Tag Archives: lifestyle

Statements from Dommes (2)

I am so grateful for the three ‘statements’ I have received so far following my post yesterday. I have edited them down and published them on the new blog. Thank you Carla, Linda and Samantha!  I have edited out anything I thought might be scary to a woman who is thinking of being dominant but knows nothing about the lifestyle.

If anyone wants to double check that I have properly edited out all the ‘scary’ stuff, please do so and let me know. This has turned into quite a project and I may be losing perspective! LINK TO THE ACCOUNTS, bottom of the home page.

I do hope I receive a ‘statement’ from a woman describing how she got into the lifestyle at a young age, perhaps early twenties? That would be very useful.

I think I am nearly ready to begin promoting the new blog.

Below I provide the three statements unedited by me. They are a fantastic read I think. (And I know many followers do not read comments on this blog.)



While I had always had a satisfying sex life prior to meeting pussie (no not his name when we first met, dated and were married), I had never delved into any form of BDSM or dominance. Actually that is not quite true. I do remember playing strip poker a few times with girlfriends in high school. I never lost and will admit that I enjoyed and was quite aroused when girl who lost had to stay naked and be our slave for a few hours.

From what I have read, my being introduced to this life style by my boyfriend/husband is similar to the experience of many if not most women. I will say I did not reject my husband’s suggestions, or find them off putting in any way. But I was willing to play along because I loved him and wanted to please him. What we did in the first year or so was always at my husband’s suggestion. At first it was limited to teasing and denial, having him orally please me before I would please him. We added very mild bondage ( scarves etc in bed), and then light spanking. As I have written before, pussie had a sweater fetish and loved to see me in fuzzy mohair, angora or lopi sweaters-the tighter the better. I soon began requiring that pussie do things for me, or entertain me in return for my wearing a sweater that excited him. He would have to do a strip tease and dance, or spend an hour licking and kissing my feet.

As I became more comfortable as a domme, I began to be much more demanding,in part to see how far I could push pussie, and in part to see whether making this more intense increased my pleasure. So for example, I would tell pussie I would put on a particular sweater, and sit out on our back porch, but only if he would strip naked, crawl all around our backyard ( which is fairly private) and then play with himself for me while outside. I realized that pussie wanted to be, and was a true submissive. And at the same time I realized that I enjoyed being in control and that dominance was sooo dam exciting.

As I said it took us about a year to get to this point. From there things escalated quickly. Within another six months I had a menial sissy maid. And yes I have taken pussie well beyond his comfort zone. Our relationship is now totally and completely one-sided.

Scarlet this is probably way more than you wanted- so feel free to edit or delete in its entirety.



Dear Mistress Scarlet,
Ours is a late in life marriage, we both fall into that senior citizen category. The husband introduced me to Femdome. I had heard of it, knew about BDSM, crossdressing and male chastity but had never done anything like that. We have both been married before and have had experience with other lovers. I had no experience with a Femdome relationship.

Husband is a widower and his late wife used him as a sissy maid. He told me what he was looking for in a relationship. I pretty much said what the hell and gave it a try. We have been together for seven years, married for three.

After a few months of dating I agreed to having sex with him. Scarlet it was a disaster! He was so tiny, I laughed, he was too quick, too small and to make matters worse he was too soft to even get it in .I sent him home. When he came back he agreed to a no intercourse relationship. I expected him to get very good at giving me oral and supply and maintain toys to keep me satisfied. I let him know I expected fidelity from him but I would be free to seek out other men should I choose to.

He showed me his small collection of chastity devices and he went into chastity that day. I researched and purchased, with his credit card a very small pink soft plastic device for him and panties to wear at all times. He did study and is a pussy licking expert. So far I have been faithful although I do have men friends and do go out with them from time to time.
I use him as a sissy maid and he serves as maid at dinner parties and my two adult daughters have met the feminine hubby.

He wants to try sex again and we have tried a few times but it is not up to my standards and he is pretty much reduced to oral. He had never licked an anus until I introduced him to mine now he is a regular visitor to the rear. As my boy he maintains all toys and vibrators, he welcomes all men visitors with a curtsey and the offer of refreshments, he maintains my rather extensive shoe wardrobe, gives a Devine foot rub and has given them to my daughters, friends including men friends.

I own a small but successful real estate brokerage and he is retired so staying home and tending the home is easy for him. He is a very skilled cross-dresser and he loves to dress up. I limit his dressing to special occasions that will combine his pleasure with intense humiliation for him.

His first wife cheated on him and he has a fear of being cuckolded. I have learned to use that fear to my advantage. I have male friends I date and I enjoy gong dancing and to theater with nice looking me. Husband is very jealous of real men and waiting at home while I am out creates great anxiety for him.
Well Scarlet I have gone on far too long.



I have been following your blog for a year without writing. I am a new Domme, but no longer a novice. However, I’m very interested in your new manual.

My husband retired last January. He’s now 62. Both our children have left home. We live alone in a quiet village in a comfortable house. He was always the breadwinner and the alpha round the house. I had a career in my twenties but gave up when our second was born. I’m basically a housewife and mother.

I was staggered when my husband asked me to dominate him. Yes, I wanted to laugh it off, to back away from even trying just tying him up and teasing him. We’d always had a perfectly adequate, straightforward sex life for 32 years.

I never for one moment thought I’d discover a dominant streak inside me. Of course, I can’t speak for every woman but, if I’ve got one, I suspect many others have too. For me it was a question of opening my mind. And of focusing on all the potential advantages of simply trying to give your love what he’s asked you for.

Communication is everything. We’ve always had weekly reviews, usually on Sundays, since we began. He tells me what worked, what didn’t, for him. I sometimes only listen. Other times I tell him what worked or didn’t from my point of view.

As background, it’s important to say my husband has a high sex drive and was a regular masturbator throughout our marriage. I accepted it as harmless and probably necessary, given what I presumed at the time was an imbalance in our libidos. His first request a year ago was that I become the key holder of the chastity cage he wanted to buy himself.

As you say, you can learn to be dominant at 21 or 61. I’m 55. Age matters only in the sense that you have more deeply ingrained behaviors to unlearn. Like most women my age, I’m well past my best-before date physically. My husband’s very goal oriented; he had us both teetotal and on diets every January, he would mention my weight during the summer, would point out every grey hair, pat my curvy backside, etc. Loveable but also tiresome and controlling. Your comment about not needing to be beautiful struck a chord.

Yes, orgasms, multiple and huge! Whilst my enjoyment of the past 12 months has been much more rounded than mere sex, the bedroom has been at the centre of it. For one, I discovered that my libido matches his when conditions are right, as my confidence grew, and as he did more of the chores. Knowing that he can’t masturbate behind my back has been an aphrodisiac. His libido is solely focused on me. Plump, greying, stretch-marked, saggy-boobed old me!

Our sex routine had been the same for years. Mostly on weekend mornings, a tacit understanding after coffee in bed, some kissing and cuddling, then he’d climb aboard and jog on me until he came. I’d cum that way maybe 1 time in 10. The rest he’d stroke and finger me afterwards until I was satisfied too. Yes, it worked. But it was a routine. It was boring. For both of us as it turned out.

At our initial weekly reviews, we’d discuss sex and what would make it better, on top of his chastity. It was wonderful. He introduced me to websites, including yours. I listened to him saying what he wanted. Or wanted to try anyway. It turned out it was exactly what I wanted without having to ask for it. So I was able to make it sound like I was doing him a favour!

He used to lick my pussy in the early years. I’d suck his cock a little too. But steadily we’d phased oral sex out. He didn’t lick me because I didn’t suck him. He said he assumed I didn’t like him doing it. The truth was that I didn’t like performing oral sex even at the age I was back then and I didn’t want to feel any pressure to suck him. Also, I didn’t feel as attractive ‘down there’ as I had when I was in my twenties.

With communication, all that changed. I started requiring cunnilingus as a prelude to sex. Then instead of sex. Then virtually daily. Then during the day too. Whereas it had always been in bed in the old days, me lying back, him between my legs, I soon found I preferred other positions. Me in a chair and him kneeling between my legs. And best of all, me riding his face. I like it both ways, sometimes holding the headboard and looking down into his eyes, sometimes facing his feet.

It was him who suggested analingus. Asked for it. He’d never done it to me before, even in our dating days. Once I got over my natural inhibitions about my bottom and its primary function, I quickly grew to enjoy analingus too. There’s little to beat riding his nose, facing his feet, smiling down at his caged cock, ignoring it. I love seeing it swollen against the metal, reassured that he’s obviously turned on but can’t do anything about it.

The biggest transformation of all has been his chastity. The reality is that we’re still on a journey. He’s learning to go longer periods between orgasms without getting tetchy. I’m careful not to push him too far. After all, deep down this is meant to be equally fun for him too. I’d love to see how far I can take him though. Instead of making him go weeks without, I give him chances to earn them more regularly, once or sometimes even twice a week. That’s still a big comedown from at least once a day, pretty much every day, as he was used to giving himself up until a year ago.

But boy do I make him earn them! We enjoy a vanilla life and a non-vanilla life. The first is social, normal, apart from the fact he’s wearing his cage under his corduroys. We see friends, play bridge, go to the cinema, a garden centre, or shopping. Our non-vanilla life is private, at home and it now occupies the majority of our week. I decide on what we call ‘time outs’ based on our weekly reviews, my own mood, and my sense of whether he needs a bit of respite or not.

Our major role play is ‘school’. It’s a long story but we both enjoy the dressing up and fantasy. Bear in mind we have a good pension and many days are totally free for us to do as we like. I actually find it easier to be ‘unkind’ to him when we’re both playing characters than when I’m myself. He wears a uniform of grey shorts, white shirt and school-tie, socks and sandals. I wear something comfortable and matronly, a wool dress or similar. I’m not into cliche dominance outfits or black leather, anything like that.

I set school hours; usually 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. School takes place in our dining room which has the best atmosphere; wood panels and an old fireplace. He sits at a wooden ‘desk’ (actually a table) on a wooden stool with no back. We have a camera on a tripod monitoring him. My large desk is our dining table. I have a comfortable leather chair facing him. The day begins with a hymn. He sings it alone, unaccompanied either by me or any music, which always makes him blush.

Work varies according to my devilish mind and ideas. Sometimes I just give him lines to write. I don’t announce a number. I write the line myself and see how many I can complete in a minute or two. Then I write a number down and put it in a brown envelope. That’s his target. Then I announce a time to him. It varies between 2 and 5 hours. The target is a simple calculation based on how long he’s got divided by how long the line took me to write. I love his facial expression when I announce the time. Sometimes it’s his relief at a mere two hours of line writing. Or he’s crushed by my favorite full five hours.

There’s a ticking clock in our hall, next to the dining room. There’s silence except for the tick-tock as he writes away. I sit and read the Telegraph, a magazine or my book. I get up and peer over his shoulder. I adjust the camera so that it’s zoomed on his face. We don’t film. It’s just a monitor. I go to the kitchen and make myself a coffee and slice of cake. I eat it at my desk.

At his request I keep him on a strict diet. 24/7 during both non-vanilla and vanilla times. As I said, I discovered a dominant streak I never knew I possessed. But controlling his diet has also brought out the sadist in me. I adore contrast; wine for me, water for him, fish for me, lettuce for him, dessert for me, fruit for him. I don’t starve him, of course. He gets his full share of calories, greens, protein and vitamins. But my job was to get his weight down and to keep it there. Whereas his job is to make me feel really good about myself and my appearance regardless of what I eat, drink or how much exercise I do.

At 10 o’clock I glance over his shoulder again. He has to number every line so I can see where he’s up to. I utter a muffled ‘tut’ to imply he’s behind schedule. I can see his hand and arm ache already. It’s boring watching. I leave the dining room. He knows the camera lens is monitoring him for me. I can check up on him from anywhere in the house or even the garden.

Four hours is a long time to fill; I often take a long leisurely bath, or watch whatever box set I have on the go, or make a couple of calls. I’ve started having a couple of friends round for coffee and a chat. We sit in the kitchen. At first I was concerned about the risk. But the cloakroom’s off the kitchen entrance. So there’s no need for any visitor to pass through our dining room. I haven’t done it yet but I’d like to start having people to lunch, perhaps with my ‘schoolboy’ studying upstairs all afternoon. I almost never masturbate but I’m aware I often get horny at these times, thinking of my poor husband sat writing lines while the clock slowly ticks.

At 2.15 p.m., it’s time for his lunch. Real old school fare. A white plate with sliced Spam on it, a cold boiled egg, lettuce and white bread. No dressing, mustard, salt or pepper. He chews it mechanically while I check his lines for accuracy, neatness and blotches. Pages and pages of neatly repeated lines.

I announce his total, having deducted those I deem unsatisfactory and then doubled that number as a ‘fine’ for sloppy work. Sometimes I manipulate his total on purpose but mostly I’m fair. If he’s reached the target I set, fine. I simply rip up his work and throw it in the bin. But when he fails, there’s hell to pay.

Neither of us is into heavy corporal punishment. I couldn’t do it hard, even if it turned him on, which it doesn’t. But we both enjoy a mild caning within our school ‘scenario’. It’s about embarrassing him mainly, and the ritual, and I’ve learned to hit a bit harder as we’ve progressed. Sometimes I cane him there and then. Other times I leave his punishment hanging over him.

After lunch, it’s exercise time. Twenty minutes of energetic indoor exercises; star-jumps, crunches, press-ups, running on the spot, lunges, bicep curls, etc. I use a training app to set various work-outs for him, in his uniform. Then it’s time for the showers. He strips down. It’s funny how a role play can make it embarrassing for him to undress even though I’ve obviously seen him naked numerous times. I watch him stand and wash under a cold shower until he shivers.

After he’s dried and dressed it’s time for afternoon lessons. Four more hours, 3 to 7 p.m. This time it’s to help his retentive memory. I might choose a poem or page of a book or play. But often I just tear a page out of the local phone directory. He has 2 hours to memorize it all perfectly. Impossible, of course.

Yet again I leave him to it, under the camera’s watchful lens. Last summer I’d sunbathe in the garden. I don’t like hot sun but nothing beats a book and a glass or two of chilled rose in the warm shade. At 5 o’clock I come in to test him on progress so far. I make him stand on his stool to recite what he knows.

By 7 p.m. he’s exhausted but exhilarated the daytime part of his school day is almost over. It’s time for his supper. More old school fare. Bean and lentil soup. I enjoy cooking and particularly now enjoy coming up with special recipes for him. Bland, unappetizing but edible, even wholesome, meals. I hover over him while he spoons it into his mouth. It’s a large portion. We both know what effect the beans will have.

Before homework, it’s time for that caning he earned earlier. He lowers his shorts and bends over his own desk. I flick his shirttail up with the tip of the cane. We have several. I prefer the light, whippy one. It stings without leaving bruises. His butt is not what it used to be to look at. I criticize his sags and wrinkles just as he used to unsubtly point out mine. Then I raise the cane.

I require him to count and thank me after each stroke. In character, thanking me as ‘Mistress Kane’, which is my main pseudonym. When I’ve finished, and his cheeks are good and red, he stands up and tearfully thanks me again. Although we don’t say it, we both know he’s actually thanking me for agreeing to dominate him, not just the actual caning itself.

His evening homework is usually an essay. He sits uncomfortably on the hard stool and writes in his essay book. The topic varies according to my mood, usually it’s random, sometimes it’s Fem-dom, often personal; “Five reasons why kissing my wife’s bottom is all I’m good for.” That kind of thing. I judge it seriously. He’s intelligent and successful. I expect a very well reasoned argument.

I dine at the table while he writes. Foods he’s now denied. Delicious suppers made with what I know are his favorite ingredients. The scent wafting over. Wine and sparkling water to accompany my meal. I prop up my i-pad and watch a stream while I eat. I can feel my own sexual tension building. I only allow myself to get properly horny near the end of a scenario.

He asks if he can use the toilet. He has strict break times at school to pee. If he has to ask during a study period it means he really needs to go. I say no, firmly and without even considering his request. Ten minutes later, he’s squirming on his stool. He puts his hand in the air and asks again. ‘What now?’ I say.

With luck he needs to poop. He hasn’t been since the night before. A school day is a ‘non-poop morning’ for him. It’s been slowly building all day. The ultimate humiliation for him as a grown man. ‘Please Mistress Kane, I need to … poop, Miss.” We don’t go in for childish voices. But I can hear his shame.

I escort him by the earlobe to our cloakroom toilet. He removes his shorts and straddles the pan. Then he looks me in the eyes. It’s a moment of intense closeness for us, weird as that may sound. It’s a symbol of how totally open we are with each other now. I tell him what I expect; obedience and decorum. Control. No noise. No grunts. Just an orderly and neat voiding of his bowels.

He tries his hardest, dear boy. His expression tells me that. His determined face slowly melting into a grimace and then an apology. One of my very first acts a year ago was to ban farting in my presence. He screws his eyes shut. His bottom explodes. His meals are designed for maximum impact.

At bedtime he has another shower, a hot one this time. Then a mug of hot milk and a biscuit. On ‘school nights’ he sleeps in our third bedroom in a single bed. I turn out the light at exactly 10 p.m. The scenario is over. But his day may not be.

Around 11 p.m., after some TV or whatever, I undress in our bedroom, slip on a nightdress. Occasionally I simply turn out the light and go to sleep, enjoying a night on my own. But if I’m in the mood, which I mostly am, I slip into his room as ‘Matron Cougar’, my other persona. I never touch his caged cock. I simply clamber onto his face in the dark. I’m already three quarters there from the day’s activity. His tongue gets to work. My first orgasm takes a minute if I can draw it out that long. My next even less time. It’s only after three or four that things slow down. Then I slip out of his room and leave him to toss and turn in the narrow bed.

We have so far to go, it’s exciting. We both want more. We’ve even said we wished we started earlier. But our kids were home then and he was working. It’s better now we have total freedom. There are some things I’ve read on your website that don’t appeal to me at all. However, there are others that do which I hope to phase in. Apart from some limits, my husband says all decisions are mine.

I was always happy. I just never knew HOW happy I could be. I had insecurities. But becoming dominant – feeling truly dominant, rather than just acting it – has done so much for my confidence. I now know my husband 100 percent loves me whereas I sometimes had those tiny voices in my head before. His job this year has been to convince me and he’s been very good at that. I’m 3 kgs heavier than I was 12 months ago. Yet I feel fine about that. He worships my droopy boobs and ass whenever I allow him. He never mentions my grey hairs or wrinkles any more. Not because I told him not to. But because he actually wants me to feel good about myself and now realizes what’s the best way to achieve that.

In return I’m critical of him because that’s what HE wants. I don’t think he’s turned on by submission so much as by control. He wants me to decide things for him. And he likes some of my decisions to be tough. He’s 6 Kgs lighter to ’compensate’ for my own weight gain. He feels great about that too. He could ask me to make his diet easier on him but he doesn’t want to. We run a jokey kind of ‘carbon neutral’ household. I indulge and he offsets me. I think part of him feels guilty about retiring at only 62. So rather than golf and relaxation he wants me to control how he spends his time. Ruthless line-writing and rote-learning sessions interspersed with school food and cold showers.

I don’t regard myself as an expert Domme. But I’m no longer a novice either. What I would say in conclusion is that I WAS a total novice a year ago. I couldn’t have imagined how the past 12 months would play out after he asked me to lock his cock and dominate him. It’s amazing how quick you can learn. And how quickly you can embrace it and can no longer imagine life without it. In short, if the man you love asks you to dominate him, go for it! Or at least give it a try.

Better definition of a Sybarite

I mentioned in an earlier post that I am a sybarite. Well a fellow lifestyle Mistress and blogger from the States, Suzanne – author of the wonderful blog,  All Mine, quotes a definition from, I assume, a U.S. dictionary. I prefer it to the definition I found in my UK on-line dictionary. Having read my post on the topic, Suzanne also considers herself a sybarite.

U.S. definition:  – – a person who is self-indulgent in their fondness for sensuous luxury.

Well this is the definition for me!

As an aside, I would have to say, I consider Suzanne most similar to me, from all the blogs I have ever read by lifestyle Dommes. The palette of lifestyle choices and attitudes in Femdom is almost infinite, but I find a bell of similarity chimes whenever I read one of Suzanne’s posts. Indeed, if she cuckolded her pet with women rather than her trophy-cock male lover, I would say we had been cast from the same mould!

If Suzanne reads this post, I hope I have not caused any offense. I certainly do not intend to.