Tag Archives: sensory deprivation

Source of these GIF videos??

Not to everyone’s taste I know – diapers. But first I will mention diapers used simply as part of en enduring sensory deprivation bondage session. For 4 hours or more; almost essential for the collection of the victim’s urine. Why am I mentioning this? Many of you will know that  I use diapers and inflict enduring sensory deprivation bondage sessions on bitch-boy, especially if I have a female lover over.

Well this is a GIF involving diapers as part of an enduring sensory deprivation bondage session. It is on my BDSLR site here . It is rare to see this on the net, and even rarer that she urinates in a jug which is tipped on his fresh diaper before it is secured on him. If you have read my Journals you will know I do this too, detailed in at least one of my journals.

I am hoping to find the video on a free site from which the GIF has been taken.

Some of the delicious attributes listed below are in this GIF, but the next GIF I will mention has them all!

  • pitiless chastity control combined with
  • a casually but sexily dressed, sexy woman,
  • partial ignoring, (she is on her cell phone the whole time),
  • deep shaming with enforced age regression,
  • a totally relaxed Domme,
  • a domestic location, (not a dungeon or warehouse).

 

I know even more of you may not be interested in diapers, when combined with enforced age regression and petticoating, but I CERTIANLY AM!

This second GIF involves all of the attributes listed above, (I LOVE IT!!!!), and is on my BDSMLR site here. I would DEARLY LOVE to locate from which video this GIF was made!

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lady Jessica writes again, as wonderfully as ever.

Well given not many followers of this blog read all the comments on posts, I am going further with this post than, as I sometimes do, simply providing a long comment from one of the fantastic real life Dommes who make comments. This post is a short thread of comments that I hope will be simple to read. It starts with a part of a comment from a submissive sissy male, Michele. about checking the lines written by Lady Jessica’s puppet, skivvy.

That is followed by a comment of mine. Then a delightful, long comment from Lady Jessica (that has not been published in the comments section), and finally another comment from me.

………………………………………… As a submissive male maid (curtsey) I am of course all in favour of labour-saving ideas, at least for dominant Ladies. However, I did wonder whether instead of automation you had considered submissive labour for the task of tedious [lines]marking? Subs can mark one another’s work: with a penalty of course for the one who finds the fewest mistakes.

I myself would be very willing to join skivvy at his (her?) writing desk, Lady Jessica. The two of us would sit there, in matching [schoolgirl] uniforms, scribbling away until instructed to stop, when scripts would be exchanged, pencils swaped for red ballpoints, and mistakes identified. There might be a few tears and tantrums if we disagree with each others’ assessment, but I expect you could keep us in line.

My very deepest respects to you (curtsey)

Michele

 

In reply Michele FROM MISTRESS SCARLET

I’m afraid you are unlikely to find your offer attractive to a Domme. Certainly from my perspective, I can get all the cruel pleasure I wish from one male submissive being the subject of my entire malevolent focus, without the hassle of having to manage a second sub male. And the fact that my sub male is all alone, with no peer with whom to seek an alliance is part of the subjugation. However, all we Dommes are different so you never know. So good luck.

If you were actually a female sub, my answer would be very different. I would welcome your attendance but bitch-boy would find himself in a far corner of my home in sensory deprivation bondage for probably six hours. And you would find yourself the subject of my entire malevolent focus, with no peer with whom to seek an alliance.

Mistress Scarlet

 

In reply to msscarlet9015. FROM LADY JESSICA

I thoroughly agree, my dear Mistress Scarlet

I’ve occasionally toyed with the idea of another submissive male, but really only as part of my relentless focus on skivvy’s own humiliation and degradation. Particularly if, like him, the other had an old-fashioned horror of male homosexuality. Forced bi (or shall we say ‘encouraged’ bi) remains one of the activities still on the ‘to do’ list in our household. It has not happened yet, but it is inevitable and will happen when I choose. Skivvy knows that and dreads it.

Possibly when skivvy starts to get on in life (and I’ll be quite the granny, as I’m 14 years older than him), it would be nice to pluck a young male in the prime of his life, and degrade and ruin him too. Skivvy would still be around, I hope, so my victim would understand all too soon the fate that awaits him.

I have always rather hankered after the role of the sadistic mother-in-law: taking an active interest in her daughter’s marriage with a vigorous concern to improve the son-in-law’s behaviour. I have no children, and no plans for any, but perhaps I could somehow find a young couple in later life for whom I could stand in loco parentis, so to speak. I myself have no objections to ‘bi’ so I could even cuckold as well as enslave the unfortunate young man if I can find the right young lady. We’ll see.

None of which, ‘Michele’, implies that I will be taking up your offer of line-writing and line-marking services. But you wrote a polite comment and managed to address me properly, so I will indulge your little fantasy for a moment. As Mistress Scarlet has so often warned on this blog, though, do you really think you would find the reality as pleasant as your sexual fantasies? Read the lovely posting about tedium by the delightful Christine M. Would you enjoy such treatment? Perhaps you would, a little. Perhaps you should pay a dominatrix to allow you to clean her kitchen floor, for an hour or two. I can imagine you’d enjoy that. But what if it took longer than that? And what of the next day? And the next? And the day after that? Do you imagine that week in, week out, as the weeks become months and the months become years you’d still feel that sexual frisson? You wouldn’t last two days.

Side by side with skivvy… writing lines in your schoolgirl uniform… What fun! Perhaps each of you would write out for me 200 times “Lady Jessica decides when and for how long I will sit at this desk writing lines; I have no say in the matter.” And maybe a thrilling paddling over your green knickers to follow! Goodness, WHAT an enjoyable thought for you, sitting safely at your computer at home! But the next day, Michele? Another 200, I think. And the day after that? 200? No – it’s the weekend. That will be 500 then, on each of Saturday and Sunday. Then back to 200 to start the working week on Monday. 2000 lines a week, Michele. 104,000 lines a year (no we don’t round to the nearest 100,000: you don’t get Christmas off). What proportion of those 104,000 lines do you think you’d mange to find sexually exciting, Michele? 0.1% perhaps? The remaining 99,9% being an aching, soul-destroying grind, dreaded every day… and even when you’re done, and brushing your teeth with your poor aching hand before bed, your soul and spirit would sink at the thought that tomorrow the same tedious task awaits you yet again.

Even ignoring the fact that any physical expression of sexual excitement would be locked down, Michele (and you would not find that an easy thing to ignore, believe me), there would be little that is erotic about it, and much that is miserable. For you, that is. For me, the misery is erotic.

I am very well aware, Michele, that this is nothing more than a fantasy for you. I expect you enjoyed reading this and Mistress Scarlet’s reply to you and dreaming of the cruel things we could do to you. No doubt you have been doing something quite disgusting for the last few minutes. I don’t begrudge you that, although I hope someday someone catches you at it and you really learn the meaning of humiliation. But in the meantime, just pray this all remains a fantasy, Michele. Because one day, you might be unlucky (yes: UNlucky) enough for a Lady Jessica, a Mistress Scarlet or a Mistress Christine to take a real interest in you. And then in the brief moments between chores, assignments and punishments you might look back on exchanges like this and wonder what on earth you could have been thinking. (But males do not think. And that is why we could take control of you so easily, my little morsel).

Yours (dear Scarlet) in sincere sisterhood

Lady Jessica

 

A final thought from me, MISTRESS SCARLET

I can’t help mention, if only Lady Jessica lived in the UK I would cherish being able to sort of indulge her fantasy, (with some suspension of reality), for her role of the sadistic mother-in-law. If she allowed me, I could pretend to be younger. I could have bitch-boy pretend to be younger too.  I also have no objections to ‘bi’, so bitch-boy would find himself cuckolded as well as ‘trained’ by me AND Lady Jessica, the sadistic mother-in-law.

Perhaps it could be considered a practice period before Lady Jessica actually found a couple of the right age. If only, if only…..

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How extreme is that Domme?

Something that has greatly amused me, particularly over the past couple of years has been receiving accounts of lifestyle regimes from other Dommes and at some point during my first read of their account, I think, ‘Wow, this is an extreme regime! Certainly compared to mine’. I keep reading and then come across words to the effect of, ‘Of, course my regime is nowhere near as extreme as yours, Scarlet!

Over the last couple of months this has happened a lot. It got me thinking, why do so many of us Dommes want to think, or happen to think, our regime is less extreme than others’? Guilt, embarrassment over levels of depravity and or selfishness? What could it be? Or is it simply natural perception. I will say here that not all Dommes display this trait. There are a few wonderful Dommes with extreme regimes that know they are extreme regimes and are very comfortable with that. Admirable and delicious indeed!

I have, I believe, concluded why ‘extreme’ gets measured in such an inconsistent way. For my own amusement I have concocted a scale. But it is not a simple totting up scale. It is a list of themes and, if on any theme, a Domme is far more extreme than me, then, I think subconsciously, I consider her more extreme than me overall, even if on another theme I am much more extreme than her. I think us Dommes get habitualised on themes in which  we are extreme. So we think our extreme things are average.

My list of themes are: (with my scores from 10, where 10 is the most extreme possible)

  • Percentage of time in vanilla mode as a couple. (5)
  • Percentage of chores carried out by the sub. (8)
  • Levels of pain during regular punishments and tortures. (7)
  • Levels of humiliation. (10)
  • Frequency of orgasms / denial of penetration for the sub. (5/10)
  • Time spent in tedium for the sub. (7)
  • Levels of cuckolding experience /  forced bisexuality. (6/0)

Here is how I am affected by the ‘everyone is more extreme than me’ trait.

I spend quite a bit of vanilla time with bitch-boy. If I read of a regime where there is no vanilla time, I immediately think, wow this regime is more extreme than mine! Regardless of the levels for the other themes.

bitch-boy carries out most chores but not always all. If I have him on a big chore and I would like some little ones done on the same day, I may well do them myself because I want chore time over so I can get into some serious BDSM! If I read a regime is 100% chores by the sub, I immediately think, wow this regime is more extreme than mine!

I always have bitch-boy taking more pain than he thinks he can cope with during punishment or torture. He begs with all his heart for it to stop but I keep going until I am satisfied. But he is not in shrieking agony. I read of a Domme whose regime includes, say, a very thick coating of Linnex to the entirety of freshly shaved cock and balls, so the sub is in shrieking agony for around 40 minutes, I immediately think, wow this regime is more extreme than mine!

I accept, or am proud that, the levels of humiliation to which I subject bitch-boy are extreme! Parody of a little girl outfit, playing with and talking to dollies, in front of an audience of mocking women he has never met before; if I can get that. But I am habitualised to that. I have done it for years, I don’t think it is that extreme. (bitch-boy is not habitualised to that at all!) But of course to a Domme who scores low on the humiliation theme, they think my whole regime is more extreme than theirs; even if they regularly invoke shrieking agony and I never do.

bitch-boy has a frequency of orgasms that ranges, during a normal say, six months, of roughly between ten days apart and three weeks apart. But he never, ever gets penetration. In fact, in addition, his releases are always under the sole of my shoe, or being very painfully wanked within the spikey bristles of a looped brush. Some Dommes who generate agony for the sub during tortures and never have vanilla time with their sub, (so I think EXTREME!), think I am extreme because their sub gets to penetrate them once a month while bitch-boy never, ever gets penetration. (Some Dommes never allow an orgasm at all of course!)

I accept I am pretty extreme when it comes to periods of tedium for bitch-boy. Hours colouring -in with dolly. Perhaps six hour daytime sessions in sensory deprivation bondage if I happen to have a female sub over I want to dominate uninterrupted for a long period. But then I read of a Domme who has her sub write school time lines for seven hours in a day and I think wow! Her regime is much more extreme than mine. I guess I am habitualised to the tedium I put bitch-by through and shocked by regimes of tedium by other Dommes I have not subjected bitch-boy to.

I do cuckold bitch-boy with female lovers, whenever I have a female lover. And I really rub his nose in my intimate sex I have with her, while he gets no intimate sex at all, EVER! But I do not have male lovers, because I don’t want that and so bitch-boy has never seen me penetrated by another male and certainly never been forced to suck another male as an act of fluffing. I read of a sub having to do that, I think, wow! That regime is so extreme compared to mine!

Then there is the complicating issue of applying more than one theme at once. So extreme chastity with cuckolding. Or extreme humiliation with tedium.

Conclusion

I hope I have not made this too complicated. I think I now understand the issue of Domme A thinking their regime is less extreme than Domme B, while Domme B thinks exactly the opposite.

I think being ‘extreme’ on any of the 7 themes I have selected, probably means a regime can be labelled extreme overall.  Ironically, while many of us Dommes seem to seek out why our regime is less extreme than the next Domme’s regime, it is a fact that at least 75% of submssives crave, at least in their fantasies, to be subjected to the most extreme regime possible. I think if, in one of the themes, we are ‘extreme’ we should be proud of that. That makes us attractive to subs and has our own sub in awe of us.

But my hat comes off to the Dommes that do not quibble. Those Dommes that proudly acknowledge their regime is extreme!

I do apologise if this post has been rather long and boring. The content was just a bit of a revelation to me.

 

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

 

 

Xmas account from the amazing Lady Jessica

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A deeply shaming video

You may recall my previous  two posts about the amazing Mistress Carla.

Well she has sent me a very shaming video of her cuckold slave husband,  pussie for me to publish the video on BDSMLR; which I have done. The pansy’s outfit has to be seen to be believed!

pussie was required to come up with a shaming cheerleader chant, (or cheer), with actions, and perform it in front of Carla and her sister. The rendition was videoed and sent to me. (pussie was given a VERY significant dose of the paddle afterwards as the cheer was deemed inadequately shaming.)

pussie was ordered to make up the sissy cheer using some of the things Carla makes it do. For example the second verse refers to pussie being ordered to go out for walks, ‘sissy parades’, in a girly sweater, maybe pom-pants, or just regular pants but with the fly wide open, balls and wee-wee pulled all the way out and covered only by the sweater, with bells tied to a coarse twine tied tightly around the balls and hanging down between the legs so they jingle as the sissy walks.
The third verse is about the fact that pussie is never allowed to use the front door, but instead must go in the rear basement door. Adjacent to that door is where the trash bins are kept. So pussie must always crawl into that area first, lick up any dirt on the floor around the bins, then  stick his tongue on the wall and wait for someone to let him in the basement door.

When the video was sent to me, Carla felt pussie’s voice should be edited out so he could not be recognised. I had bitch-boy do the grunt work for this editing, leaving only the sound at the end of the video, of Carla’s delightful, mocking laughter.

HOWEVER, Carla has now said if female Dommes leave comments on this post asking for the volume to be restored for the WHOLE video, then she will give permission for me to do that; as female Dommes wishes should always be obeyed. pussie knows this and is very miserable over this post and profoundly fretting over the next potential posting.

Here are the lyrics of the cheer.

Mistress Carla’s slut sissy that is me
Mistress Carla’s slut sissy, my name is pussie
i must parade all about
with my fly wide open
my wee-wee and balls hanging out
i must never use the front door
i must crawl into the dumpster
licking the walls and the floor
my widdle wee-wee is kept red and sore
then rubbed with capsaicin 
to make it burn more
Mistress Carla’s slut sissy that is me
Mistress Carla’s slut sissy, my name is pussie
yea pussie

So, dominant sisters of ours, what do you think?

 

The most provocative images (Part 2)

A sad thing dawned on me as a result of my recent blog post on provocative femdom images.

First, thank you to all the submissive males who commented and confirmed the type of images I suggest, are very affecting for them.

Second, the point of this post: It is almost certainly true and so quite sad, that the overwhelming majority of femdom images on the net probably put off novice women , who might otherwise consider dominating their male.

These potential domestic Dommes not being attracted to, or being able to, imagine themselves dolled up in PVC, a corset, and thigh boots or imagine themselves having access to a well equipped dungeon, while looking like a Miss World. But that is what the overwhelming majority of femdom images on the net would have the uninitiated believe femdom is all about.

Whereas, were they to mostly see femdom images depicting women of any age and attractiveness, relaxing on a sofa or comfortable armchair or sun lounger,dressed in marginally sexy clothes or just everyday clothes. And these women watching TV , or doing a craft – like knitting, or reading a book, or chatting on the phone, or enjoying some social media time, while their submissive endures a torment, perhaps they would be attracted to, and see themselves in such a role.

Or of course, seeing the males providing the relaxed females with many huge orgasms with zero demands on the females to reciprocate.

I would invite a submissive male to find for me an existing blog or site, or begin themselves, a free blog, or perhaps a BDSMLR site, of curated images of the type I describe.

This idea does worry me though. (I am so hard to satisfy!) The innate male toxic competitive drive tends to mean most male managed image sites are full of barely relevant images to their theme. The males seeming much more intent on obtaining the MOST images, (like its a competition), rather than focussing only on truly relevant images.

 

My recently published Journal. Click on this link for details.

 

The most provocative images

The femdom area of the internet is full of photos and drawings of apparently dominant women. But my favourite images are rather rare. My favourite images relate to my previous post on Enduring Domination Sessions .

These are photos and drawings of a women who look as though they could well be dominant, but are relaxing on a sofa or comfortable armchair or sun lounger. No dungeon, no PVC clothes, no thigh boots or corsets, etc, etc.

Any age, dressed in marginally sexy clothes or everyday clothes, possibly some nice heels that would be comfortable to walk in. And what is she doing? Perhaps looking into the camera, but the target of her momentary gaze is not her main activity. She is watching TV , or doing a craft – like knitting, or reading a book, or chatting on the phone, or enjoying some social media time.

She could not be any more relaxed and contented and is fully and happily occupied. And within her field of vision, or perhaps in another room – possibly under the gaze of a baby monitor, is her puppet.

Wherever he is, he is writing lines, perhaps while dressed as a schoolgirl, or dressed as a little girl and  colouring-in with dolly, or playing a Disney Princess board game with dollies, or locked in a tiny, sound proofed and pitch black cupboard, or bound in sensory deprivation bondage, or cleaning a floor with a toothbrush. He has been at this an hour or more and will be for an hour or hours to come.

And as I wrote in that other post, the activity will not be a one-off. He knows, not just today will he endure those hours! He will do the next day, or two days next week, and the week after, and will be doing so for years to come! The sense of miserable helplessness cannot be moderated by thinking, ‘just get through this and I’ll never suffer this again’. Oh no!

This is serious and real domination that many of us are lucky enough to enforce. No PVC or corsets, no dungeon. Profoundly intense feelings for him and for her. When I see such an image of the woman I have outlined, I imagine the pleasure she and I would enjoy either at her house or mine. But in vast femdom area of the internet, WHERE ARE THESE IMAGES!!

I am not even so ambitious as to have such images that also include the suffering male. That would be too much to ask. (The wonderful, now defunct for many years, hard-copy Madame magazine did sometimes have such images. I guess because in the main it catered to Dominant Women as much as to submissive men. )

I do apologise if my theme is repetitive this month, or over the years, but I remain perplexed at the paucity of images, videos and content covering the depraved, potent leisure time theme I make reference to. Submissive males; how do you feel about this issue?

Enduring domination sessions

I have noticed one quite distinct difference between domination sessions that by necessity must be relatively brief and sessions that can regularly go on all day and night, or longer. I know some couples have children at home and or other vanilla things that prevent sessions being for longer than say a couple of hours. And also many sub males visit Dominatrices, again most often just for an hour or two.

I know such sessions can be intense and rewarding but for those of us, (and there are quite a few who make contributions to this blog), who have the opportunity of regular sessions lasting several days and nights,  it seems universal that a torment technique becomes a key part of the regime that can only be enabled by having hours and hours of time. The Humiliation/Tedium torments.

The sub must write lines, perhaps while dressed as a schoolgirl, for literally hours and hours. The sub is dressed as a little girl and must colour-in with dolly, or play a Disney Princess board game with dollies, for literally hours and hours. The sub (in chastity) might be locked in a tiny, sound proofed and pitch black cupboard for literally hours and hours. The sub might be bound in sensory deprivation bondage for literally hours and hours. The sub may have to clean a floor with a toothbrush and then re-clean and then re-clean again and again for literally hours and hours.

And very importantly, the chosen activity will not be a one-off. The sub will know, not just today will he endure those hours! He will do tomorrow and the next day, or two days next week, and the week after, and will be doing so for years to come! The sense of miserable helpnessness cannot be moderated by thinking, ‘just get through this and I’ll never suffer this again’. Oh no!

And the Domme will get the most divine, complex feeling of serenity, power, pitilessness and arousal. Arousal that will usually be satiated by masturbation many times in those hours. And as well as the orgasms, there is truly relaxing; – watching TV, or making phone calls, or reading or doing a craft activity, or sunbathing, or shopping, or gym, or sleeping.

It is often mooted that getting older, and also retiring, can be a bad thing. I guess my point is, if you are a Domme currently fettered by circumstances like say, children at home, or you and your sub are both working long hours, then think ahead to when it will just be you and him, day after day after day. One HUGE compensation for thinking about growing a bit older, for children leaving the nest, for retiring; is you have the DIVINE FEELING to look forward to that I have described above!

 

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

The Amazing Christine M

Well I continue with the, so far much appreciated, posting of delectable comments I have received on posts on this blog, which most of you, it seems, will not have read.

This time, let me know if you like this post. 7000! words of comments from one of my very, very favourite contributors, Christine M. She introduced me, or should I say, bitch-boy’s birth defect, to the oh so special Linnex stick! I am so grateful to Christine. I am not sure poor bitch-boy is.

Christine also introduced me to ‘tantrums with dollies, and some novel line writing  methods.

 

Christine’s comments – oldest first

Scarlet

You might wish to try Linnex Heat Rub on his “William”. This is a stick type rub that is every bit as fierce as the old Ralgex. It burns more intensely and for longer than Deep Heat. My boy dreads it. Please let me know if you do and how you rate it after observing its effects. Christine

 

Scarlet

Linnex is the only embrocation i use nowadays. He probably ‘earns’ a treatment twice a month. I love to rub it up and down the shaft, then round and round the knob so it is very generously coated in the salve. He has to be restrained, and i often use cling wrap. Forty wraps and forty coats of salve later…. He mostly gets this for a punishment when he displays his male ego, or for unauthorised touching of his liitle william.
I just bought your journal issue 10. Delightful. I got so many ideas for humiliation when he gets petticoat punishment. Yes, derek has his dollies too. My favourite game, which he hates is tantrums. He has to ask for his dollies. When i say, no; he has to throw a big tantrum to get to play with his dollies. So funny to see a grown man stamping and crying for his dollies If he doesn’t put on a good show, he gets caned. Of course for his tantrum he generally earns a spanking too, before he gets his dolly time!
So thank you for sharing so many more ideas for his dolly time

 

Dear Mistress Scarlet
I am so pleased to hear you were able to obtain the Linnex and give it a try. A wonderful Xmas present for bitch boy I am sure! I had to smile when you mentioned, ‘as uncomfortable a burn…’.
My little boy must be far less stoic, or you relish the ‘art of understatement’. I suspect the latter, and have just advised david he might be feeling a little uncomfortable later. He is terrified of Linnex.
He does far more than sob when he ‘enjoys’ a Linnex treatment. He positively screams, writhes, groans, cries, grimaces, bucks, so much so that he simply has to be restrained, often with several layers of plastic wrap… All his histrionics are to no avail of course, Mr Linnex is quite unforgiving.
I find it burns fiercely for about 45 minutes. After this time his cries start to diminish, though the burn clearly remains ‘unpleasant’ for a while longer. I can extend this by ensuring a thorough coating by gently warming the stick first, I like to do this by rubbing it in my hands or placing near a heater as he watches on in dread; and/or by applying heat to his little appendage, which an be done with a hair-dryer or heat wrap that goes in the microwave, or simply hot flannels. And I have been known to apply a second coat after an hour!
I would personally recommend avoiding chillies as these can cause allergic reactions similar to an asthma attack. Even someone who is OK with a chilli treatment, can react badly to a different type of chilli.

Dear Mistress Scarlet
I so agree with the firm and unfair rule! Much as I love my husband, my sexuality is excited when I see genuine tears. My little boy is just finishing an overseas business trip where he has been three hours behind my time zone. As you know, he is strictly watched by modern technology on such trips, and I set him lines to write most, well nowadays, every evening, even if it is only an hour or so.
Well this trip he has been busier than most. He arrived on the Saturday evening at 4-00 pm in his hotel, so he had close to 8 hours of lines that night. I selected a convoluted passage from Gray’s Anatomy, lots of lengthy Latin names for various nerves and blood vessels. It took him about one hour to write ten ‘lines’, there were about 90 words in the line.
On the Sunday, he had two meetings and was finished by 2-00 pm, so he spent nearly ten hours writing lines, and was feeling very sore when he was dismissed for bed.
After a just a couple of hours each on Monday and Tuesday night, along came Wednesday. He had a very big day. He started at 5-00 am, with an early flight, then a full day’s work and finally, another evening flight. So he did not check-in to his hotel until very late. In fact it was about 10-00 pm when he called me on Skype, dressed in his school uniform with the remote security camera also set up. Usually when he calls we have a pleasant chat for 20 – 30 minutes whilst we share our days, before I set him his disciplinary lines. This is all very friendly, after all, this is not a punishment, it is just my way of taking care of him and making sure he does not get bored in his hotel room.
Well Wednesday went a little different. When he called it was 1-00 am my time. I very firmly scolded him for waking me up and asked him why he was so thoughtless. Poor dear, he didn’t know how to cope as he is required to call regardless of his check-in time. He apologised and started to explain how very tired he was after such a big day, (and I knew he had another big day coming up).
I simply cut him off and, in my most severe voice, I curtly advised him, “I am not interested. I had a cocktail party to attend at the Gallery this evening, and I have a luncheon appointment with my sister tomorrow; so don’t trouble me with your schedules. Now, I am rather sleepy, and not feeling up to supervising your line writing….” (As I wrote before, usually he does not know his quota, instead I call him for his breaks and finish time.)
I am certain he thought this meant he would be excused his written assignment. Instead, I sharply announced, “So, same exercise as before, fifty times, then you can go to bed!” His face was ashen, a picture of misery and shock as I immediately hung up. I continued to watch him on the security camera, he was literally on the verge of tears, stunned at my severity and indifference. I smiled as I thought, he really needs to get writing, he has at least five hours of work, which is a 3-00 am finish! As he wiped the tears away, I drifted off to sleep and left him to his misery.
I woke again at about 3-00 am with a warm tingle in my loins, rolled over and checked the video feed where he was toiling away at his imposition, and clearly not very happy. I was thrilled and called him on Skype. He connected with alacrity, no doubt thinking I had had a change of heart and was going to end his toil. I told him, “Sit up straight and place your hands on your head.” I then turned on my bedside lamp so he could see me better, reached for my vibrator and told him, “You can watch me pleasure myself.” After my enormous climax, I lapsed back in relaxed contentment, thinking of his turmoil and dozed off, while he remained with his hands on his head, watching me sleep, no doubt wondering when I would remember him and dismiss him.
In my contented gratification, it was nearly 4-00 am before I stirred and turned to look at him, smiled dreamily, and advised, “Oh my, that was wonderful….. just wonderful…. How many lines have you completed?”
“Nineteen, Ma’am” he stammered, clearly very tired and frustrated.
“Oh dear,” I smiled, “you still have plenty to go, you’d better get writing hadn’t you? Oh, and since you really should have managed twenty copies by the time I called, I will be setting a punishment quota on top of tomorrow night’s allocation!” And again, I simply clicked Skype closed, and languorously drifted back to sleep. It would now be gone 4-00 am before he finished!
I cannot imagine how he must have felt, such hard, mindless toil, utterly frustrated with his william locked tightly away in its plastic shell. He is currently in a six month extended period of chastity. Needless to say, I pleasured myself again in the morning as I thought of his plight.
Yes, definitely unfair… he works to support me, he is locked-up at my whim, and after a long day, he is left writing hours of boring lines…. But definitely firm!

Dear Mistress Scarlet
So long since I wrote. I always mean to write more often, and I meant to write more promptly on your topic of ‘Tedium’, but it soon became an epic and took longer than expected. I must be honest, I wrote this for my own memories too as I did have such a good time! This also links to past topics on ignoring too. So better late than never I hope!
By the way, I was so pleased to see BB write that he fears the Linnex so much, a good example of sharing. I hope he get plenty of coatings now!
I too love the power providing total control and misery at the same time. It provides me a most wonderful sense of power; and deprives the submissive what they ultimately desire most, the Mistress’ attention. It shows so perfectly, “you are totally inconsequential, I will deprive you of your liberty, I will occupy you with the most mind-destroying, boring, and repetitious task, and not even notice you!
David is raised as ‘youth’ might have been reared in Victorian or Edwardian times, albeit with an exceedingly rigid and ultra-strict disciplinary code. One of my favoured punishments is a ‘strict detention’, the rules of which have, over the years, evolved and become ever more rigid and demanding.
Well a few weeks back, David was running late from work. He blamed heavier than normal traffic, but we don’t accept excuses in our household. He was placed on a Saturday night detention, which had him looking most morose. I had been going out that night with friends, and he had been promised that he could stay up late to watch a big football game. Well he would still be staying up late!
Detentions are very serious punishments in our household, and since Saturday’s always mean chores for David, the whole day becomes extremely arduous. We went to bed together Friday night, and after some light teasing, which had David crawling up the wall, I let him please me with his tongue, as only he can. We then cuddled up to fall asleep. This was when I warmly advised him, “Since you have a Saturday night detention tomorrow, you will need to set your alarm for 4-30 in the morning. I want you showered and dressed ready to start your chores no later than 5-00.” It felt delicious as he went so quiet, clearly numbed by my advice.
“You’ll find a full list of your chores for the day on the kitchen table. I want everything finished before 4-30 pm since you will need to shower, dress in your school uniform and be seated at your desk, hands on head, back straight, ready to start your detention promptly at 5-00. I suggest you make sure you are seated no later than ten to!” I then rolled over and ignored him, he was in punishment mode, but tomorrow would be far worse!
Well I set him an exceptionally full on day of strenuous chores, scrubbing clean two bathrooms and a third toilet, a full clean of the kitchen, all windows inside and outside spotlessly cleaned, several loads of washing and ironing, the outside courtyard to scrub, the whole house vacuumed, living room furniture polished to perfection, bed linen changed and my car washed, waxed and vacuumed. Believe me, he had to work hard and fast; he well knows chores are not to be done leisurely. I expect to see him sweating and puffing for breath, as if doing a full gym workout, he is expected to move quickly and continuously, woe betide taking a ‘smoko’.
I am sure you can imagine that after close to eleven hours of such gruelling toil, the last thing he wanted to be doing was one of my detentions. Nevertheless, there he was at a ten to five, when I entered the room, seated at his desk, looking exhausted and clearly very fretful, in full school uniform, hands on head.
Full school uniform means ‘schoolgirl uniform’, navy blue cotton knickers; white cotton vest; Navy blue girdle, navy blue stockings with rear seam razor-straight; navy blue box-pleat gym-slip, meticulously ironed, ending four inches above the knees; pink school house sash, neatly tied on the right-side; white socks, the pattern razor straight; heavy, black, lace-up shoes; white, long-sleeved blouse; school-tie; grey V-neck school jumper; navy blazer; hair bryl-creamed back with a straight side part and a straw boater secured with a big pink ribbon under the chin. He hates the ribbon as it is so uncomfortable and ‘in-the-way’. He is a school-boy clearly undergoing petticoat discipline.
I had laid out on his desk, three pens, each symmetrically placed parallel to the top of the desk, together with a wooden ruler; a thick A4 notepad, also placed square, in the centre of the desk; face-down (exam style) to the side of this were 15 typewritten pages; and above these pages, a sealed envelope.
My tone was terse, frigid, dripping cold venom, and served to leave him literally trembling with fearful anxiety. “Full detention rules apply starting now!” This means he is to maintain total silence and an exacting posture. He is seated at a school desk with a rubber mat placed under him and anchored just under the front legs of the desk. The desk legs are fitted over two marked squares so everything lines up for his discomfort.
There are three circles precisely placed into which the three legs of his small wooden stool are placed, and they must not move throughout the Detention. Two further white outlines have been applied wherein he must place his feet and again, his feet must remain firmly placed flat on the floor within the marks, throughout the detention. He must sit upright and he is not allowed to rest his head in his hand, he must not ‘fidget’, scratch, rub his eyes, etc.; he must write continuously without pause, and his hands must only be used for his assignment. There are no clocks and he must write unaware of the time and take only one authorised break. The desk top must be maintained meticulously as it was now, and pens and rulers placed down without sound.
“You will write for three hours. There will be a 30 minute meal break at 8-00 pm, and you will then continue for a further three hours!” I advised with my frosty demeanour.
“Your punishment assignment is on the desk. Your quota for the night is in the sealed envelope. If you do not meet your quota, you will be caned. You will then continue writing until you reach your original quota; plus an additional punishment quota that I will allocate. You will also earn punishment if you break any detention rules or uniform rules. You may now read your assignment.”
I sat at my comfortable desk nearby, in a plush office chair and relaxed with a glass of wine, smiling as I watched the colour drain from his face as he read his instructions, becoming ever more agitated. I could tell he wished to protest, beg for a less demanding assignment, frustrated in his knowledge that it would not turn out well for him if he spoke. He glanced forlornly over at me, his eyes beseeching me, he was on the verge of tears. I was delighted, his tiredness and the challenging work I had provided were going to drain him mentally, emotionally and physically.
His instruction sheet read as follows:
DETENTION ASSIGNMENT
Copy out the following pages.
Keep writing until instructed otherwise.
Assign each letter of the alphabet a sequential number, excluding vowels.
I.e. B=1, C=2, D=4 F=5, …
Each word commencing with an even numbered letter is written in BLUE.
Each word commencing with an odd numbered letter is written in BLACK.
Each word commencing with a vowel is written in RED.
You MUST NOT make a written key!
For each new page, commence by:
” ruling a 2 cm margin down the left side of the page, and top and bottom, in red;
” write your name above the margin on the left-hand side of every page in blue;
” write the date in full above the top margin on the right-hand side. Day, date, month (in full) and year, in black.
” write the page number below the bottom margin on the right-hand side, in red.
Each verse is numbered in blue in the left margin.
Each new chapter is centred, written in upper case black ink and underlined in red, e.g.:
LIBER GENESIS I
LIBER GENESIS II
Leave a blank line above and below the chapter.
You are allowed one error per page, which is to be ruled through neatly in red.
If you make a second error, the page is to be removed and discarded. If you try to conceal or ignore an error, I will remove two or more pages.
This first page was followed by the first ten chapters of the Book of Genesis from the Vulgate Bible, in Latin!
Not only was the exercise mind-numbingly difficult, especially given how tired he was, it was a mentally and physically exhausting task that would get harder as the night wore on, made worse by his strict posture controls, and the fact that he must not change his position nor stop writing.
He also faces a terrible quandary, made worse by not knowing how many lines he must write. If he writes slowly and carefully, so he makes no mistakes, he risks not reaching his quota. If he writes quickly to reach his quota, he risks making errors and having to tear out pages!
“Begin” I curtly advised at 5 o’clock precisely. I then drew all the curtains in the office, picked up my wine and moved over to a leather couch where I relaxed and revelled in his misery. He was ignored as I read my book and then chatted with a friend by phone. After thirty minutes I checked over his shoulder, he sighed pathetically, teary-eyed, struggling not to sob. It was a pathetic attempt to garner sympathy or leniency.
He was up to verse 20 in chapter one, and about half-way down the second page of his note pad. I was struggling not to order him to serve me I was so hot. First I set up the security camera to watch over him, before returning to his desk, my icy demeanour, a stark contrast to the light-hearted banter of my earlier phone conversation. I leaned over, took hold of the bottom of the page he was half-way through, and gently tore it out.
“Detention rules are silence at all times, that means no sighs!” He was aghast as I ripped it into four pieces and threw them in the bin. I then hurried upstairs to get ready for a night out with friends, but not before pulling out my vibrator!
The security camera is just wonderful. It is linked to the Wi-Fi in the house, and I can view the feed on my iPhone or iPad wherever I am, provided I am connected to the internet. I see a bright, full colour, real-time, video image. It is very clear and shows a complete image of David, his stool, desk, etc., and I can zoom in to check he is complying with his posture rules. The beauty is, he never knows when I am watching, or if I even bother to watch him. The camera records to a card so I can check back on him too, and even view the feed at fast rewind or fast forward! He dare not break a Detention rule, it even picks up sound!
When I came back down I was dressed glamorously, my hair back in a severe pony-tail, stockings and heels, lightly perfumed and very desirable. He would have been aching to be with me. He didn’t need to know my plans though, he was in detention and being ignored.
My phone rang, it was my friend Carole advising she was five minutes away. I spoke with her in good-humour, before returning to David and snapping, “Your phone is in airplane mode, facedown on my desk. I have set an alarm for 8-00 pm. When it rings, you may take a 30 minute break. Your dinner and a drink are in the kitchen. Make sure you go to the toilet as it is your only break of the night. Do not enter any other room. When you cancel the alarm, place the phone in my desk drawer, I have covered all other clocks. Make sure you are back at your desk, writing, no later than 8-30; I will be checking!”
Again a dilemma for him. He has a thirty minute break, but no way to time it. So he needs to make sure he is back early. As I said earlier, this is a punishment, it is not meant to be pleasant. I would later be enjoying my meal at a swanky new restaurant with a few friends, a few glasses of wine and having a wonderful time. He would be miserable, ‘enjoying’ an overly generous serving of watery, over-boiled squash and aubergine with boiled calves’ liver, served cold, and accompanied by a glass of the water the vegetables had been cooked in. He would struggle to eat it, but there is a security camera in the kitchen too, so eat it he will, and quickly if he is to be at his desk in time! it is not pleasant for him! And all this time he is isolated, alone, ignored, forgotten about.
I returned home late, slightly inebriated, and feeling incredibly horny from the total power-rush of his suffering. I changed for bed before finally entering the office.
“Stop writing NOW!” I coldly announced. He is required to immediately stop writing, if he so much as tries to finish the word he is writing, I will rip out the entire page. He must then immediately place his hands on his head. He was bleary eyed, his face was tear-streaked, the result of crying when he had to tear out pages where he had made mistakes, there were more than a dozen such pages neatly stacked on his desk. I was relaxed in satin pyjamas, my long hair loose over my shoulders, and wearing high-heel mules, ‘Oh how he would have adored to caress my body!’
He sat there, shaking, disconsolate, exhausted.
“How many chapters have you completed?”
I promise you this next bit is the truth, “Pretty well five chapters, Ma’am,” he politely replied.
“What do you mean ‘pretty well five chapters’?” I coldly snapped.
“I am half-way through verse 31, the last verse in chapter 5, Ma’am.”
“That means you have only completed four chapters!” I replied with frosty callousness, “Open your envelope read out your target for the night.”
He nervously opened the envelope, struggling to stop his hands shaking, he really was at his limits, as he nervously read out, “Five chapters, Ma’am.” He was sobbing, he knew what was coming, made worse from being so close, would be praying for leniency.
I remained silent for a minute or more as he nervously fretted, I maintained my frigid demeanour though I was aching to orgasm at the power dynamic in play. I ignored him and left the room for a few minutes before returning with my dragon cane. It is 39 inches long, as thick as my little finger and an very dark brown colour, it is formidably painful. His entire body was shivering and convulsing uncontollaby in trepidation when I finally returned.
I stood beside him, flexing my cane gently in both hands. It is quite a stiff cane, and only bends a little. It is an implement that understandably terrifies him. I looked stonily at him before finally addressing him calmly, matter-of-factly, “I set a target that you should have easily reached if you applied yourself to your task diligently. I have timed your writing and assessed that you can write 1100 – 1200 words in an hour. I usually set your target at 900 – 1000 words an hour depending upon the complexity of the task. Your target this evening was 2514 words! It was 11-50 pm when you stopped writing, so you had an extra twenty minutes, a total writing time of 6 hours and twenty minutes. To achieve your target you didn’t even have to write 400 words an hour! And, you had a break in which to refresh and relax.”
I paused, placed the cane on his desk and slowly paced behind him, as he started, to speak, I angrily snapped, “SILENCE! I do not want to hear a word from you, not even an apology.” I let him stew a while longer before I leaned over him from behind, my mouth close to his ear so he could smell my soft feminine fragrance, my hands resting gently on his shoulders, he could hear the soft rustle of my satin pyjamas as I quietly intoned, “You have clearly been lazy, careless and disrespectful, and now you are going to pay the price…. ”
Standing up I picked up the cane, strode over to the leather sofa and smashed the cane down on the arm, the whir and crack where frightening and he jumped in terror, I was displaying controlled rage to enhance his respect and fear.
“There will be no break. You will remain in detention and complete chapter five. You will also copy out chapters six and seven before you retire for the night.” I didn’t think it possible for him to look more morose and sorrowful, but he did, in fact he almost collapsed, sobbing loudly in despair and self-pity, real tears flowing. It was all ignored.
“But first, you are going to receive 12 strokes of the cane across your bare buttocks!”
it was 12-20 before a very tired, sore and dishevelled ‘school-girl’, got back to his detention, and it was almost four in the morning before he finished and retired to bed.
I was in bed exploding in orgasms at the imagery of the evening, and woke several times to play with my vibrator before falling into a deep sleep, I didn’t even hear him enter the room.”

Dear Mistress Scarlet
Appropriate to this theme is a recent escalation my boy experienced.
Whenever his ego gets in the way, he is subject to a date with Nurse Linnex. This is rubbed thoroughly into his little william and elicits many howls and shrieks of agony. He really is a big baby over this. I have also frequently threatened to tie off his ball sac with a stocking and liberally coat his balls with melted Linnex too. The concept has long terrified him as he is well aware how bad the pain is when his penis just brushes against his testicles, and releases a little of the embrocation, when he writhes around. I have teased him by caressing him with a stocking while he waits for the Linnex, and taunted him of it occurring, but always the stocking has been put away.
Well, on the evening in question, he was scheduled for a Linnex treatment for some minor disobedience at a party we had attended the evening before. Since my friend Pam had messaged earlier in the day to say she was going to call me at seven; shortly before this time, my boy found himself standing by the bed, arms folded in front of him, with his hands clasping his shoulders, while I encased him like mummy in many revolutions of plastic wrap.
He looks so pathetic and helpless, his eyes pleading to be excused the torment to come. Begging tremulously to be forgiven. Needless to say this is met only with cold contempt. With his torso bound, he next lies on the bed, with his heels raised on a bolster, allowing me to wrap his legs from his ankles up to his lower thighs, leaving him immobile and very exposed.
I picked the Linnex off the bedside table, suggesting, “Perhaps we should warm this up so we can apply a thicker coating?” He struggled and begged me not to warm the Linnex. Indeed he was still pleading forgiveness when Pam rang and I picked up the phone. My welcome greeting quite a contrast to the cold disciplinarian he was dealing with!
“Just a sec, Pam,” I continued, “I just have to get something out for David, and I’ll be right with you.” And on a whim, I took a black stocking out my top drawer and draped it over his thighs and little toy. The colour drained from his face and he trembled in terror, as I left the room brightly chatting away to Pam. His insignificance exemplified, compared to my chatting with a friend.
He was in a terrible state when I returned nearly an hour later, no doubt having heard my laughter in the background, and tears were now flowing as he begged for the Linnex, but pleaded desperately not to have his balls coated too. Of course I wouldn’t hear of this, we don’t do leniency in our house. “Right,” I coldly snapped, “it’s about time we put Nurse Linnex to work!”
Without further ado, I drew the stocking under his privates in a see-saw motion, finally stopping with it centred under his organ where it meets his groin, before very tightly wrapping the stocking twice round the base of his penis and ball sac; then, even more tightly, several times around the very top of his ball sack, so his scrotum was stretched tight with his balls totally exposed and bulging out like taut balloons. He was breathing deeply, big gasps, shivering and whispering aloud, “Oh my god, no…. please no… I can’t take this….. please no…. please this can’t be possible… I can’t believe you’re really going to do this… please… please spare me…”
His appendage, hard as a rock, balls ready to burst, I calmly advised, “I am sure you are anxious to get started, but I need a minute to prepare the Linnex.” I quickly returned with a bowl of steaming hot water covered by a towel, to keep the heat in, and my hair dryer. The Linnex was wrapped in some cling wrap and left to steam in the water, while I blow-dried his privates. He was soon squealing as I worked the hot air to open up all the pores.
Satisfied with my preparations, I put on a pair of rubber washing-up gloves and readied the Linnex. Gripping the base of his organ firmly in my left hand, I softly hummed “Here we go round the mulberry bush”, as I pressed firmly down and rubbed the melted stick slowly round and round the knob, again and again, round and round; then up and down the shaft, all around, up and down, and then in circles round and round, slowly descending to the base, and then slowly back up to the top, circling in the other direction, and around, and down again until it was coated in many layers of the nasty embrocation. I then smiled as we waited for the searing pain to commence.
It normally takes about eight minutes to reach a crescendo, and it is always so amusing to watch his face as he anxiously waits, ever hopeful the scorching pain will not come, then the look of dispair as the first warming effects arrive! It was a very hot, sultry evening so the effect was worse than normal. Coupled with the opened pores, and lengthy application, he was screaming and jerking helplessly on the bed within a few minutes. Conscious of little but the fiery agony enveloping and engorging his penis.
Smiling brightly I advised, “I’ll give you ten minutes to enjoy that, and then we’ll continue,” as I replaced the stick in the hot water bath.
When I returned he was till squealing and writhing like a stuck piglet, as I calmly donned the rubber gloves again. This time I firmly gripped him at the very base of the scrotum with my left hand, pulling the sac even tighter, so his testicles were as hard as a football, allowing me to press firmly down and thoroughly rub the Linnex in, ensuring it penetrated deeply and that the entire sac was liberally swathed in the pungent embrocation.
The escalation effect was marvellous, his screams were enough to wake the dead! I could hear him from the far end of the house. In fact after about five minutes I had to attend to him. He was coated in sweat, from his exertions and the sultry night only made it worse. Even I had a light sheen of perspiration on my brow. He was writhing and jerking and begging for some relief, “Please Ma’am, please, I need you to cool it down, I can’t take it, I can’t, it is too much. I need an ice-pack, the air-conditioner, anything, it’s too much, please, please, a cold flannel, ice…. Please?
I lighly remarked, “My my, you do carry on, I’ve never heard so much noise, it’s a good job we don’t have neighbours!” He continued to groan loudly, begging for relief, an ice-pack, anything to take the pain away.
Eventually I decided I would have to something about the all the complaints and loud bawling. “David, you are going to give me a headache with your histrionics. Give me a few minutes, I have an idea how to provide some relief and help you cope better.”
“Thank you, thank you,” he gasped, “quickly please, I simply can’t take it anymore.”
It was such a hot evening, that I returned with a some ice packs and a gag. The gag inserted, I smiled, down at him, “There, that’s a big relief from all the screaming, I couldn’t hear myself think. And you can bite down hard on the rubber to help cope with the pain.” He was still grunting and writhing, but I could see he was also biting down hard on the gag, and it was much, much quieter.
He looked on aghast then when I took the ice packs and wrapped them in a towel that I placed around my neck and shoulders. I burst out laughing, “You didn’t really think they were for you? What would be the point of going to all this trouble to maximise your suffering and then letting you off?
“Now, I realise the heat trapped in here helps enflame the Linnex, so you don’t want the air-conditioning turned on; but it is far too hot and stuffy for me, so I am going to leave you to enjoy the full effects of Nurse Linnex; while I relax and cool off in the lounge with my ice pack, a cold drink and the air-con turned up high.” He shook his head and jerked about as the reality of his ongoing suffering bit home.
His writhing and agonised groans lasted for over two hours! Most enjoyable. We will definitely do that again! NB Of course the stocking was released immediately following the application of the Linnex.
What about escalation potential? What could be worse? Not much I expect, except of course a hefty double or even triple dose of Linnex, two hours apart, and we could add a hot water bottle!

 

Scarlet

I very much like these ideas.
With my boy I have been using a flesh tube, very inanimate, every 4-6 weeks or so. This is strapped to a heavy bench in the garage! He has to wear two condoms, so he doesn’t get it dirty. A rubber band is secured about two-thirds of the way down his organ, and he must not penetrate deeper than this. If he does, the session stops immediately, and he gets a Linnex instead. Needless to say, he has to focus hard, which spoils his ‘fun’ too.
His arms are secured behind and he gets one minute exactly. If he doesn’t stop immediately when his minute ends, it’s also a Linnex.
It is so funny to watch him as he is always so desperate. Even funnier is the look on his face when his time is out and he hasn’t come, knowing he’ll have to wait another 4-6 weeks before he gets another opportunity. He comes about 80% of the time, but about half of those are ruined as he is ordered to pull out during the process. That leaves him even more frustrated, on the verge of tears, as I roar with laughter.
Such a delightful contrast to my daily, long, leisurely, repetitive orgasms.
Christine

Thanks for your kind words Scarlet
I allowed him a release last night, to celebrate his online infamy. He was so very desperate, he orgasmed powerfully at 37 seconds, which was actually only his second full orgasm for 2018, any others had been spoiled to some degree. However…..
he lost so much control during his release, that he totally forgot his need for focus, and slipped deeper than his elastic band.
So, within 10 minutes of this, he found himself secured with an exceptionally thick coating of warmed Linnex smeared over his entire cock – and rubbed well in! In his state of post-orgasmic euphoria it apparently burned and burned more fiercely than ever; which I do believe, as he most certainly screamed more loudly, and writhed more violently against his restraints than ever before!
But, it was all his own fault for taking advantage of my benevolence.
I just wish we had nettles here too!

Dear Mistress Scarlet
I was doing a Google Search and I rediscovered this note from you. I was wondering how much have you escalated BB’s Linnex treatments?
Has he had a liberal, melted application over the entire shaft and head?
How did he cope?
No matter how many doses David has had, he still shows that same look of hope in his eyes during those 3-4 minutes after I have finished the application of the salve, and before the salve starts to burn. (Yes, I spend a good 2-3 minutes coating his penis with the melted Linnex!)
He still tries to convince himself that this time the fierce burning will not arise. Then, as always, the look of total abject fear crosses his face, as the first tendrils of warmth appear, before the pain rapidly builds to a crescendo that is unbearably excruciating. Secured as he is though, he has no choice but to bear it; though be bucks and writhes violently, and screams and shrieks in agony. Again, despite so many past doses, he still cannot cope with the fearsome burning.
How does BB go? Does he writhe violently and scream as if to wake the dead?
Or is David just a big baby like I tease him afterwards?
Warm regards

Christine M

Scarlet

am glad to hear BB finds it so dreadful and sobs loudly too. I sometimes wonder if David might be exaggerating how bad it is in a bid for a bit of compassion. I don’t ‘do compassion’ though, it excites me so much to see him racked with pain.
I really wonder whether Andy and Will above have ever experienced Linnex, and if they would be so cavalier with their advice of using a condom to make it worse, had they done so.
But reading this again, it did remind me that I used to sometimes use a condom as it did seem to increase the level of the screaming, and burn for a bit longer.
I haven’t told David yet, but I just bought online a pack of Reusable Penis Sleeve Delay Elasticity Condoms. They look like they fit very tightly and are much thicker than usual condoms to trap the heat better. David will soon find out just how dispassionate I am of his plight,
I will bring them out after about 15 minutes of burning, gently stroke his nipples (that alone brings on extra screams as the blood engorges his inflamed gristle) and secure the condom. Wicked! I am excited thinking about it.
Regards

Christine

Hello Scarlet
I mostly make use of domestic items as our ‘relationship’ to BDSM focuses around strict Victorian/ Edwardian times discipline for youths. I do consider tightly securing David for a thrashing to be essential. It is my firm opinion that, to quote, “the punishment does not really commence until the tears begin’; and that, if a punishment is to be delivered, it should be ‘impossible’ for the culprit to remain in place and stoic. A punishment is meant to to hurt abominably and I expect to hear screams and see tears. I want to hear screams and tears! Only then do I know I am achieving the desired effects: Correction, Contrition, Regret, and an earnest Desire for Self-improvement….. and I really enjoy knowing he is suffering!

Scarlet
I certainly do not have the frequency of orgasms you do, but I do achieve multiple orgasms at a time, and they are often cataclysmic, especially when compared to my long-ago ‘vanilla’ life.
More particularly, I feel an erotic upwelling, what might be called a warm swelling flowing from the loins that provides a pleasure that is not an orgasm, but is nonetheless a deep-seated pleasure that will lead to that later explosion. It pervades my whole body in the most pleasurable way imaginable.
This can come from the most simplistic acts of dominance.
I might link this to your previous topic ‘Sweet for her….”
I have written before how David travels a great deal in his work, and that to ensure he doesn’t have time to head ‘out-on-the-town’, browse inappropriate internet sites, watch ill-chosen television programs, or spoil himself with lavish hotel meals, I set him written assignments each evening. As I have explained to him, these are not punishments, just my way of keeping him well-occupied and out-of-trouble.
Setting him this work is something I find incredibly erotic, as I know how much he hates it, how tired he often is, and how tedious it must be. Yet knowing this excites me to be… well, quite frankly, at times, a real bitch!
E.g. On his last trip, he had a 28 hour travel time from home to his hotel room. He arrived in his room at 6-30 pm, in his new time zone, 1-30 am my time. His flight had been delayed but he had been instructed he must call me on arrival.
I was a little bleary-eyed, but pleased to hear from him and we had a really pleasant 30 minutes chat, talking about my prior day, his travel experience and general domestic matters. Finally I yawned and advised, I needed to go back to sleep and I felt sure he would be anxious to start his written assignment for the night.
Well, there was a stunned silence, following such a friendly chat and my knowing he was exhausted, he clearly expected to be ‘let-off’; not that that has ever happened before! I could hear his quiet sobs of anguish as I dictated his ‘line’ for the night.
Smiling at his obvious distress, I lightly advised, I had planned for him to write it out 50 times, since I knew he would be very tired on arrival and wanting an early night; “but since you woke me up, let’s make it 100 times.” He was stunned, and silly enough to stutter, “but that will take well over 2 hours, please…” His words tailed-off as I quietly, very gently, advised, “I am sorry David, you are correct, that is not appropriate, I am failing to show you how much I care for your well-being. You would still have time to get into trouble, we need to make it 200 times!”
Well he was devastated, I was enervated… and had to pull out my wand immediately afterwards!