I know I am tilting at windmills here, and covering old ground. I apologise, but is there nothing that can be done about submissive males simultaneously despairing about how few dominant women there are compared to submissive men, while posting and sharing images that contribute to keeping the number of dominant women as low as it is.
Somehow the concept of Female Led Relationships, (FLR), needs to be seen as totally separate from, and completely different to, Femdom Porn. ‘Relationship’ being the key word. I will explain:
99% of vanilla women, (possibly even ‘curious’ vanilla women), do not want to wear thigh high boots, PVC or rubber, corsets, or shoes with heels more than four inches high that do not have a platform sole. These women do not want to visit a dungeon, they don’t want to use a bull-whip, they don’t want to use needles or electrics, or have a dungeon in their house. They probably don’t like the thought of their male dressed as a maid or other female character. They also do not think women are born to rule and men are born to serve. They all know at least one woman who you would not want or trust to rule a pet hamster, let alone rule another human being; and they probably now some amazing men. They do want to know that if they did end up as the dominant partner, their male would not be weak and submissive in the vanilla times with any problems they face as a family. (I wish sub men would stop posting their memes like ‘women were born to lead, men are born to follow.’ I understand sub men truly feel this, BUT non-submissive men think its mental, as do vanilla women! It is not the case, stop writing it! I guess it would be fine to post, ‘Women are born to lead submissive males, who will worship and protect them.’) Also, 99% of vanilla women do not look like supermodels. It does not help that so many dominatrices do.
My ranting point is that the output of the profit based femdom industry which includes dominatrices and photo and video makers, is almost all, very likely to put off vanilla women from trying dominance, even ‘curious’ ones. I do not want to criticise these industries though as they do play an important role. My criticism is how the same sub males that are despairing about how few dominant women there are, of how they can’t tempt their wife or girlfriend to try it, post and share these images and videos that put off vanilla women from having a try.
In my BDSMLR site, I do try to include many, many images of domestic FLR. I do also have a few images of dominatrices in action because I adore the featured activity in which they are partaking. But then I am not a submissive male despairing about how few dominant women there are, and my BDSMLR site is not intended to attract vanilla women to try dominance. It is simply for my pleasure. I have, with help from a few others, put together my Alternative Blog and my Manual for Beginners for the purpose of attracting vanilla women to try dominance. And produced pages on this blog as advice to sub husbands and boyfriends.
I guess I am wondering if there could be, whenever people are labelling images or videos, or writing on the internet, a clear distinction between FLR and femdom porn.
One of my favourite genres of image on BDSMLR is the ‘while doing something else’ activity. It epitomises REAL FLR. The male is at his chores, or tethered somewhere, or performing shoe worship or cunnilingus say. And the wife/girlfriend, almost certainly dressed in vanilla-ish clothes, is watching TV, or on the phone, or reading, or sunbathing. While doing something else activity plays a big part in a FLR. Once a vanilla woman has had a try at real domination and experiences her first REAL power-rush, things can move quickly to bullwhips and cages and all the other femdom porn paraphernalia, but we have to get them to make that first step.
I dream of there being two very distinct Femdom internet genre; Femdom porn and FLR material.
So I will now step down from my soapbox and I apologise for my rant on an unrealistic dream.
I have made frequent references to how, on the rare occasions bitch-boy gets to orgasm, it is only ever under the sole of my shoe while he is under the stomping stage. Several times a week, his defect is squashed and kicked and whipped with my flogger while he is under the stomping stage. And on the rare occasions he gets to orgasm, his defect is squashed and kicked and whipped with my flogger, as his ‘foreplay’. I have often wondered if blog followers are clear what is entailed. So;
On Twitter there is a Domme called Jewel who uses her stomping stage in a lot of her videos and I provide a link here to a time she gives her slave an orgasm in the manner I do. Jewel does sometimes have her slaves balls atop the flogger but I have heard of hospitailsations resulting from stamping on balls so I do not do that. I get all the pleasure I need from what I do do!
There is a further example of a slave being brought to orgasm this way from the BDSMLR site on this link. I do always wear my wedges though. One does not have to pay much attention to aiming, when wearing wedges while squashing a defect, one can even look out of the window or talk on the cell phone. If one wears shoes with soles and heels the defect is able to escape into the gap between sole and heel.
I hope if anyone was confused as to what I was referring, by writing, ‘brought him to orgasm under the sole of shoe on my stomping stage’, that is now clear.
A wonderful account from Christine M including her sister spending time alone with DAVID and making him very miserable.
Easter
My sister is truly vicious and heartless in her treatment of David. When they first met, they never ‘clicked’ and my sister is 20-years older than him which didn’t help.
David had been told to take time-off for Easter since I had booked in to learn gliding at the local Aerodrome, which is about ½ an hour from here. I had not shared that my sister was coming over!
On the Thursday before Good Friday, he came home from work and was curtly told to change into his sissy frock, rather than his maid’s attire. (The sissy frock was from PDQ’s online store.) He looked at me aghast as he abhors wearing this ridiculous attire. I still didn’t let on that she was coming over so, dressed in his humiliating attire, he looked at me in absolute despair, completely mortified, when he saw her car coming up the driveway. It was a look to behold, and he immediately started trembling uncontrollably. My sister loves the added humiliation his frock delivers, so he knew he was in for a rough evening! My sister was staying until the Tuesday, so he was in for a great deal more misery than he realised.
As has been requested, I should describe his frock.
When choosing this I wanted something that would be dreadfully humiliating for him and make him feel acutely ridiculous when wearing it. It also needed to be practical, in the sense he would still need to be able to do his chores when dressed as a prissy sissy.
We love to tease him about how adorably sweet he looks and fuss over the details of his dress. It is beautifully made of soft shiny satin of the palest blue, with a high ruffle collar that is trimmed with lace and has an enormous pink satin bow at the centre. The figure-hugging bodice has a white satin lace sash which is also tied in a large bow at the rear.
Huge puff-sleeves are elasticated at the hem of the sleeves with wide pleated lace trim. The skirt is full and falls over a bouffant petticoat, flaring it out. It is adorned with large matching pink satin bows all around the skirt, and hemmed in beautiful shiny frilly glass-silk.
An over-sized, pink hair bow is clasped in his hair, and the outfit is completed by white, frilly lace ankle socks, each with a pink bow on the outer side; pink ballet slippers; and matching panties made of soft, shiny satin, with an elasticated waist and leg openings, also trimmed with dainty glass-silk lace and cute dainty pink rose buds. The panties are on full display as the skirt only falls down to just below his buttock line, leaving his long, shaved, thighs exposed too.
A large pink dummy is also pinned to the bodice with a pink ribbon. The dummy is of course dabbed with a foul product designed to prevent people biting their nails. This he has to suck on when not required to speak.
Following Mistress Scarlet’s lead, he also has three ‘dollies’. A pink teddy, Lickel Pwetty Pinky Winky Teddy Weddy Pinkitikins, came first. My sister and I thought of nice long names to be much harder for him to cope with! Then came a rather old and worn rag doll, who he calls My Vewy Vewy Best, Most Favowite Dolly Wolly. And finally, a large plastic dolly that had seen better days with her painted eyes and lips chipped, Bubby Wubby sookie wookie babykins.
After my sister arrived and the usual ridiculing of David was done, including him introducing his dollies to much merriment, with my sister shaking her head contemptuously, making him feel even more stupid; she sternly turned to him, popped his dummy in his mouth, and with David looking more anxious than ever, told him that she had a surprise for him and I would be leaving him in her care for a little while. The dummy was quavering in his mouth, and he pleaded with wide eyes for me not to leave. I simply laughed contemptuously at him, as I nonchalantly left the room, advising my sister, I would be in the lounge if she needed me. His face continued to beseech me not to leave him alone with my sister, and my last view of him, saw him trembling like a frightened rabbit caught in a spotlight, his eyes opened wide in fear.
I could tell it was all too much for him to believe. He doesn’t find my sister attractive in any way, and he knew he was in for an evening of wretchedness, as he stood quaking before a very imposing, ‘authority figure’, who he knew held him in heartless contempt.
Needless to say, my sister was very cold in dealing with him. I watched using the camera in the kitchen, on the big screen through my Apple TV. Leaving him alone was so that it would leave him feeling more fearful and ever so rejected. My sister coldly laid down her rules. “You DO NOT speak unless I ask you a direct question. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you otherwise. You do as your told, without comment or complaint. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” He nervily nodded his head.
“If you don’t understand something, raise your hand and await my permission. If it is anything other than a question seeking clarification of what I have just told you to do, YOU WILL DEEPLY REGRET IT! I have no interest in anything you might want to say and if I want your opinion… I WILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS! ARE WE VERY CLEAR?” He struggled to nod his agreement, he was so overwhelmed!
I enjoy hearing him beg and plead so, even though his pleas always fall on deaf ears, this was going to be a new and frightening experience for him!
She then told him that when she does ask him questions, he had better respond in his most simpering little girl voice, making sure to lisp and giggle as he has been taught and to express his most sissy desires… OR ELSE! Please read Mistress Scarlet’s books for how he has been trained in all his little sissy mannerisms and how he has to play with his dollies. He rightly feels like a total ‘prick’ when he is treated like this, and don’t we remind him of this! My sister is particularly nasty and cutting in her remarks.
He was then seated in a chair with arm rests, and securely strapped in place, with his legs spread wide apart and his frock pulled out of the way. He was whimpering by now but knew better than to ask what was going on. I don’t think I have ever seen him look more scared, he was so exposed, so trapped, so alone. I wasn’t there and my sister, who he finds so malicious towards him, was in total control.
Once he was securely strapped in place, a pink hairdressers cape was placed over his dress as my sister grimly advised him, “Now that you’ve grown your lock-down hair longer, and since you love to dress up as a little sissy, I promised Chrissie, I would give you a nice girlie perm with lots of tight curls.” He looked horrified and I could see him flexing against his bonds, in panic, hoping to escape.
He was really getting panicky when she then picked up and flexed a really nasty looking rattan cane of mine, showing him how bendy and whippy it was, despite being as thick as her little finger. She flexed it so the two ends almost met, before swishing it loudly through the air. She then lightly tapped it along the length of his exposed inner thighs as she ominously warned him that, if he so much as whispered a word of complaint, even under his breath; showed the slightest signs of disobedience; or failed to lisp and show his enthusiasm for being a little sissy; she would be bringing the cane down on his tender inner thighs.
Smiling wickedly, she noted he would get three strokes on each leg, but if there was a next time, it would be four strokes… then five…” He was petrified and wincing as she kept tapping his inner thighs. There was no doubt he knew she was not making an idle threat, and the pain would be horrendous. I must share the dialogue as it was quite hilarious.
She took his dummy out of his mouth and coldly asked “Daisy, are you looking forward to getting your hair permed?”. He was too alarmed to reply and was given a stern warning and reminder, with the cane tapped harder on his inner thigh, prompting him to ever so fretfully lisp, “Yeth, pwease, I weally weally want a perm. Thank you (XXXXX).” He even tried to smile as he knew he was required to be enthusiastic in his role, he didn’t want to taste her cane, that was for sure.
Whilst he looked totally distraught and crushed, I know that deep down he felt she would not give him a real perm. She then started on his hair, mocking his lack of manliness, laughing at his plight, and really scaring him. She started by reassuring him that the perm wouldn’t last for ever, that it would soon wash out… then, seeing his cautious look of relief, she smiled, “… after three to four months!” This left him teary eyed and ever so upset.
His hair was washed and conditioned and then, ever so slowly, wrapped very tightly around small spiky plastic rollers, as he squirmed uncomfortably, while she dispassionately mocked him. She told him how sissies couldn’t go gliding, but they would be finding lots of fun things for him to do, while she went with me each day to watch.
“Your whole situation is quite laughable really… Isn’t it?” ….
Then in a mocking tone, “I remember you used to be ever so brash, going on and on about your ‘daring adventures’.” She used her fingers to mockingly indicate ‘daring adventures’ in inverted commas… Then, as if speaking to a simpleton, “You don’t do anything that might be ‘unsafe’ now do you?” she smirked.
“You prefer to stay at home and do chores, write lines and play silly games, don’t you?”
“You really are a silly twit, aren’t you?”
I might note here, her questions are NOT rhetorical. He has to answer her in full sentences, or else. This piled on the humiliation, while she kept wrapping his hair in rollers. Imagine being asked if you feel like a silly twit and having to advise, ‘Yeth, (XXXXX), I weally feel like a thilly thwit.”
Sneeringly she noted, “You’re so pathetic! I remember when Christine first told me about going out with you. She said she was shocked that you wanted to be with her, because you were so much younger,… dashing and wealthy… and were used to dating sexy young ladies and lots of sex no doubt.”
“Well, you can’t wank-off anymore though, can you?”
“Can you even get an erection, can you?”…
“I didn’t think so. What a poor excuse for a man you are! Isn’t that right?”
“No point you having a penis is there?”
“Couldn’t please a woman with it if you tried, could you?”
He squirmed in utter humiliation as he responded to each question. He is ever so upset that I have shared all these once ‘ever-so-private’ and intimate details with my sister. Humiliation had never been on my agenda until Mistress Scarlet coaxed me down the path, and now I just love it. This further upsets him, knowing that we have so much fun at his expense!
“Do you remember what your mates used to say when you first went out with Christine?”
“You all used to call her ‘old thunder thighs’?
“And didn’t Christine overhear your best mate comment how he couldn’t understand what you saw in her, reckoned she must really put out in bed! Didn’t they? Why else would you go out with her?”
“But you don’t get anything at all do you? Not even a quick hand-job!” He squirmed going redder and redder as he kept answering her questions.
“Did you ever tell them you got nothing?”
“I didn’t think so! Too arrogant to tell them she put you in chastity! And what happened after all that?” He then had to tell her how he was grounded and forbidden to see his old friends. He had to resign from the sports clubs he was in and sell his share in the boat that four of them owned together.
“They all had a good laugh at that I bet!” she mocked, “considered you were ‘totally under the thumb’. You would have been a right laughing stock at the rugby club wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe we should track down a few of the sexy young ladies you used to date? Invite them over for a Saturday night dressed like this! They’d totally piss themselves laughing at you, wouldn’t they?”
“Would you enjoy that?”
“You could sing nursery rhymes and dance for them. Wouldn’t that be a lot of fun?”
He was ever so mortified as she kept mercilessly on at him like this. He had to not only take her mockery, he had to respond that he would really like to do this!
“Which nursery rhyme would you like to sing and dance to?” she continued relentlessly as he fidgeted teary-eyed.
He was of course now on the verge of tears again, which brought more ridicule and caustic remarks as he advised which nursery rhyme he would like to sing for them! And she wasn’t letting him off the hook any time soon… she went on to make him answer why he picked that one, what he liked most about it, which was his favourite line and why! What other nursery rhymes did he like?
“I suppose you want to sing one to me now?”
“Beg me nicely and might let you …” she taunted.
After he begged and pleaded, she dismissively derided him, “My goodness! You’re supposed to be a grown man, and here you are getting a perm, playing with dollies and begging to sing nursery rhymes!” then more irritably, “go on then, if you really must!” she snapped, “you can sing it if you really want to!” He blushed profusely as he sang his little nursery rhyme for her. As he finished she caustically remarked, “What a total prat you are! What are you?”
She then switched tack, “Do you remember how you used to argue with me too?”
“and how you once told Christine you thought I was ‘bossy bitch’?” He squirmed in extra fear as she reminded him of this, and he had to lisp that he did. I could also see he was particularly hurt that I had shared this too with my sister, it seemed it made him feel completely friendless.
“Well, you are a lot more polite now, aren’t you?”
“Now don’t worry Daisy, we have lots of fun things for you to do while we are out… you have all your chores… and you can wash my car… and I brought all my ironing over for you. You love ironing don’t you?”
“And tomorrow… you’ll get to spend the day colouring in with your dollies. Then on Saturday you’ll be spending the day singing and dancing to your favourite nursery rhymes. Sunday is a full day of disciplinary ironing; (Scarlet,I must update you on how I have made this worse than ever for him)… and on Monday, you can play with your dollies again… Doesn’t that all sound like a lot of fun?”
Finally, his worst fears eventuated when she took out the harsh smelling perming solution and started to liberally apply it to the rollers. This caused him to make the dreadful mistake of whimperingly begging and pleading for her to stop.
There was an eerie silence broken only by his whining apologies as he saw the stern set of her face and the irritation in her eyes. She put the solution down and picked up the malevolent cane and lined it up along his left thigh, steadying her aim, her arm rose up high and behind her head. The cane swooshed down as promised, and struck down onto his inner thigh. This was instantly followed by an emotional squeal.
He continued to squeal uncontrollably as the pain continued, his body taut against his bonds as he struggled to deal with the agony, his head shaking wildly in desperation. She waited about a minute between strokes, to drag out his misery. No pity was shown, and the cane bit home 5 more times as promised, leaving him a squealing, squirming wreck.
She then continued as though nothing had happened, waiting until he calmed a little, though still clearly in great discomfort, before noting, “Let’s hope you don’t require a repeat dose Daisy!”
With everything in place, she connected a hood to her hairdryer, which was then placed over his head. She then left the room to join me, leaving him squirming in fear.
He was alone for about an hour before she returned to him. A hair net and a silk scarf were then put in place and he was released. He was ever so shaky, his inner thighs were clearly very sore still, and with bruising beginning. He then got to turn down our beds and get ready for bed himself. He didn’t sleep comfortably with a head full of curlers. My sister had wound them very tightly, so as his hair dried, they would have pulled on his scalp. Also the spikes would have made for further discomfort as he tried to sleep on his side to avoid the worst discomfort.
He was allowed an early night, but told he had to be in my office with his colouring-in book, his egg-timer and his dollies, and to have started colouring-in BEFORE 5:00 am! Readers need to look at Mistress Scarlet’s books to see this procedure, but it is very humiliating for him, and it is all recorded on camera.
I think this makes it even harder for him, and I love the way modern technology maximises my freedom and his humiliation. He is in the room all by himself, and he never knows if I am watching, if I will play the recording back, or if I will just totally ignore it and never open the file or even open the app!
Yet he must assume he is always being watched, as the consequences of being caught out are so dire! He must therefore maximise his ‘enthusiasm’ and effort for hours on end; no matter how humiliating it feels, how abandoned and lonely he feels, how stupid he feels, or how tedious and monotonous and exhausting it is. There he is, colouring-in and talking to his dollies, or singing and dancing to nursery rhymes, dressed like a sissy prat, ALL BY HIMSELF!
I might say he does also suffer the humiliation and cat calls of dancing and singing in front of us too, but once we get bored with him, he is dismissively sent off by himself. Imagine being snappily told, as he was, “You really are a stupid, boring prick prancing around like an idiot singing nursery rhymes! You are so annoying! Piss off out of here. Go sing and dance by yourself in the study where we can’t hear you! GET OUT NOW! We don’t want to be bothered by you! PISS OFF!” But the camera monitors him nonetheless.
It was gone eleven on the Friday morning before he was summoned to have his hair combed out. We had a hilarious time at his expense. His head was a mass of tight curls in which we secured his big hair bow as we mocked him. He was crimson and clearly very miserable indeed. Sadly, for him, he let a few ill-chosen, adult words slip out while expressing his concern with what we had done to him.
He had to be secured again, in order to receive eight more strokes of the cane, which were again brought down hard, on his now even more tender inner thighs. He was again squealing in agony. Once he had recovered a little of his composure, we simply continued our harangue, quite unconcerned by his very evident distress. He got to spend the afternoon on chores, before being sent to do a few more hours of colouring in, before bed.
A lovely point of embarrassment occurred when he asked me, in a private moment, about his weekly chastity release draw. I coldly advised him to ask again when my sister was with me the next morning.
It was so amusing to watch him turn crimson, dressed as he was, and ask, ever so politely, “Pwease Chwistine, may I make my weekly dwaw for a welease?” I smilingly advised, ‘Of course, you may… But since it is most inappropriate for little sissies to cum, we will not be revealing your result, though it will of course be removed from the spreadsheet. So you had better hope it isn’t your last release option of the year.” He was so nervous now, knowing that he only has one release left for the year, and it might be lost without him knowing! Since he had already lost two ‘reveals’, for earning Linnex punishments, this could be his third lost release option, though he doesn’t know if they were. And nor do I!
David was kept occupied as described above for the whole time my sister was with us. He also got to ‘enjoy’ some disgusting meals that my sister prepared for him. I must share these too but I think I have written more than enough!
I might share that my sister and I didn’t actually go gliding; I was with David on the Wednesday through to the Saturday, when we spent the entire time in vanilla mode, though he still wore female lingerie and his curls. The Sunday was a catch-up day of chores though, before going back to work on the Monday. I also used heat tongs to straighten his hair before he went back to work.
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?) InAddendum 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.)
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
Let us start with a fact. Apart from transvestites and transsexuals, most men are embarrassed to be forced to wear female clothing. Some feminist Dommes run an argument that the men should not feel embarrassed as, if they are, it shows these men consider women are inferior and that is why the men do not want to be dressed as women. This position is said to be supported by the fact that women are not embarrassed to be forced to be dressed as men. Therefore the Dommes in question do not forcibly dress their submissive males in feminine attire. Well………………….. I am a feminist, obviously. But I am also a realist. My view is these feminists are seriously missing the important facts that a deep analysis of the situation exposes.
If a male has the prejudicial sexist view that he finds being forced to wear female clothing humiliating, it is perfect justice that his prejudicial sexist view is used against him. What could be a more perfect punishment for a sexist view than to use that sexist view against him. He finds female related shame clothing humiliating because of a sexist view, so he only has himself to blame that that is used to humiliate him – (A) as a punishment for his view, and (B), FOR THE PLEASURE OF THE DOMME. The Domme takes pleasure in humiliating her submissive, so if she is a feminist she should not be fettered from so doing by the submissives prejudice! That is allowing the sexist submissive to fetter HER choices, to CONTROL HER!
Sometimes the feminist Dommes in question say that to use feminine clothing as shame clothing on a male perpetuates misogyny in society. I find this a strange view. A man in your home forced to dress as a female and deeply humiliated as a result strengthens misogyny????? My experiences of this activity certainly observe any males involved are very much NOT feeling superior to the females involved, or holding those females in less regard. Quite the opposite!
Having said all that, ironically, after a few uses of standard female clothing on bitch-boy, it was clear he is not misogynist at all, (probably one reason I was attracted to him), so he did not really find being forced to dress as a ‘standard’ female particularly humiliating.
I therefore sought to worsen the humiliation with shame clothing; so now, firstly, I do not use ‘standard’ women’s clothing. I force him into parody of schoolgirl, French maid, sissy maid and parody of little girl attire, with dresses shortened with hems no lower than his hips, (and unlike in the image below, no underwear – so his shaved, caged, genitalia are on full display!)
While obviously a woman would not find it humiliating to be made to wear ‘standard’ men’s clothing, even a feminist woman, I think, would find it humiliating to be ‘made’ to wear schoolgirl, French maid, sissy maid or parody of little girl attire. Schoolgirl and little girl attire indicate regression to child status which is humiliating for an adult, and sissy maid and French maid are humiliating as they are uniforms indicating a purposefully lower, servile status than those not so dressed.
Some of the feminist Dommes I referred to earlier have been rather clever though and I do respect their ingenuity. I have known these Dommes use male clothing as shame clothing but that male clothing is; schoolboy, baby boy or little boy clothing to shame their submissive male, so not using female clothing. A Little Lord Fauntleroy outfit is very shaming I think.
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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.)
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.)
Well I cannot deny being quite shocked by this image on BDSMLR. Shocked because it must surely be more than just a coincidence that the male in the photo wears EXACTLY the same head harness, dress and mincing ribbons as I often have bitch-boy in. The head harness also sports a pink satin bow atop, although bitch-boy’s pink satin bow is about three times the size.
Just to be clear, I don’t mean these three items are very similar, I mean they are EXACTLY THE SAME. And in the background, there is a blow-up doll which of course bitch-boy once used to have as his ONLY sex partner.
So I do wonder, what is the story? A MASSIVE, MASSIVE coincidence, or a male submissive who follows my blog and reads my journals or, fingers crossed, a Domme who follows my blog and reads my journals and has forced her little puppet into this attire. The photo is on BDSMLR here.
(For complete accuracy I must point out, I had the dress shortened for bitch-boy by one row of frill, just to make sure is was maximum humiliating!)
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.)
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.)
Mistress Scarlet's Blog 