Tag Archives: femdom

Stomping Stage photos and videos

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

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

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

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

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

Christine’s sister goes solo

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.

Stinging nettles trimmed for ‘application’.

I thought I would show how I currently like stinging nettles prepared for use for dickie-discipline. Currently, my favourite routine is to have bitch-boy gagged and secured, helplessly and vulnerably, to the BDSM bed with his thighs secured wide apart in the gynaecological stirrups. I then stroke and tickle his perfectly shaved genitals advising him that if his birth defect remains ridiculous, and soft and flaccid, it will not have to endure the nettles. But if it stands up all hard and erect I will know it is asking for a nettle whipping.

The last time, a few days ago, it had been over 11 weeks since his last orgasm, I was very provocatively dressed and I had already been in full-on DS day mode for about three hours. My hands were expertly stroking and squeezing and tickling; and I had made him take a Cialis pill first thing that morning. I am afraid his defect did not remain ridiculous, and soft and flaccid. So I told him as the object was standing up erect and hard and asking for a nettle whipping, it was only fair that it would get what it was asking for. I became very aroused at this point I have to say; partly because of the unfairness of the ‘choice’ I had given him and partly in anticipation of how ‘bad’ I was about to be. I pulled my above the elbow, red leather gloves on. There is a sneak peek of them in this book cover image.

I pulled the nettle blanket over his defect so it poked up through the hole, like this dildo does in the image below.

Some Mistresses strike all at once with nettles , the thighs and belly and balls; as well as the defect. I think this is a mistake. I know how precious males think their silly defects are and how sensitive the defect is to nettles, especially the head; so I want all of bitch-boy’s focus to be what is happening to his defect. No nettle tickles anywhere else on his body!

So back to how the nettles are prepared. I like a short stem I can hold like the handle of a little whip and a crown of leaves to be making contact when I whip and whip and whip. The strokes are not so hard as to break the stem, the strokes are somewhere between firm tapping and whipping. I like three stems prepared just in case one is a ‘dud’. I start with whipping the shaft of the defect and after a while, and lots of pleading and whimpering from bitch-boy, I induce some lovely sincere pleading when I ask if I should whip the defect’s so very sensitive head. I prolong that pleading with phrases like, ‘Oh should I, or should I show some pity today, I just can’t decide?‘ I am amazed he continues to emotionally plead as I never show pity, NEVER! But his fear and hatred of the head being whipped overrules his common sense and he pleads and pleads.

Eventually I become bored of prolonging the pleading and I begin to whip the head to a serenade of serious, emotional sobbing and whimpering. I think the cacophony is so emotional because he knows that, as well as the pain he is feeling at that point, the discomfort of the stinging is likely to continue for up to four hours after I have stopped.

I do have to stop after a short while to ‘see to myself’. (It was the sixth time I had seen to myself so far that day.) A second whipping can then be applied if I wish, once I have satisfied myself. A second whipping makes for an ‘exciting’ double-down experience for bitch-boy to leave him in no doubt he is; helplessly in the power of a pitiless, cruel dominant woman. When he pleads and pleads I like to say, ‘Your voice is pleading no, but your defect is standing up all hard and erect, saying, yes please.’

And yes, it is bitch-boy who must prepare the nettles to my specification. Failure to meet my specification is not even worth him contemplating! And no, he did not get to cum that day. I did though of course, nine times.

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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.)


A link to all my publications HERE, including:

Declarations and Domme’s Orgasms

I received the comment below and felt my lengthy answer really desrved to be a blog post rather than be hidden away as a comment response. So here is the comment I received followed by my answer.

Dear Mistress Scarlet,

If I may, I would like to make one comment and pose one question.

Firstly, I would like to comment on the life-changing power, perhaps under-appreciated by some, of the making of a formal declaration. It is one thing to see that a change (such as ever-lengthening delay between release) has ‘crept into’ your life; and to be told, in bold and explicit terms, that such the change is deliberate, recognised to be unfair, and utterly permanent. I have seen that a number of times in my relationship, most recently when Mistress announced that I was a Born-Again Virgin.

With an undeclared change, the sub can always cling onto the idea that it is temporary, inadvertent, or a mistake. That hope is dashed with a formal declaration. I also wonder what effect that has on the dominant woman. Which brings me onto my question…

In many posts and in your books, you state that increasing levels of dominance and cruelty ‘ratcheted up’ your sexual (and other forms of) satisfaction with your relationship with BB. But, on hearing about the frequency and intensity of your enjoyment, one rationalisation is that this must be because you (Mistress Scarlet) are an unusual and rare woman who just has the capacity for multiple frequent orgasms, and so other women cannot replicate similar levels of enjoyment.

So could I ask you to please clarify (and yes, I am aware that this question has overtones of the line from Life of Brian ‘If it’s not a personal question: are you a virgin?’) if, before you discovered BDSM, were you someone who had an unusual capacity for fulfillment from vanilla sex? Or (as I suspect) were you previously a person with a fairly ordinary level of response, and attribute your current degrees of arousal and satisfaction entirely to the levels of sadism and dominance which you practice? To put it another way, do you have an unusual responsiveness to the ‘drug’ or is it a medication from which anyone from benefit?

My Answer

An indication of how much I agree with you about the value and significance of declaring changes which are intended to be permanent, is that two chapters of my new publication, Addendum No.1, deal with this topic. Not just deal with it but provide suggestions to maximise the impact. The first section is about Recording Dates of the last time ever of an activity, so that anniversaries can be ‘celebrated’. The second is about A Cruel Countdown Procedure that can be used in the lead up to the last time ever of an activity. Neither can be employed without a declaration.

Putting aside the huge effect on bitch-boy of having made a declaration, the effect on me of having made a declaration is very powerful indeed. Having made my six week minimum gap for orgasms declaration; I feel totally pitiless, all powerful, decadent and truly cruel. A heady cocktail of feelings that do lead to arousal. Which brings me to orgasms for Dommes. (I sense you may have read my latest publication?)   In Addendum No.1, there is a large chapter on enhancing the number and intensity of the Domme’s orgasms.  

Although you ask very personal questions, I feel I must answer them to further my crusade to have more women enjoy the number and intensity of orgasms I enjoy. My story does cover the key issues. Firstly, I do not have a rare and unusual capacity for numerous, powerful orgasms. I do know what prevented me from so being, until my eyes were opened to a few facts.

Until I met bitch-boy I had never masturbated and had had hardly any orgasms; although I had boyfriends from the age of 15 and then a husband. (So no, I certainly am not a virgin!) BUT, the first night I spent with bitch-boy, I had more orgasms that one night than I had previously had, added together, in the whole of my life before that night. No wonder I fell for him!

This brings me to the first AND CRITICAL FACT that applies to me and to every single woman I have ‘converted’ over this fact. Relying solely on penetrative orgasms is a huge mistake. Clitoral orgasms is where intensity and large numbers of orgasms are found for most women. bitch-boy being submissive, (unbeknown to me at the time), had his head between my thighs that first night and kept it there for a LONG, LONG time. (I was much younger than him with an amazing body, I can understand he was driven by his submissiveness to secretly worship me that night the best he knew how.) He also told me that night that I should not attempt to have him get as much pleasure as me, because men are built for one orgasm and women are built for many. I felt it was unfair on him but he insisted and I went with it. Look where that has ended up! (Be careful what you wish for.)

A few years later when my dominance and his submission had begun in earnest, I read an article that set out how dominant women should masturbate because of the number and intensity of orgasms that are possible – without a man’s assistance! The article also suggested it is optimal to use a vibrator wand. (It suggested a Hitachi 5000- it was years ago.)

I experimented and the article changed my life! Then once I began to become a SERIOUS Domme; unsympathetic and unashamed in wielding power, gratuitously, cruelly and pitilessly, I understood the saying, ‘power is an aphrodisiac’. It certainly is! I am not alone by any means in my orgasm numbers. Every single Domme with whom I have engaged in relevant conversations, who uses a wand and who masturbates, enjoys the number and intensity of orgasms I do. I should stress this masturbation is most often in front of one’s submissive; it is not exclusively performed alone, although I do both.

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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.)

Another big step change

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.)

My Addendum No.1 is published in ePub format.

Addendum No.1 is now published as an eBook on LULU.com, in ePub format. My previous blog post gave full details about the book.

This is the first review: An excellent book. I am reading and loving it. You have such a unique writing style. As I read it I am transported into a submissive experience where the terrifying yet highly arousing torments are endured by me. It stirs me deeply. What a powerful array of guides and methods for any Domme and her fortunate sub. JMF

This is the second review: A highly rewarding and addictive read for anyone into this so special lifestyle from either side. For those less experienced to the experienced there is something for whatever stage their relationship is at. There is both width and depth and a high level of experience and understanding from the author. So you can go back and review if it is not quite the right time. Any Mistress wishing to deepen their Submissive’s desire to go deeper into subspace will be enthralled by new ideas that push a sub to yearn for more. Boundary breaking. Excellent from start to finish. More please. PB

Cake and eat it too!

One major hurdle for women flirting with the idea of being a Domme is often expressed with words to the effect of: ‘I want a real man, to look after me, not a weak submissive man.‘ And one major hurdle for Mistress-wives flirting with the idea of dressing their submissive as a French maid, or sissy maid, or parody of a schoolgirl, or parody of a little girl, is often expressed with words to the effect of: ‘I want to dominate a real masculine man not a weak feminine man.’

Well I implore such women to experiment and they will most often find they can have their cake and eat it too. ALL the women I have been in close exchanges with who have experimented after expressing such qualms, change their approach and never look back! By way of explanation I will give a brief insight into a day of mine a few days ago .

When bitch-boy woke me with tea in bed, I informed him that the day was to be a full-on DS day. He would repeatedly suffer considerable physical discomfort and he would suffer very considerable humiliation and tedium for a lengthy period. And he would NOT be getting to cum. The DS element of the day would probably last seven or eight hours.

Before he had got very far digesting this announcement and coming to terms with it, I asked him. ‘What do you say?’ I adore this simple verbal tweaking of his submissive soul with the injustice of him having to answer as he must. Which he did, although a little gloomily. ‘Thank you Mistress.‘ I answered in a tone of mock irritation. ‘I should think so!‘ What a lovely start to my day; and plenty for my poor puppet to think about.

However, sticking to the point of this post , I will skim over his very hash deterrent punishment, (Oh how he pleaded, and I repeatedly, verbally raised and dashed his hopes that I might end the punishment! Until finally I did). I will skim over how I played with his boy’s bits for over an hour while he was in sensory deprivation bondage and I sat next to him on the sofa and I watched a subtitled TV programme I love. (He has not cum for 9 weeks!) I will skim over his second punishment, given just because I could; and later how his stiff little defect suffered while I used my Vampire gloves. And I now get to the first relevant activity for this post.

I had him dressed in his full-on parody of a little girl outfit, (see previous post), and for half an hour he had to face me and whisper the words to the nursery rhyme, I’m a little tea-pot while performing the actions, while mainly ignored him and I enjoyed social media on my cell phone. Occasionally I would glance up at him and, using a harsh tone, briefly tell him how pathetic he was.

Then he had to colour-in with his dolly for THREE HOURS! His humiliation was very deep as was his tedium. He hated every second of that humiliation, made worse by my sporadic comments about how he was not a real man, just a pathetic sissy and a pathetic submissive put on this planet to be used and abused by women like me. I whipped and stomped on his defect on the stomping stage for half an hour and, having had 9 orgasms throughout the day, I finally decided DS time was over. (He got locked back up: He did not get to cum.)

And I now get to the second relevant activity for this post. I told him I would now be using him for his vanilla company until sleep time. He put things away and changed into his vanilla clothes. We then sat in the conservatory, discussed the news of the day, and drunk wine together. I nestled into his large barrel chest and his muscular heavy arm comfortingly draped over me. I felt utterly content, and comfortable and protected and safe. All was right and perfect in my world.

I praised and thanked him for how he had charmingly but assertively dealt with a brutish argumentative delivery driver the day before and a tradesman working on the boundary with the neighbours house on the same day. (It made me think about a holiday I am planning in a slightly dodgy third world country and how safe I will feel with the charmingly assertive, barrel chested, large shouldered bitch-boy by my side.) I slept briefly for a while with my head on his chest. (Believe me, a couple of lengthy sessions wielding punishment implements and NINE massive orgasms in a day, takes it out of girl!) I woke and, after we ate, we watched TV, with me again cuddled into him, resting my head on his chest. What a blissful day!

So ladies, experiment! Your submissive needs to suffer deep humiliation to sleep the very soundest sleep of a submissive – who truly knows he is; helplessly in the power of a cruel, pitiless, dominant woman. AND YOU CAN HAVE YOUR CAKE AND EAT IT TOO!

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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A link to all my publications HERE, including:

Miss Anne’s, worm’s and mother in law’s lockdown life. Pt 2 fine detail.

In response to requests relating to the previous account from Miss Anne, she has generously provided a very detailed and fascinating account of one aspect of her life in lockdown. Here it is:

To give you all a better understanding of the environment in which we have been living for the last 6 months during the quarantine, it is a country house, my husband’s family home, where we used to go for a week in summer. The house is spacious, it has 3 bedrooms, kitchen, living room, large hall, basement and 2 bathrooms, one outside in the yard. It has a large yard, a garden with trees, it is surrounded by a wall of cement blocks 80 cm high, and is secluded with the nearest house at 100 meters but it is uninhabited.

Because we only used it in the summer it has no central heating but wood stoves in each room. Let me begin my description of the slave’s daily life on this aspect. I doubt there are many of those who read the blog using wood stoves for heating. This requires a large amount of wood to be burned daily especially when the stoves are running 24 hours a day, as is the case in my house.

In practice this means that the slave has to chop-up with a large axe the already cut but unsuitably sized wood, to a size that will fit in the woodstove . It takes the slave at least 1 hour daily to chop and prepare the wood we need for heating every day. Usually this very laborious work is done after lunch and if more wood is needed, he continues the work the next morning.

From day one my mom suggested, and of course I agreed, that the stoves in our bedrooms should be left on when we sleep since the temperature drops at night and we would be cold in a room without heat. Several days, especially the sunnier ones, during the day we let the stoves go out for a while to let the ash be cleaned away and the stoves cool so as not to wear out from constant use, but every night for 6 months in a row they have been on.
The problem is that the wood in the stoves burns out every 2.5-3 hours and new wood has to be put in the stoves to fill them up to be burned all over again. Fortunately for all difficult issues there is a solution when you have a slave to do all the hard work!

The slave sleeps on a fold out bed in the kitchen. Of course we allow him to have the stove on there at night too, we care about his health and comfort! Unfortunately for the slave and fortunately for us, from midnight, which is usually our bedtime, until morning, he is forced to wake up every 2.5 hours, to enter our bedrooms quietly, because woe betide him if he disturbs our sleep, and to put wood in the stoves. As you can see for the past 6 months the poor boy has not slept any night uninterrupted hours of sleep until the morning and even at this moment the stoves are being lit daily in my house. Because the village where we live in quarantine is at altitude and it is still cold and it will certainly continue at least until mid-May. Think about it for a moment, waking up every 2.5 hours at night, filling the stoves with wood, lying on your bed and by the time you fall asleep you have to wake up again to fill the stoves. Every night he wakes up 3 times to his alarm clock to fuel the stoves.

It is by no means an easy situation and this routine was not magically held, nor is the slave exactly a robot to program and mechanically do this chore. As they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day. In our case it took exactly 3 days to impose this routine on the slave without further postponement and delay. This happened thanks to the fierce determination shown by me and my mom and of course the “holy cane”.  “Holy cane” is a terrifying-looking cane, thick with knobs, which offers a painful, merciless stinging and pain. I can’t show it in a photo but Ms. Scarlet has seen it and can assure you of what I write. The «holy cane» belongs to my Mother and she first used it on my slave and now husband-slave “worm” 9 years ago. Of course I have also used this cane on the slave’s buttocks a lot of times during those last 9 years.

On the third day of our stay at the cottage, the slave got lazy and allowed the stoves to go out at night, so my mom and I woke up with a cold. I was furious and wanted to whip the slave but my mum told me to be patient. So I had a civilized conversation with the “worm”, something like this.
Α. Why didn’t you keep the stoves on in our bedrooms at night, worm?
W. Sorry Mistress, I couldn’t wake up. You understand yourself that it is almost impossible to put wood in the stoves and keep them lit all night.
Α. Why is it impossible, slave?
W. Because it is very difficult for me to get up every two and a half hours to perform this duty. I don’t get enough sleep and rest and it affects my performance the next day.
Α. You sleep adequately the rest of the night except for two short breaks to put the wood in. Do you think I’m being unreasonable? That my orders are unreasonable? Because that’s exactly what you’re implying when you say it’s almost impossible to perform a simple task. I object to your impertinence!
W. Sorry Mistress, you misunderstood me, I never said or thought that your orders or You or Mrs. R are unreasonable.
Α. I see… let me buy that… Then what is your excuse for negligence of the duty or to put it properly for disobeying my orders last night?
W. I have no excuses Mistress. I hope I don’t let you down again. I am very sorry for what happened.
Α. No worm you are not sorry yet but believe me you will be soon. Go back to your duties and I don’t want to hear another word from you today until further notice. Am I making myself clear?
W. Yes my Mistress, You are crystal clear! Thank You Mistress.

After lunch, I discussed his punishment with Mom after I had calmed down while the slave was chopping wood in the yard. After Mom and I napped, the slave served us coffee in the living room while it was getting dark outside. My mother coughed twice and turned her head to me.
R. I must have caught a cold last night, Anne.
Α. Sure mom since that idiot got lazy and didn’t do his job.
R. Really worm, what happened last night? I’m sure you have a good excuse for letting us sleep in freezing cold bedrooms.
W. I have no excuse Mrs. R. I’m sorry, I’m sorry and I apologize.
R. That doesn’t change the fact that we were freezing and cold last night. Does it change it?
W. It doesn’t change it Lady R.
Α. I think it’s only fair that he should get a little cold too so he can experience what we felt Mom.
R. I would totally agree with you my daughter.
Α. Put on your uniform and go out in the yard and slave away.
W. What do you mean, Mistress? What am I to do in the yard at this hour?
Α. You’ll be left out in the cold like we were last night!
W. But Mistress, it’s cold outside and…
Α. Get out now, you worm! I don’t want to hear any noise! (Of course the slave didn’t dare protest any further, he put on his uniform, warm enough to keep him alive and thin enough to keep him cool.)
Α. I’d advise you to move in the cold so you don’t freeze, worm, run, walk, exercise, whatever you like best. Where are you going? Aren’t you going to thank me for my valuable advice?
The slave was evidently displeased with the punishment we inflicted on him, but he did not dare to protest; on the contrary, he knelt down and humbly kissed my slippers.
W. Thank you very much for your valuable advice and your concern for me, Mistress.

The slave went out into the yard. I could see from the window that he was doing some light strolling and some exercises, e.g. jumping to keep warm while mum and I were having our coffee and talking. After about 50 minutes had passed I opened the window and invited him in.

In a matter of seconds the slave was inside the house, freezing and flushed with an obvious feeling of relief in his eyes. He didn’t even have time to thank us as I abruptly yelled at him to pull down his sweatpants and get into a spanking pose. He looked at me in amazement but silently obeyed my command, bent over and cupped his shins with his hands, remaining motionless in his position. I stood up, took the holy cane in my hands, made a circle around him like a hawk looking at its prey, lightly tapping the cane in my palm. Even the light tap of the rod on my palm caused discomfort and slight pain, and I thought about how the slave manages to endure our strong blows and he must suffer every time. I paused for a few seconds to swing the cane up and down with force on his buttocks, the slave swayed from the force of the blows in the uncomfortable position he was in but was able to keep his balance. Besides, he was well aware that if he fell he would have to start the spanking all over again.

After about 20 strokes, with his ass turning a deep red colour I stopped the spanking. The worm immediately knelt down, passionately kissed my hand in which I was holding the holy cane and then kissed my feet, thanking me for the punishment as he does every time.
Α. Get dressed and go to the yard worm!
W. But Mistress….
Α. Not a word! You go to the yard, what did you think? You still haven’t even felt the chill that mommy and I experienced last night because of you!

Obediently the slave left for the yard again. We could watch him from the window as he tripped and walked hurriedly back and forth across the yard to get warm. After 45 minutes I called him to enter the house, he was in worse condition than the previous time. The same ritual followed with an additional 20 blows to the buttocks. Then I sent him to serve dinner for me and my mom accompanied by Caesar salad and red wine. While we were eating I sent him to the corner of the room to think about the neglect of his duty and the consequences it had. When we returned to the living room I ordered him to bring our wine and then he lit my cigarette.

Α. So did you think about what you did last night and the consequences of your act?
W. Yes Mistress, I promise it will never happen again.
Α. What do you think, Mom?
R. I don’t think he fully realizes that he disobeyed our explicit order, neglected his duty, got lazy and left us freezing last night.
Α. I tend to agree with you. What do you suggest?
R. Another walk in the yard will certainly help him Annie.
The slave immediately fell to the floor and on his knees he begged us, snivelling, to forgive him and not to send him back to the courtyard. He assured us that he had learned his lesson and that he would never again neglect this duty. Hunched on the floor, humble and desperate, he begged with all his heart. I exchanged glances with my mom and we peeped and silently giggled, it really was a very funny sight.

With a sharp order, raising her tone of voice my mother sent him into the yard, the slave crawled to the door, stood up and walked out into the yard surrendered to his fate. Enjoying the wine and the warmth of the house I would occasionally look out of the window to see the poor slave staggering from exhaustion back and forth across the yard, warming his hands with his breath. This time I let him wander around in the cold night for a full hour before calling him back inside.

When he came in he was flushed red, tears were welling up in his eyes due to the cold, and he looked really pathetic. I felt a little pity for him! But I had to teach him a good lesson so that he would not repeat his mistake. I grabbed the holy cane, I didn’t even have to say a word, the slave immediately pulled down his sweatpants and took the pose for spanking. I bounced the cane up and down with great force on his buttocks, as you know when the body is cold, the pain from the spanking is more intense. Quickly the slave was roaring in pain and tears were streaming down his eyes and falling to the floor. When I stopped beating him, he immediately fell to his knees frenetically kissing my hand and feet and begging for mercy and to stop his torment. My mom called him and the slave crawled to her feet looking at her in agony and anticipation.
R. I hope you won’t repeat your sin, you worm.
W. No Lady R, never again, I promise you. Please very much forgive me Lady R. Don’t send me to outside again, please don’t do it, divine superior Lady R.
R. ha-ha how pathetic you are right now you can’t realize it. You really are ridiculous and the sight of you is hilarious the way you cry and humbly beg your mother-in-law, because that’s ostensibly what I am to you. Your mother-in-law! Shame on you! Have you not a shred of dignity? Pride? Self-esteem?
W. Not at all Lady R. I am a worm, a worthless loser beta male slave, I am not a man. Please don’t send me out again, please don’t do it amazing Lady R.
R. The next time I sleep in a cold room you will make the trek into the freezing night every night. Am I making myself clear, worm?
W. Yes Lady R, You are crystal clear, always your room will be warm.
R. Annie I forgive him this time and I am going to sleep because I am tired, I am no longer young like you guys.
W. Thank You very much Lady R, I very much appreciate Your kindness.
My mother stretched her right leg towards him, the slave immediately passionately deposited resounding wet kisses of gratitude on her slipper. After my mother left, the slave knelt before me, I looked into his eyes still wet with tears. Slowly I lit a cigarette, I sat comfortably on the couch cross-legged with my right leg over my left, my slipper dangling in the air in front of his face, he looked at me and my slipper with agony painted on his face. I enjoyed his fear but also my power as with one word I could send him out into the yard in the freezing night even for the whole night if I wanted to. Indeed that thought made me very wet.
I could no longer endure the sweet torture I felt in my belly and between my legs, I put out the cigarette and threw it in the ashtray.
Α. I need your tongue right now, bitch!
The slave immediately brought a scarf and I placed it over his eyes. Except for rare exceptions when his behavior is exemplary, I do not allow him to see me naked. Clearly it was a day when his behavior was not appropriate and he did not deserve the privilege. So blindfolded he started licking my wet pussy.
Α. I want you to show passion, precision and reverence, slave! Lead me to a powerful pleasurable orgasm if you don’t want to go out in the yard for the rest of the evening.
It was an incredible orgasm! One of the best of my life as the worm worked his tongue as best as he could on my labia and clit. Of course I was in a good mood and very aroused already, anticipating the pleasure. I really couldn’t deny him that he deservedly earned with his tongue his stay inside the home for that night, haha.

I lay relaxed from orgasm while the slave as always thanked me for the privilege and licked my soles, still blindfolded. I covered myself with the quilt and he took the scarf from his eyes, he looked at me with mixed adoration, fear, awe, anticipation, I smiled broadly and cheerfully.
Α. Good night worm. When I wake up in the morning I want to read a 1500 word essay with your thoughts and feelings about what happened that led to your punishment as well as the punishment itself. Clearly I expect you to express your gratitude for all of this.
W. Yes Mistress, thank you very much Mistress.
Α. And don’t forget to keep the stoves going in our rooms, of course.
W. Of course Mistress, thank you very much for reminding me. I shall never forget it again.
Α. Now get out of my sight and feel very lucky that I took pity on you.
W. I am pathetic and grateful that you showed mercy from your kind heart, Mistress.

Needless to add, that 192 days later, to this day as I write these lines slave has not ever again neglected his duty. The stoves remain lit every night in our rooms and the slave sleeps intermittent hours of sleep every night.

First conclusion: Do you remember how it began? My slave thought it was impossible to manage to do this task every night. Well, he was proven wrong, with the right encouragement nothing is impossible for a human being.
Second conclusion: Life is good and it gets even better when I have a slave working hard and relentlessly for my comfort.

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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.)

Findings – ‘Like it never happened’

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.

There is an issue regarding prostate health that each person involved must take a view on, but I again provide a link, to a post about recent prostate health research, particularly for the under 30s.

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.