Tag Archives: punishment

Published – Journal 15 – The Institute Revisited

My 15th journal is now published. (The Institute Revisited)

More of the activities, described in fine detail, that take place at The Institute. My Volume 13 on the same topic was very much appreciated, so it would be wrong of me not to detail yet more of the tribulations visitors endure at The Institute.

‘Clients’ who have little choice but to attend when summoned, thanks to the clever way the Governesses exploit the clients’ addiction for very strict discipline, ruthless control, deep humiliations and dire degradations.

Governesses, like me, who show zero pity and enjoy inflicting a wide range of activities on their clients. The clients ‘enjoy’ very little of their visit time and dislike a great deal of their suffering, but such is the paradox of the minds of true submissives, that when they have returned to the safety of their homes, they wait with mixed emotions and submissive awe for the next summoning to attend. They cannot live without feeling pitilessly dominated and there is no other entity in their lives to give them this feeling.

Journal 15 is available as paperback and ePub as an eBook, both on LULU.com and also available on Amazon KINDLE.

KINDLE by country.   US   UK    DE    FR    ES    IT    NL    JP    BR    MX    CA    AU   IN

In time it will be available on NOOK, KOBO, Scribd, Apple, Barnes & Noble, etc. I will let you know when it is. I will also then provide a Universal Book Link from Books2Read.

Below are some of the comments I received on my last journal regarding The Institute:

Loved your latest journal, No.13! I read it over two days and savored each horrible/ thrilling punishment and torture of each slave. I found myself going into a form of subspace just reading it! Your best book !

I immediately purchased Journal 13 as soon as I read it was available. I have just completed only a few dozen pages, and I believe it may be one of your best. Thank you for creating the best writings for the BDSM community.

After your most excellent last Journal 13 I am very much looking forward to the new Institute Manual.

Just finished this wonderful journal and forwarded to my Mistress. She was very intrigued with the extremist nature when I told her of some of the scenarios in the volume and wanted to read it for herself.

Oh wow! Just WoW!! Purchased & read avidly in one day. This boy would so like to endure the ‘Slug’ like experience… Simply magnificent femdom – thank you for sharing your bank holiday weekend.

The Institute is a most intriguing read. Ashamed to say that despite having the print version for a fortnight, i have been unable to read page by page. i have found it so arousing (within my chastity) i keep jumping from chapter or part chapter to the next…and back again. The Institute represents all i have long embraced in a FLR/FemDom lifestyle and appreciate all the respect the submissives involved have for their superiors despite the pain, shame and debasement. A most inspiring read for both my Mistress & i.

 

Addition to the previous post on Lady Jessica’s punishments

My dear Mistress Scarlet

What an honour and a pleasure to be featured so prominently on your adorable blog!

I have one additional tweak to the system outlined above, which I will mention because I propose to modify it still further according to a suggestion you made a few posts ago.

Occasionally I repeat the guessing exercise at the end of the punishment. Sometimes this merely takes the form of a question as to whether skivvy deserves extra and additional strokes, perhaps to reflect excessive whining and fuss during the punishment itself (perhaps a little unfair, Mistress Scarlet, as I do actually gain considerable pleasure from tears and frantic pleading – but fairness is not a feature of skivvy’s disciplinary regime). Again, I do not cheat: I will write my own opinion on a piece of paper and place it face down in front of him, just below his head where the floorboards are so magnificently stained with a rich, deep glow from the frequent application of copious tears, over many years of our blissfully happy marriage.

This judgement may well be ‘zero’. Indeed, it usually is. However, he is free to request more if he believes he deserves it. After he has stammered out his own suggestion, I sometimes like to discuss it with him: exploring the reasoning behind his request for – for example – six extra strokes, before allowing him to see my own opinion on the matter. Of course, the usual asymmetry applies.

More usually, however, the discussion concerns his post-thrashing corner time. When a serious beating is needed – I am not talking here about a quick bend-over for a few strokes of some convenient implement before resuming chores – there are always three stages: written punishment, the beating itself and then some post-beating thinking time, typically in the corner with his hands on his head. I lightly tie his thumbs with a ribbon and place a glass Christmas ornament on top of his folded hands, so I can be sure he will not stir. The ornaments are cheap and smash easily – I make sure I keep plenty in, as they are hard to find out of season and nothing else works so well.

We usually play the same guessing game – there is so much drudgery in his life, after all, I expect he enjoys the opportunity to play a little game like this. I’ll admit I do not know that, as I have never asked him, but I expect he would agree with me that these games bring a little joy into what is his often rather dismal existence. I fact, I am sure he would.

I write a duration on a piece of paper and fix it to the wall in front of his face, blank side out. He then tells me his own estimate and I leave him to it. I then return, at the time he specified (unless unavoidably delayed for one reason or another, or unless I forget) and turn the card over. If it is less than he had requested, the corner time is over. If more… then he must deploy his skills in multiplying by three again. He has a degree in mathematics, so he is good at that. If the duration runs late into the night, then I would typically use a webcam and review on fast-forward in the morning, rather than relying on the glass ornament. Of course, any chores still remaining from the day must also be completed before bedtime, without any stinting.

However, Mistress Scarlet, thanks to your lovely suggestion: the next time he has a really serious beating, I will at the end produce a wooden chair, and place on it my doormat (I mean my real doormat, of course, not skivvy) which is made of thick, bristly and slightly irregular coir. His thinking time will be spent sitting on that: ribboned hands on head and two glass ornaments balanced in place, one on his folded hands and the other on his lap. My estimate will be fixed to the wall in front of him, as usual. Of course, he will have no idea what the ‘norm’ might be for a coir matt session. Fifteen minutes? One hour? Two hours? Maybe it should be less than the usual standing corner time, because I understand it can be quite uncomfortable (I wouldn’t know, of course: I have never tried it and never will). Or perhaps it should be longer – after all, he is sitting down.

Anyway: I will leave the decision to him, in the usual way.

Oh, I am so looking forward to this! I do hope it is not long until his next serious beating. Of course, I can simply impose one capriciously but I do like him to feel that a punishment is his own fault and that he could have avoided it if only he had acted differently. Regret can bring such sweet tears, even before any pain is applied. Hmm. What can he fail at? Perhaps I will wear a ruffled blouse today… a little 1980s perhaps, but it is a complete nightmare to iron properly. He rarely gets it right.

And then of course there must be consequences. Mustn’t there?

Yours in sincere sisterhood

Lady Jessica

Another suggestion from Lady Jessica

Another comment from the wonderful Lady Jessica I have posted here as I know many blog followers do not read comments on posts.

The concept of a naughty subby having to take a guess at what punishment he is due, with significant consequences for guessing low, I think has been mentioned before on my blog, but as you might expect, Lady Jessica uses this technique exquisitely and cruelly!

And I certainly get a warm feeling knowing Lady Jessica is now adopting a minor technique of mine. It is a favourite for me when dominant women share ideas to keep their males deeply subjugated and themselves pleasantly amused.

 

My dear Mistress Scarlet

You really are too kind: to me, that is. I was touched by your very complimentary words on my modest contribution and those of the many contributors in the comments. Making my own skivvy suffer is of course its own reward but how lovely it is to think that his regime brings pleasure as well to so many strangers on the Internet.

And as for this post, Mistress Scarlet! Well, to think that I might have contributed in some small way to increasing still further the misery of bitch-boy’s existence brings on a physical shiver of pleasure! How lucky all our boys are not only to have women who bring purpose and structure to their lives, but also to be part of a global community that takes such delight in their pain and humiliations.

It is an inspiring thought that around the world, right now, there may be computers and phones abandoned displaying this page of your blog, while in a neighbouring room, after a pause for the shrieks to die away, a soft feminine voice gently asks “Do you think you have had enough to be deterred from disobedience, maggot?”.

I shall certainly be trying it.

One little twist I enjoy (and, you know, I have been reading your blog for so long my dear, that I do not even recall if it originally came from you, so do forgive me if this is old hat), is to allow skivvy to set the parameters of his punishment. I believe that if he himself takes some responsibility for determining the consequences of his behaviour, it will focus his mind more closely upon the sins he committed. So, for example: following some moderate failing on his part, such as… oh I don’t know, hanging my ironed blouses in a different order from the way I like them, then I might inform him that a caning is due. Not the worst error perhaps, but imagine how cross I would be if I reached into the cupboard without looking carefully and pulled out a different garment from the one I was expecting, just because my lazy skivvy had not bothered to check the sequence! Skivvy would then sit down and write a short essay – no more than 2000 words, say – on the importance of good order in domestic chores, or perhaps more philosophically on why he seems unable to carry out even the simplest tasks adequately. Then he will bring me the essay, for me to check or to discard as the mood takes me.

And then I will ask him to suggest an appropriate number of strokes. I place the cane on my desk, in full sight, to help him concentrate and I place as well a piece of paper on the reverse side of which I have previously written my own estimate of the appropriate punishment. Then he must request whatever number he thinks suitable. How many strokes, skivvy? Hmm?

I give him time to decide. He is usually shaking in fear at this point, so I am in no hurry to move on: it is one of my favourite times of the day. But he must choose: asking me politely for the number of strokes that, in his considered opinion, he deserves.

There is a bit of a twist. Once he has announced his own punishment, I turn over the card, so we can compare our estimates. I do not cheat: my own number will be written there clearly. If we agree, then that is how many strokes he will receive, and we proceed to that stage of the process.

If he should have chosen more than I awarded… well, after he had so long carefully to consider the matter, who am I to argue? ‘You want 18 strokes, skivvy? Do you know, I was planning on only 12? Oh well… I suppose I could manage an extra six without too much difficulty if that’s what you really want. Let’s get you over the block.”

But if he should choose a lighter punishment than I had envisaged… well, that is a more serious matter, Mistress Scarlet, as I think you will agree. Obviously, in those circumstances the little worm has utterly failed to appreciate the seriousness of the situation, or to empathise sufficiently with the trouble to which he put me with his thoughtless approach to hanging blouses, the selfish beast. My estimate prevails – obviously – and to it, we add three times the difference between the estimates. Thus, if I had chosen 12 strokes and he estimated merely eight, he receives my 12 plus three times four, for another 12, making 24 in all.

In practice, I tend not to choose such nice even numbers, as I do not think the challenge should be made too simple. I might choose 11, or 15 or 23, for example.

The scoring is thoroughly asymmetric. Quite deliberately. If he over-estimates how many strokes he needs, well: that is unpleasant for him as he could have had fewer but no real harm is done. And possibly some good. Underestimating, though, requires immediate correction, so the three-times multiple is very fair.

It does admittedly put him in the difficult situation of having quite a strong incentive to go high rather than low. He knows very well that the three-times rule can lead to a breathtakingly agonising experience. Once, for example, he completely misunderstood my mood and decided he deserved eight strokes when I had him down for 25. So, after a little practice with the 17-times table, he received 25 plus 51 = 76 strokes. He was quite dehydrated from crying when I had finished, but of course I let him have some water as soon as he had finished the post-caning corner time and the few chores he was yet to complete.

Although I enjoy thrashing him severely like that, though, the psychological torment when it goes the other way is a more subtle but equally delightful pleasure. Terified of repeating an experience like the one above he dare not choose too low a number! On occasion, I have had him down for a mere four stroke reminder and the silly skivvy has asked for 18 – which of course, I am only too pleased to hand out. The look on his face when I turn over the card in such situations is a treat, it really is. And of course – bringing the topic back to your so sweetly malicious post, Mistress Scarlet – in such circumstances I will always pause after stroke number four to remind him that if it were up to me, this would be the end of the unpleasantness. But as he asked so nicely, there’s still 14 to go! By request, so to speak.

Yours in sincere sisterhood

Lady Jessica

Lady Jessica has upped my meanness (Part 2)

Well the content of my last post certainly was influential. Numerous submissive males subsequently confirming that Lady Jessica’s approach is very affecting indeed. And even more interestingly, several experienced Dommes, like myself, deciding to amend some of our activities or styles to ensure additional opportunities to raise and then dash the hopes of our little puppets.

I have a list of my current, favourite depraved activities and I peruse it before I start a full-on domination day of bitch-boy. It is like perusing a menu at a fine dining restaurant. It is so hard to choose! But what I don’t choose today, I can have the next time or the time after that! (Which is quite often the following day.)

After reading Lady Jessica’s wonderful contribution, I split my menu list between those activities that are mainly about physical pain for bitch-boy and those that are mainly about that terrible combination of extreme humiliation and extreme tedium. I did this as I realised that creating and dashing hope followed two sets of principles, depending on whether the activity is mainly about physical pain, or mainly about the combination of humiliation and tedium.

An example regarding an activity that is mainly about physical pain for bitch-boy is deterrent punishment. Before Lady Jessica’s post,  I would get to the stage where bitch-boy is pleading with all his heart, then I would become aroused as I carried on, (for a further ten to fifteen minutes), until I felt both a true deterrent had been achieved, and I had become so turned on I needed an orgasm. I would then simply end the deterrent punishment.

Now, after Lady Jessica’s post, I get to the stage where bitch-boy is pleading with all his heart, and after another say three or five minutes, I ask him, ‘Do you think you have had enough to be deterred from disobedience maggot?‘ He answers in an emotional panic of muffled noise through his gag that, yes he has, and I will answer, ‘Well I’m not sure about that. I’ll continue for a while longer to be sure.

And that routine is then set until the end. Every three to five minutes, I ask, he answers and I say, ‘I’m not sure about that. I’ll continue for a while longer to be sure.‘ Until finally when I ask, and he answers, I then say, ‘Yes bitch, I too think have had enough to be deterred from disobedience maggot.’ And I stop.

Each time I have asked, ‘Do you think you have had enough to be deterred from disobedience maggot?‘ his hopes have been raised that once he has answered, I will stop. But each time he answers,  yet I continue, his hopes to end the searing, burning strokes are dashed.

Such a simple technique that (A) has increased my feeling of meanness and my arousal considerably and, I have no doubt, (B) increased bitch-boy’s subjugation to me and his awe of me, through the punishment, made worse by raising and dashing hopes.

If there is interest in this rather ‘technical and systems’ aspect of domination, I will post again on the changes I have made in the activities that are mainly about the combination of humiliation and tedium. Unfortunately for my poor puppet, as well as now involving raising and dashing hopes, my analysis of these activities has also resulted in extra humiliation and in options of physical pain, neither of which were there before.

 

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

Kind to be VERY cruel ; The Amazing Lady Jessica

I received the comment below and I found it so affecting I had to make it into a blog post.

The theme is I think identical to that in my post of January 2018 but Lady Jessica and I  arrive at the same outcome via somewhat different psychological techniques. I do note that in order to succeed Lady Jessica’s technique requires a continuing regime of very harsh endurances for her skivvy , but there is nothing wrong with that!

 

Dear Mistress Scarlet

I am so pleased you managed to retrieve my previous message and I am flattered to honoured to see it featured on your wonderful blog. I do hope that whatever male (or “male”) creature was responsible for its deletion was soundly thrashed. Even if BB was nowhere near your computer at the time, his sin of omission in failing to prevent you from deleting it was surely a grave one. It is always a male’s fault, I find, don’t you?

Your latest post made me think, as so many of them do. I would like to put in a few words in favour of a somewhat neglected trait I believe a domme should display: the willingness to be merciful. Kindness, my dear Mistress Scarlet, is under-rated in the world of female domination.

I myself occasionally take pity on my little skivvy and I show him the true quality of my mercy, with an act of kindness. On my way up to bed, I might, for example, pop into the study where he is hunched over his desk, writing lines in a task that he knows will keep him up until 3am at the earliest (with chores to do from 5.30 the next day, as every other). Asking him how many he has done, and observing his wretched face as he tells me he has not yet reached 200 of the 500 assigned, I might take pity and smilingly declare that he can reach the 200 and make an early night of it – or even just tell him, he can put his pencil down then and there. The relief, joy and gratitude on his face is a tonic, it truly is.

Or I might perhaps pause during a thrashing and ask the sobbing wreck strapped so tightly over the whipping bench, whether he is truly sorry. On being assured that he is, I might perhaps declare that I will let him off the remaining strokes, as he seems so sincerely contrite, and put the cane aside before loosening his straps and allowing the thankful skivvy to stagger off to resume his duties, stammering out his gratitude and his appreciation of his kind, merciful Mistress.

Why do I act in this soft-hearted fashion, Mistress Scarlet? Well, let me quote John Cleese’s character in the film Clockwise: “It’s not the despair, Laura. I can take the despair. It’s the hope I can’t stand.”

You see, Mistress Scarlet, there will be other occasions on which skivvy is sitting at his desk, facing a numbingly tedious written imposition stretching impossibly late into the night. Many, many other occasions. His hand aching, his buttocks numb from sitting on the hard stool, his mind a whirl with the humiliation of being unable to escape this mind-numbingly tedious and thoroughly pointless task. And he will hear me walk past the door of the study… perhaps I will come in. Or perhaps he will simply be listening intently, trying to decide whether I have already gone up to bed and left him to his task, or whether he still has hope. Because, thanks to my occasional acts of kindness, he does always have hope. And that hope, my dear, transforms what might be merely a tedious and unpleasant but inevitable night of discomfort into something quite unbearable. Into torment. Because he can never resign himself completely to the inevitable while hope remains.

Of course, that hope rests on the most slender thread imaginable. His heart may leap when I enter the room, only to fall into despair when I pick up some item or other and leave him to his fate. He knows in his heart of hearts that this is the most likely outcome. Perhaps, after asking how far he has got, I will casually double the lines he must write, or pick up the sheaf of scribbled papers and tear them up, instructing him to begin again in a colour more to my liking. These are both much more likely than an act of mercy on my part – and he knows it. But while he still has hope, there is always a chance for him to pray for silently, and the crushing of that hope when I dash it, Mistress Scarlet, more than makes up for those rare occasions when I have to act against  my nature and extend the little swine any mercy.

Consider the skivvy strapped across the whipping bench, receiving a good dose of the cane. I ask if he is truly sorry. If I am simply to carry on regardless of his answer, then some formulaic sobbed “I’m so sorry Mistress” might be as good a response as any other. But he knows I can be merciful, he knows I can be kind. And oh! – how desperately he pleads, how he shrieks for that mercy he knows I can so very easily bestow, remembering those vanishingly rare occasions on which the flogging ceased as a result! How much more he screams when the whipping simply resumes after his desperate begging, or is doubled or tripled at a whim. And yet, later in the punishment, his breathing hoarse as he has little left from screaming, I might ask him again and his heart will leap anew at the thought that I might yet let him off even the few remaining slashes from that dreadful cane and he will beg and plead for me again.

Of course, he knows the chance is always vanishingly small. He must tell himself repeatedly not to get his hopes up: that silently wishing and praying for mercy is almost certain to be ineffective against my stern resolve to enforce my regime. But he can’t help himself, can he? Try as might, he cannot help thinking that this latest unbearable slash of fire across his throbbing backside will be the last, that the remaining strokes that he can hardly imagine ‘taking’ might not have to be taken at all. Please? And then the whirr of the cane through the air and the crack of the latest outrage on his poor abused flesh and the scream that follows a thousand shrieking nerves reporting pain receptors ablaze across his rump. And then, once again, as the pause before the next one lengthens: that unbearable glimmer of hope.

Hopes dashed, Mistress Scarlet – so much more unpleasant than hopes never entertained at all. Don’t you agree? Daily, I inflict pain and suffering on skivvy’s body, of course, but the greatest pleasure of all is to crush a soul, to break his spirit. And hope is like a drop from the fountain of youth: it rejuvenates and restores his spirit, enabling me to crush it once more. To crush it, break it, annihilate it… and yet it comes back for more pain and humiliation (and more there will always be), thanks to hope.

Without hope, I believe, I would have a shambling zombie of a servant to abuse – shambling from chore to punishment and back again in a constant state of degradation and defeat. With it, I have a human being: beaten and subjugated, to be sure, not much of a human being, but as there is always that glimmer of spirit, there is a spark of humanity there. A human being longing and praying that things might turn out not to be as bad as his fears… and vulnerable to the misery when those fears are realised. To be plunged into despair: again and again and again and again. Delightful!

They say sometimes one must be cruel to be kind, my dear Mistress Scarlet. But only the sadist knows that to be cruel – to be truly cruel – one must just occasionally be kind.

Yours in sincere sisterhood

Lady Jessica

Early results – The ‘S’ word and the ‘C’ word research

Well early results of my research are interesting. (see previous post).

Firstly a huge thanks to all the Dommes to have so kindly left comments and please, please, to those who do not like the sadist label, do not take my responding challenges or questions as disrespectful or ungrateful in any way. Each of you are amazing and awesome women I hold in the highest regard. I am though simply trying to understand why there is resistance to being labelled a sadist when, by the normal application of the dictionary definition………..

Other Domme respondents, like me, are happy / proud however to be labelled a sadist.

As I mentioned in my last post, I used to have this resistance to the label and now I do not and I am not sure what happened enabling me to lose my resistance. But it was and is liberating and empowering and perhaps even erotic and arousing for me to have done so.

But now I come to the nub of my interest in this issue. To summarise results so far, 100% of the submissives who responded confirmed that:  if a woman introduces herself to them confirming that she is a sadist, the woman is instantly put on a pedestal, held in awe and considered very special.

You may ask, why is this important to me? Well,  as you all know, my goal is to play my small part in having more women become dominant and take possession of one of the many, many spare submissives out there. And by so doing most likely bring them both to the most contented and stable relationship anyone can enjoy. And particularly thinking of young women, they do need to know that the evidence is that, if they have a sadistic side they should very early on, tell this to any submissive male suitor.

They should not be coy or reserved on this matter. To confirm they are a sadist or sadistic , the evidence suggests, will help to immediately have the male addicted to them and holding them in awe. And what better way to start their relationship could there be.

A novel humiliation – no hope for the subby

Below is a great comment left by Lady Jessica which seemed to go straight into my trash and then get deleted!  I managed to recover it and I post it here as it is so novel and the poor subby really can’t avoid punishment. Delicious! Lady Jessica is a fantastic Domme with a wonderful style of dominance.

My dear Mistress Scarlet

You are indeed dear to me, as I have been an avid follower of your blog and indeed of your methods for several years. I so much admire the delicious cruelty with which you treat bitch-boy – this post and the previous one being perfect examples of the rare skill with which you so precisely set his conditions of existence., My own skivvy, who used to be Steve but now has no particular fixed name as there is rarely any doubt to whom I am referring, has learned to spot and dread your blog updates, as he knows full well that the same treatment may well be meted out to him in due course.

I have been meaning to write for some time now. One of the very, very rare techniques for humiliation of the sissified male that I have not seen discussed on your blog, dear Mistress Scarlet, is the use of balloons. Have you ever treated bitch boy to the delights of a packet of party balloons? I have found several uses for them.

The first is simply to make my skivvy look more ridiculous than usual. A balloon attached and dangling from some body part or other somehow manages to make even the most careful and humdrum movement laughably inept. Helium-filled balloons of course dangle upwards and a pair attached on short strings one to each ear conveys a delightful impression of some kind of giant toy donkey. Balloons without helium dangle down. A large balloon attached at the nozzle with masking tape to the forehead will dangle and flap around in front of the eyes, boffing gently against the face endlessly, in what must surely be a maddeningly irritating fashion to any skivvy forced to attempt his busy schedule of chores in such a condition.

Yet it is when balloons are combined one with another, Mistress Scarlet, that things really begin to amuse. A balloon tied to the wrist is an encumbrance to the tasks that I expect and require my skivvy to carry out. Two balloons more than doubles the encumbrance but with three, four five all tightly attached to the same wrist… well, the hapless skivvy finds himself wearing a sort of bracelet of inflated latex of clashing cheerful colours. Can you imagine, my dear, how the routine tasks of scrubbing floors, washing dishes or handwashing clothes are hampered by such a bracelet around the wrist? Or by such a bracelet around each wrist? The skivvy can barely even see the task on which he is engaged and is therefore even more likely than his natural incompetence would warrant, to commit errors and fail in his appointed task. It is disappointing when this occurs of course, as his zeal to serve me should allow him to rise above such trivial hindrances to achieving the perfection I deem to be adequate. Fortunately, the cane is always available to assist in developing his skills.

Of course, Mistress Scarlet, balloons can be fragile things. They can be popped deliberately -amusing to sneak up in stockinged feet behind a skivvy intent on some menial task, and suddenly – BANG! – pop one of the balloons dangling from the back of his collar. But balloons also pop ‘accidentally’, do they not, and a skivvy who allows a balloon that his Mistress has kindly awarded him to pop is in for a most testing time with the cane, most testing indeed. The skivvy festooned with balloons, trying desperately to complete tasks to time and the required perfection faces a hard challenge indeed – and one that he has never been known not to fail. Of course, there is no concealing the fault. The sound can be heard throughout the house and the sad little rubber remnants, the pathetic little rag hanging deflated from the wrist, collar or genitals, is almost like a ready-made entry in a punishment book, betokening an inevitable caning.

And so, dear Mistress Scarlet, as I sit here finishing this letter that I very much hope will meet with your approval, my skivvy is decked out in a complete packet of party balloons. Ears, neck, wrists, elbows, waist, knees and ankles are all festooned with gaily coloured rings of waving, rustling and squeaking balloons. Between his legs, two particularly over-inflated pink balloons give an entirely misleading impression of the shrivelled organs to which they are attached. “Birthday girl!” proclaims one, while the other is decorated with sparkly unicorns. There are forty in all – three of which, I regret to have to report, have already popped, so I am afraid the birthday girl will be receiving three sets of ‘birthday bumps’ from my cane for that. Skivvy is currently on all fours, very slowly picking and eating fluff from the floor – so slowly, indeed, that I fear he will not have completed half his task in the requisite time and therefore will earn a still more generous dose with the cane when I come to review his performance.

Oh – and another balloon gone! I fear I am in for a busy afternoon, Mistress Scarlet, so I will sign off now with my very best wishes to you and my thanks again for your inspiring work.

Yours in sincere sisterhood

Lady Jessica

Those mean wedges!

Well I don’t know if any of you noticed that I was wearing my stomping wedges in the cover photo of my recently published 14th journal. And you may recall these became bitch-boy’s new girlfriend in early March.

I can report that since the 4th March bitch-boy’s only sexual releases have been when his birth defect has been under the sole of one of my shoes while I am on the stomping platform and his defect is poking up through the hole. So in just over a month it will be the six month anniversary of him only ever cumming under my shoe. Poor puppet.

I have not been a fan of wedges before but when stomping, they make life so easy as there is no need to concentrate. There is no gap between heel and sole in which the defect can find refuge from being squashed. So any pressing down of the shoe ALWAYS FINDS IT’S TAGRET! These wedges because of the narrow heel and middle section allow for considerable pressure to be applied per square inch, as it were.

Journal 14 is available as paperback and ePub as an eBook, both on LULU.com and also available on Amazon KINDLE.

KINDLE by country.   US   UK    DE    FR    ES    IT    NL    JP    BR    MX    CA    AU   IN

In time it will be available on NOOK, KOBO, Scribd, Apple, Barnes & Noble, etc. I will let you know when it is. I will also then provide a Universal Book Link from Books2Read.

I hope you enjoyed reading these fine detail accounts as much as I enjoyed the activities described.

Dominant Mother and Daughter

In accordance with my ne policy, (given the vast majority of dear blog followers do not read many of the comments to my blog posts), here is a comments exchange that you may find of interest. Please let me know if compiling and posting such a group of comments is interesting.

The comments below were initiated by my post of 5 May 2019, about ……..

……..The females speak to each other with sweet voices and a pleasant, patient, demeanour; BUT, in an instant, when their voice is directed at the male sub, sweet and pleasant is replaced with malevolent and impatient and irritated. Then, speaking to the sub is over, and the tone and demeanour of sweet and  pleasant and patient returns as the Domme addresses a fellow female…….

Comments

The two women that dominate me, are very much like this. They are mother and daughter and so have a lot to catch up on when a weekend visit is arranged with me in attendance. Once dressed as a baby and put in my playpen they will have a cup of coffee and chat away politely, but at any moment either of them might snap out at me and have me trembling with fear. They know that this sudden change keeps me nervous and very intimidated. I am also fearful that the situation might escalate and they will both start snapping at me till I crumble and start to weep. This can be hard to avoid but never receives any sympathy. Quite the reverse in fact. If I act like a cry baby they love to twist the knife and ridicule me all the more. They love it when I’m so scared that I wet my nappy.

The daughter was a professional who I visited to lose my virginity in 2008. Upon my failure to rise to the occasion, she suggested I would be better suited to visiting her mother – who had different specialities. After a few meets I was completely subjugated by her mother – Julia. Or Nana Julia to me. She found that I had certain work skills she could utilise and it has become a trade off of my abilities for the opportunity of spending time with her, and often her daughter. She must enjoy it for what it is though as she often orders me to visit even if she has no requirements of my skills in the preceding month.

They like nothing better than to tease and humiliate me during nappy changes or potty time. Sometimes they will do it gently and be amused when my ‘birth defect’ rises to its very best quivering 4 inches. I feel humiliated by my erection, my face flushed with shame at showing them my pitiful, attention-seeking willy. They find my embarrassment hilarious and more often than not their scorn and mockery makes it wilt pretty fast, but on occasion it will be tugged, and forced to squirt like a toileting chore. Post ejaculation I will feel utterly wretched, but they just pour on more scorn as they watch my red dick dwindling out of sight. They know I feel at my most uncomfortable at this moment and make the most of it. I have to cope.

Mother and Daughter take me to task regularly and enjoy themselves at my expense. It is not a 24/7 relationship but when they demand I visit I am completely there for the entertainment of the Mother. They like to keep me as their baby, but they have made it clear they don’t like baby boys and silly little wimps like me deserve relentless humiliation. I almost feel she is a MIL as the cruel mother role is well suited to her, but I do get to escape for a few weeks at a time. When she wants to play though, I have to attend

Regarding potties, I am forced to make the best of my white and yellow Mothercare pot though it can be very uncomfortable as my testicles get quite squashed by the front pee guard. I’m not always sitting either as it has been gaffa-tapped to my bottom so that I have to waddle around with my rubber pants around my ankles and my potty stuck to my bum. Almost a nursery version of a humbler – only much, much more humbling. It seems to amuse the two cruel ladies in my life