Another wonderful account from Christine M. In it, Christine refers to my ‘advice in recent posts’. I think this must be about raising and dashing hopes and also not holding back with merciless verbal taunting and ridiculing. I know Christine, like me, when applying these techniques firstly get seriously, arousing, cruel pleasure and secondly, despite the forlorn expressions of our puppets, we see momentary glimpses of deep awe of and submissiveness to their Mistresses.
All those years ago now, bitch-boy told me he could not live contentedly without being helplessly in the power of a cruel, pitiless woman. And, David told Christine, ‘he had an unappeasable ‘need’ to be strictly raised in a manner that might have befitted someone in an ULTRA-STRICT Victorian household.‘ Both puppets now sleep the contented sleep of submissives who have had their wishes come true!
I thought you might enjoy hearing about last Wednesday evening when I followed your advice from your recent posts. (Speech quotes of course convey the message as I recall, but are not exactly as spoken.) David surprised me, since I thought he knew better than to ask the question he did. He had needed to go into work very early, that morning, and had had an unusually demanding day. During dinner, he asked if he might be excused that evening’s weekly chores, until the next night, while stressing that he would of course still clean up in the kitchen.
I may choose to excuse him his duties for a night(s), if I want his company, if we are going out or if I feel he needs a rest… he well knows that he NEVER gets the choice! It was therefore just so natural to make him regret making such a request; and I had not the slightest pang of conscience about being so pitiless towards him. His dedication and time spent pampering me was irrelevant, not even deserving of a thank you; and I revelled in my being so indifferent to his plight.
“No, David,” I firmly advised, “You know how I feel about this! You need to get your priorities straight! Nothing takes precedence over your duties as my maid!” He looked so forlorn, as he gave his best pleading look and begged that he would do everything the next day. It was clear he felt he couldn’t mentally or physically face up to getting changed and doing chores.
“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD!,” I stridently chided, “Now, get changed immediately, then put a load of washing on and come see me in the lounge. I’d like a pedicure… AND, if you don’t improve your attitude, I’ll give you something to truly be sorry about!” Morosely, with a slightly dramatic sigh, he thanked me and went off to change. It was about six-thirty when, dressed as Daisy my maid, he started my pedicure, which included a warm foot bath, hot towels, aromatic oils, a foot scrub and a massage, before sculpting and painting my toe nails. He is very good at this and knows he must take his time and not rush anything. I must admit I had him slip into the bedroom and come back with my special massager wand. I was so very relaxed.
It was around seven forty-five when he tenderly kissed my feet to signify he was finished. I let him continue kissing for several minutes before I draped one foot over his shoulder and rubbed the other into his groin, feeling his steel prison, “Mmmmmmm…..,” I smiled dreamily, “Enough kissing… I have had two wonderful orgasms, I am so sleepy and relaxed. I’m going to lie here a little longer listening to the music before an early night…. I suppose you have forgotten how pleasurable orgasms are. Mine are so powerful, they drain all the energy and tension out of me, leaving me feeling ever so blissfully relaxed… tingly and drowsy and energised all at once.” His chest heaved deeply in and out, sighing with intense frustration as I moved my foot up to his nipples and rubbed gently before gliding back down.
I then goaded him, “Do you remember before you met me, you told me how you dated young, slim, gorgeous girls? Girls that your mates used to ogle with envy! You were quite the playboy then… weren’t you? A regular Don Juan! Plenty of orgasms back then? Very different now isn’t it!” I mocked callously, “Endless chores, harsh punishments and, not only are you a virgin for the rest of your life…. Now that we’ve permanently caged it, it doesn’t even get stroked… In fact, you can’t even get a hard-on! That must be so HARD for you!” I laughed sarcastically at my pun.
“Unimaginable for me, I have so many orgasms. Whenever I want them!…. Just what would your old mates think if they could see you now, my pretty little maid… a chaste virgin! What did you tell me your best mate, <Name>, said when you first started seeing me regularly?” He blushed crimson and squirmed uncomfortably, recalling how I had forced confessions from him in those early days. “Oh, I remember,” I laughed, “He wanted to know if you’d ‘lost your marbles’… called me ‘old thunder thighs’ didn’t he?…. Said I must be ‘Older than your mother’! Figured I must really ‘put-out’ didn’t he? Why else would you go out with me? Very chauvinistic!
What would he think of you if he could see you now! The lads would have a right good laugh at you wouldn’t they? Think you a right pathetic wimp they would! A real pansy! Maybe we should invite them round for a laugh? What do you think?” He blushed deeply and trembled like a snared rabbit. “They’d probably call you a right little wanker wouldn’t they? But you can’t do that can you?” I smirked
I have always adored teasing him over his chastity and his sacrifices, but now, following your lead; I am more often cruel and cutting with my remarks. Previously I would tease him in a tender, erotic manner. This excited him, leaving him aching for release. Now that I display icy dispassion and serious contempt as I mock and ridicule him, using the most scathing and derisory language, it cuts so deeply into his core, that it is actually more hurtful than anything else I do! He feels humiliated, abandoned, pathetic and, if truth be told, plain silly. Consequently, he is often reduced to tears. Deep down, he doubtless hopes that his tears will bring compassion and affection, rather than the total contempt they illicit, which leaves him feeling even more despondent and hurt! It’s a wicked cycle and he so preferred the more kindly, erotic teasing.
I smiled at the look of desolation and pathetic wretchedness on his face, observing his deep sighs of beyond extreme frustration and fear, in case I did invite them over.
Then grinning mischievously, I sardonically continued, “You must be so looking forward to next year…. You just MIGHT get two releases…. The same as I have had this evening… Yours aren’t guaranteed though, are they? And I’ll have a third before bed tonight! Whereas you will never ever have more than two in a year… NEVER, EVER!”
I laughed contemptuously at the thought of this, shaking my head in mock disbelief, “They won’t be like mine either, will they?” I grinned as a tear formed in his left eye. “There won’t be a long, slow build-up, followed by multiple orgasms that build to an enormous crescendo before they ever so slowly ebb away into a range of heavenly sensations, leaving me relaxed as I bask in the afterglow for as long as I wish.
You just get a one-minute ‘quickie’ don’t you! That’s it!… then straight into its cage and back to your chores! Hardly worth the bother really! A waste of 5-minutes if you ask me!” Laughing at his grief-stricken look, his lower lip still quivering, I harshly snapped, “I HOPE YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BURST INTO TEARS!!! YOU ARE SO PATHETIC THE WAY YOU CRY OVER NOTHING! I’m warning you now… if you smudge your make-up… not only will you need to reapply it before you start your chores,… I’ll give you something to really cry about tomorrow evening! NOW STOP FEELING SORRY FOR YOURSELF AND GET TO WORK! YOU’RE NOT ON VACATION!”
He sighed most disconsolately, and rose stiffly having been on his knees for so long. He was clearly tired. I remained, ever so relaxed, and closed my eyes to enjoy the peaceful music playing in the background… “Oh David,… before you go… After a sleepy pause, I dreamily continued, “I’ve been thinking about your earlier request to put off your weekly chores… I think what you really need is a little lesson in gratitude and duty…..”
I heard him gently exhale in trepidation… “After you finish all your chores… you’re going to write me a short essay…” with my eyes still closed I heard his deeper sigh of crushed resignation. Picturing the look of misery on his face, tears forming for sure. I paused for perhaps a minute. A smile creased my lips as I delivered a wonderfully perplexing topic for his essay, “…. ‘Idleness, Indolence and Leisure’.”
He mumbled a desolate thank you as another lengthy pause followed, during which I almost dozed off. I was feeling so relaxed, quietly enjoying playing with his emotions… it wasn’t I who had chores and an essay to write! It wasn’t I who was wanting to rush off and start my work. I could laze in my arm chair, unwinding to the soothing music for as long as I wished. “Just 2-pages,” I smiled nonchalantly, leaving him gasping, lost for words.
[For his essays, I recently introduced A4 writing pads with a 6 mm line spacing. These have 45 lines on each sheet. Previously we used standard A4 writing pads with a line spacing of 8 mm. They had 32 lines on a page. With the narrower line spacing, his writing needs to be smaller too, so not only are there more lines on each page, he fits more words on each line. With the 8 mm paper, he wrote around 10-words on a line; with the 6 mm paper he fits around 15-words on each line. This means a 2-page essay used to be around 650 words; but with his new pads, it is about 1,400 words! Hence why he was so morose!]
Showing no concern, I dreamily advised, “You’ll need to change into your school uniform…. And of course, no internet study! I want to know YOUR thoughts on the topic.” There was another, even deeper sigh to this news. “You can go now!” I curtly advised. Throughout this exchange, I had not even opened my eyes. He would have been feeling tremendously depressed to be so dismissively dealt with.
“Please Christine,” he summoned up the courage to nervously stutter, whimpering, “I really am very exhausted…. And I have a few hours of chores to do…. And I’m starting late after giving you a long pedicure. Cou… could I… maybe… please….. may I write it over two-nights? Please? Please?” he pleaded fretfully. I could just imagine him trembling, his eyes teary and lower lip quivering again, a woeful expression on his face. I was nearly asleep I was so stress-free. “No, I want you to write it tonight” I quietly advised before briefly pausing and remarking, “On second thoughts… let me think about that….” I then paused for well over a minute, with him perhaps dreading that I might have fallen asleep. “Yes, I think that is actually a good idea…” I languidly agreed, much to his relief as he replied, “Thank you Christine, thank you so much.”
“We can make it 4-pages then… Now… you have your wish, so the sooner you finish your chores, the sooner you can make a start on the first half of your essay.”
He audibly gasped in horror at this unexpected turn of events. I, in contrast, was lazily reaching for my wand again, my eyes still closed, quietly basking in my power and pitilessness, enjoying the contrast of knowing we were both aching for an orgasm, but whilst I was about to enjoy a massive one, my third in an hour or so, he would not be! Nor would he for several months yet!
I could still hear he was present, and had not yet left the room. As I gently pressed the wand to me, I distantly asked, “Are you still there…”
“I was just on my way out, Christine, I had to gather everything up…” he replied a little nervously.
“That’s lucky,…. That you’re still here…” I murmured, “because I was thinking… I’d like my car cleaned tonight instead of at the weekend…. I am going out with, <Friend’s Name>, tomorrow… It will be so much nicer if I have a freshly cleaned car to show off…. That means vacuumed and cleaned inside, then washed and polished…. The showroom works…”.
[Normally he washes my car weekly, and cleans it inside monthly. This is a physically demanding job that takes at least 2-hours to complete. And he has to work fast and use a lot of muscle. He also had washing and ironing to do, as well cleaning the hallway, stairs, landing and dining room. These were also physically demanding jobs.]
I then slipped into my world of relaxed pleasure as he no doubt looked on awe-struck, before having the good grace to quietly leave.
I knew too that he was most unlikely to request to be excused from his chores again, for a long while! He now had an extra 2-hours of chores and half a 4-page essay to write, a daunting task in itself.
The next day he advised me it was half-past-one before he was able to start writing, and he worked on his essay for 2-hours that first night; and over 6½-hours the next night; though he was able to start at nine on the Thursday night. I had placed a little extra pressure on him on the Thursday, when I brightly mentioned that, since he had two-nights for his essay, anything less than a score of ‘B’ would mean he would need to rewrite it.
[When he presents punishment lines, I just quickly glance to see they are completed, and look presentable, before tearing them up. With essays, I grade his work using a simple rubric. This ensures he has to put plenty of serious scholarly effort into his writing. The rubric covers content, structure, grammar, organisation and development, and style. I scan the essay, rather than reading intently. This means It takes no more than 5-minutes to grade an essay, as opposed to the many hours that he spends preparing and writing them! Scholarly essays were something he had suggested when we first met as they evoked memories of schooldays. I think he regrets that too!]
Of course, as expected, he performed at work the next day with no trouble at all, although he felt rather weary. I actually only put him though such demanding trials once or twice each month. He has always been capable of such feats of effort and has never needed much sleep.