Tag Archives: funnel gag

pipsqueak becomes a cuckold

It has been sometime since I last provided an update on the continuing evolution of a Domme fairly new to domination, the wonderful Samantha. But Samantha has continued to evolve at a face pace! As pipsqueak has learned to his cost – or is it his cost? The paradox and symbiosis readers of this blog are familiar with are both strong.
The paradox; pipsqueak is a true submissive and so he craves to be helplessly dominated by a cruel, pitiless woman who puts him through things he truly does not like. But from this he gains true contentment that he cannot happily live without. (Like all true submissives including my bitch-boy.)
The symbiosis; Samantha is now a cruel, pitiless woman who puts the helpless pipsqueak through things he truly does not like; and she gets huge pleasure from doing so. So the relationship a perfect symbiosis.
I have in bold highlighted some text in the account below that I found particularity hot! Enjoy.
Dear Scarlet,

It’s been a long time since we last communicated and I thought I would give you an update.  The past 4 ½ months have been rather busy and extremely enjoyable. pipsqueak is very content despite my further progress in making his submission and life harder than ever most of the time. In our case we have found that an occasional relaxation of the regime works best for us (more in a moment).

Perhaps the most important change has been that pipsqueak is now a cuckold. I worked hard on my exercise, diet and appearance between March and May and finally felt confident enough to take the plunge. It would be nice to say that I have found the perfect lover but that would be an exaggeration. However, I have been on quite a few dates and have had sex with two men so far (including ‘masked sex’ on one occasion which was hilarious if not conventionally orgasmic).

The first time I cuckolded pipsqueak was at the end of June. I’d been chatting with a man online for a while. He lives an hour away so not ideal but I agreed to drive to his house (he’s separated). Sex wasn’t guaranteed but it was on the agenda. In the end we both wore masks, obviously didn’t kiss and had very mechanical and hilarious (safe) sex. The most important thing for me was that it was done. I was a cuckoldress.

 Pipsqueak had no idea. I was away from mid-morning to 4 p.m. I didn’t explain my absence and he of course didn’t ask. (He would not dare!) I’ve been increasingly going out during the day since lock-down regulations eased. Later he told me he hadn’t a clue which was delicious. I made him perform orally for me on the same night and my orgasm was special. For 72 hours I basked in the afterglow of what I knew and he didn’t.

 Four days afterwards, I told him matter-of-factly that Lockdown’s easing allowed me to cuckold him and I intended to do so soon. He uttered his usual noises about it being ‘my right’, etc. Then I laughed and told him I already had. His expression was a picture. He didn’t know whether I was mind fucking him or not. I said that’s where I’d been for 5 hours the other day and showed him my photograph of me half-dressed in a man’s bedroom. The penny dropped.

 I made him lick my pussy again, there and then, while I continued talking. I said I would never have told him if I hadn’t enjoyed it. It would have remained a one-off he never knew about. But I’d enjoyed myself immensely and it will no doubt be much easier and better in future. I told him to kiss my bottom instead, as his contact with my pussy will be even more restricted in future.

 In that moment, I think he was partly turned on and partly too shocked to compute. But over the next day or so, he went through some denial, a touch of resentment that I’d actually done it, but mostly acceptance. We’d been talking about it for so long that I think he’d discounted the actual event itself, so to speak. I adopted a caring attitude of reassurance combined with my blunt stance and some mischievous teasing. He hadn’t had an orgasm for over a month and he told me later he expected me to ‘seal the deal’ of his compliance by at least letting him masturbate or fuck his rubber sex doll to orgasm.

 Whereas I did allow him to edge a lot but not to cum. I said he must never see things as some kind of trade off or bargain between us. I will never ‘pay for’ my own fun by allowing him some of his own. His orgasms have to be earned by what he does, not what I do.

The second time I cuckolded pipsqeak was very different. I didn’t slink off unannounced. I did it blatantly. I’ve been on a few socially distanced, outdoor dates when the weather permits. Sometimes I even go for a drive and walk on my own just to get out and leave pipsqueak toiling. I have got to know a local-ish man who’s not ideal for a couple of reasons I won’t go into. But he is interested in no-strings sex, as am I.

 Pipsqueak was sweetly brave as I left the house, wishing me a good time. I told him to shut up and get on with his list of chores. I said that sex wasn’t guaranteed and he mustn’t think as if I do this to any kind of set routine. It may or may not happen. I’m simply an independent and mature woman who can make up my own mind at the time whether to have sex or not.

 When I returned it was, of course, very different too. I was glowing. The sex wasn’t perfect but it was conventionally better. I summoned pipsqueak to follow me up to my bedroom. I undressed and let him see my rather red and swollen labia. We had used a condom (two, actually) so there was no evidence for him to clean except my engorged clitoris wanted more attention.

 I lay back on the bed, my legs splayed wantonly over the side, and stared up at the bedroom ceiling, while pipsqueak licked me in his apron and spike lined chastity tube. Neither of us needed reminding it was now over seven weeks since he’d had any kind of orgasm. After I’d climaxed, I let him unlock his cage. I love the tiny red dots the spikes leave when he’s aroused. I said he could put his erection inside me for five super-slow strokes.

 He groaned with desperation as he eased it inside me bit by bit, in and out. While he did so, I talked to him. I asked if my pussy felt different? He gasped no. I told him that his cock did feel different. It felt smaller, thinner, second-rate. He whimpered. I instructed him to pull out after only four strokes as I was disappointed.

 I sat up propped on my elbows and said he could wank himself while I watched. I continued to chatter, while he frantically fisted his shaft. I asked him, one final time, if he regretted our new relationship and my freedom to date other men. His eyes were gazing into mine. No, he gasped. I said I want to see real enthusiasm for my sexual progression and his further demotion over the months to come. He nodded, unable to speak.

 I snapped for him to stop! He somehow tore his hand away and his glistening erection bobbed between us. His expression was a picture; of awe and adoration, deference and desperation.

 And then I smiled. I love acting the bitch but I’ll always struggle to be heartless. I reached out and started rubbing his cock. I’m very out of practise. He has this adorable look of alarm on his face that I’ll stop at any time or at least ruin his orgasm. I did it for a bit and then told him he could finish himself. I said he should aim his cum at my waist and that he could enjoy a full orgasm for once and to make the most of it.

 It only took him about 30 seconds and he spurted an impressive amount of semen on my tummy, thighs and mound. His knees were buckling and he was almost crying with relief. I blew him kisses. In our relationship there are moments for ridicule and moments for bonding. This was one of the latter.

 That’s not to say that he didn’t then have to suck up every drop of his mess. And five minutes later we were back into our roles. Over the next few hours and days I was extremely demanding and mocking. I called him ‘cuck’ quite a lot, even though I have no plans to  adopt that name (I find it too much of a cliché).

 I make no bones about my intention to find a proper boyfriend with whom I can conduct a proper affair; discreet but much more than just one-off or casual sex. Pipsqueak is daunted and excited at the same time. That would be the culmination of the journey we’ve been on for approaching two years; one slow and quite mild year, then this second, very unusual and fast developing eight months.

My goal remains to find a man with whom I can have a proper sexual and, to an extent, romantic relationship who can be integrated into my lifestyle with pipsqueak. I’m impatient but not in a rush, if that makes sense? Pipsqueak has taken well to his new status. I think both of us were concerned – deep down – that the reality could affect our marriage in a way that fantasy obviously didn’t. But by the time it happened I think he’d become so used to the idea of me cuckolding him he was mentally prepared.

 Since Easter I have been even stricter about his orgasm denial. He has a total love-hate relationship with it. He loves me imposing it. He enjoys the intensity of frustration and how ‘alive’ (his word) he feels. His fetish is the contrast between us. But he hates the actual reality of being denied any kind of release for weeks on end.

 His Steelwerks cage has proven the most wonderful training tool. Mostly because it’s wearable 24/7 and hygienic and comfortable so long as he’s soft (less so when he’s aroused and occasionally at night). I make him tighten the spikes each morning and loosen them overnight. However, I like the spikes fully extended when he’s performing orally. Making him control his erection while he’s focused on me is absolutely one of my favourite things!

 I recall that I was still inclined to indulge him when we last communicated. After a few weeks I’d still feel sorry for him. I even used to enjoy his groaning, pent-up orgasms when we started. But that’s no longer the case. He can still have orgasms but they have to be earned. And when I say earned I mean it! The price now is increasingly outrageous and still going up.

 Away from the sexual side of things, I have very much focused on his monotony and drudgery. He will not be returning to the Care Home job any time soon. But I plan for him to work backstage in a busy pub doing washing up, that kind of thing (NOT behind the counter serving pints). When pubs open properly and safely again, I want him to work weekend nights in particular – say Thursday through Saturday – when I can be out on dates, that kind of thing.

 At home, I control every minute of his day for three weeks out of four. A combination of housework, garden work, monotony and sensory denial from dawn to late. The weather has mostly allowed him to work naked in the garden since Easter. Or in a diaper. I am brutally strict about bladder and bowel control. If he needs to go while he’s tending the lawn with nail scissors, he must hold it in, or fill the diaper and face the consequences.

 We also practise TSD (total sensory deprivation), in the garden. We have a double sun-lounger made of that wicker you can leave outdoors. I let him unlock and remove his Steelwerks and then tie him naked and spread-eagled on the lounger. When he is secure, I blindfold and funnel-gag him and put the Bose headphones over his ears. If it’s sunny I put some sun cream on his body and limbs but not his cock and balls.

 His lounger is near mine, so I can relax while keeping a close eye on him. I love to study his face when he’s completely unaware I’m watching him listening to porn. I don’t allow his genitals to burn but I like them to get a bit red. If he gets aroused – I coat his erection in Deep Heat blended with sun cream. I love to urinate into his funnel or, borrowing your idea Scarlet, melting piss ‘pyramids’ of ice in it.

 We now possess a full size rubber sex doll. It’s particularly fun outdoors to allow pipsqueak to ‘make love’ to her on a humid, sunny day while I watch. There’s no need to worry about the mess. I coat her in baby oil so she’s super slippery combined with pipsqueak’s sweat. They fuck on the grass. But his cock is coated in Lidocaine (numbing cream) and he’s forbidden to orgasm without permission (almost never granted). It’s for the doll’s and my pleasure, not his.

One week in four, nothing fundamentally changes but I relax my regime. He needs this space and TBH in a way I do too. He’s still chaste, obedient, that kind of thing. But he’s much more my husband than my slave-sub. We chat more, discuss, even argue about news items, watch TV & Netflix, etc. He does the housework but not (well, rarely) any mindless tasks or TSD. It’s really just switching down into a lower gear for a week. But we never actually ‘stop’ as we’d find it too weird now not to be Mistress and slave. I just become more benevolent for a while.

 I could go on but hopefully this update is of interest.


Degrading food and drink

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

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

Facebook Video

Twitter video

I absolutely love this woman! Whoever she is?




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


Find Paperback                                           Find it in ePub format

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Innocent Images?

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

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

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








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


Xmas account from the amazing Lady Jessica

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Xmas miseries for bitch-boy

In my last post of comments received someone assumed and commented on whether there were Xmas miseries for bitch-boy. I was subsequently asked what those miseries were as I usually post about them each year.

First up I must say that since bitch-boy and I retired, bank holidays no longer have the importance for DS time that they used to have. I can use and abuse him any day I want or for any number of consecutive days I want. So the Xmas holiday days have somewhat lost their significance.

Nonetheless, as it happens, there were two consecutive days of use and abuse of bitch-boy, so I will answer the question asked of me. What were this year’s Xmas miseries for bitch-boy

I think I have mentioned before that, for the last several months, I have a current set of favourites for a DS day and I pick from this menu for 7 to 10 hours. The day always begins with a very harsh deterrent punishment!

  • Very hash, (and audio recorded), deterrent punishment, minimum 20 minutes. (A compilation of the best of these audio recordings plays on a loop in his earphones when he is in sensory deprivation bondage.)
  • On the sofa, playing with his boy’s bits for at least an hour.
  • Forced deep throat training minimum half an hour.
  • BDSM bed with the stirrups, dickie-discipline, minimum half an hour.
  • At least two hours left in sensory deprivation bondage which begins with three or four stripes of Linnex wax, which lasts for forty minutes. (Sometimes applied a second timeat the end of the first hour of  sensory deprivation bondage.)
  • Forced playing with dollies for around two hours each activity.
  • Activities include:  ## colouring-in with Suzette Simperkins ## or performing nursery rhymes to all three of his dollies upstairs, under the gaze of the baby monitor, while I sit and relax downstairs with the baby monoitor receiver at my side ## orDolly Potty Time. (In each activity having to engage in frequent verbal exchanges with his dollies.)
  • Secured under the stomping stage for me to tread on and abuse his birth defect, minimum half an hour – I could do it for hours!

I should mention that during such a day it is normal for me to have about a dozen huge crashing orgasms. I have become so mean and my orgasms are like never before as a result. Often at the end, my thighs ache form the orgasms.

Fine detail for each of these activities is in my last, (No. 16) or last two, journals. (I cannot remember what is in which).


My 16th journal –  LINK


Xmas day nettles, AND MORE!

So we reached Xmas day and I WAS able to use nettles on bitch-boy!

They were good and stingy, but the stings did not seem to last too long. On reflection I should have followed up the nettle whipping with a treatment of Deep Heat or Linnex. But I am sure bitch-boy felt his stiff little clitty had suffered enough as I had started with a session of the 12 inch ruler using VERY HARD smacks indeed; before moving onto the nettles.

Christmas is a time of giving, so I started the day off by giving him a VERY SERIOUS deterrent punishment session. Ignoring completely his sobbing and repeated pleading through his gag, until I felt fully satisfied I was done with each of the five implements I used. The dressage whip left some lovely thin purple lines which are still there this morning.

Then I gave him an hour of teasing on the sofa while I watched TV. I have several orgasms during this as he is soooo frustrated and I get to see his red and striped butt when I glance away from the TV.

Then the clitty torments already mentioned, followed by an hour and a half of sensory deprivation bondage. He endured a disgusting  semen / water ice chunk in his funnel gag. Finally, while he was still helplessly bound, I generously gave him a PROPER orgasm with my skilled hands. Although he had to beg for a long time to get it and suffer another session with the ruler. His milkings since Nov 13 had all been spoiled and under the sole of my shoe. Oh my how he sobbed when he came yesterday. He has suffered quite a long period of denial; on the whim of Mistress Nicola during her visit to us on Nov 13 – ‘…..only spoiled orgasms until Christmas bitch-boy.

I had eight massive orgasms during this long DS session. It turns me on so much being a heartless, total bitch!

What a delightful Xmas day!


For info on my very popular BDSM manual, click on an image below.


Submissives’ Fitting Thank You’s

In a couple of posts not long ago I discussed curt instructions. This seriously struck a chord with many submissives who read my blog. Such a response from submssives means it is an IMPORTANT technique for any Domme’s arsenal who wishes to have her submissive addicted to her. It is well worth exploiting, especially as it is so simple and easy.

I did include in the posts how having the submissive say thank you when having carried out an instruction of the Domme further enhances the affect on them. Well this leads me on to the topic of submissives needing to say thank you in other circumstances, which I believe is also very affecting for them. In addition to having obeyed a curt instruction, let me give you some other examples in bitch-boy’s life.

When I sit on the sofa and I have pointed to the floor between my splayed thighs and given the command, ‘lick me to orgasm’, I delight in saying, once he has knelt in position and is about to begin, ‘What do you say?’ Given the beauty of my soft skin,  slim athletic thighs,  flat stomach and pretty cunt, it is unsurprising he genuinely and emotionally answers, ‘Thank you Mistress.’  But the status implications of this thank you are huge. He is denied sexual relief, he is never allowed to fuck; but he is genuinely thanking me for the privilege of being allowed to lick ME to a delightful orgasm. And it will be one of many orgasms that day, despite his current prohibition of proper orgasms himself. His correct grasp of the concepts of fairness and grounds for gratitude driven from his mind by his submissiveness and my cruel dominance.

Another example is when I have finished a punishment of him. A punishment gagged and bound, bent face down over the dining table. Caned, strapped, paddled, tawsed and whipped. His gag is removed and, often still whimpering or sobbing, he says, as he knows he must, ‘Thank you Mistress for helping to make me a better slave.‘ He has learned to his cost that should he forget to thank me, he goes straight back over the table.

Another example is when I have him kiss my footwear. This he has to do whenever I, or we, are leaving the house, leaving a bedroom in a hotel or leaving a bedroom in which we have stayed overnight as social guests. He must kiss my footwear for as long as I talk at him about how lucky he is to have such a cruel and beautiful Mistress wife and how there are a hundred submissives to take his place in a moment, should I wish to replace him. I have always ended my lecture with the words, ‘You may stand.’ But recently I have followed those words with, ‘What do you say?‘ As he is rising to stand he says, with genuine feeling, ‘Thank you Mistress.’  Again, his correct grasp of the concepts of fairness and grounds for gratitude driven from his mind by his submissiveness and my cruel dominance; particularly as I may be wearing dirty snow boots or well-worn gym shoes.

My final example is a new thank you occasion and has arisen as a result of my new contraption. Once:

  • I have lifted my shoe from his clitty after his horrible, disappointing, spoiled orgasm has ended,
  • and his semen pools in a food container, shortly to have water added, (and or my nectar), and become an ice chink for his funnel gag,
  • and I have shown off my body during the process and talked about how he will never, ever get to fuck that body,
  • and I will have had between 7 and 11 massive orgasms by this point in the day,

I say, in a mocking and unkind tone, ‘What do you say?‘ He answers, ‘Thank you Mistress.’ His tone this time is not so genuine, but it is extremely poignant and sad and respectful. My question is truly powerful and affecting for him. Expecting him to thank me for inflicting such unfairness and misery. But he is deeply subjugated and would not dare do otherwise than thank me. I get such a power rush from having just been such a cruel bitch and then asking him to thank me, and hearing his submissive, obedient, poignant and sad thank you, that I am close to requiring a supplementary orgasm for the day!

Once he has thanked me then I give him a curt instruction in a very cold voice to get everything cleaned up and then I walk off.


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



A feeder bottle for my little lamb

So are there any of my followers who are farmers?

By accident I came across feeder bottles for lambs. I do think of my puppet husband, bitch-boy, as my little lamb sometimes, in so far as his helplessness. Although rather than melting into goo as I do when I see a real lamb, with my husband-lamb my reaction is very different. If he is dressed in infantile shame clothing or is in very strict bondage, or both; well those sights of my helpless lamb-husband bring out very different emotions to feeling all gooey, emotions more like bullying, sadism and abusing power.

Anyway, the lamb feeing bottles! Feeding with a real baby’s bottle does take rather a long time even if one cuts the teat, and if the bottle is upside down, it leaks. So here are my questions to experts.

With a lamb feeder bottle, is my assumption correct that, if the bottle is upside down, no liquid escapes unless the teat is sucked?

Are different teats available that allow a greater flow and others a lesser flow?

I can see these bottles are very cheap and can be boiled for sterilisation. I guess if I have no farmer blog followers to answer my questions, I will just buy a few and experiment. My imagination is working overtime with the possibilities!


No videos of this DS activity on the net

‘This Activity’ is – using time and tedium as a torture.

Three days locked in a basement with only a bucket. The light switch on the outside of the room to a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The victim  in a straight jacket. A bucket the only furniture. The light turned on and off randomly without the Domme entering. The Domme entering from time to time to kick the sub about, or pour a jug of urine over the head of the sub, or going to work on him with a single tailed whip. Stale bread stamped into the dirty floor as food. A urine / water / spit mix in a bowl the only drink for the sub. No words ever spoken by the Domme.

Or five hours in sensory deprivation bondage. Visited every half hour to an hour or so, to have an embrocation cream rubbed into a sorry cock, and /or urine tipped down a funnel gag.

Or three hours forced to play with dollies, sitting on the floor, mainly ignored by two Mistresses who sit relaxing on the sofa, occasionally kissing, watching a DVD or flicking through magazines. The occasional verbal abuse spat in his direction. ‘What a pathetic maggot you are. Playing with dollies like a good sissy little girl. No wonder you are NEVER, EVER allowed to have sex like a real man.’

This issue does highlight a fairly huge difference between those of us lucky enough to live with our sub and have the time for tedium tortures, while Dominatrix or Dommes who get visits from subs almost never get the time for it. And all videos seem to be of subs visiting Dommes or subs undergoing none-tedium torments. I would love to see some tedium torture videos though. I can imagine how they could be edited.

The video begins with the caption ‘THE START’. The following action lasts a few minutes. The next caption –  ‘AFTER 60 MINUTES’. – a few minutes of what transpires at that point. The next caption – ‘AFTER 90 MINUTES. A few minutes of what happens at that point.  The next caption – ‘AFTER 120 MINUTES. A few minutes of what happens at that point.  The next caption – ‘AFTER 180 MINUTES. A few minutes of what happens at that point.  And so on, and so on.

The combined strong feelings of decadence, power and cruel unfairness when enforcing a tedium torture are such a turn-on for me! The tortures take hours to undertake, but the hours are wonderful! Sitting relaxed on the sofa alone, or with a girlfriend, knowing the sub is with you in the room being ignored and suffering, or elsewhere in your home – all alone and suffering.

LINK to my published journals.

LINK to my published BDSM manual.