Tag Archives: infantilsm

‘Distasteful’ stockingette Gloves

17 September 2020 I wished to make bitch-boy’s use of his extra large pacifier, (I posted about previously) distastefully’ demeaning as well as humiliating. I am writing up a journal entry for my next Journal that includes all the fine details but I thought I would include an image and mention just how cheap a bag of cotton stockinette gloves are, and when a cut-off finger is stretched over an item, how they can absorb a ‘liquid’ quite effectively; and can then be re-dipped in the ‘liquid’ to freshen up the flavour every now and then.

What is also helpful with this activity, and also very cheap, an adult bib with food catcher, designed for dementia sufferers.

The bib with food catcher is mentioned in my recently published Journal, No. 17, so I thought a photo of that might be useful to all those who now possess a copy of my Journal No. 17.

THE FIRST REVIEW OF No.17  (On Amazon Kindle US)

Reviewed in the United States on August 2, 2020

Verified Purchase

Journal 17 is available on Lulu.com as a paperback and as an eBook.

It has been available for some time on Kindle. Kindle links below for the various countries Amazon serves directly.

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

Hopefully soon it will be available hard copy and electronic versions for other devices in other outlets including Barnes and Noble, Nook and iBooks. (But Lulu.com, the distributor has had a disastrous distribution module  relaunch and I cannot promise further distribution of electronic versions other than the options above.)

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Real life, long term FLRs

I have noticed that a lot of blog followers really enjoy accounts of REAL LIFE, LONG TERM Femdom relationships. That had me thinking about the email interactions I have had in the past years with Dommes in a real life, long term, relationship. I have enjoyed many interactions over the years. They usually begin with the Domme seeking a little advice, there is a few weeks or months of exchanges, (usually fascinating for me), and then the interaction drifts away and ends. I sometimes would love an update but I never seek one. I am content that people move on.

I provide a link below to some exchanges I posted in 2014, as I am sure many of you were not reading my blog then and so are unlikely to have read this material. It goes without saying that I would love an update from those involved six years on. I guess by posting this I have opened the possibility.

Link to my blog post of 2014

The two reasons I began this blog were 1), I wanted to facilitate more women creating symbiotic and hugely pleasurable relationships with  males who were true submissives. And 2), I hoped, as I have had over the past year, the privilege to be able to publish true accounts of real life, long term DS relations, provided by WOMEN.

In my formative period of becoming a Domme, I had two sources of such real life accounts written by women; The hardcopy Madame magazines and the website Petticoated.com. The former disappeared. The latter evolved into a forum for male cross dressers. (Although I have provided a link to an archive of the original femdom letters in an earlier post.)  So I started my blog to fill the void.  I am so pleased and privileged to now have so many wonderful real life, long term Dommes contributing to my blog.

Many of these wonderful Dommes push the limits, mainly it seems to me, because they have little interest in vanilla time with their sub. I KNOW if I had little interest in vanilla time with bitch-boy, my regime would be off-the-scale pushing the limits! And I could end up going that way, if I met the right woman, and I would be exhilarated to go that way.

But for various reasons, I do enjoy a fair amount of vanilla time with him, so I think I do not push the limits as much as others. I can’t say all aspects of my regime are 24/7 like other Dommes can. (Although during our DS time, I certainly do push the limits and almost always there is desperate, heartfelt pleading and there is sobbing. And when I want vanilla time to watch a movie or go to a fine dining restaurant or travel, I TELL bitch-boy I am about to USE him for his vanilla company. MY CHOICE, MY USE of him.)

Anyway, the point of those rambling two paragraphs is a request, in this rambling paragraph. There may be Dommes who read this blog but who do not contribute because they consider their regime does not push the limits enough to be worthy of publication. If that is the case, please by assured that I would love contributions from ALL Dommes in long term, real life relationships, limits pushed or not. Or any real life relationships that involve a submissive male being dominated by a woman. Perhaps a boss or other work colleague, perhaps a neighbour. My dream is to provide accounts of, and learn from, every sort of femdom relationship, whether or not limits are pushed.

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

Two have arrived!

Following my post, ‘Make the humiliation worse’, of 17 June 2020, TWO of the oversized pacifiers have arrived.

Not just one as I expected. Here I picture them, together with a ball point pen to show exact size.

They are a little smaller than I expected, but when he is in his full-on parody of a little girl outfit, one pacifier pushed into the mouth of my puppet to be held there and sucked on, will still do the job of adding considerably to his humiliation I think. And of course, as soon as I saw TWO of them, I knew where the second one will be inserted after the first one is inserted into my poor puppets mouth!

I may need some sort of harness to keep the second one in place. Perhaps, ironically, adapting one of my strap-on harnesses will do the job. With the pacifier pointing inward in place of a dildo pointing outward.

And simply day to day, when otherwise normally dressed, my puppet can be sucking on his new pacifier while maintaining my garden and doing other chores. I did also think that as they are slightly smaller than I imagined, I can make sure my submissive sucker has an extra miserable experience from time to time by liberally coating the one for the mouth with a wet bar of soap, or even use my little bottle of the fluid used to paint the fingernails of people trying to give up fingernail biting. That is terribly tasting stuff indeed!

When it comes to wonderfully humiliating, cock shaped paraphernalia for our hetero puppets, hen/bachelorette party accessories are soooo good! And so cheap! Below is his original cock pacifier and also his cock-straw which fits into his sippy cup outlet hole and he must suck through the cock-straw whatever ‘cocktail’ I have put in there. 

 

 

 

 

A LINK to all my journals HERE, including:

 

 

Make the humiliation worse?

 

All the way back in 2013, I posted about this cock pacifier. I had purchased it from an on-line hen party store. I do not know what the term is in the USA for a hen party?

It was pretty much made redundant though when I came across and purchased the Disney Princess Pacifier that could be strapped, and padlocked, into place.

 

 

 

 

But recently the original cock pacifier came back into use for a specific recurring activity, as I set out in my latest, soon to be published journal, No. 17.

What a coincidence then, that within days of the original cock pacifier coming back into use,  that I see on BDSMLR, this cock pacifier.

If anyone can advise me where I can purchase this new beauty, I will be able to make bitch-boy’s discomfort and shame rather worse for the recurring activity and thereby my pleasure and amusement will be increased. I have my fingers crossed that someone will be able to help me!

 

 

My 16th journal.

A link to all my journals.

 

Photos – Huge bow, and socks and more

While writing up a journal entry for my soon to be published next journal, I realised that the photo in my blog post of 28 October 2019 of the items used for bitch-boy’s MOST SHAMING outfit, actually had a few things missing, so I am posting this photo. I understand many blog followers enjoy real photos involving my regime.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the top, his HUGE pink satin ribbon head bow which is clipped to his head harness. (the clip is just visible under the centre of the bow). The head bow is probably one of his most seriously hated items, poor puppet. Next a clothes peg to make clear the scale of the bow. Below that, three pairs of his frill topped ankle socks. Note the little bells on the top right pair.

And bottom left, his little girl perfume and deodorant. I do not always use the little girl perfume and deodorant; saving them for escalation potential use to make ‘special occasions’ even worse! (I always like to retain some escalation potential. Him having to shave from the neck down is another escalation potential misery only used on ‘special occasions’.)

 

Lock Down activity from Carla

The following lock down activity from the wonderful Carla is self explanatory. It was prompted by my recent post on the archive of Petticoated.com letters. It is a wonderful activity that can, and I am sure will, be continued when lock down is over. Below is a photo of Carla and pussie but it is from my archive and is not directly related to the post below.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hi Scarlet,

Hope all is well with you. I must thank you for the posting the treasure trove of petticoat/sissy discipline material. I had never heard of the Petticoat Discipline Journal or any of the earlier publications referred to in the posting. While some of the letters become repetitive, many are filled with wonderfully creative ways to totally humiliate and punish a sissy. I also note that many of the letters describe intensely embarrassing public sissy humiliation. As you know this is something I often subject pussie to with great amusement on my part and others who participate in the poor thing’s public outings. If my recollection is correct of the other women who have submitted comments to you, only Ms Anne has subjected her sissy to humiliation in front of others-and that only to her Mom.

Your posting has resulted in our instituting a new form of cocktail hour entertainment. Each evening, around 6 pm or so, Todd (my boy friend I cuckold pussie with), his daughter Megan and I have cocktails served by pussie.

(Todd’s daughter’s college closed down due to the corona virus and she asked if she could stay with us for a while. I won’t take your time to discuss how we got there, but soon after Megan arrived we let her know all about pussie and that we treat the sissy as the menial housemaid it is.  pussie begged me and then both Todd and me a number of times to not allow Megan to order it about. For whatever reason, the sissy pleaded and begged even more to not allow Megan to join us for the cocktail hour readings. Megan was most offended by pussie’s request and now spanks the sissy even harder than I do! )

Anyway, you may recall that in the past I had pussie read to Todd and me from your published books. We all decided that it would be great fun to have pussie entertain us during cocktail hour by reading the Petticoat Discipline Journal letters you posted. So starting from Vol. 1 letter 1, pussie has been slowly reading to us each evening anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour.  To add to our amusement I put a paper clip on the sissy’s tongue before it begins reading so that the sissy lisps and must speak ever so slowly so as to clearly pronounce each word. If any of us cannot understand a word, pussie must start again from the beginning of that letter.

I have been using a regular sized paper clip. I am now thinking that once it is safe to do so, I may have pussie’s tongue pierced and a small gold ball inserted, I think this may give pussie a permanent lisp while at the same time increasing the sissy’s ability to provide oral pleasure.

Megan has been given the task of picking out pussie’s cocktail hour outfit. (You will recall that pussie has a wool fetish so, given he is in 24/7 chastity and does not get to cum very often, wool items make him even more desperate.)  Most times Megan has the sissy dress as a cute schoolgirl in a fuzzy angora or mohair sweater stretched tightly over the its 42DD well filled bra, very short kilt type skirt, wool leg warmers, knee socks or frilly ankle socks, mary jane T-strapped 3″ heel shoes, matching bows in the sissy hair, full makeup and woolly  mittens.

After serving drinks pussie stands at perfect attention in front of us. No bending of legs, no slouching. As you may have noted, pussie has no panties on. Rather the sissy is put into his spiked chastity cage to which I have attached a large bell. When it is time to begin, pussie must shake up and down ringing the bell, which of course results in the spikes digging into its little thing. pussie must also “ring” the bell after the sissy has finished reading each letter and then, again when it begins reading the next letter.

pussie hates to have to ring the wee-wee bell as the sissy knows just how ridiculous it looks shaking up and down with its caged wee-wee on display. As the reading progresses, and the spikes continue to dig in as pussie shakes up and down,  the sissy will both beg to be allowed to stop and will become less energetic. My response has been a few well placed kicks to “encourage” pussie to shake its wee-wee more. I am thinking of shoving a capsaicin coated bug plug up pussie’s a-hole the next time we see it slowing down.

I also decided that as the Petticoat Discipline Journal letters are filled with wonderful ideas, pussie should act out those ideas where possible. And when I say letters, I include any of the articles, Ask Nanny advice, and other materials included in each volume in the library. So if a letter says that a sissy is made to dance, pussie must stop reading and do the same dance for us. If a letter says the a  sissy must read, or act out, a nursery rhyme, than pussie must immediately do the same.

There are special rules for spanking and corner time references. ( If only I were as computer capable as Christine LOL). If a letter discusses a spanking, paddling or caning , pussie  suffers the number of spankings etc mentioned in the letter. If the letter does not specify a number, then the first time a spanking is mentioned in a letter in a Volume, pussie receives 10 spanks. The second time an unspecified number is referenced, pussie receives 20 spanks. Each time thereafter the number of spanks is doubled!

So for example if an unspecified number is referenced in Volume 1, letter 1, pussie must bend over, raise its skirt and received ten with the referenced implement. Then if the next time an unspecified number is mentioned; lets say Volume 1, letter 3, pussie again must present its bare rear for 20 with the referenced implement. If in Volume 1 letter 4, the letter discusses the sissy receiving a caning, pussie received 40 wacks of the cane. We do not distinguish among spanks, paddles canes, etc .

It may be that pussie only reads 5 or 6 letters a night. So if, on the next night, pussie begins reading from the same Volume, the spanking numbers start from where we left off the night before. So using my example above, on the first night pussie had only read up to Volume 1, letter 4, with the last letter earning the sissy 40 wacks of the cane. On the next evening pussie would begin with Volume 1 letter 5. If in that letter there is mentioned an unspecified number of spanks, then pussie would receive 80 spanks ( double from the last letter read of that volume, the evening before). We do begin anew with each Volume.

The sissy whimpers and cries like a little girl as the spanks, paddling and or caning applications add up.

As mentioned above, pussie suffers the same miserable fate when corner time punishments are mentioned. And corner time is in addition to , not a replacement for spankings.

I am sure you can just imagine the humiliation,  trepidation and fear pussie experiences as it reads each letter. I must say pussie’s daily readings have made for a most enjoyable, amusing and, yes, exciting cocktail hour. I mentioned this to my sister, Tyler, and she suggested that using Zoom, we invite her and some others to join us for a virtual cocktail hour and pussie show. We are going to begin doing that tonight.

As always I would love to hear from the other women who contribute here to get their reactions and suggestions.

Carla

 

 

 

My 16th journal

A link to all my journals.

Lady Jessica’s very amusing Lock down activity

We are blessed with another contribution from Lady Jessica. This fantastic contribution on a lock down activity. One which I think, on this blog counts as No. 5 chronologically, but perhaps, No.1 for magnitude of subjugation value and for flexibility of scope.

I will say no more by way of introduction.

 

Lady Jessica’s lock down activity

My dear Mistress Scarlet

What a lucky boy bb is, to be sure. I particularly like the thought that to eat or drink anything at all, he has to wait for you to spit. It would be lovely to think of one’s submissive standing there – perhaps hungry after an early bedtime with no supper the night before, holding a dry biscuit out to be spat upon, his mistress absorbed in a book or magazine. She might remain there for half an hour, or even wander off before eventually absent-mindedly remarking ‘Oh yes!’ and bestow the gift.

I do hope you are well and happy and bb is also healthy, as well as harried and miserable of course. I have been enjoying your blog, as ever, but felt I had nothing to contribute to the latest topics. Apropos lockdown, however, I thought I’d share my latest way of finding amusement even under the current, trying circumstances.

Skivvy has, obviously, been teleworking for the last nine weeks or so and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. Here in France, the lockdown has eased a little but the government advice is that those who can telework should continue to do so and skivvy’s employer is only allowing those who really need to be in the office to go back. Skivvy’s work is entirely with numbers (and thoroughly pointless, as far as I can tell although I’ll confess I have never bothered to try to understand how he earns the money for me), so he needs no human contact. Even back when things were normal (although his life has been anything but normal for more than ten years now) skivvy only visited the office on about half the working days of the week, the remainder spent in his ‘study’. As I have written, his teleworking environment is a study in contrasts: half the room, in camera shot, a normal home office, the other half more appropriately resembling the detention room of a thoroughly sadistic governess; himself too dressed half and half: office worker from the waist up, subjugated sissy beneath.

Naturally, he has been unable to visit the hairdresser during this time. Unlike many middle-aged men, Skivvy has a full head of hair. Although I have occasionally given him a punishment buzz-cut and once even shaved him bald for fun (he told his co-workers it was a silly bet), I like his hair to be reasonably long, as I enjoy pulling it. Sometimes, without words and without warning, I will firmly grab a full handful, twist and turn while bringing my arm down to hip level and march off in the direction of whatever fate I have in store for him, skivvy stumbling and yelping behind, as we go. The hair also provides by far the best grip when his head needs repeated dunking in cold water, as it so very often does.

So… eight weeks without a trim and his hair has become rather long. Girlishly long, in fact. Lots of possibilities there…

We began with bunches. At first, they were hardly more than tufts, but as soon as they were long enough to take a hair band, into bunches they went. I ordered a hair-dressing kit online that seems to be aimed at eight-year old girls: it has hair bands and scrunchies with stars and baubles; all in pink, some with unicorns and fairies. The classic two bunch look was fun, of course, especially when I added jingly bells to the hair bands, but I experimented too. My favourite was a three-bunch look, the third being a sweet little tuft sticking straight out from his forehead! Oh, he looked such a fool, and was reminded by the jingling and flopping, every time he moved his head (his head started moving around rather violently, as I’ll confess, my dear, I simply couldn’t resist giving him a good hard face-slapping before confining his crimson, tear-stained face between my thighs!).

Soon the hair grew long enough to take a proper scrunchie and we started experimenting with pony tails, pineapple top-knots and longer, girlish bunches. I have taught him to toss his head coquettishly in response to prompts from me complimenting him on how pretty he looks. Baubles and sparkles, bows and ribbons adorn those sweet locks, to complete the picture of a conceited eight year-old girl, in the body of a grown but thoroughly infantilised and embarassed man!

However, all this was mere preparation for my grand design, which I was determined not to spoil by attempting before it was properly possible: pig-tails.

One day, I decided the bunches were finally long enough. I sat him down and started vigorously brushing his hair back, pulling it tight (painfully tight, need I say?) in a routine he thought himself used to. But then, instead of looping a band around as tightly as possible to leave a floppy bunch, I began plaiting.

There was just enough! I am quite skilful with my fingers and I was proud to produce a neat and firm little plait about three and half inches long. The hair-band went on tight, and then to the other side. Enfin: two sweet little dangly plaits, each finished off with a plastic bauble on pink elastic with golden sparkles! I told him to shake his head and as he miserably did so, they tossed about delightfully. I am sure you and your readers will forgive me for once again giving in to the temptation to slap his face gaily from left to right and back again: it was such a ridiculous sight!

That was two weeks ago and his plaits are now well over four inches long. Proper pig-tails! The ends are dyed bright pink (the pig-tails are neatly tied behind his head during teleworking hours, so no co-workers or clients can see his girlish coiffure unless he turns his head sufficiently to allow it – which, needless to say, he is very careful not to do!).

I cannot resist it: they will grow to whatever length I can coax them and there they will stay: permanently. If and when this bizarre situation ever ends and he returns to the office (and he may not: as I have mentioned, he is not far off having earned enough money for me to decide that he will go for early retirement and enter a lifetime of drudgery and bullying), he will have a ponytail. Not pink, alas, that should be dyed out again. But plenty of middle-aged men have pony tails, ridiculous though they look (if not as ridiculous as the reality his will conceal). Perhaps his co-workers will assume that he is having a mid-life crisis and speculate as to whether they will see him with a young blonde companion and a red sports car (no: they will not!).

Oh, I hope the plaits grow long! I have such plans. I will not set them out here, because your blog is one of the few internet sites approved for skivvy to browse without permission. But let’s just say that there are many things that can be done with a pig-tail, of which bows and ribbons and bells are just the beginning. What if they were made to stick out sideways like Pippi Longstocking – preferably curled up in big curves? I am not quite sure how to achieve that, possibly wire, but I look forward to trying. And, my dear, a long pig-tail is so very practical! It can be tugged – tugged hard and repeatedly in delightfully unexpected directions – it can be attached to things, whether fixed things (such as a ring on the wall or floor), or mobile things. Heavy things, even.

Yes. Pig-tails for you, skivvy. Don’t you dare go bald, understand? I will be very, very disappointed… and you know how much we both dislike it when that happens!

Yours in sincere sisterhood

Lady Jessica

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Archive of real life letters

I have often written about how 15 to 20 years ago there were two sources of real life femdom material that shaped my dominance and lifestyle. The letters from lifestyle wives and girlfriends in the wonderful Madame magazines and also in the early years of the Petticoated.com website.

I have included on this website some material from the Madame magazines . (See the drop-down menu from the above Dommes’ letters  above menu tab.) And some photos in another post.

Well I have now come across a website giving access to the letters from lifestyle wives and girlfriends from the early years of the Petticoated.com website. It is a slightly confusing home page. If interested in FORCED male maids, sissy maids, diapering, parody of a baby role, parody of a little girl role, or parody of schoolgirl role, then I  suggest you click on an edition in the left hand column and then click on each individual letter in turn.

Some of the letters are gems of strict, pitiless wives and girlfriends using all their ingenuity and imagination to maximise the profound humiliation ans submission of wayward males.

I provide examples below, but there are far better than some of these that I came across during a cursory glance through. I confess though that the letter headed, Perfectly Proper Sissy Behaviour, was a hugely influential foundation for one of the themes of my treatment of my little puppet.

(I have mentioned specifically, the early years of the Petticoated.com website, because a few years ago it shifted from mainly letters from dominant women forcing males against their will into humiliating outfits, to  letters from and about transvestites and other males who thoroughly enjoy dressing up in women’s, little girl and or sissy attire. I have nothing against them at all but I am not interested in them or their lifestyles.)

 

Letter 3 PERFECTLY PROPER SISSY BEHAVIOR

Dear Editor,
 

As a firm believer in dress discipline for males, I do not simply dress my husband in sissy clothes.  I also insist that he behave in a manner befitting his very juvenile status in our household.   When properly petticoated (or in one of his equally charming sissy pants outfits), he is required to speak in a soft, childish tone, and to use a vocabulary appropriate for a five-year-old.  He must walk like a
proper sissy, mincing on tiptoes and keeping elbows pinned to his sides and wrists turned out.  He must sit and stand daintily, with knees together and skirt kept modestly lowered.  He must curtsey before entering or leaving an occupied room. He must ask permission to do most things, such as leaving the dinner table or “going potty.”  He must keep his pretty clothes clean and mended, his appearance modest and neat.  And he now answers to his sissy name, ‘Peterkins Winceyette’.
 
These and many other rules of ‘prissy perfect’ behavior enforce his petticoat discipline as effectively as his pretty clothes.  He has become used to wearing girlish outfits, but he still blushes with shame at having to act like a proper sissy, particularly in front of others.  Of course, I make sure he has plenty of opportunity to do just that.
 
The other day Peterkins was washing up in the kitchen after lunch.  He wore one of his typical sissy outfits.  A pink ruffled pinafore went over a crisply starched, back-buttoning white blouse with a broad Peter Pan collar.  A precious little pink bow marked the front center of the collar.  High-waisted, flyless velveteen burgundy shorts buttoned onto the blouse and showed a hint of the heavily frilled pink bloomers he wore underneath.  A binkie hung on a prettily embroidered leash that buttoned on to his pinafore above the left breast.  A lace-edged pink bonnet framed his lightly made-up face and tied in a big bow under the chin.  Frilly white anklets and black Mary Jane shoes completed the pretty picture.
 
As he finished his cleanup chores, Peterkins was no doubt looking forward to his afternoon nap.  That is the time when I am at my most gently maternal with him.  I undress him down to his frilly undies, put him into his soft flannel nightie with the drawstring hem to enclose his feet, and tuck him into his adult-sized crib. But on this afternoon there was to be no nap and cuddle time, for just as the last of the dishes were being put away, the doorbell rang.
 
Peterkins has been taught to suck his thumb whenever he feels anxious, and the ringing doorbell made him very anxious indeed.  His thumb leaped into his mouth, and he began sucking vigorously. (He is permitted to use his binkie only when directed to do so.)  He looked at me fearfully, hoping against hope that I would not make him answer the door.  One sharp glance from me dashed any chance of that. He knows from bitter experience that in his sissy clothes he simply cannot resist my wishes.  If I want to display him to a stranger at the door, then I will do so. He knows, too, that any attempt at resistance will only make matters worse for him.  Seeing my determined gaze, he realized there was no escape from his predicament. His eyes lowered, and his face registered sad resignation.
 
Terrified at having to answer the door, yet even more terrified not to, he was actually whimpering as he minced to the front hall.  He reached the door just as the doorbell rang a second time.  He opened it timidly, and in strode my sister Jean (whom I was expecting but he was not).  Jean has often seen Peterkins in his sissy clothes but never fails to find new ways to embarrass him.  He is dreadfully afraid of her – dreadfully for him, quite delightfully for Jean and me.
 
Removing his thumb from his mouth, Peterkins managed a timorous curtsey for Jean.
‘How very nice to see you again, Auntie Jean’. he said softly.
She smiled broadly, relishing the sight of this fully grown male dressed so babyishly and so obviously intimidated by her.   She approached the shrinking sissy, untied his bonnet, and retied it tightly under his chin.  His head moved under her firm touch.   She fussed with the little bow on his blouse.  She straightened the frilled, cross-over straps of his pinafore and fluffed out his collar.  Satisfied with her efforts, she stepped back to view him again.
‘Oh Peterkins Winceyette’, she teased, ‘you look so very masculine today, with your cute little shorts.  They are very sweet indeed, but I’m afraid they’re not really very adult, are they, dear?’
Moving behind him, she encircled his waist with her arms and toyed with the big buttons holding the shorts and blouse together.  ‘Only very little boys wear button-ons like these, Peterkins — little boys and big prissy sissies.  Which one are you, my dear?  Hmmm?’
Peterkins looked as if he might swoon, and never did manage to answer her questions.

No matter.  She got his full attention by clapping her hands sharply and announcing, ‘Teapot!’  Peterkins knew only too well what that meant.  I have trained him to perform several children’s songs, as I believe they are another excellent way to instil in him the proper attitude and demeanor.  At the top of the list is ‘I’m a Little Teapot’, complete with the appropriate hand gestures. Jean likes it so much that she insists on him performing it whenever she visits. He doesn’t like doing it, but of course, that makes his efforts only more entertaining.  He knows he must perform with a pretty smile and a proper little girl’s enthusiasm, and this particularly embarrasses him.  He is several years older than Jean, and there was a time when she considered him attractive.  Now she can look at him only with amusement tinged with disdain, particularly when he becomes our charmingly reluctant ‘teapot’.  It must be a cutting reminder to him of how far he has fallen in her eyes.  I love watching him perform, his shyly lowered eyes unable to meet Jean’s commanding gaze.
 
Jean was not quite satisfied with his ‘Teapot’ rendition this time, so she stood him face to the wall in a corner and instructed him to keep practicing.  She and I sat down to tea in the living room as his gentle childish patter serenaded us from the hall.  She occasionally called out from the couch to correct him, a reminder that she was still keeping an eye on him.  He made a fetching sight, chirping away in the corner and adding the obligatory curtsey after each rendition.  His plump bottom, perfectly moulded by the sweet little velvet shorts, bobbed enticingly up and down with each curtsey.
 
When Jean was almost satisfied that he had achieved the proper little girly tone and gestures, the doorbell rang again.  Of course Peterkins was now reduced to jelly again.  Not knowing what to do, he put his thumb back in his mouth, and  Jean and I couldn’t help laughing aloud at the silliness of it.  His can be so sweet when he’s helpless.
 
Jean left him in the corner and answered the door herself.  This time it was Grace, the 18-year-old young woman who used to babysit for Jean’s little girl.  Grace had not met Peterkins, but Jean and I had told her about him.  As she expressed continuing curiosity about him, we invited her around to see him when Jean would next be visiting – on this afternoon.
 
Grace took one look at Peterkins in the corner, paused in disbelief, and started to laugh.  She tried to restrain herself, covering her mouth with her hand, but that only made her laugh harder.  She could only point at him and continue laughing helplessly.
Poor Peterkins didn’t know what to do.  He remained in the corner, furiously sucking his thumb and casting furtive sideways glances at Grace.  He couldn’t bear to look at her yet couldn’t seem not to.  He might have stood there all day if Jean hadn’t taken him by the hand and introduced him.
 
‘Grace’, said Jean, ‘I’d like you to meet Peterkins Winceyette’.
The absurd name prompted another titter from Grace, as did a shy curtsey from Peterkins.  ‘How do you do, Peterkins Winceyette’, Grace smiled.  ‘What a perfectly lovely name!’
It was all dreadfully and delightfully unfair.  The poor sissy was trying so hard to be good but was finding only more embarrassment for his trouble.   As Grace looked at him delightedly, Peterkins hung his head in defeat and began to cry.
 
Now it was my turn to comfort him.  Following our usual routine for times like these, I put him next to me on the couch and cradled his head against my chest.  I popped the pacifier in his mouth and made him nurse quietly as I soothed him with sympathy and baby talk.
‘Oo, poor ickle Peterkins.  Mommy knows ‘ow tewwibly fwightening it is when big stwange ladies see just how ickle and pwecious oo are. . . .’
 
Peterkins does like to be babied but becomes ashamed when I do it in front of others and he is exposed as the complete baby he is.  Closing his eyes, he managed to escape his shame momentarily, and melted into my arms as I cuddled him.  Slowly his sobs subsided. Then he opened his eyes to discover Grace bending forward and looking directly at him only inches away from his face.
‘Boo!’ she said playfully and pressed her index finger against the tip of his nose. Grace could not have been more gentle, but her overture made the big baby dissolve into tears again. Jean and I roared with laughter.
 
‘Well, he may not be the ideal little girly-boy yet’, observed Jean, ‘but he does seem to be the perfect cry baby’.  Turning to Peterkins, she nudged him and teased,
‘Ickle Peterkins has lost all his cuwwidge, hasn’t he?  I wonder where it could be?’
 
This prompted a new game, in which Jean led the poor sissy around the room and made him look high and low for his lost ‘cuwwidge’.  It didn’t seem to be on the mantelpiece, or under the couch, or in the magazine rack.  Peterkins was required to inspect each area and to tell ‘Auntie Jean’ that no, his ‘cuwwidge’ wasn’t there and he didn’t know where it might be.  Jean pretended to be stumped, but a mischievous sparkle in her eye told a different story.  Announcing that Peterkins must have thrown his ‘cuwwidge’ away, she brought a trash basket from the den, placed it on the living room floor, and told Peterkins he had better look in there.   Peterkins glanced nervously into the basket and said no, his ‘cuwwidge’ wasn’t there either.  Jean wasn’t satisfied.  She made him get down on hands and knees to look.  When he still couldn’t see anything, she pushed his bonneted head deep down into the wide mouth of the basket.  This prompted a fresh outbreak of tears from Peterkins, particularly when Jean wouldn’t let him up.  What a prettily submissive sight he made!  Fully debased and obedient, he kept his head in the basket where it belonged.  When Jean finally allowed him to raise his head, she had a camera ready to record his woeful, tear-stained face as it emerged from the basket.  When we saw that defeated, helpless expression, Grace and I couldn’t help laughing.  I congratulated Jean on how thoroughly she had conquered my sissy.
 
A gentler soul, Grace took pity on Peterkins.  She knelt beside him, cradled his head in her arms, and kissed his tears away.  She obviously didn’t need any help from me in comforting him, so I left her in charge.  As we sat down to tea, she decided to make Peterkins her little ‘sissy puppy’.   She placed him on his knees beside her at the table and made him gaze at her with his ‘paws’ held at his chest and his mouth vigorously working his  binkie.  Every so often, she would reach down, pull the binkie from his mouth, and allow him to nibble a crumb or two from her fingers.  Responding to her gentleness, Peterkins made a charming, docile pet and even formed a shy liking for his new mistress.  All agreed that we found a new babysitter for Peterkins that afternoon.
 
The visit ended as Jean insisted on one more round of ‘Teapot’.  Peterkins managed to get through it this time without blubbering, smiling timidly in response to our grins.  He finally seemed to realize that a sissy can find satisfaction in pleasing the women in charge of him.   Before leaving, Jean placed a well-placed pinch on his inner thigh, making him squeal one more time.  For her part, Grace planted a very wet kiss on the lips of the startled sissy, then stuffed the binkie back into his mouth before he knew what had happened.  With a giggle and a wave, she, too, was gone.
 
When put to bed that night, Peterkins did have to be spanked.  That was because his little male symbol became entirely too excited when Peterkins was required to tell me how he felt about his babysitter-to-be.  Of course, this kind of punishment is all part of his petticoat training as well.  Perhaps I can devote a future letter to a description of my methods for keeping his little wee-wee under control.
 
Suffice to say, for the moment, that I do insist on perfectly proper sissy behavior.
Yours very truly,

Ms. Q.

 

Letter 2SISSY DISCIPLINE FOR CONCEITED MALES(from ‘Rubber Life’ 1970s)Dear Ms.Behr & LindaLatex,

I could not believe my eyes! At last, here in Canada, a publication dealing with what is, without doubt, the most effective method possible to control insignificant males who think they are really God’s gift to society. Diapers, didies, napkins, or, using the most effeminately babyish possible term, nappies.

These, combined usually with rubber panties, are accessories which, when worn by a man of conceited demeanour, cannot help but render him a helpless, quiet, shy, cowering, blubbering reduced shadow of his former appraisal of himself.

My reason for writing is to set out a few things which I consider to be basic to baby discipline, and perhaps a criticism or two as I ramble on…

1) Any boy or man under petticoat or diaper discipline must feel very little boyish, sissyish, and helplessly so.

2) He should always be shaven from neck to toe. Especially cleanly about his pubes.
 
3) He should not been able to masquerade as a woman or girl. His hair should be short (boyish as of old). If in dresses he should have no wig. In truth, he is better dealt with in sissy clothes than in dresses.

4) He should never have access to his own privates.  Thus, all clothing covering his trunk must button down the back. Rather than buttons, unless very small, hooks and eyes or small domes are the most difficult for him to handle, and still very easy for his mummy, nurse, or governess.

5) Baby doll pajamas are worn by girls and women nowadays. They are not for big boys, or men, in diapers and rubber panties. Such males should wear baby style nightdresses without openings for their hands, or else one-piece sleepers buttoning down the back with a drop seat and, of course, feet and hands covered. The baby nightdress should be longer than the man or boy, and should have a tape in the hem so that it may be closed at the bottom so that he cannot walk, and creeping or crawling would be very difficult. The big baby’s nightie should be so fastened, and sleepers should have a blind front, thus denying the male access to that part of his anatomy he must never, ever, touch for any reason.

6) Many of his outer garments should be locked about his neck and/or waist using a light chain and padlock.

7) Little boy rompers, sailor suits, side-fastening satin shorts with wide leg openings buttoning to one of two rows of large buttons sewn to a blouse, are excellent sissy wear. Fastened to the upper row of buttons, these shorts leave room for only his rubber panties, and cradle and pull up between his bottom cheeks. Without rubber panties or a rubber concealing device, his privates would be in danger of showing at the leg openings. Fastened to the lower row of buttons, his little satin shorts would allow room for good bulky diapers, but those, along with his shiny rubber panties, would protrude well below the leg openings of his little shorts. If the punished one has a Little Lord Fauntleroy outfit, even the jacket should be permanently buttoned or tacked in front, and would in fact fasten by a row of hooks and eyes down his back.

8) He must not be permitted use of the toilet. He might be permitted use of a potty – once a day, but not more often. Lots of bottle fed milk and water, fed with a rubber-nippled nursing bottle, will assure wet nappies. On special public shame days, he may be deprived of his rubber panties so that his wet state will be clearly displayed.

9) His baby harness should be fitted so that his wrists may be fastened there too, so that his hands cannot get into mischief. A night harness is a good idea too.

These have been just a few thoughts which might be useful. All men and boys should be kept the babies they are.

Yours truly,

Linda

 

 

My 16th journal –  LINK

Ms Josephine Drake

It is rare one finds a professional Domme who seems to enjoy ALL the same depravities as oneself. I think Governess X and I do, and now I have found Ms Josephine Drake. Or at least I was pointed to her Twitter account by sissy ballerina when sent the link in his comment, of a video of him performing a sissy rendition of The Good Ship Lollipop. Performing it to Ms Josephine Drake. (If only she was in the UK instead of the US.)

Our similarities. First she dresses in everyday clothing. Then she seems to like, for her clients, forced regression to infancy including  to be made to drink bottles of golden nectar, chastity inside diapers, sensory deprivation bondage, humiliation through having to dress and behave as a parody of a little girl,  using a TENS electricity box and using clothes pegs on the client’s genitalia and serious impact punishments of butts with canes and paddles etc. And even golden nectar in ice form.

If you look through her Twitter account you will find photographs of all of the above activities. If only she was in the South of the UK instead of in the US, bitch-boy has dodged a bullet there.

I did wonder whether sissy ballerina had enjoyed his good ship Lollipop rendition as he performs so well. I enquired, as that would have saddened me somewhat. I was relieved and amused by his response as follows:

No Mistress Scarlet, I did not enjoy it. The clothespins had been on for over two hours as Mommy likes to hear them rattle while I clean and do chores. Then I had to perform the song over and over while Mommy caned me and/or raked the clothespins because I made a mistake, or did not show adequate girlish enthusiasm. The humiliation did fade a little, overtaken by the pain and my focus on getting it right. But then when I watched the video it came flooding back ten fold causing me to burst out crying, wiggling and padding my feet in helpless sissy frustration. Every comment Mommy received about how ridiculous I am, brought a fresh stab of shame and embarrassment, and the video still makes me sob and whimper with humiliation every time I watch it.

 

Oh I so adore Ms Josephine Drake! And bitch-boy certainly dodged a bullet.

This is a link to my journals.