I know I am tilting at windmills here, and covering old ground. I apologise, but is there nothing that can be done about submissive males simultaneously despairing about how few dominant women there are compared to submissive men, while posting and sharing images that contribute to keeping the number of dominant women as low as it is.
Somehow the concept of Female Led Relationships, (FLR), needs to be seen as totally separate from, and completely different to, Femdom Porn. ‘Relationship’ being the key word. I will explain:
99% of vanilla women, (possibly even ‘curious’ vanilla women), do not want to wear thigh high boots, PVC or rubber, corsets, or shoes with heels more than four inches high that do not have a platform sole. These women do not want to visit a dungeon, they don’t want to use a bull-whip, they don’t want to use needles or electrics, or have a dungeon in their house. They probably don’t like the thought of their male dressed as a maid or other female character. They also do not think women are born to rule and men are born to serve. They all know at least one woman who you would not want or trust to rule a pet hamster, let alone rule another human being; and they probably now some amazing men. They do want to know that if they did end up as the dominant partner, their male would not be weak and submissive in the vanilla times with any problems they face as a family. (I wish sub men would stop posting their memes like ‘women were born to lead, men are born to follow.’ I understand sub men truly feel this, BUT non-submissive men think its mental, as do vanilla women! It is not the case, stop writing it! I guess it would be fine to post, ‘Women are born to lead submissive males, who will worship and protect them.’) Also, 99% of vanilla women do not look like supermodels. It does not help that so many dominatrices do.
My ranting point is that the output of the profit based femdom industry which includes dominatrices and photo and video makers, is almost all, very likely to put off vanilla women from trying dominance, even ‘curious’ ones. I do not want to criticise these industries though as they do play an important role. My criticism is how the same sub males that are despairing about how few dominant women there are, of how they can’t tempt their wife or girlfriend to try it, post and share these images and videos that put off vanilla women from having a try.
In my BDSMLR site, I do try to include many, many images of domestic FLR. I do also have a few images of dominatrices in action because I adore the featured activity in which they are partaking. But then I am not a submissive male despairing about how few dominant women there are, and my BDSMLR site is not intended to attract vanilla women to try dominance. It is simply for my pleasure. I have, with help from a few others, put together my Alternative Blog and my Manual for Beginners for the purpose of attracting vanilla women to try dominance. And produced pages on this blog as advice to sub husbands and boyfriends.
I guess I am wondering if there could be, whenever people are labelling images or videos, or writing on the internet, a clear distinction between FLR and femdom porn.
One of my favourite genres of image on BDSMLR is the ‘while doing something else’ activity. It epitomises REAL FLR. The male is at his chores, or tethered somewhere, or performing shoe worship or cunnilingus say. And the wife/girlfriend, almost certainly dressed in vanilla-ish clothes, is watching TV, or on the phone, or reading, or sunbathing. While doing something else activity plays a big part in a FLR. Once a vanilla woman has had a try at real domination and experiences her first REAL power-rush, things can move quickly to bullwhips and cages and all the other femdom porn paraphernalia, but we have to get them to make that first step.
I dream of there being two very distinct Femdom internet genre; Femdom porn and FLR material.
So I will now step down from my soapbox and I apologise for my rant on an unrealistic dream.
A wonderful account from Christine M including her sister spending time alone with DAVID and making him very miserable.
My sister is truly vicious and heartless in her treatment of David. When they first met, they never ‘clicked’ and my sister is 20-years older than him which didn’t help.
David had been told to take time-off for Easter since I had booked in to learn gliding at the local Aerodrome, which is about ½ an hour from here. I had not shared that my sister was coming over!
On the Thursday before Good Friday, he came home from work and was curtly told to change into his sissy frock, rather than his maid’s attire. (The sissy frock was from PDQ’s online store.) He looked at me aghast as he abhors wearing this ridiculous attire. I still didn’t let on that she was coming over so, dressed in his humiliating attire, he looked at me in absolute despair, completely mortified, when he saw her car coming up the driveway. It was a look to behold, and he immediately started trembling uncontrollably. My sister loves the added humiliation his frock delivers, so he knew he was in for a rough evening! My sister was staying until the Tuesday, so he was in for a great deal more misery than he realised.
As has been requested, I should describe his frock.
When choosing this I wanted something that would be dreadfully humiliating for him and make him feel acutely ridiculous when wearing it. It also needed to be practical, in the sense he would still need to be able to do his chores when dressed as a prissy sissy.
We love to tease him about how adorably sweet he looks and fuss over the details of his dress. It is beautifully made of soft shiny satin of the palest blue, with a high ruffle collar that is trimmed with lace and has an enormous pink satin bow at the centre. The figure-hugging bodice has a white satin lace sash which is also tied in a large bow at the rear.
Huge puff-sleeves are elasticated at the hem of the sleeves with wide pleated lace trim. The skirt is full and falls over a bouffant petticoat, flaring it out. It is adorned with large matching pink satin bows all around the skirt, and hemmed in beautiful shiny frilly glass-silk.
An over-sized, pink hair bow is clasped in his hair, and the outfit is completed by white, frilly lace ankle socks, each with a pink bow on the outer side; pink ballet slippers; and matching panties made of soft, shiny satin, with an elasticated waist and leg openings, also trimmed with dainty glass-silk lace and cute dainty pink rose buds. The panties are on full display as the skirt only falls down to just below his buttock line, leaving his long, shaved, thighs exposed too.
A large pink dummy is also pinned to the bodice with a pink ribbon. The dummy is of course dabbed with a foul product designed to prevent people biting their nails. This he has to suck on when not required to speak.
Following Mistress Scarlet’s lead, he also has three ‘dollies’. A pink teddy, Lickel Pwetty Pinky Winky Teddy Weddy Pinkitikins, came first. My sister and I thought of nice long names to be much harder for him to cope with! Then came a rather old and worn rag doll, who he calls My Vewy Vewy Best, Most Favowite Dolly Wolly. And finally, a large plastic dolly that had seen better days with her painted eyes and lips chipped, Bubby Wubby sookie wookie babykins.
After my sister arrived and the usual ridiculing of David was done, including him introducing his dollies to much merriment, with my sister shaking her head contemptuously, making him feel even more stupid; she sternly turned to him, popped his dummy in his mouth, and with David looking more anxious than ever, told him that she had a surprise for him and I would be leaving him in her care for a little while. The dummy was quavering in his mouth, and he pleaded with wide eyes for me not to leave. I simply laughed contemptuously at him, as I nonchalantly left the room, advising my sister, I would be in the lounge if she needed me. His face continued to beseech me not to leave him alone with my sister, and my last view of him, saw him trembling like a frightened rabbit caught in a spotlight, his eyes opened wide in fear.
I could tell it was all too much for him to believe. He doesn’t find my sister attractive in any way, and he knew he was in for an evening of wretchedness, as he stood quaking before a very imposing, ‘authority figure’, who he knew held him in heartless contempt.
Needless to say, my sister was very cold in dealing with him. I watched using the camera in the kitchen, on the big screen through my Apple TV. Leaving him alone was so that it would leave him feeling more fearful and ever so rejected. My sister coldly laid down her rules. “You DO NOT speak unless I ask you a direct question. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you otherwise. You do as your told, without comment or complaint. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” He nervily nodded his head.
“If you don’t understand something, raise your hand and await my permission. If it is anything other than a question seeking clarification of what I have just told you to do, YOU WILL DEEPLY REGRET IT! I have no interest in anything you might want to say and if I want your opinion… I WILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS! ARE WE VERY CLEAR?” He struggled to nod his agreement, he was so overwhelmed!
I enjoy hearing him beg and plead so, even though his pleas always fall on deaf ears, this was going to be a new and frightening experience for him!
She then told him that when she does ask him questions, he had better respond in his most simpering little girl voice, making sure to lisp and giggle as he has been taught and to express his most sissy desires… OR ELSE! Please read Mistress Scarlet’s books for how he has been trained in all his little sissy mannerisms and how he has to play with his dollies. He rightly feels like a total ‘prick’ when he is treated like this, and don’t we remind him of this! My sister is particularly nasty and cutting in her remarks.
He was then seated in a chair with arm rests, and securely strapped in place, with his legs spread wide apart and his frock pulled out of the way. He was whimpering by now but knew better than to ask what was going on. I don’t think I have ever seen him look more scared, he was so exposed, so trapped, so alone. I wasn’t there and my sister, who he finds so malicious towards him, was in total control.
Once he was securely strapped in place, a pink hairdressers cape was placed over his dress as my sister grimly advised him, “Now that you’ve grown your lock-down hair longer, and since you love to dress up as a little sissy, I promised Chrissie, I would give you a nice girlie perm with lots of tight curls.” He looked horrified and I could see him flexing against his bonds, in panic, hoping to escape.
He was really getting panicky when she then picked up and flexed a really nasty looking rattan cane of mine, showing him how bendy and whippy it was, despite being as thick as her little finger. She flexed it so the two ends almost met, before swishing it loudly through the air. She then lightly tapped it along the length of his exposed inner thighs as she ominously warned him that, if he so much as whispered a word of complaint, even under his breath; showed the slightest signs of disobedience; or failed to lisp and show his enthusiasm for being a little sissy; she would be bringing the cane down on his tender inner thighs.
Smiling wickedly, she noted he would get three strokes on each leg, but if there was a next time, it would be four strokes… then five…” He was petrified and wincing as she kept tapping his inner thighs. There was no doubt he knew she was not making an idle threat, and the pain would be horrendous. I must share the dialogue as it was quite hilarious.
She took his dummy out of his mouth and coldly asked “Daisy, are you looking forward to getting your hair permed?”. He was too alarmed to reply and was given a stern warning and reminder, with the cane tapped harder on his inner thigh, prompting him to ever so fretfully lisp, “Yeth, pwease, I weally weally want a perm. Thank you (XXXXX).” He even tried to smile as he knew he was required to be enthusiastic in his role, he didn’t want to taste her cane, that was for sure.
Whilst he looked totally distraught and crushed, I know that deep down he felt she would not give him a real perm. She then started on his hair, mocking his lack of manliness, laughing at his plight, and really scaring him. She started by reassuring him that the perm wouldn’t last for ever, that it would soon wash out… then, seeing his cautious look of relief, she smiled, “… after three to four months!” This left him teary eyed and ever so upset.
His hair was washed and conditioned and then, ever so slowly, wrapped very tightly around small spiky plastic rollers, as he squirmed uncomfortably, while she dispassionately mocked him. She told him how sissies couldn’t go gliding, but they would be finding lots of fun things for him to do, while she went with me each day to watch.
“Your whole situation is quite laughable really… Isn’t it?” ….
Then in a mocking tone, “I remember you used to be ever so brash, going on and on about your ‘daring adventures’.” She used her fingers to mockingly indicate ‘daring adventures’ in inverted commas… Then, as if speaking to a simpleton, “You don’t do anything that might be ‘unsafe’ now do you?” she smirked.
“You prefer to stay at home and do chores, write lines and play silly games, don’t you?”
“You really are a silly twit, aren’t you?”
I might note here, her questions are NOT rhetorical. He has to answer her in full sentences, or else. This piled on the humiliation, while she kept wrapping his hair in rollers. Imagine being asked if you feel like a silly twit and having to advise, ‘Yeth, (XXXXX), I weally feel like a thilly thwit.”
Sneeringly she noted, “You’re so pathetic! I remember when Christine first told me about going out with you. She said she was shocked that you wanted to be with her, because you were so much younger,… dashing and wealthy… and were used to dating sexy young ladies and lots of sex no doubt.”
“Well, you can’t wank-off anymore though, can you?”
“Can you even get an erection, can you?”…
“I didn’t think so. What a poor excuse for a man you are! Isn’t that right?”
“No point you having a penis is there?”
“Couldn’t please a woman with it if you tried, could you?”
He squirmed in utter humiliation as he responded to each question. He is ever so upset that I have shared all these once ‘ever-so-private’ and intimate details with my sister. Humiliation had never been on my agenda until Mistress Scarlet coaxed me down the path, and now I just love it. This further upsets him, knowing that we have so much fun at his expense!
“Do you remember what your mates used to say when you first went out with Christine?”
“You all used to call her ‘old thunder thighs’?
“And didn’t Christine overhear your best mate comment how he couldn’t understand what you saw in her, reckoned she must really put out in bed! Didn’t they? Why else would you go out with her?”
“But you don’t get anything at all do you? Not even a quick hand-job!” He squirmed going redder and redder as he kept answering her questions.
“Did you ever tell them you got nothing?”
“I didn’t think so! Too arrogant to tell them she put you in chastity! And what happened after all that?” He then had to tell her how he was grounded and forbidden to see his old friends. He had to resign from the sports clubs he was in and sell his share in the boat that four of them owned together.
“They all had a good laugh at that I bet!” she mocked, “considered you were ‘totally under the thumb’. You would have been a right laughing stock at the rugby club wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe we should track down a few of the sexy young ladies you used to date? Invite them over for a Saturday night dressed like this! They’d totally piss themselves laughing at you, wouldn’t they?”
“Would you enjoy that?”
“You could sing nursery rhymes and dance for them. Wouldn’t that be a lot of fun?”
He was ever so mortified as she kept mercilessly on at him like this. He had to not only take her mockery, he had to respond that he would really like to do this!
“Which nursery rhyme would you like to sing and dance to?” she continued relentlessly as he fidgeted teary-eyed.
He was of course now on the verge of tears again, which brought more ridicule and caustic remarks as he advised which nursery rhyme he would like to sing for them! And she wasn’t letting him off the hook any time soon… she went on to make him answer why he picked that one, what he liked most about it, which was his favourite line and why! What other nursery rhymes did he like?
“I suppose you want to sing one to me now?”
“Beg me nicely and might let you …” she taunted.
After he begged and pleaded, she dismissively derided him, “My goodness! You’re supposed to be a grown man, and here you are getting a perm, playing with dollies and begging to sing nursery rhymes!” then more irritably, “go on then, if you really must!” she snapped, “you can sing it if you really want to!” He blushed profusely as he sang his little nursery rhyme for her. As he finished she caustically remarked, “What a total prat you are! What are you?”
She then switched tack, “Do you remember how you used to argue with me too?”
“and how you once told Christine you thought I was ‘bossy bitch’?” He squirmed in extra fear as she reminded him of this, and he had to lisp that he did. I could also see he was particularly hurt that I had shared this too with my sister, it seemed it made him feel completely friendless.
“Well, you are a lot more polite now, aren’t you?”
“Now don’t worry Daisy, we have lots of fun things for you to do while we are out… you have all your chores… and you can wash my car… and I brought all my ironing over for you. You love ironing don’t you?”
“And tomorrow… you’ll get to spend the day colouring in with your dollies. Then on Saturday you’ll be spending the day singing and dancing to your favourite nursery rhymes. Sunday is a full day of disciplinary ironing; (Scarlet,I must update you on how I have made this worse than ever for him)… and on Monday, you can play with your dollies again… Doesn’t that all sound like a lot of fun?”
Finally, his worst fears eventuated when she took out the harsh smelling perming solution and started to liberally apply it to the rollers. This caused him to make the dreadful mistake of whimperingly begging and pleading for her to stop.
There was an eerie silence broken only by his whining apologies as he saw the stern set of her face and the irritation in her eyes. She put the solution down and picked up the malevolent cane and lined it up along his left thigh, steadying her aim, her arm rose up high and behind her head. The cane swooshed down as promised, and struck down onto his inner thigh. This was instantly followed by an emotional squeal.
He continued to squeal uncontrollably as the pain continued, his body taut against his bonds as he struggled to deal with the agony, his head shaking wildly in desperation. She waited about a minute between strokes, to drag out his misery. No pity was shown, and the cane bit home 5 more times as promised, leaving him a squealing, squirming wreck.
She then continued as though nothing had happened, waiting until he calmed a little, though still clearly in great discomfort, before noting, “Let’s hope you don’t require a repeat dose Daisy!”
With everything in place, she connected a hood to her hairdryer, which was then placed over his head. She then left the room to join me, leaving him squirming in fear.
He was alone for about an hour before she returned to him. A hair net and a silk scarf were then put in place and he was released. He was ever so shaky, his inner thighs were clearly very sore still, and with bruising beginning. He then got to turn down our beds and get ready for bed himself. He didn’t sleep comfortably with a head full of curlers. My sister had wound them very tightly, so as his hair dried, they would have pulled on his scalp. Also the spikes would have made for further discomfort as he tried to sleep on his side to avoid the worst discomfort.
He was allowed an early night, but told he had to be in my office with his colouring-in book, his egg-timer and his dollies, and to have started colouring-in BEFORE 5:00 am! Readers need to look at Mistress Scarlet’s books to see this procedure, but it is very humiliating for him, and it is all recorded on camera.
I think this makes it even harder for him, and I love the way modern technology maximises my freedom and his humiliation. He is in the room all by himself, and he never knows if I am watching, if I will play the recording back, or if I will just totally ignore it and never open the file or even open the app!
Yet he must assume he is always being watched, as the consequences of being caught out are so dire! He must therefore maximise his ‘enthusiasm’ and effort for hours on end; no matter how humiliating it feels, how abandoned and lonely he feels, how stupid he feels, or how tedious and monotonous and exhausting it is. There he is, colouring-in and talking to his dollies, or singing and dancing to nursery rhymes, dressed like a sissy prat, ALL BY HIMSELF!
I might say he does also suffer the humiliation and cat calls of dancing and singing in front of us too, but once we get bored with him, he is dismissively sent off by himself. Imagine being snappily told, as he was, “You really are a stupid, boring prick prancing around like an idiot singing nursery rhymes! You are so annoying! Piss off out of here. Go sing and dance by yourself in the study where we can’t hear you! GET OUT NOW! We don’t want to be bothered by you! PISS OFF!” But the camera monitors him nonetheless.
It was gone eleven on the Friday morning before he was summoned to have his hair combed out. We had a hilarious time at his expense. His head was a mass of tight curls in which we secured his big hair bow as we mocked him. He was crimson and clearly very miserable indeed. Sadly, for him, he let a few ill-chosen, adult words slip out while expressing his concern with what we had done to him.
He had to be secured again, in order to receive eight more strokes of the cane, which were again brought down hard, on his now even more tender inner thighs. He was again squealing in agony. Once he had recovered a little of his composure, we simply continued our harangue, quite unconcerned by his very evident distress. He got to spend the afternoon on chores, before being sent to do a few more hours of colouring in, before bed.
A lovely point of embarrassment occurred when he asked me, in a private moment, about his weekly chastity release draw. I coldly advised him to ask again when my sister was with me the next morning.
It was so amusing to watch him turn crimson, dressed as he was, and ask, ever so politely, “Pwease Chwistine, may I make my weekly dwaw for a welease?” I smilingly advised, ‘Of course, you may… But since it is most inappropriate for little sissies to cum, we will not be revealing your result, though it will of course be removed from the spreadsheet. So you had better hope it isn’t your last release option of the year.” He was so nervous now, knowing that he only has one release left for the year, and it might be lost without him knowing! Since he had already lost two ‘reveals’, for earning Linnex punishments, this could be his third lost release option, though he doesn’t know if they were. And nor do I!
David was kept occupied as described above for the whole time my sister was with us. He also got to ‘enjoy’ some disgusting meals that my sister prepared for him. I must share these too but I think I have written more than enough!
I might share that my sister and I didn’t actually go gliding; I was with David on the Wednesday through to the Saturday, when we spent the entire time in vanilla mode, though he still wore female lingerie and his curls. The Sunday was a catch-up day of chores though, before going back to work on the Monday. I also used heat tongs to straighten his hair before he went back to work.
This is the first review: An excellent book. I am reading and loving it. You have such a unique writing style. As I read it I am transported into a submissive experience where the terrifying yet highly arousing torments are endured by me. It stirs me deeply. What a powerful array of guides and methods for any Domme and her fortunate sub. JMF
This is the second review: A highly rewarding and addictive read for anyone into this so special lifestyle from either side. For those less experienced to the experienced there is something for whatever stage their relationship is at. There is both width and depth and a high level of experience and understanding from the author. So you can go back and review if it is not quite the right time. Any Mistress wishing to deepen their Submissive’s desire to go deeper into subspace will be enthralled by new ideas that push a sub to yearn for more. Boundary breaking. Excellent from start to finish. More please. PB
In response to requests relating to the previous account from Miss Anne, she has generously provided a very detailed and fascinating account of one aspect of her life in lockdown. Here it is:
To give you all a better understanding of the environment in which we have been living for the last 6 months during the quarantine, it is a country house, my husband’s family home, where we used to go for a week in summer. The house is spacious, it has 3 bedrooms, kitchen, living room, large hall, basement and 2 bathrooms, one outside in the yard. It has a large yard, a garden with trees, it is surrounded by a wall of cement blocks 80 cm high, and is secluded with the nearest house at 100 meters but it is uninhabited.
Because we only used it in the summer it has no central heating but wood stoves in each room. Let me begin my description of the slave’s daily life on this aspect. I doubt there are many of those who read the blog using wood stoves for heating. This requires a large amount of wood to be burned daily especially when the stoves are running 24 hours a day, as is the case in my house.
In practice this means that the slave has to chop-up with a large axe the already cut but unsuitably sized wood, to a size that will fit in the woodstove . It takes the slave at least 1 hour daily to chop and prepare the wood we need for heating every day. Usually this very laborious work is done after lunch and if more wood is needed, he continues the work the next morning.
From day one my mom suggested, and of course I agreed, that the stoves in our bedrooms should be left on when we sleep since the temperature drops at night and we would be cold in a room without heat. Several days, especially the sunnier ones, during the day we let the stoves go out for a while to let the ash be cleaned away and the stoves cool so as not to wear out from constant use, but every night for 6 months in a row they have been on. The problem is that the wood in the stoves burns out every 2.5-3 hours and new wood has to be put in the stoves to fill them up to be burned all over again. Fortunately for all difficult issues there is a solution when you have a slave to do all the hard work!
The slave sleeps on a fold out bed in the kitchen. Of course we allow him to have the stove on there at night too, we care about his health and comfort! Unfortunately for the slave and fortunately for us, from midnight, which is usually our bedtime, until morning, he is forced to wake up every 2.5 hours, to enter our bedrooms quietly, because woe betide him if he disturbs our sleep, and to put wood in the stoves. As you can see for the past 6 months the poor boy has not slept any night uninterrupted hours of sleep until the morning and even at this moment the stoves are being lit daily in my house. Because the village where we live in quarantine is at altitude and it is still cold and it will certainly continue at least until mid-May. Think about it for a moment, waking up every 2.5 hours at night, filling the stoves with wood, lying on your bed and by the time you fall asleep you have to wake up again to fill the stoves. Every night he wakes up 3 times to his alarm clock to fuel the stoves.
It is by no means an easy situation and this routine was not magically held, nor is the slave exactly a robot to program and mechanically do this chore. As they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day. In our case it took exactly 3 days to impose this routine on the slave without further postponement and delay. This happened thanks to the fierce determination shown by me and my mom and of course the “holy cane”. “Holy cane” is a terrifying-looking cane, thick with knobs, which offers a painful, merciless stinging and pain. I can’t show it in a photo but Ms. Scarlet has seen it and can assure you of what I write. The «holy cane» belongs to my Mother and she first used it on my slave and now husband-slave “worm” 9 years ago. Of course I have also used this cane on the slave’s buttocks a lot of times during those last 9 years.
On the third day of our stay at the cottage, the slave got lazy and allowed the stoves to go out at night, so my mom and I woke up with a cold. I was furious and wanted to whip the slave but my mum told me to be patient. So I had a civilized conversation with the “worm”, something like this. Α. Why didn’t you keep the stoves on in our bedrooms at night, worm? W. Sorry Mistress, I couldn’t wake up. You understand yourself that it is almost impossible to put wood in the stoves and keep them lit all night. Α. Why is it impossible, slave? W. Because it is very difficult for me to get up every two and a half hours to perform this duty. I don’t get enough sleep and rest and it affects my performance the next day. Α. You sleep adequately the rest of the night except for two short breaks to put the wood in. Do you think I’m being unreasonable? That my orders are unreasonable? Because that’s exactly what you’re implying when you say it’s almost impossible to perform a simple task. I object to your impertinence! W. Sorry Mistress, you misunderstood me, I never said or thought that your orders or You or Mrs. R are unreasonable. Α. I see… let me buy that… Then what is your excuse for negligence of the duty or to put it properly for disobeying my orders last night? W. I have no excuses Mistress. I hope I don’t let you down again. I am very sorry for what happened. Α. No worm you are not sorry yet but believe me you will be soon. Go back to your duties and I don’t want to hear another word from you today until further notice. Am I making myself clear? W. Yes my Mistress, You are crystal clear! Thank You Mistress.
After lunch, I discussed his punishment with Mom after I had calmed down while the slave was chopping wood in the yard. After Mom and I napped, the slave served us coffee in the living room while it was getting dark outside. My mother coughed twice and turned her head to me. R. I must have caught a cold last night, Anne. Α. Sure mom since that idiot got lazy and didn’t do his job. R. Really worm, what happened last night? I’m sure you have a good excuse for letting us sleep in freezing cold bedrooms. W. I have no excuse Mrs. R. I’m sorry, I’m sorry and I apologize. R. That doesn’t change the fact that we were freezing and cold last night. Does it change it? W. It doesn’t change it Lady R. Α. I think it’s only fair that he should get a little cold too so he can experience what we felt Mom. R. I would totally agree with you my daughter. Α. Put on your uniform and go out in the yard and slave away. W. What do you mean, Mistress? What am I to do in the yard at this hour? Α. You’ll be left out in the cold like we were last night! W. But Mistress, it’s cold outside and… Α. Get out now, you worm! I don’t want to hear any noise! (Of course the slave didn’t dare protest any further, he put on his uniform, warm enough to keep him alive and thin enough to keep him cool.) Α. I’d advise you to move in the cold so you don’t freeze, worm, run, walk, exercise, whatever you like best. Where are you going? Aren’t you going to thank me for my valuable advice? The slave was evidently displeased with the punishment we inflicted on him, but he did not dare to protest; on the contrary, he knelt down and humbly kissed my slippers. W. Thank you very much for your valuable advice and your concern for me, Mistress.
The slave went out into the yard. I could see from the window that he was doing some light strolling and some exercises, e.g. jumping to keep warm while mum and I were having our coffee and talking. After about 50 minutes had passed I opened the window and invited him in.
In a matter of seconds the slave was inside the house, freezing and flushed with an obvious feeling of relief in his eyes. He didn’t even have time to thank us as I abruptly yelled at him to pull down his sweatpants and get into a spanking pose. He looked at me in amazement but silently obeyed my command, bent over and cupped his shins with his hands, remaining motionless in his position. I stood up, took the holy cane in my hands, made a circle around him like a hawk looking at its prey, lightly tapping the cane in my palm. Even the light tap of the rod on my palm caused discomfort and slight pain, and I thought about how the slave manages to endure our strong blows and he must suffer every time. I paused for a few seconds to swing the cane up and down with force on his buttocks, the slave swayed from the force of the blows in the uncomfortable position he was in but was able to keep his balance. Besides, he was well aware that if he fell he would have to start the spanking all over again.
After about 20 strokes, with his ass turning a deep red colour I stopped the spanking. The worm immediately knelt down, passionately kissed my hand in which I was holding the holy cane and then kissed my feet, thanking me for the punishment as he does every time. Α. Get dressed and go to the yard worm! W. But Mistress…. Α. Not a word! You go to the yard, what did you think? You still haven’t even felt the chill that mommy and I experienced last night because of you!
Obediently the slave left for the yard again. We could watch him from the window as he tripped and walked hurriedly back and forth across the yard to get warm. After 45 minutes I called him to enter the house, he was in worse condition than the previous time. The same ritual followed with an additional 20 blows to the buttocks. Then I sent him to serve dinner for me and my mom accompanied by Caesar salad and red wine. While we were eating I sent him to the corner of the room to think about the neglect of his duty and the consequences it had. When we returned to the living room I ordered him to bring our wine and then he lit my cigarette.
Α. So did you think about what you did last night and the consequences of your act? W. Yes Mistress, I promise it will never happen again. Α. What do you think, Mom? R. I don’t think he fully realizes that he disobeyed our explicit order, neglected his duty, got lazy and left us freezing last night. Α. I tend to agree with you. What do you suggest? R. Another walk in the yard will certainly help him Annie. The slave immediately fell to the floor and on his knees he begged us, snivelling, to forgive him and not to send him back to the courtyard. He assured us that he had learned his lesson and that he would never again neglect this duty. Hunched on the floor, humble and desperate, he begged with all his heart. I exchanged glances with my mom and we peeped and silently giggled, it really was a very funny sight.
With a sharp order, raising her tone of voice my mother sent him into the yard, the slave crawled to the door, stood up and walked out into the yard surrendered to his fate. Enjoying the wine and the warmth of the house I would occasionally look out of the window to see the poor slave staggering from exhaustion back and forth across the yard, warming his hands with his breath. This time I let him wander around in the cold night for a full hour before calling him back inside.
When he came in he was flushed red, tears were welling up in his eyes due to the cold, and he looked really pathetic. I felt a little pity for him! But I had to teach him a good lesson so that he would not repeat his mistake. I grabbed the holy cane, I didn’t even have to say a word, the slave immediately pulled down his sweatpants and took the pose for spanking. I bounced the cane up and down with great force on his buttocks, as you know when the body is cold, the pain from the spanking is more intense. Quickly the slave was roaring in pain and tears were streaming down his eyes and falling to the floor. When I stopped beating him, he immediately fell to his knees frenetically kissing my hand and feet and begging for mercy and to stop his torment. My mom called him and the slave crawled to her feet looking at her in agony and anticipation. R. I hope you won’t repeat your sin, you worm. W. No Lady R, never again, I promise you. Please very much forgive me Lady R. Don’t send me to outside again, please don’t do it, divine superior Lady R. R. ha-ha how pathetic you are right now you can’t realize it. You really are ridiculous and the sight of you is hilarious the way you cry and humbly beg your mother-in-law, because that’s ostensibly what I am to you. Your mother-in-law! Shame on you! Have you not a shred of dignity? Pride? Self-esteem? W. Not at all Lady R. I am a worm, a worthless loser beta male slave, I am not a man. Please don’t send me out again, please don’t do it amazing Lady R. R. The next time I sleep in a cold room you will make the trek into the freezing night every night. Am I making myself clear, worm? W. Yes Lady R, You are crystal clear, always your room will be warm. R. Annie I forgive him this time and I am going to sleep because I am tired, I am no longer young like you guys. W. Thank You very much Lady R, I very much appreciate Your kindness. My mother stretched her right leg towards him, the slave immediately passionately deposited resounding wet kisses of gratitude on her slipper. After my mother left, the slave knelt before me, I looked into his eyes still wet with tears. Slowly I lit a cigarette, I sat comfortably on the couch cross-legged with my right leg over my left, my slipper dangling in the air in front of his face, he looked at me and my slipper with agony painted on his face. I enjoyed his fear but also my power as with one word I could send him out into the yard in the freezing night even for the whole night if I wanted to. Indeed that thought made me very wet. I could no longer endure the sweet torture I felt in my belly and between my legs, I put out the cigarette and threw it in the ashtray. Α. I need your tongue right now, bitch! The slave immediately brought a scarf and I placed it over his eyes. Except for rare exceptions when his behavior is exemplary, I do not allow him to see me naked. Clearly it was a day when his behavior was not appropriate and he did not deserve the privilege. So blindfolded he started licking my wet pussy. Α. I want you to show passion, precision and reverence, slave! Lead me to a powerful pleasurable orgasm if you don’t want to go out in the yard for the rest of the evening. It was an incredible orgasm! One of the best of my life as the worm worked his tongue as best as he could on my labia and clit. Of course I was in a good mood and very aroused already, anticipating the pleasure. I really couldn’t deny him that he deservedly earned with his tongue his stay inside the home for that night, haha.
I lay relaxed from orgasm while the slave as always thanked me for the privilege and licked my soles, still blindfolded. I covered myself with the quilt and he took the scarf from his eyes, he looked at me with mixed adoration, fear, awe, anticipation, I smiled broadly and cheerfully. Α. Good night worm. When I wake up in the morning I want to read a 1500 word essay with your thoughts and feelings about what happened that led to your punishment as well as the punishment itself. Clearly I expect you to express your gratitude for all of this. W. Yes Mistress, thank you very much Mistress. Α. And don’t forget to keep the stoves going in our rooms, of course. W. Of course Mistress, thank you very much for reminding me. I shall never forget it again. Α. Now get out of my sight and feel very lucky that I took pity on you. W. I am pathetic and grateful that you showed mercy from your kind heart, Mistress.
Needless to add, that 192 days later, to this day as I write these lines slave has not ever again neglected his duty. The stoves remain lit every night in our rooms and the slave sleeps intermittent hours of sleep every night.
First conclusion: Do you remember how it began? My slave thought it was impossible to manage to do this task every night. Well, he was proven wrong, with the right encouragement nothing is impossible for a human being. Second conclusion: Life is good and it gets even better when I have a slave working hard and relentlessly for my comfort.
Making Comments on posts: Comments do not appear on my blog until I have moderated them. Comments that insult anyone will not be published, nor will aggressive comments. A wide range of views is truly welcome, we all have things to learn, however comments will not be published that take a contrary or critical view to any aspect of a post, but fail to explain why this contrary view is held, or fail to address the reasoning set out in the post to which the comment relates. (Such unexplained contrary comments are simply boring.)
There are many submissive men who wish their wife or girlfriend was dominant, or who are seeking a dominant female. The internet, with 90% of its images of dominant women being professional dominatrices, can easily trick submissive men into thinking those internet images are what dominant women look like and behave like most of the time.
So here are images that represent what most submissive men see most of the time when those men are under the 24/7/365 domination of a REAL dominant woman. Not a Miss-World-super-model dressed in a selection from PVC, latex, corsets, above the elbow gloves, exotic lingerie, thigh high boots, sky high heels, etc. But a girl-next-door -type, dressed in everyday clothes, or sometimes alluring, but comfortable clothes. And not endlessly using BDSM equipment in her constant attendance to the male, but relaxing while the male, often in another room, toils on chores, or tedium torments, or becomes human furniture or waits quietly for an instruction.
And there will be vanilla times when a REAL dominant woman uses her male for his vanilla company. And there will be lots of orgasms – for her! (Why does all vanilla erotic literature and why do all vanilla sex blogs depict the women constantly enjoying massive orgasm after orgasm, while almost all femdom literature and femdom blogs are silent on the frequent, massive orgasms we REAL dominant women enjoy??? Far better and many more than when we were vanilla.)
Obviously there are punishments or punishment ‘sessions’ of one kind or another, to ensure obedience, and almost certainly torment sessions of physical discomfort and / or humiliation for the amusement of the dominant, possibly a maid’s uniform for him, possibly cuckolding and chastity, but,
I am interested to learn, you submissive males seeking to be under the control of your very own domestic tyrant, are these images representative of what you are expecting to see for many hours each week of your submission? And would your submissive core be content?
I received a link recommending me to a Mistress’s blog in the French language and a post regarding enforced chastity.
A benefit of being a mistress-wife is one has a husband-slave; so I immediately instructed him to use Google Translate and produce and tidy up an English language version of the post. I do like the style in which it is written; so here it is, in English.
The day my husband’s chastity level went up a notch …
I offer you a little step back in my life, because it was a key moment in our evolution, my husband and I. We talked about it recently, and it was as if two old friends were talking about exploring together in their youth. Except that in our case, the story was made at its expense and that the exploration in question will have been that of a more explicit submission on its part, which I immediately transformed into more supported domination on my part, with an irreversible ratchet effect.
This evocation had the effect of reminding me of what had happened, what had been said. I remembered for a long time the words exchanged in detail, and then it had sunk a little into the great number of my memories on this theme. But it all came back almost instantly, and I realized the same was true for him. We could have replayed it, so to speak 🙂 It means one thing: this moment, for him as for me, will have been a turning point. To the physical dimension, sex and the chastity cage, was added an intense psychological dimension. It would therefore be a shame not to tell you about it, it may inspire some sisters.
At the time, we had a rather imperfect chastity cage. Too closed, too large, too primary ring. We had made extra holes with the drill! And laid out the ring with resin. This is the Casto session, one of my specialties. I still have this cage, I’m going to dig it up to take a picture of it, just for fun. But I’ll put it at the end, it’s not very nice … In the article, I prefer to illustrate with personal photos of the key carried, since we are talking about chastity.
So back then, I used to cage my husband from Monday to Friday. Release on Saturday morning, if he had been obedient, or a little later to frustrate him, but never beyond Sunday noon.
That week, he was still in a cage on Sunday morning, around 10 a.m., and began to wait seriously for the end of the ordeal. Without having specially prepared my shot (for once!) And as I found him a little confident of him and of the near release, I said to him while putting on makeup in front of a mirror in the living room: “I am sure that at the bottom of you would like to stay in a cage longer ”.
There is like a blank, a kind of swallowing, and a whisper… “well no, I would like you to free me…” (I would point out that at that time my husband was fucking me, which is now totally excluded). I continue, while putting on makeup: “Yes, I will clarify: you would like me to release you, but deep down, you would like me to FORCE YOU to stay in a chastity cage”
I hear him stammering that no, he doesn’t see why. I explain to him that his body, which wants to enjoy, which is legitimate, wants liberation, but that psychologically, his brain is certainly dreaming, secretly, that I force him to go through and force him to go on Monday without liberation ”.
As he continued to denigrate (although more and more softly …), I turned to him by asking him a simpler question: “if you consider the fact that I could impose it on you, since I have the only key , you find it exciting, you can’t deny it! ”
He replies that yes, it is true, and especially since he is already in a cage and it is cruel. Very good, good answer. Second question: “And what turns you on, you necessarily like it, right?
Yes, of course, he said. “So the prospect of me imposing this cruel exercise on you excites and pleases you, which means that you secretly dream about it without daring to admit it to me.” When he admitted that it was true, he lost an important first run. He could never go up the slope, especially with what will follow.
But already at this stage, at the time of release, with more than 3/4 of a day to enjoy his sex before being put back in a cage, no key, no hold on me, evoking his excitement, c ‘was coming to throw myself into my net without being able to resist the rest. It was cruel of me, but I love to indulge in this cruelty so much. So I tightened the net…. “So say it, in full, looking me in the eye!” “.
He did not immediately formulate it completely and I had to do it over several times, adding what was missing, but finally, facing me doing my hair and tying my hair, eyes in the eyes. eyes, he complied:
“Yes my dear, I wish you could keep me in a cage longer, without freeing me, even though I want to be able to cum. I would like you to impose it on me.” At this point, as if I was hesitating … I asked him to come up with 5 arguments for me, 5 good reasons, 5 convincing advantages, so that I would agree to impose a much longer duration on him. And that he would tell me that in the early afternoon, while reminding me of what he had just confessed to me.
I have already written an article on this idea of making the companion ask for these own tortures (“the paradoxical management of the submissive”, from memory). You will have noticed that I have introduced the term “sharply” at this point, and let it marinate with it all looping through the brain. It’s a phase of accepting the domination of the other that’s important, I think, and you have to allow time. Like when you marinate game before cooking it: it has to work, the resistance must soften.
At around 3 p.m., seeing that I was not taking care of him, he came to me to talk to me on his own. A very good point. He reiterated the sentence above to me, and he listed the 5 arguments for me. I remember it well enough:
“You have to keep me in a cage longer …
– because you want to control me and it’s a form of control
– because it will make me more attentive
– because it prevents me from masturbating
– because you like to carry the key with you
– because it accentuates our D / s relationship ”
It was okay, but I wanted to win a second round, and an idea came to me at that point, which I hadn’t had. I asked him to rephrase without using neutral forms, and with him as the subject. We had to explain, but we had time… I had put him in front of me, 10 cm lower than me, with very high heels, a tight outfit and the key securely in place. After a while it was better, like:
“I think you should put the cage on me longer and not release me because if you release me:
– I would no longer be under your control in the same way
– I risk turning away from you
– I risk masturbating
– so that you can keep the key
– so that our D / s relationship continues to progress ”
It might sound a bit the same, but it actually isn’t, especially eye-to-eye. You certainly understand that said like that, it becomes impossible for me to release him. He feels it, and he’s lost this round.
And why not push it in a little more. I decide to focus on the 3rd point and ask him: if you feel that we are not going to have sex right away, are you likely to masturbate, or is it likely that you will masturbate? Or even certain?
It was hard, but he admitted that depending on the time, it was probable or certain… So he had to formulate correctly, eye to eye and hands behind his back “if you release me, it is very probable even certain that I will masturbate ”
So I told him that I was going to keep him in a cage, and that for it to be a real chastity session, I was going to order a tighter, smaller cage, and that I was going to focus on locking it down. and audits.
In the morning, he was sure to be released, and a few hours later, he asked me to keep him longer, and especially not to release him because he would go straight to masturbate, knowing that this is one of the things that angry the most.
He was in the cage for 4.5 weeks, whereas so far he had not exceeded 7 or 8 days. It was cruel to him, but there had also been sincerity. And so as I indicated in the title, this was the time when we made a big step forward in the use of the chastity cage, and consequently in other aspects.
Looking back, he told me that the most terrible thing for him had been that it had been demonstrated that durations of several weeks, even several months, were perfectly possible, and that I would have no restraint in imposing them if necessary, including repeatedly.
A bit long article, but I wanted to detail the mental journey, which is always done in two
I have mentioned in the past that I like to cook and bake from time to time and I have also mentioned that bitch-boy has to get up early enough EVERY morning to return the kitchen to an immaculate state before I get up, whether I have cooked or, as is more normal, he has. It is very enjoyable to cook and bake with no regard to clean-up afterwards, knowing you have a little kitchen slave to do that.
The other evening I was cooking for fun. When I had finished, I required bitch-boy for his vanilla company to watch a movie and then to come up to bed with me. The next morning, the kitchen greeted him looking like a bomb damaged conflict zone! And in particular, this greeted him.
Before I started cooking, the immaculately clean grill tray had been lined with aluminium foil which I had removed at the commencement of my cooking exploits, just for the subjugating effect that would have on my kitchen-slave.
He found next to the grill tray a little note on which I had written. ‘Clean this disgusting item until it shines! I removed the aluminium foil because I am a bitch and last night in bed, thinking about that, made my orgasms more intense.’
Indeed the previous night when I had summoned him to bed with me to lick me to a couple of orgasms, thinking about what a bitch I had been and how he would feel the next morning greeted by the tray and note, as well as my usual thinking about his defect all locked away and his orgasms being so scarce while mine are so frequent, my orgasms had been seriously enhanced!
The other evening I was enjoying a very funny female comedian’s stand up routine. One routine was both funny and for me resonated around my sexuality and relationship with bitch-boy. So probably also applicable to a number of DS couples. The comedian had mentioned she was bi-sexual and then talked about how a straight forward aspect of sex with a man was that it has a natural end point; when he cums, often quickly arrived at!
But good sex with another woman just goes on and on unless there is a reason to stop. And it is a difficulty to stop without a reason. This brief routine sparked so many thoughts in my head when applied to my and others’ DS lives.
How wonderful it is to be a dominant woman so sex with a male does not have a natural end point, because the male either does not cum at all, or only cums when I the Domme is ready to end the sex session. How wonderful that that phenomenon, of itself, raises arousal and orgasm intensity for the Domme.
How wonderful that I now only like mutually rewarding sex sessions with other women and I can remind bitch-boy that when I used to have mutually rewarding sex sessions with him, a very long time ago, they were sometimes over rather quickly, while my mutually rewarding sex sessions with women go on and on and on.
And finally, loosely linked to all this, I thought about how, under my ‘new’ denial regimen for bitch-boy, during the frequent full-on DS days I enjoy, I have more orgasms during any one of those days, than bitch-boy will get in a year. Then as I pondered on that, and I realised that, more accurately, I have more orgasms during any one of those DS days, than bitch-boy will get in TWO YEARS! I don’t know why I had not recognised the actual extent of this disparity before! I could not wait to tell him!
I engaged in a delightful set of email exchanges with Christine M recently, firstly advising me it was an anniversary for her slave-husband David. It was imminently one year since his last orgasm. I will set out the exchange below.
If you have not been following the accounts of Christine regarding adopting a maid’s outfit for David and the development of her chastity release spreadsheet, I suggest you type ‘Christine’ into the search box at top right and a list of relevant posts will be presented.
Well David has gone just over 12-months since his last release! The good news, for him, is that on Sunday 7 March, he will get to draw for a release using our new Chastity Release Spreadsheet. I detailed this in an email a few months ago. Sadly, from his perspective, this allows for an absolute maximum of two releases in the year, and even if the spreadsheet selects a release, it can still be ‘lost’ if he should misbehave!
I have never seen him so desperate to come. He is permanently on edge and I am so enjoying teasing him relentlessly. Given there are only two releases possible each year, he is being positively over-optimistic. He seriously talks as though he will get a release in March! I think he believes I am going to show compassion for the fact that he has been so long without a release, and ‘fix-it’ so he gets one in March. His hopes are totally misplaced, I am as dispassionate as the computer is about his ‘plight’! The soulless, machine-driven, random computer spreadsheet algorithm will be the sole determinant as to when he will get a release.
Poor dear, given I am working him harder than ever and he rarely even gets an erection, (unless he has a meeting with Nurse Linnex scheduled, Nurse L,); I guess it is understandable he should be getting so excited.
I am so looking forward to seeing his look of despondency when he draws a blank!
All the best
So hot! And so much for me to empathise with.
It is over 8 weeks since bitch-boy last came and it will be many more weeks yet! Although that is trivial compared to David’s plight, given up until last spring, bitch-boy used to cum every 10 days to 2 weeks, (subject to special periods), and with my new regimen, he has only cum twice since last spring, he is beside himself with frustration! I tease him almost every day and I have two or three orgasms on approx 5 days out of 7 days a week, mostly using my wand. This includes on days when there is no DS activity. Just because I am being so cruel and it is such a bitchy power-rush, I seem to be always turned -on!
He has been so close to tears during his recent teasings as I flaunt my body and caress my beasts and special places. I think I may actually get tears to flow without touching him! What a power rush you will get when David is so disappointed.
I also empathise with your absence of compassion as I feel exactly the same. It’s powerful to feel like that! What a decadent feeling it is, when they are at their wits end like it is the end of their world, and you are totally unmoved and unsympathetic. I adore that feeling.
Can’t wait to read about the big day!
PS. Oh, wish David a happy anniversary from me. I wish I could send him a card.
From: Christine Sent: 01 March 2021 02:14
I will indeed, Scarlet!
You are so right about what makes it even worse.
The total disdain and disinterest I genuinely feel, leaves him feeling even more helpless, frustrated and ‘worried’.
Please feel free to share on your site if you wish.
I am so looking forward to your account of his anniversary day!
Sunday, March 7 has come and passed. Since David was so excitedly looking forward to the day’s events, I made it a very special day for him! (Which also means I have written far more than I planned!)
He awoke early and was ever so anxious to both please, and later, with doleful eyes, trembling in anticipation, timorously ask about drawing for his release, using the spreadsheet. “Is it the seventh already?” I nonchalantly responded before disdainfully advising that his draw could wait until later; making it obvious it was an unimportant, nothing matter to me. I was glowing from his ministrations, having had several orgasms, and taking pleasure in thoughts of our contrasting lives. I delighted in rubbing it in that I had just had more orgasms in the past hour, than he would get in the next year.
I continued, by noting he was already late in starting his housework. He was then told to get dressed and made-up, and start on his chores; and to ‘be quick about it’… unless he wanted a hurry-up from my cane! He managed to move with alacrity, though he was clearly inwardly seething at the injustice he perceived in his treatment.
While he applied his make-up, I remonstrated at his self-seeking attitude, mocking his pathetic need to cum; and reminding him that it was just a useless piece of gristle he had between his legs, that I had absolutely no need for it, that it would never ever penetrate me again, nor feel the caress of my hand. It would never even feel the touch of human flesh again!
I also poked fun at him, observing that, since it had been constantly locked up, I had noticed it was shrinking. I then taunted him by advising that we should start referring to it as his ‘teeny weeny winky tinky’. He was crimson with shame and ignominy as I derided him, genuinely fearing he was shrinking. After all, he never gets to see it erect. He has always basked in a little male pride, knowing that he was slightly larger than average. So, this is a much-feared fall from grace for him!
Once he was dressed in his maid’s outfit, I laughed at his feminised state as I curtly told him that I would see if I could squeeze in a couple of minutes for his draw in the afternoon; but he would have to ask me very politely, ‘…. if he might have a chance to play with his ‘teeny weeny winky tinky’, or the draw would be cancelled until next month!
Around two o’clock, he was doing the ironing, when I stridently called him into my office. I had his computer spreadsheet program open, and my iPhone on speaker. Showing complete disinterest in him, I ordered him closer and snappily advised “I’m on the phone to my sister, but she’s fine to hold for ½ a minute while we get your draw out the way,… so, quickly,…. What do you say?” Blushing crimson and cringing in disbelief at my callous indifference for both his dignity and the importance he placed on the event, he quietly stammered, “Can I please draw to see if I can play with my teeny weeny winky tinky?”
Ignoring him, I asked my sister if she had heard him. He was devastated by being so publicly shown up. “You need to speak up David;” I continued, “A nice loud voice this time or I’ll assume you’re not bothered about a release!” He swallowed hard, tears welling up, the day was not going as he had dreamed or prayed for. “Christine, can I please draw to see if I can play with my teeny weeny winky tinky? Please?” He was shaking like a leaf, burning up at being so demeaned, yet still so desperate to cum.
With the sound of my sister’s laughter ringing in his ears, I curtly advised, “Take the mouse… click Apply…. Let’s get it over and done with!” He scurried to do as he was bid, lest I change my mind. As might be expected, the message, ‘Try again next week” appeared in the results box. With complete indifference and brevity, I calmly advised, “Fun over. Back to your ironing….” and returned to my conversation with my sister.
As he dithered, frozen in shock, I stormed “NOW!” He had so expected me to fix it so he had an orgasm, that he was stunned, rooted to the spot in disbelief at being both ridiculed and denied. The colour was by now draining from his face as the realisation sank in that he was not getting a release, even though 12 months had passed since his last. My sister passed a cutting remark about his lack of manliness and shrinkage, and we both laughed uproariously. He was crushed, overwhelmed, devastated and further, humiliated by our laughter.
Crankily shaking his head, stifling his tetchiness, he slowly trudged back to the laundry. About 15 minutes later, I quietly left the office, the phone still up to my face, and glanced into the laundry. He was back at his ironing, though he was moving far too slowly and sullenly for my liking. Amusingly, his face was red and slightly blotchy from having shed a few tears, and he was clearly distraught and angry, with a morose, long-suffering set to his jaw, his frustration and disgruntlement no doubt heightened by my coldness and his feelings of isolation.
I ‘woke’ him from his self-centred, misery-filled trance by loudly instructing, “David, unless you want me to give you something to very seriously cry about, I suggest you stop wallowing in self-pity right now, set a smile on your face and put some serious effort and zest into your ironing! You’ve still got plenty to do!” Instantly, I resumed my light demeanour, chatting happily to my sister as I strolled down the hall, laughing as he was again forgotten, a brief interruption, not deserving of my further attention.
I had very deliberately planned his draw to take place during a call to my sister, not for the humiliation, but the deeper message it sent. The chance to cum had become such an extreme focus for David, it was the most important thing on his mind, in his world. I was therefore showing him just how unimportant his release was to me. It was something to be squeezed into my day and quickly gotten out the way. What he saw as an extremely special and important event, was a nothing event for me, less important than a phone call to my sister, who I speak to every day.
I left him for about an hour, by which time I knew he should be just about finished on the laundry. The ironing was his final chore for the day, (though he would need to clean up the kitchen later); so he would have been expecting to be allowed to change back to his male attire and join me for the evening. Given his poor attitude and laziness with the ironing, this was no longer going to be the case.
He was indeed down to the last few items when I entered, hauling in an industrial size laundry bag. His face dropped and he turned ashen at the stern set of my face and the sight of his bag of punishment ironing. This is full of second-hand clothes from the local charity shop. These are items that I selected for their difficulty to iron and the way they easily crease. There are lots of pleated skirts and frilly blouses. It takes him about three hours to iron everything in the bag, hence his utter dismay! Once everything is ironed and neatly folded, he has to put them on a quick wash cycle, and then through the dryer, to ensure everything is full of creases again, before being crushed back into the bag for a future punishment session.
We have three of these bags and, depending upon the time he has available, the degree of my ire with respect to his ‘misbehaviour, or simply ‘my whim of the moment’; is how many bags he gets to iron. Since today was such a special day for him, and to remind him to avoid silly displays of self-interest… I returned a few minutes later with the other two bags. His spirits visibly sank further, he looked so forlorn.
Because it is punishment ironing, and following the advice of others on your site, he has to change into a pair of high-heeled shoes in which small marbles have been firmly glued onto a sole insert. The shoes are also a size too small, making them most uncomfortable to wear. And he would be standing in them for over 9-hours! No wonder he looked abjectly heartbroken; he was certainly ‘enjoying’ a memorable day!
It was around midnight, having missed out on dinner, that he finally joined me. I then lost count of how many orgasms he gave me. I had him moisturise my body with fragrant oils, while I used my wand, showing him, I didn’t even need his tongue! Needless to say, I also constantly teased him about how I couldn’t see what he was so upset about, he’d gone over a year without coming, what was the big deal if he had to go a few weeks more, or even months?
He snuggled close that night though, after I teased his nipples in bed for a good ½ hour, driving him insane with desire and frustration. His tears of disgruntlement replaced with tears of divine frustration. He was in awe and rapture, and I feel certain that he was in a state of blissful contentment when he fell asleep spooning me.