Tag Archives: sissy

Lock Down activity from Carla

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








Hi Scarlet,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





My 16th journal

A link to all my journals.

Lady Jessica’s very amusing Lock down activity

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

I will say no more by way of introduction.


Lady Jessica’s lock down activity

My dear Mistress Scarlet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours in sincere sisterhood

Lady Jessica


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








Archive of real life letters

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

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

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

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

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

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



Dear Editor,

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

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

Ms. Q.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours truly,




My 16th journal –  LINK

While doing something else

What was one of my favourite site themes on Tumblr has now appeared on BDSMLR, I am so pleased to say.  while-doing-something-else.  bitch-boy informed me he found it while he was doing his BDSMLR tease chore as he knew the theme is in my top 3.

It so sums up, I think other Dommes will agree, the atmosphere of REAL LIFE, long term, live-together,  Domme/sub relationships. So much time is spent with the Domme enjoying whatever she wants, excluding the sub, while the sub toils  in the background on chores somewhere or toils between her thighs, or while she sunbathes, or he is a foot-rest, or his face is a seat. Particularly while the Domme is; applying make-up, drying/fixing hair, talking on the telephone, watching TV, reading a book or magazine, eating a meal, doing one’s nails, on social media, engaged in a pleasant craft activity, chatting to a visiting female guest, ‘who is in the know’.

I have of course had bitch-boy re-blog many of the images to my BDSMLR site.

So different to the majority of Femdom images on the net where the Domme (usally a professional dominatrix), is having to focus all her attention on the male sub. Not that I have a problem with the dominatrix profession. Wonderful women!

Obviously I have to ignore the images of fucking and cock-sucking and male climaxes on this site. A girl can’t have everything!

On the topic of my BDSMLR site I now have 4,800 followers. Nowhere near the 20,000 on my old Tumblr site, but it grows steadily which I adore. I adore because so many people share the REAL LIFE tastes I have.

Almost no PVC or latex, or warehouses or dungeons or abandoned buildings. Domestic scenarios in the main, and only the women getting the pleasure and the thrills. Of course the males getting their submissive contentment when their head hits the pillow every night, even if there is little or no sexual satisfaction in their lives.

Ms Josephine Drake

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

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

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

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

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


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

This is a link to my journals.



Inspired Clever Domination!

Another wonderful real life Domme, Miss Hannahbelle has begun leaving comments and exchanging emails with me. In her first comment I was so very impressed by a couple of instances of extreme cleverness, especially the second of the two. The cleverness employed motivated by a delightful drive to maximise the effects of her dominance.

I will first share the content of Miss Hannahbelle’s comment though:

He has had absolutely no orgasm whatsoever in the past two years but he endures almost daily edging sessions where he is securely bound before I take great pleasure in driving him to the edge over and over again with no relief for him. Eventually I’ll lock him back up before releasing his bondage, never  – before he is locked back in his cage. Quite often these edging sessions will last several hours and I have been known to have him secured for an entire weekend whilst I drive him to insanity.

I am very keen that he doesn’t try and fall into a sort of trance where he can drive down his libido whilst in chastity. I want him constantly horny and aroused but with absolutely no way of doing anything about it. I know all his kinks and desires (it’s amazing what you can get a guy to admit to when you have him moments from the edge!) and I use these to keep him turned on.

As for his tasks my favourite has been getting him to walk around our neighbourhood in varying states of humiliating dress. Initially, in order to earn an ejaculation, I gave him the option of taking a number of enemas and then having to walk a predetermined course around the nearby roads whilst wearing 7 inch high heels. I allowed him male clothing but he had to wear the heels. He attempted the task a few times but failed badly within moments of leaving the house. Essentially he just can’t walk in the heels, they are too high for him. So I gave him another chance. He could choose to replace the 7 inch heels with 6 inch heels which he can walk in. However, instead of wearing his male clothes he would have to wear his latex maids outfit, corset, stockings, gloves and collar. Were he to decide to go with this choice, then he wouldn’t be able to chose the other one ever again, this would be his commitment.

The conflict he endured in making this decision was wonderful. I gave him 24 hours to mull it over and torment himself. Should he take the risk of being seen in full maids dress but have more chance of completing the course in heels he could walk in or should he try and improve his performance in the higher heels, reducing his chances of being seen in humiliating clothes but making the chances of completing the course much less likely?

Neither choice is ideal but if he wanted a chance to ever cum again he would have to chose one. I just love the torment he went through in making this decision.

So, for me, the first instance of extreme cleverness, was to extract from him his darkest fantasies under the power of the edging desperation and then use those very fantasies to keep him sexually aroused and so very frustrated, when he otherwise may have flagged.

And the awesome second instance of psychological cleverness: Giving him two terrible things to choose from to earn release AND giving him a long deadline to make his choice, (a long time to be in anguish), AND (the coup de grace), telling him the option he does not choose is gone for ever! So massively ramping up the enormity of the terrible  decision!  Wow.

Below I provide some excepts of additional correspondence from the amazing Miss Hannahbelle.

……… When we met he was in a chastity cage. He was terrified I would be scared off but also had the confidence to try and start a relationship with me. He recognised the innate need for him to be under someone’s control and so, whilst scared what I might think of him, he felt he had little to lose if he wanted to be truthful to himself. Somehow the stars aligned for us both as what he didn’t know at the time was that I did have some experience in the world of domination, having spent some time working as a pro-Domme apprentice to pay my way through my second year at university. I enjoyed my work but had never really taken it into a relationship beyond a bit of bondage. Our relationship has changed all that now! Meeting him has really fired my dominant side and he has responded in kind too. I do wonder if he regrets some of his decisions though. I love the great conflict inside him of being absolutely desperate to cum but also loving that he has found someone who is willing and able to keep him locked, denied and frustrated.
In terms of his kinks I use them on him in all sorts of ways, many of which work wonderfully in conjunction with our lifestyle. He is a keen rubberist and I am very happy to dress him up in lots of layers of rubber, but I always ensure it has a feminine edge to it. He is also a high heel addict, and I take every opportunity to wear heels to arouse him. But I also took the opportunity to get him wearing heels more (he had done so a little in the past) and have been training him in wearing higher and higher heels. I have even bought him ballet boots but he can barely stand in them at present. One day maybe I’ll really train him up in them!
………… Fantasising about being locked in permanent chastity is one thing, living it is quite something else. The same about fantasising of being rubberised compared to having to walk outside in public in rubber sissy clothes.
………………….. I was pleased to hear that you padlock bitch-boy’s heels on him. I have used high heel locking straps regularly to assist in his training. I’ve spent a long time getting him up to the 6 inch heels and I must say he is fairly proficient in them. As I mentioned, the 7 inch heels are a real struggle for him though, which gives me some great leverage over him. I have actually installed a treadmill in our playroom and love to watch him practicing on it. Recently I’ve bought him a pair of 5 inch mules which he is really struggling with because of the lack of ankle strap. They are so sexy on him though and I love to tell him that. He does have very sexy legs, especially when in his latex stockings!
I’ve just spent a lovely hour with him in his strait jacket and ankle spreader locked on him whilst giving him a long and frustrating blowjob. I sat on his face for most of it and loved hearing his begging and moaning through my pussy. He’s currently cooling down with an ice pack on his cock whilst I write you this email. I’ll head back and lock him back in his cage in a minute. I’ve also mentioned that if we end up having to self isolate then he can look forward to some seriously prolonged edging sessions.



My Perversities set out

Below is a truly delightful poem by an author who must of read a great many of my journals! I write that because the poem absolutely nails my depravities. Those very cruel, pitiless things I adore to do. And so timely coming straight after my previous post on my use of shaming outfits.

By: pansiekins.

When a boy becomes a man, he’ll try any tricks he can
To behave as if he’s master of the house.
So dress him up in frocks; bright pink ribbons, bobbie socks
And you’ll find he’ll be submissive as a mouse.

Oh, at first he’ll make a fuss, but there’s no need to discuss
His objections; for his Mistress, as he’s bloused
Simply laughs at his hot tears; his cries fall on her deaf ears
And his begging merely makes her more aroused.

For Ms Scarlet it’s pure bliss, when her subject bows to kiss
And to lick her boots in hopes that she’ll relent.
For her mercy he implores, while before her on all fours
But she pays no heed to any such lament.

Made to stand up in his dress, he blushes hard in his distress,
As his bonnet is attached, and floppy bows.
Ankle bells for when he dances, ribboned wrists for when he prances
Round the room with arms held out in dainty pose.

But Ms Scarlet’s fiendish plan, for this girlish half a man
Is not based on solitary sissy play.
She’s invited all her friends, to observe him make amends
And to laugh at this ridiculous display.

Some are pleased without surprise, by the sight that greets their eyes
For at home they each have sissies of their own.
Lady Jessica, Christine; Miss Anne – elegant and mean
Rule their households from a strict and regal throne.

But there’s other guests invited: giggling madly, all excited,
Ladies in their twenties, eager all to see…
BB’s deep humiliation, and his total subjugation
And how shameful and degrading it must be.

“Does he like to dress that way”, they inquire and: “is he gay?”
But Ms Scarlet simply laughs and shakes her head.
Then she claps her hands for hush, BB stands with crimson blush
And explains, while sadly wishing he was dead.

“I’m a thilly thithy girl”, he sings out, and does a twirl
“In my frockth and lathe, I know I look a fool.
But if onth I dithobey, then I know that I will pay:
Bent right over for the cane, just like in thchool.”

“Tho I hope that I’ve amuthed, and you’re now quite dithabuthed
That I get the thlightetht thrill from thith dithgrathe.
Thith ith only for your pleathure, ladieth lounging at your leithure,
Tho feel free to kick my ballth or thlap my fathe.”

So the younger guests had fun, while the older ones looked on
Full of pride at these young ladies’ cruel delight.
And with glee anticipated, that cruel fate that surely waited
For their husbands and their boyfriends that same night.

For each such young guest on leaving, had a party bag all heaving:
With pink things for life in frillies and restrained.
Males: the fashion’s spreading, so the future that you’re dreading
Of a petticoated life is fore-ordained.

Why dress him in shaming outfits?

I come across Dommes now and again who are uninterested in petticoating humiliation of their sub males. Even a little dismissive, thinking it perhaps relatively pointless. I thought I should post how it became such a pleasure for me and why it is such a pleasure for the Dommes that use this torment.

It took me about four years to get to. I reached the point where my full-on domination days were punctuated with phases of seriously tough endurance for bitch-boy. Lots he struggled with; but they were all things that had in the past ticked his ‘fantasy’ boxes. Obviously, when they were all over he was in awe of me and submissively very content. Dominating him this was gave me considerable pleasure, but I suddenly wanted more intensity for me! I realised I wanted him to HATE what I put him through, even in fantasy, as that would be true evidence of my total power over him for me, (and for him). And total power is such an aphrodisiac! As is unfettered cruelty.

Thinking of him enduring what he really, really hated, got me wet. A huge power rush. It was not really practical to give him constant golden nectar, more thrashings or more coatings of embrocation on his birth defect and anyway, more short periods of pain in a session of many hours wasn’t what I was looking for. I  wanted him suffering every minute for hours at a time, not for only short periods.

I read about the full-on parody-of-a-little-girl treatment. I told him that was what I was thinking of doing. The forced role play on his part, constantly performing and usually with dollies. He looked very, very upset and shook his head silently. I could see he honestly, profoundly hated the notion. Never a fantasy of his. That moment, the thought of imposing it had me very wet! Because he hated it so. It would be PROPER evidence of MY POWER. And unlike a golden nectar, caning or embrocation cream, it could last hours. (There are so, so very many aspects of the treatment that can be employed.) And golden nectar, canings and embrocation could still be included.

So I went for it. It crushed him as I did not use half measures.

It did and still does have a powerful effect on me because it can last all day, or several days. And I have devised methods to keep the extreme levels of humiliation up for literally hours at a time.

One regular reciprocal visitor was not really into humiliation of her sub hubby; until the first time she visited me and she saw how much extreme mental pain it caused bitch-boy. In one brief afternoon with me, she went from pretty much ignoring regressing infantile style humiliation of her hubby, to making it a regular part of their sessions.

I should add that bitch-boy’s awe and worship and devotion consequently made a huge step change. I think he was so shocked that I was capable of doing something he truly hated and that I was getting very turned on because I was. And I was sparing him no blushes!  I paradoxically, I think, became his ultimate fantasy Domme. Not because of what I was doing, but because of my pitiless, selfish motivation for so doing whatever I wanted to.

That level of awe and worship and devotion lives on every day. I feel it almost all the time. Even in 100% vanilla times, even when I think I have messed up in some vanilla way, his unconditional devotion is like a warm bath that envelops me. I can literally do no wrong. And as I wrote on my blog, he is 100% man all of the time I am not dominating him. He revers after a couple of his hours of his shaming little girl treatment. Even if during it, he begged and begged with all his heart not to endure a second hour of this, or a third hour of that!

And obviously visitors, and particularly new visitors, send his humiliation off-the-scale! (Oh the constant whispered pleading and the physical trembling in the run up to the arrival!)Needless to say my feelings of truly cruel and pitiless power over my puppet, and y arousal are also pushed off-the-scale .


My 16th journal –  LINK

Governess X / Lady Governa

I mentioned in passing in my last post  Madam Press, formerly Governess X, formerly Lady Governa of The District Reformatory , and her   clips4sale site. Having discussed in the comments on that post her period, many years ago as Governess X and Lady Governa, I thought I would try to describe in detail excerpts of some of the video clips that were on her website, long before HD quality! If only they were still accessible.

The first thing to describe is her voice. This can be experienced in some of the sample video clips on her    clips4sale site. (I should be on commission!!!)

There is an innocence to her voice as though what is happening is the most natural thing in the world. But there is 100% implacability. Zero pity, Zero mercy. The terrible thing she has decreed will happen is happening. It is unimaginable that anything could even begin to persuade her otherwise, despite the genuine heartfelt pleading of the client. Oh yes, she has clients pleading with all their heart. Her dominance is not a game! (I think I have adopted the identical voice attributes but I am not sure it is from seeing those clips all those years ago. Perhaps they become the natural voice attributes of every relaxed, experienced, merciless, sadistic, 100% powerful Domme?

One clip I remember from all those years ago involved not nettles but thistles. A close up of a very stiff birth defect before her where she sat. And some very stiff stems of thistles in her hand. And the thistle stems swiped down very hard on the stiff and vulnerable defect. Through a serious gag could be heard the desperate begging and pleading of the client. But the calm, soft voice would point out that the nasty organ needed training and again and again the thistles swept down hard. Tiny spots of blood appeared on the defect. And she paused and giggled. And then more of that voice and then the thistles swept down again and again.

The second clip I remember was almost the same apart from an electrical Tens unit was being used attached to electrodes on the very stiff birth defect. The shot was just the defect and her hands holding the control unit. She would turn the dial up to full for a moment and the defect would judder and screams into a gag would be heard and then when the dial was turned back down, panicking, muffled pleading and pleading. Then She would turn the dial up to full for a moment again and the defect would judder and screams into a gag would be heard and then when the dial was turned back down, panicking, muffled pleading and pleading again. All the while, as though reciting a nursery rhyme to an infant her clam, sweet, innocent voice would be describing her activity. Up little sissy, and back down. Up the dial goes little sissy, and back down.

The third clip I remember was from her POV, of her entering a bathroom and inside, very securely bound to a chair, was a sissy client with several pairs of large satin panties pulled over his head. He could see nothing and I doubt hear very much. He was also diapered and gagged and he immediately began begging and begging when he was conscious of her in the room. It was clear he had been there for hours. Her sweet voice explaining he had been very naughty and did not deserve to be in her presence and had to be punished. After a little more narration of his naughtiness she left the room, totally ignoring the constant heartfelt pleading.

The fourth clip I remember had a sissy on his back on a bed, bound so his legs were straight and pointed up to the ceiling. A spreader bar had been secured to keep his ankles apart and the bar was then secured on a length of chain to the bedhead. The backs of his thighs and butt displayed red wheals of cane strokes.

He was very close to tears and he whimpered he could not take any more of the cane.  In response, in a sweet but clearly very firm tone of voice, she explained that sissies never, ever tell their Governesses  they have had enough. Only the Governess knows when they have had enough! Sissies cannot possibly know. And she would show him he had not had enough of the cane. And she went back to caning him some more, and his tears began to flow.

At the time, what a wonderful role model for me she was! And I also learned just how submissives NEED to be treated. Her clients cried, their begging was always ignored, they hated so much of what they endured; BUT did she go out of business? Did she run out of clients? Quite the opposite! They would beg to go back for another weekend of her cruel dominance, again and again.


My 16th journal –  LINK