seconds, … Don’t you dear?” He nodded shamefacedly with a whispered ‘Yes’, as he knew he dare not disagree with me.
My sister nearly spat her drink out, she thought that was so hilarious. “No wonder you keep it locked away. He must be a real embarrassment to you.” Addressing David, she then mocked, “You must have disappointed a lot of girls over the years? The ladies may turn and admire you**, when they see you out and about, but they’d roll their eyes at you in contempt if they knew about your little problem and how quickly you spurt! No wonder Christine dresses you like a sissy at home. Is that what used to happen when you used to date all those dolly birds? Did they look up at the ceiling in frustrated annoyance?” He was too crimson faced to speak, but gently nodded his head to avoid challenging her.
**This referenced the fact that David remains strikingly handsome at 6 feet tall with an athletic, muscular stature. (In contrast, I am a classic bell shape and, though just two inches shorter, I weigh about 1/2 again what David does.)
With our laughter still ringing in his ears, and my sister mocking him contemptuously, it was time to let him have his release. I smiled, “Are you ready to go David?” as he knelt before the flesh lite… “Now one more rule, you are not to close your eyes. If you close your eyes, your release is cancelled… and you will be punished… and… you are to keep looking into our eyes.” He was squirming and trembling and terrified of making a bigger fool of himself.
“OK….” I then pressed start and advised, “Go!”. He lunged forward as my sister roared with laughter at his pathetic gyrations, mocking how it was just as well it was only a piece of plastic tubing as he wouldn’t be doing too much to please a woman with his bit of gristle. I counted the seconds, … “25-seconds, …” as he started to look anxious, he was struggling to come with all the humiliation.
“30-seconds, …. It looks like you’re trying to impress my sister,” I teased, …… “40-seconds….”
“My what a stud you are!” scoffed my sister.
“Fift…y” At this point he let out an almighty roar as he powerfully ejaculated. I know he would have loved to get the post orgasmic pleasure that flows from remaining with his organ enveloped by, in his current case, the flesh-light, but he gets a release, not relief, not a long orgasm. “fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight,fift…” I continued as, with tremendous fortitude, he pulled out, before I got to say ‘Stop’. He was sobbing in humiliation and frustration, his organ still twitching and screaming out for more. Instead, I stepped in with an ice pack, quickly removed the condoms and pushed him on his back to better apply the ice pack; before again securing his appendage in its stainless chastity cage, in which it can’t even erect.
He was then told he had five minutes to tidy himself up, fix up his make-up and get back to his ironing. We were still giggling as he departed the room.
That night in bed, I grinned as he entered the room and he squirmed embarrassedly before me, as I lightly noted how “At least we got that out the way for a while”. He couldn’t get close enough to me and begged me to let him pleasure me!
I have mentioned in the past that I like to cook and bake from time to time and I have also mentioned that bitch-boy has to get up early enough EVERY morning to return the kitchen to an immaculate state before I get up, whether I have cooked or, as is more normal, he has. It is very enjoyable to cook and bake with no regard to clean-up afterwards, knowing you have a little kitchen slave to do that.
The other evening I was cooking for fun. When I had finished, I required bitch-boy for his vanilla company to watch a movie and then to come up to bed with me. The next morning, the kitchen greeted him looking like a bomb damaged conflict zone! And in particular, this greeted him.
Before I started cooking, the immaculately clean grill tray had been lined with aluminium foil which I had removed at the commencement of my cooking exploits, just for the subjugating effect that would have on my kitchen-slave.
He found next to the grill tray a little note on which I had written. ‘Clean this disgusting item until it shines! I removed the aluminium foil because I am a bitch and last night in bed, thinking about that, made my orgasms more intense.’
Indeed the previous night when I had summoned him to bed with me to lick me to a couple of orgasms, thinking about what a bitch I had been and how he would feel the next morning greeted by the tray and note, as well as my usual thinking about his defect all locked away and his orgasms being so scarce while mine are so frequent, my orgasms had been seriously enhanced!
The other evening I was enjoying a very funny female comedian’s stand up routine. One routine was both funny and for me resonated around my sexuality and relationship with bitch-boy. So probably also applicable to a number of DS couples. The comedian had mentioned she was bi-sexual and then talked about how a straight forward aspect of sex with a man was that it has a natural end point; when he cums, often quickly arrived at!
But good sex with another woman just goes on and on unless there is a reason to stop. And it is a difficulty to stop without a reason. This brief routine sparked so many thoughts in my head when applied to my and others’ DS lives.
How wonderful it is to be a dominant woman so sex with a male does not have a natural end point, because the male either does not cum at all, or only cums when I the Domme is ready to end the sex session. How wonderful that that phenomenon, of itself, raises arousal and orgasm intensity for the Domme.
How wonderful that I now only like mutually rewarding sex sessions with other women and I can remind bitch-boy that when I used to have mutually rewarding sex sessions with him, a very long time ago, they were sometimes over rather quickly, while my mutually rewarding sex sessions with women go on and on and on.
And finally, loosely linked to all this, I thought about how, under my ‘new’ denial regimen for bitch-boy, during the frequent full-on DS days I enjoy, I have more orgasms during any one of those days, than bitch-boy will get in a year. Then as I pondered on that, and I realised that, more accurately, I have more orgasms during any one of those DS days, than bitch-boy will get in TWO YEARS! I don’t know why I had not recognised the actual extent of this disparity before! I could not wait to tell him!
Mistress Scarlet's Blog 