Tag Archives: degradation

Mistress Francesca – cuckolding

Another insight into the life of the wonderful Mistress Francesca. There are previous insights HERE and HERE. I do not often  post about cuckolding involving a male ‘bull’ because it is not something I would ever do. When reading about or looking at images of cuckolding involving a male ‘bull’, in my mind, I like to replace the male’bull’ with a female lover. Cuckolding bitch-boy with a female love is something I TRULY ADORE! Especially if the lover has a nice cruel streak aimed at bitch-boy.

However, I think a full insight into the life of Mistress Francesca and sissy slave m is fascinating and arousing, hence this post.


Dear Scarlet,
Sam is one of my recurring lovers. He is a true tireless stallion and, although he is not very much in to BDSM, he enjoys dominating sissy slave m with me.

Being exposed and submissive to my lovers is the thing that sissy slave hates most of all and when I announced that Sam would come to see me, I saw on his face and in his eyes, the true, deep and indelible despair; a mixture of terror and discouragement and imploration and resignation; and this excited me enormously!

Thursday, Sam’s arrival day, I had the slave take the day off work and, from 6:00 in the morning, I used it to polish the house to perfection from the attic to the basement used as a dungeon, and to prepare dinner.

He brought breakfast to me in bed at 9:00 am and his appearance excited me incredibly.
You know, Scarlett, what a power rush it is to be awakened in bed with a splendid breakfast by a devoted sissy slave who has been working as a servant for hours, just to prepare the evening for the Mistress and the her lover. The look of sissy slave m already tired and pleading, and at the same time adoring, immediately put me in a good mood and I masturbated with my vibrator to a very strong orgasm.

I then wandered around the house before washing and getting dressed while the sissy continued her work. At around 12:00 the sissy had finished the preparation and I was ready to go out for lunch with my sister. I closed sissy slave m in the dark broom closet with hands tied behind his back, on his knees and with a short chain attached to the collar and a cock gag in his mouth. I looked him in the sad and pleading eyes and spat straight in his face
“You are just a useless miserable subspecies of sissy slave and your only role in the world is to suffer and be submissive!” Another spit in the face, followed by a five light kicks to his balls and I closed him inside, excited by his sad sighs of despair and his sobs of humiliation but, I’m sure, also of desperate and frustrated excitement.

I returned home around 03:00 PM, satisfied and excited, waiting for my bull but, first, I pulled my poor sissy from his closet. What an exciting and decadent vision Scarlet! The sissy had a desperate look, totally defeated and subjugated for the three hours closed and in chains, for the hours of work in the morning and for what still awaited him! Yet when I took the gag from him, his thanks and his oaths of love and obedience were sincere and very truthful!

Seeing him in that state made me completely wet and I had to masturbate again. I let the sissy lick my shoes, including the soles, and adore and worship me, before bending him on a stool and whipping him with the belt of my pants, for no reason but the fact that I wanted to. I gave my golden nectar to the sissy to drink, for which he thanked me with great emphasis. Then I brought it to his dressing for the evening.

On the way to his room, he looked at me imploringly, terrified of the kind of outfit I would impose on him. Terrified with reason! I decided for a particularly humiliating outfit, in a splendid pink PVC. I had him stripped naked except for the chastity cage and I started dressing him:
Pink corset, very tight closed, delightful pink PVC Panties, with a rear open welcome-hole and an opening at the front to let the chastity cage pass and make it evident. Special suspender straps start from the panties to which I hung her shiny pink PVC stockings
So her pink pvc maid uniform with cute, short, puff-ball sleeves, and with wide lace trim.
The dress is elasticated just under the bust, which gives it a typical prissy sissy look. With a full skirt, which has wide contrasting, lace trim at the hem of the skirt. the full skirt sits on top of a beautiful little underskirt that has layers of netting that pushes the skirt up and out, and every layer is trimmed in lace. On top, a white PVC apron. All so short as to leave the chastity cage partially uncovered. On the feet are a pair of shoes with 15 cm heels and 3 cm platform in pink color that on the top features a frilly lace design.

So the bondage: wrist cuffs in shiny PVC pink color with a wide lace trim at both ends of the wrist and cute satin bows, at the ankles, instead, a sexy pair of wide ankle cuffs shiny PVC that have an adjustable buckle strap that goes under the heel and ensures that shoes cannot be removed. A high pink PVC collar with wide lace trim at both ends.
On the head there is a blonde wig with a permanent 50s housewife style and a pair of long false eyelashes.

So I joined the anklets with a chain of about 30 cm and I did the same with the wristbands, which I then joined to the collar so that the hands could not go under the waist. Throughout the dressing, the sissy trembled with despair and tried to beg me not to impose that type of clothing on her, yet every time that, insulting him and slapping him, I ordered him to keep quiet, I saw his chastity cage jump because of a desperate erection attempt .

Wonderful creatures are the slaves! They are about to be subjected to what much more they hate in the world, and yet their body reacts with incredible excitement to an insult or a cruel gesture from the Mistress! I find it beautifully exciting!

Seeing herself in the mirror, the sissy sighed subdued, and she kept repeating obsessively “please Mistress no! Not so Mistress! Pity Mistress! “, and I, delighted, started another mind fuck, which I love. I told him how ridiculous and pathetic he was dressed that way to wait to serve his Mistress and her lover, how inferior was his condition compared to mine and how much that his life was destined only to become more and more harsh and humiliating 
To every affirmation he answered with a sigh and with a convinced “Yes Mistress, thank you Mistress”

My excitement was now beyond the guard level and I therefore decided to secure the sissy for the wait and go to get ready. I took the pathetic sissy back to the closet and made her kneel. I stuck a big fake cock with a sucker on the wall and I ordered him to hold it in his mouth and to remain so until my return. To his submissive “Yes Mistress! Thank you Mistress! “, said with a look full of desperate humiliation. I closed the door and went to get ready, not without having first masturbated for the third orgasm of the day.

I washed and perfumed myself and wore a pair of black mules with a 15 cm heel and 5 cm  platform, black lace underwear and, above, a black silk dress, with suspenders and just five or six centimeters below my cunt. My long loose black hair and sexy but not excessive makeup. Once I was ready, it was now 18 and the bell rang, Sam had arrived.

We hugged and kissed with passion and desire and, rubbing against him, I felt his erection. He held me in his arms and, with one hand, he held my butt getting more and more excited, just as I was very excited. He left me a beautiful bouquet of red roses (I love them) and immediately asked me where my sissy husband was. Amused, I took him to the closet and together we opened.

At the sight of the pathetic sissy on his knees, Sam started laughing out loud telling me how diabolical and terribly exciting I was! I, jokingly but not too much, warned him not to provoke me because a mistress like me could subdue even a man like him! So, laughing, we brought out the poor slave sissy, trembling and desperate.

Sam slapped him for not paying him homage immediately and the slave, with real tears in his eyes, prostrated himself to kiss the shoes of the man who was about to fuck his wife! A terribly humiliating and exciting thing!

Obviously, I was not satisfied with the humiliation of my slave and therefore I demanded that he devoutly lick Sam’s shoes and soles, in the meantime thanking him for such honor.
I swear to you Scarlet, when I hear him say, between the sobs of humiliation, “Thank you Master Sam for the honor of licking your shoes by this pathetic sissy”, I had to take Sam and drag him to the bedroom immediately!

From the stairs, I ordered sissy to prepare dinner for two and to put his bowl with yesterday’s leftovers on the floor near the dining table. Now beyond all humiliation, the sissy replied “Yes Mistress” and started in the kitchen while Sam and I went up to the bedroom!

I missed it Scarlet! I love dominating the sissy and I cum immensely from doing it but, from time to time, I really like a good fuck and in this period I really missed fucking! First, I made Sam kneel to give me a light kiss to my shoes and feet (after all I am always the Mistress) and then he went up to lick my pussy. Then, I made him put, with his surprise, the condom and we start fucking!

I had two orgasms practically simultaneously because while I was just diminishing the first one I had the vision of sissy slave m. in the kitchen alone humiliated and desperate and, immediately, I had another orgasm! So we went on until Sam reached a very strong orgasm which caused another one to me too! Satisfied for the moment, we rinsed and we got off, not before I had removed Sam’s condom and kept his seed.

We went down to the room and were greeted by the sissy with a curtsy. We had dinner served and, between courses, I announced to the sissy that Sam had a surprise for her and I emptied the condom on the pathetic leftovers from the day before they made up the sissy dinner. With a desperate sigh of humiliation sissy slave m. saw that I was emptying Sam’s condom on his leftovers and, resigned, humbly thanked my lover.

We then watched laughing at the sissy meal which, between sobs of disgust and humiliation, still had to eat to the last crumb and thank his superiors. So Sam and I continued our splendid fish dinner served to perfection by the sissy, which we totally ignored except for cold orders and, once we had finished dinner, we retired to the living room, where we ordered the sissy to join us. Here the real game started!

Sam and I started kissing and touching each other on the sofa, while sissy slave m had to stand at our feet to lick our shoes. We commented on the absolute power that we could exercise on my poor slave, destined to a whole life of total submission and frustration in the face of the total pleasure that we drew from dominating him!

When we had warmed up enough we decided it was time to get serious.
I tied sissy slave M. with legs upwards, so that his head and shoulders touched the ground and I positioned myself behind him with the cane in my hand. Sam instead sat on a stool at the height of the slave’s face and placed his shoes on his face. So I ordered the slave to lick the soles of Sam’s shoes with devotion while I started hitting his sissy butt with increasing ardor as growing was my excitement! I don’t know how many blows I gave him, certainly not less than thirty and, judging by the implorations of the sissy, they were very strong blows. Then, we untied the sissy and took it to the bedroom where we made him kneel and started fucking again.

After cumming for the first time in the missionary position, while the slave licked my feet, I put on doggy style and I had the sissy placed with his head under my pubis to watch helplessly Sam who fucked me and who, after another my sensational orgasm, cumms inside me. I had the sissy clean Sam’s cock and, therefore, I made him swallow my cream pie. So Sam and I rested a little while the sissy, defeated by fatigue, humiliation and frustration, sighed desperately on her knees at the foot of the bed.

By now we were exhausted! We then went to the bathroom where I used the funnel gag to use the sissy as a toilet and we took a shower, then went to sleep, not before I sent the sissy to fix the kitchen and not before I ordered him to wake Sam up at 7:00 AM the next morning. I saw sissy slave m come out of the room and look at me pleading and destroyed to complete his long day.

The next morning, therefore, I just saw the sissy waking up Sam, as ordered, at 07:00 AM then the slave got dressed to go to work. When I woke up I was in total ecstasy, completely satisfied both from the sexual point of view and, and more importantly, from the point of view of my total sadism and domination.

Sam sent me a message to thank me for the wonderful evening. As for sissy slave m, Upon returning from work, having given up his male costume, he literally threw himself at my feet swearing his eternal and unconditional and absolute love …

Truly a glorious day and night for me and in perfect symbiosis with my sissy husband!
Thanks for your patience Scarlet!
A big hug
Mistress Francesca


 A link to all my journals HERE, including:



Idle wondering and innocent images

I love to see the pro Dommes who have what appears to be their own, long term sub. Despite the income earning nature of their output, you know they are REAL in a REAL relationship. Bojana the Balkan Brat, Mistress Elaine and sissy maid Vicky, Melanie the Barefoot Princess, Cruel Sarah and her cuck, Kelli and her cuck, Louis Margot and her cuck, Princess Perfect and her sub, etc.

What I sometimes wonder about is whether some of the deliciously cruel pro Domme women who regularly appear in videos and photo shoots with many DIFFERENT subs, have a long term male sub at home? A male sub at home who suffers a regime in keeping with the cruelty these delightful women show with the subs in their videos? (And do any of them read this blog I wonder ???)

For instance, any of the women from; Miami Mean girls,  from the Brat Princesses, from Men Are Slaves, etc. And women such as Empress Jennifer,  Mistress Cindy, Mistress Elise, Brat princess Christina, Miss Barnes, Goddess Amadahy, Cybil Troy, Sarah Eve, Karin Von Kroft, etc.















Might some of these women have a full time sub at home who they do not want on video? Or do they have a vanilla male because they get all their sadism and dominance out when making femdom videos?

Just something I sometimes ponder on.


Below I provide details of my new guide for beginner Dommes. Linked to my alternative blog and, possibly unique, as it is specifically written to avoid frightening a vanilla wife or girlfriend away from trying an FLR relationship.


Lock down activities (No. 4)

This new activity was loosely inspired by my post of 1 May featuring who I now know to be, Miss Panic. I did since find she has a couple of videos on PornHub as well as the, often very wicked, short clips on the Twitter site I references in my earlier post. The video for which I have provided a link, also has her on her signal, having her arm pit covertly licked,  in public.

Lock down activity No. 4 is that bitch-boy now has a garnish added to every single drink and every single meal he consumes.  Normally it will be a mouthful of spit deposited into his mug or glass before he begins to drink, or I drop a mouthful of spit onto each plate or bowl of food he is about to consume. (This is during all the vanilla times. Obviously during DS times, it is my nectar from a jug that is added instead of, or as well as, my spit.)

He must always say, ‘Thank you Mistress’,  when I have added my spit garnish, and I always then respond, ‘I should think so!‘ The lock down does mean this applies to every single thing he consumes every single day, day after day after day.

I love his expression of humiliation and hurt both when I drop the spit, and when I say, ‘I should think so!’ in answer to his thanking me. And I feel a lovely little power rush and a reaffirmation that I own this submissive human being and I can use and abuse him howsoever I please.

Sometimes we will be in a 100% vanilla activity, when I have chosen to use him for his wonderful vanilla company, say watching a great movie or box set. The atmosphere of near equality is pierced as I drop my spit and we have our verbal exchange. Then gradually the atmosphere of near equality slowly returns, rather more quickly for me than for him though.

Degrading food and drink

On my Facebook account I came across a video with a VERY WICKED Domme surreptitiously having her slave eat and drink in a public cafe in rather degrading ways. A Facebook friend put me onto a Twitter account showing many videos of many of her tribulations for her slave also involving nectar, funnels, his toothbrush, etc. Weirdly, never does her name appear.

The original video that grabbed my attention is on the Twitter account on 3 October 2018. She then regularly appears in this account up to November 2019.

Facebook Video

Twitter video

I absolutely love this woman! Whoever she is?




Below I provide details of my new guide for beginner Dommes. Linked to my alternative blog and, possibly unique, as it is specifically written to avoid frightening a vanilla wife or girlfriend away from trying an FLR relationship.


Find Paperback                                           Find it in ePub format

Purchase for AMAZON KINDLE

US   UK    DE    ES    FR    IT    NL   JP    BR     CA     MX    AU     IN







Innocent Images?

Just a very light hearted post arising from me thinking about the shame of how I have to avoid posting images of BDSM or nudity because I do not want the slightest possibility of my blog getting deleted by WordPress.

I wondered, looking at the images on my femdom  BDSMLR site, how minimal an image could be yet still invoke BDSM thoughts in us, while a vanilla person would see nothing to do with eroticism. I stood over bitch-boy while he went to work with Photoshop under my instruction.

Do these fit the bill? Do they inspire your imagination with BDSM thoughts and scenarios? Would a vanilla person see eroticism or simply be confused or bored by each image? Is it even possible for us to put ourselves into the mind of a vanilla person. I do not think it is possible.








Just a reminder about my new Guide entirely written to help entice vanilla women into trying domination. Further details HERE.  There is also my alternative blog; again entirely written to help entice vanilla women into trying domination.


Lock Down Activities (No. 1)

I thought I would share some ideas of activities to pass the time for those enduring stay-at-home lock down. I may post one or two ideas per week unless people have enough to do.

Toilet Roll Lines

First I have to chuckle as I write the word, toilet, when I think how this might be received by my US blog followers. A country that seems fine to use the word, shit, very frequently, (your shitting me, bull-shit, etc.), but shies away from the word, toilet! (Preferring, rest room – for a room with no bed, sofa or chair, or bathroom for a room with no bath). The room the rest of the world calls, the toilet, les toilettes, die Toilette, het toilet, el inodoro, etc. Anyway; enough teasing of my lovely US blog followers!

I mentioned toilet roll lines in my Journal No. 9 and in a blog post of July 2015. (I hope I am not boring people who recall the mentions and that there are followers for whom this will be new.)

Now the UK is in lock-down, as an extra activity to keep bitch-boy subjugated and occupied, and an extra recompense for me enduring lock down, I have brought back a regime of toilet roll lines.

The perfect writing implement must be used, (bitch-boy uses a very fine felt pen that has to be applied with just the right pressure). The regime is that he must make sure any toilet roll sheet I use has a line written on it. (I will give examples of the lines I require in a moment.) Each toilet roll must be unrolled a bit at a time by bitch-boy and a line written on each sheet. After enough sheets have been written on that might be used by me that day, then the sheets must be very carefully and neatly rolled back up.

If you have three toilets in the house then three rolls must each have at least say, 30 sheets with a line on. One roll for each toilet. And first thing in the morning, before I wake, EVERY DAY, bitch-boy must make sure each toilet roll has 30 sheets with a line written on. It is pretty hard to write the lines without ripping the paper. A tedious, degrading, never ending task and all that work simply gets flushed away. (He uses his own toilet rolls so he does not flush his work away himself.)

A typical lines would be one of these:

  • It is an honour to serve and to suffer.
  • I am a pathetic sissy little girl Mistress.
  • I worship and adore you cruel Mistress.
  • Please make me very miserable today.
  • Please thrash me to tears today Mistress.
  • Please deny me relief today Mistress.
  • belindakins loves playing with her dollies.

I pick one of the lines for one toilet and a different line for the other. From time to time, at my whim I change to a different line. Obviously during every visit to the toilet I get a little power rush and a feeling of pitiless decadence as I rip written-on sheets from the roll, use them and then flush away all that work without a care in the world. And if the line is, Please make me very miserable today, or, Please thrash me to tears today, well sometimes I do as I have been asked, just because I have been asked!

I don’t know what its like outside the UK, but here there have been endless images on TV news and social media of selfish, despicable people bulk buying toilet rolls for a stockpile, despite the fact that there is not and will not be a shortage. I however see such an image and simply think of poor bitch-boy’s task and how much more precious my toilet roll is than the stockpilers!

When I used this routine for a while in 2015 through 2016, there was a constant issue  of squirrelling away the written-on rolls should a vanilla visitor turn up. Quite a stress. So I ended the regime. But now, with zero visitors! Well it is the perfect time to have brought back the toilet roll lines regime!


My 16th journal –  LINK






toilet roll

Another wonderful Lady Jessica contribution

Given dear blog followers, the majority of you have said you do not read the comments on blog posts, I post this contribution instead of simply approving it as a comment. As always Lady Jessica reveals more of her deliciously uncompromising lifestyle and, for the first time,  its genesis! And, as always with a most delightful and elegant writing style.

Lady Jessica mentions the old Madame magazines (from many years ago). The very magazines that got me into many of the activities I enjoy – and bitch-boy does not!)

One INCREDIBLY satisfying development of my blog is that I started it because of the vacuum on the net, that needed filling. A replacement for the Madame magazines. By that I mean content consisting almost exclusively of real and true detailed contributions from real lifestyle dominant women, (including me), sharing ideas, lifestyles and activities.

It has taken nine years but I think I may currently have achieved my objective.  I am seriously grateful to now have a large number of fabulous, contributing, real dominant women; including; Lady Jessica, Carla, Samantha, Christine M, Cortney, Mrs Sonia Meloni, Dorinda, Rhoda, Rita and others whose names have not sprung to mind but whose contributions are also seriously valued by me.


Lady Jessica’s Comment

Oh, my dear Mistress Scarlet

What a delightful posting. Let me add my enthusiastic agreement to the opinions you and the lovely Christine have expressed here!

How I chuckle when I read comments on your blog from fantasising males, especially those responding to the pieces from me that you have been kind enough to publish. How glibly they wish they could come under my rule and how they envy skivvy the regime he endures! Flies, all of them, flies. Flies, catching sight of a gauzy web, sparking in the morning sunlight. Flies, blissfully fantasising about the pleasures of being trapped in that web and wrapped in silk! Yes, you poor fools, the silk is soft and as I spin it around you tighter and tighter, you would feel the most delicious sense of helplessness. Does that thought give you an erotic frisson of terrified pleasure? Good. Enjoy it. The web is beautiful: it is designed that way to draw you in and gently to enmesh you in its strands. But there is a spider waiting there for you. There is always a spider… her fangs quivering with the desire to sink themselves into your soft flesh. Would you be so foolish as to land on my web?

Skivvy was and it is too late for him to save himself now. I do not mean – of course – that our relationship is non-consensual. However, it is undoubtedly true that it is now a very long time since poor skivvy had sufficient willpower not to consent to anything that I might choose to impose upon him. There was an important point – an event I think of as ‘the great rebellion’ – that I will write about some day. The formal consent to everything was sealed after that little episode. But in truth, the poor lamb was lost long before.

Would he have chosen this lifestyle, had his future been presented to him, when he was a young man? It is hard to know. He is fascinated by humiliation, there is no doubt about that, compelled to submit. In that sense, he is very lucky and should be grateful – as I frequently remind him – that he encountered a partner such as myself, who can help him explore these bizarre (and to me personally incomprehensible) desires. Yet also I realise his life is hard and unpleasant and may well not be the life that he would have chosen faced with a clear decision. In particular, he is not the sort of ‘masochist’ who actually enjoys pain, I am glad to say (as otherwise I would gain little pleasure from inflicting it upon him) and although pain is not the only feature of our relationship, the fact is that he is submissive to a sadist and he must take the consequences of that. Indeed, those consequences are essential to underpin the humiliation regime that he secretly craves so deeply: why would anyone (for example) eat vinegar-soaked potato peelings out of a bucket except through fear of the painful consequences of refusing to do so?

I was quite cautious in the way I slowly enveloped him in the web of my control, each silken thread adding just the lightest touch of additional constraint on his freedom and comfort, hiding my fangs until the day when he suddenly came to realise he was bound tight – and at the mercy of someone who has no interest in mercy! I waited a long time before meeting someone like skivvy and I did not want to risk him getting away.

When I first started to experience the stirrings of sadistic sexual desire, as a young girl, I was scared at the thought of where they might take me. My fantasises of humiliation and torture of boys were too intense to ignore but I was well aware of the consequences of acting upon them. I feared either a life of concealed sexual frustration or perhaps even arrest and imprisonment… so when I discovered in my mid-teens about ‘BDSM’ and discovered there were men who would not only let me do to them the nasty things I dreamed of, but would actually beg me to do so, you can imagine how relieved and excited I was! Only once again to be disappointed. Every man I hooked up with (through small ads in magazines, initially, but very soon the Internet) was either too soft or too hard, if you know what I mean. Too soft were the ones who wanted to keep it all strictly play – a bit of spanking and bondage as part of a sexual encounter, but nothing more – and certainly nothing truly unpleasant. Yet still less to my taste were those masochists who sought and craved pain! When I slash a backside with a cane, I want the recipient to shriek in pain, I want them to hate and dread every stroke, begging urgently for mercy… I don’t want some macho fool grunting in pleasure as I thwack away at his leathery backside, taking his pleasure from his ability to ‘take it’. I don’t want him to ‘take it’! I want him to writhe, to beg, to plead… and ‘take it’ only because the straps holding him down (and my implacable will) present him with little choice.

So… while I no longer feared prosecution, I found myself increasingly frustrated, wondering where were the men whose purpose on this planet was to satisfy my needs.

Then I met him. Skivvy. He had a name, back then, as he still does in some circles. It had taken some time: he was a student, fourteen years younger than I. I had a job at a university and on the side, I ran one of the student halls of residence. Possession of pornography was against the rules, so I had an arrangement with the cleaners to bring me any magazines they found. I would then have a chat with the miscreant, which generally gave me the intense pleasure of humiliating the squirming wretches confronted with the evidence of their filthy activities. How I would love to have followed through with the application of an implement of correction to the backsides or hands… or parade them for added humiliation through the corridors, dressed like the semi-naked women in the magazines they so foully lusted over! But this is the real world, not a fantasy, so of course I never did. I doubt they forgot their little interviews, though!

Anyway, at times the magazines I was brought would feature bondage, leather and suchlike. I took particular care over the humiliating interview when the material was the male-dominant variety (as, disturbingly, the majority of it was). Oh, to have been able to work through an issue of ‘Janus’ with one of these chauvinists, visiting upon their own increasingly sore bottom each and every stroke of the punishments inflicted on the imaginary ladies’ bottoms in their magazine! I was particularly struck by how many liberal, left-wing male students secretly cherished fantasies of punishing and humiliating females… quite revolting. In fact, one of our best-known Labour politicians – but my lips are sealed. Those sorts particularly feared exposure, of course, and my little interview would heavily feature that threat, as I pointedly inquired how their feminist friends were likely to react to the news that their cherished male ‘ally’, so keen to decry the slightest hint of sexism in anyone else, would retire to his room and masturbate to images of gymslip-clad adult females being caned severely in the headmaster’s office. A little hypocritical, I suppose, since my own sexual fantasies were almost a mirror image of that, but I did so enjoy making them quake and even beg a little. I hope they learnt their lessons but I doubt it. Men need a more sustained corrective regime, for any real behavioural change.

There was ‘femdom’ material too, of course. But I knew from bitter experience that most of its consumers would be either soft ‘playful spanking’ or hard ‘endurance competition’ types – and I had thoroughly lost interest in both. Most of the magazines simply featured young ladies in uncomfortable-looking leather or PVC underwear. Occasional British issues of Cruella or Vixen raised the tone a little, but even there, the focus was on highly sexualised, ritualistic and fetishized behaviour. The gap between my reality and that fantasy was simply unbridgeable.

Then one day, I was presented with a little collection of ‘Madame in a World of Fantasy’ magazines. I had seen this publication, from ‘Swish’, before, and noted how closely its material accorded with my own desires. The young man whose room had yielded this treasure trove had quite the collector’s set… and the most thumbed (and sometimes stained) pages were those featuring humiliated, crushed sissy males, living lives of oppression under female control. Often control by a rather mature female… Oh my.

Perhaps your readers will now imagine that I called in the miscreant – skivvy, of course, or rather the youngster who would become him – and took things further than the normal humiliating telling-off that I gave to most of these masturbating voyeurs? Perhaps I pulled his feebly resisting form across my womanly lap and gave him the spanking he so richly deserved? No: of course I didn’t. I wasn’t interested in a quick fling (or, for that matter, in losing my job) but I was very interested indeed in the long—term prospects and I was going to take it as slowly as necessary. I asked the cleaner to replace the stash exactly as she had found it. I did my homework on the young man in question. Young: yes. Attractive: yes, if you’re not looking for a hunk, but attractive enough in a slightly dorky, sweet vulnerable way. Oh, so vulnerable… Clever – he was in his second year and had come nearly top in the first year exams. In maths! There is good earning potential in maths. He was the one.

I won’t go into how I seduced him. He turned out to be the pushover that, knowing him better now, he would have been for any female out to get him. But I got him first. Oh – there was a girlfriend, of sorts. She presented no real difficulties. I probably did her a favour, actually. In the years since, I have used punishment essays to ensure I have details on every embarrassing incident in skivvy’s life, so I have complete accounts of every one of his (rather few) attempts at sexual intercourse, and believe me, if that girl was attracted to skivvy at all, it was for his mind. She was quite nice about his fumbles – which skivvy, the poor fool, took to be compliments, until I took him through the essay explaining how what she said was better interpreted as tactful forgiveness for what was clearly a pitiful performance… I had him write to her, actually, apologising, but she never replied. Perhaps she has become less forgiving. We women tend to, with age.

So: I moved rapidly to ensure I had no rivals in his heart. But I moved very slowly indeed in enslaving him. We enjoyed ’playful’ spankings and bondage sessions… goodness, it was difficult at times when he was held firmly across my lap only to smack away with my hand or a slipper in a measured fashion. I did enjoy it, but when I reached orgasm in our little playful sessions – as, to be fair to skivvy, I often did – he might have been surprised at some of the things I was imagining. Surprised and thoroughly disturbed.

This is a comment, not an autobiography so I will not give a blow-by-blow account of skivvy’s descent and my rise to absolute power. A few milestones stand out in my memory, though. I might write more about them and others in due course, but as a taster…

His first ‘serious’ punishment spanking. Abashed and apologetic for arriving late, he offered to be spanked. I refused to be mollified, pointing out that sex play was hardly a punishment for him. He became quite agitated; I suppose his submissiveness is an important part of his character and I was impugning it. So he asked for a ‘real punishment spanking’, agreeing to no safeword. Again, I refused. He ended up on his knees: “I want you to punish me when I’ve been bad. I need that. Please Jessica.” I finally gave in to his entreaties that day – and I have done many times since, occasionally reminding him that all of this is done at his request and his alone.

Going through his clothes, throwing out the ones I did not like (the majority) and then taking him shopping for new ones. All male clothes, that first time, of course. But rather softer, pastel shades than he was used to and anyway, it reinforced the rather maternal nature of our ‘relationship’.

His first face-slap. He did not enjoy it then and he does not now.

Career guidance. I wanted him to go and make money with his clever mathematical skills. He was interested in further ‘research’ and wanted to do a PhD. What a waste of time. ‘Dr Skivvy?’ I don’t think so. We argued about it when he was close to finishing his degree. There were tears – a good sign, I thought, as most adult men would not even try to use tears and pleading in such circumstances. It was his career, after all. So, faced with a pathetically crying skivvy, I graciously compromised and we ‘agreed’ he would do a one year advanced course and then ‘we will see’. At the time, I wondered whether I had been too flexible but actually, when I look back on it, the occasion set a useful precedent. He had got what he wanted – but only by crying and pleading. Useful reinforcement for his developing station in life. A year later, the maths programme nearly complete and my own programme for skivvy’s total subjection considerably further advanced, we had little difficulty ‘agreeing’ that he would immediately go off into the very lucrative but stressful career that he hates to this day.

His first real caning. Bliss. He begged hysterically afterwards for me never to do that to him again. I pointed out that it was up to him, it would depend on his behaviour. Our eyes met. I wonder if just for a fraction of a second he glimpsed his future and recoiled. Then his eyes dropped and he gulped “Yes Jessica, of course. I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

Punishment lines and punishment essays. These came quite late. Perhaps it is not too surprising. Even quite intense corporal punishment is still somewhat sexual. The bottom is usually bared, the submissive is tied, I can imagine the after-effects being erotic… there are elements of sensuality in all of that, even when the pain is too brutal to enjoy. Not so sitting fully clothed at a desk, hand aching, the sun shining outside, writing for hours because someone has told you to do it. That is not part of a playful BDSM relationship; it is a pathetic expression of subjugation. His very first line was “I must learn to be more respectful to Jessica; she does not want any back-chat when telling me off.” Just one hundred I think. The first one hundred of so, so very many in the years since.

Yes… that was the start.

Now, my dear, I must draw this to a close. Skivvy is hanging upside down from the ceiling, in the corner of the room iwhere I sit writing this. Occasionally, I prod him with the end of a cane, and he sways slowly. I told him he would dangle there until I had finished this letter and I am afraid that I have written so much more than I had intended, the poor thing must be wondering if I have embarked upon writing a novel!

I will print this letter out, and place it on the floor for him to proof-read, while I go and have a cup of tea. I see no reason why he should not do that from his current position. I can attach a rope to his hair, and pull him slightly sideways by attaching it to the wall, so his head can easily point straight down at the sheets of paper. He’ll just have to remember where any typos are, so he can correct them later on the computer. Do please let me know if he misses any.

How did it make you feel, reading these words, skivvy? Does it make you regret your life? Too late now, my toy. Far too late. I wonder how many tears will have been shed on these printed pages, when I return? I probably won’t be long. Or I might be. It’s up to me… isn’t it skivvy?

My dear, dear Scarlet, I am of course, as ever…

Yours in sincere sisterhood

Lady Jessica


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








Xmas account from the amazing Lady Jessica

Below is the meat of a comment I received from the amazing Lady Jessica. I need say no more!

………… Here, skivvy and I have just been getting on with our everyday lives: for him, each day sinking another millimetre or so into the quicksand of my alluring despotism; for me, each day presenting new opportunities to indulge the sadistic pleasures that I so keenly enjoy.Christmas is a time for all families to focus on what really matters: which in our little domestic tyranny is obviously skivvy’s relentless oppression and humiliation. The seasonal traditions begin with a home-made advent calendar, with little envelopes fastened to a festively-decorated board, one of which skivvy opens each day to reveal a surprise. A few are quite nice – one must always inspire hope, so that it can be crushed in due course. Some years some of the daily surprises are sweets, for example, but this year I decided to mix things up by wrapping small squares and ovals of soap in sweet wrappers (I threw the actual sweets away – I personally do not have a particularly sweet tooth).

Skivvy’s face was such a treat that day! Initially, relief and delight on opening the envelope to see the ‘sweets’ nestling inside. Many of the daily surprises are quite unpleasant or painful, and only the day before poor skivvy had received a pair of shiny bulldog clips which we tried out on several parts of his body over the course of the day. I am perfectly capable of repeating exactly the same ‘treat’ from one day to the next (he should never feel hat he has ‘got something over with’ – all punishments and treatments can be repeated in full at whim, sometimes immediately), so just the absence of bulldog clips was a good start to the day in itself.

It was more than just a sense of relief, though: anything sweet-tasting is a true blessing for him because skivvy’s daily diet, while perfectly healthy, cannot be described as tasty or pleasant. He pulled out the ‘sweets’, looked down at them in his hand, then looked up at me with such pathetic, hopeful eyes that I simply could not find it in my heart to deny him, so I smiled and said he could pop one in his mouth straight away – but he should be quick, as he had chores to do. He took one of the little parcels, swiftly twisted off a wrapper and popped it straight in his mouth.

Then he looked a bit puzzled, then a bit alarmed, as he started to recognise the taste. He hates mouth-soaping. I use it rarely these days, but in the early months of our marriage he got to know the taste of various soaps quite well, as he gradually came to terms with the speech rules I imposed upon him. It had been a while since he had experienced that sharp, astringent taste. I made him write a punishment essay about it once, as I was curious to discover what it tasted like. In five thousand heartfelt words, he described to me the initial taste, the way it seems to fill every corner of the mouth and rise up as if through fumes into the nose – all the way to the aftermath with teeth squeaky clean with the mouth washed of all the body’s natural lubrication, and the hours of indigestion from the soap-suds churning around in his insides. It sounded perfectly dreadful. Thank goodness I shall never experience it.

“Suck it slowly, skivvy. Make it last.” I advised him kindly, and he knows by now not to ignore my ‘advice’. His face screwed up slightly as he gently sucked away at the melting mass of mineral cleansing agents and perfume. He had taken a pink ‘sweet’, which I had carved from a bar of rose-petal facial soap. The three remaining wrappers were, respectively, green for a pine-fresh toilet soap, blue for a strongly-perfumed lavender bar and silver for the traditional white ivory soap – as they say: not perfumed, not coloured, just cruel.

Eventually he finished his rose petal-scented treat and opened his mouth, panting slightly. He knows better than to ask for a drink of water in these circumstances, so he merely asked whether he should now go and get on with his chores. “Oh no rush, skivvy” I replied. “Wouldn’t you like another sweet first?” So of course he had to ask for another. Politely. Entreatingly. Which I allowed him to have, out of the limitless kindness of my nature. Then I let him get on with his chores and he had the third sweet before lunch and the last just at bedtime, to last him through the night. And the next day he had another advent calendar envelope to open and a new surprise for the new day! Such a lucky skivvy.

I won’t provide a journal of our whole Christmas, my dear Mistress Scarlet. Every family’s Christmas is different, but there is surely much that is the same. We exchanged presents, we played games: there was laughter, there were tears. Quite a lot of tears, actually. All in all, it was a memorable, merry time – for me – as it is every year.

I did, however, just want to mention one serendipitous incident, completely unrelated to Christmas, that occurred recently. I am in the habit of putting skivvy into nappies – diapers to American readers – at times. This is a pragmatic necessity if ever I give him a really early bedtime, as I sometimes do when going out for the evening or having friends around. Seven pm to seven am is a long time for a man (deep down and almost completely forgotten to the world, skivvy’s identity as a male is still technically intact) to endure without a trip to the bathroom, and as a visit to the actual bathroom is obviously impossible with all four limbs strapped down, other methods must be found. Hence the nappies. He is not, under any circumstances, permitted to do anything other than a ‘wee’ in his nappy. If he does… something else, the punishment is simple: the filthy nappy goes on his head and remains there for the duration of a severe caning. It has happened just twice in our marriage. But weeing is allowed: indeed encouraged, as I like him to feel the soaking wet padding all night.

That was a bit of a problem in the first years of our marriage. Like many adults, which he notionally and legally is, he had some inhibitions about ‘wetting himself’. Of course, he always did eventually but I didn’t like the idea of his lying there warm, snug and dry, even with a steady build-up of pressure. A couple of pints of water at bedtime help, of course, but unless I remember to make him drink them a couple of hours before he goes upstairs, he still has a chance of getting to sleep in a dry nappy, thus frustrating my plans for his discomfort and humiliation. And I cannot abide being frustrated.

So one evening I took matters into my own hands, so to speak, and peed in his nappy myself. After strapping him to the cot, I pulled the rubber covering back and just let go. This caused me a surprising amount of pleasure, both at the time and later, thinking about skivvy lying there not merely in a urine-soaked nappy but one saturated with someone else’s urine. So I developed a habit of placing the new nappy in a plastic bucket, folding it out, peeing copiously and then (with rubber gloves on) fastening the vile thing around skivvy before popping the rubber covers on and saying goodnight.

Well, my dear, I was busily engaged in this one evening in the week before Christmas. Skivvy was already secured in his cot by the wrists but his ankles were still free so I could dress him – the nappy folds around of course, but as I mentioned, I use one or more layers of rubber pants that need to go up over the legs. I had just finished peeing when I heard the most angelic sound outside – carol singers! I so love carol singers, so I quickly finished what I was doing, and hurried downstairs. I must have been five minutes standing in the door, listening to this little group of angels. And angels they appeared to be – five girls and just two boys, the latter skulking at the back and looking as if they wanted to be elsewhere. Vile little brats: I do hope that in later life they will each meet someone who can ‘look after’ them properly. I so dislike boys. But the girls were so sweet, with lovely voices. I gave them quite a lot of money – it’s Christmas and skivvy can easily afford it.

Then, suffused with the joys of the season, I went to the kitchen and made myself a G&T, before settling down I front of the TV. I must have been there about half an hour, before I suddenly remembered with a shock what I had been doing, before I was so entrancingly interrupted. I went back upstairs, to skivvy’s room – where everything was, unsurprisingly given his restrained condition, just as I had left it. I put the rubber gloves on, hoicked the sodden mass out of the bucket, instructed skivvy to raise his bottom up, slipped it under, then made him lower himself and started fastening up the front.

Immediately, I noticed him gasp and his nose wrinkle with disgust. “Something not to your liking, skivvy?” I asked.

“It’s… it’s quite cold, Lady Jessica.” he explained. And so of course it was. I like to keep skivvy’s room (it’s not really ‘his’ of course – nothing is – but it is a room entirely devoted to his needs) unheated, at least in winter, and the urine which had left me in a hot stream was by then quite cold. How awful and clammy that must feel! Hard to imagine, of course, as such a thing will never happen to you or to me. But I expect everyone has had to pull on some clothes that are still wet, at one point or another in their lives, and it is not a pleasant feeling. How much less pleasant to pull on not merely some rather damp cotton panties, but instead a soaking wet, stone-cold sodden nappy that is saturated not with pure clear water but with smelly, pungent urine! Someone else’s cold, pungent urine. I gave a smile of more than usual delight and encouragement as I snapped the two rubber coverings in place. Then I secured his ankles, switched off the light and went back down to enjoy the evening, gently humming Silent Night, the tune of which had got stuck in my head earlier.

No doubt you are way ahead of me on this activity, Mistress Scarlet, as you are on so much else. For me it was a new delight, though, to discover that his bedtimes can be made still less pleasant by the simple device of slowing things down, of taking a little more time, for things to cool down. There’s a metaphor about life in there, I am sure. I shall be doing this again. You have often written of the use of ‘special’ ice cubes, my dear but skivvy has yet to experience such a treat – but quite apart from their other benefits, I imagine they can prolong this delightful chilling effect so we will be trying this in the New Year. I’m not having such things in the freezer where I keep my food, obviously, so skivvy has been researching small freezers, or even specialised ice-makers to install in his room. When he has found the perfect machine, I’ll send him off to the January sales to see if he can get one cheap. Oh, I so love this time of year!

A very happy New Year to you and to all your female readers, my dear!