Given dear blog followers, the majority of you have said you do not read the comments on blog posts, I post this contribution instead of simply approving it as a comment. As always Lady Jessica reveals more of her deliciously uncompromising lifestyle and, for the first time, its genesis! And, as always with a most delightful and elegant writing style.
Lady Jessica mentions the old Madame magazines (from many years ago). The very magazines that got me into many of the activities I enjoy – and bitch-boy does not!)
One INCREDIBLY satisfying development of my blog is that I started it because of the vacuum on the net, that needed filling. A replacement for the Madame magazines. By that I mean content consisting almost exclusively of real and true detailed contributions from real lifestyle dominant women, (including me), sharing ideas, lifestyles and activities.
It has taken nine years but I think I may currently have achieved my objective. I am seriously grateful to now have a large number of fabulous, contributing, real dominant women; including; Lady Jessica, Carla, Samantha, Christine M, Cortney, Mrs Sonia Meloni, Dorinda, Rhoda, Rita and others whose names have not sprung to mind but whose contributions are also seriously valued by me.
Lady Jessica’s Comment
Oh, my dear Mistress Scarlet
What a delightful posting. Let me add my enthusiastic agreement to the opinions you and the lovely Christine have expressed here!
How I chuckle when I read comments on your blog from fantasising males, especially those responding to the pieces from me that you have been kind enough to publish. How glibly they wish they could come under my rule and how they envy skivvy the regime he endures! Flies, all of them, flies. Flies, catching sight of a gauzy web, sparking in the morning sunlight. Flies, blissfully fantasising about the pleasures of being trapped in that web and wrapped in silk! Yes, you poor fools, the silk is soft and as I spin it around you tighter and tighter, you would feel the most delicious sense of helplessness. Does that thought give you an erotic frisson of terrified pleasure? Good. Enjoy it. The web is beautiful: it is designed that way to draw you in and gently to enmesh you in its strands. But there is a spider waiting there for you. There is always a spider… her fangs quivering with the desire to sink themselves into your soft flesh. Would you be so foolish as to land on my web?
Skivvy was and it is too late for him to save himself now. I do not mean – of course – that our relationship is non-consensual. However, it is undoubtedly true that it is now a very long time since poor skivvy had sufficient willpower not to consent to anything that I might choose to impose upon him. There was an important point – an event I think of as ‘the great rebellion’ – that I will write about some day. The formal consent to everything was sealed after that little episode. But in truth, the poor lamb was lost long before.
Would he have chosen this lifestyle, had his future been presented to him, when he was a young man? It is hard to know. He is fascinated by humiliation, there is no doubt about that, compelled to submit. In that sense, he is very lucky and should be grateful – as I frequently remind him – that he encountered a partner such as myself, who can help him explore these bizarre (and to me personally incomprehensible) desires. Yet also I realise his life is hard and unpleasant and may well not be the life that he would have chosen faced with a clear decision. In particular, he is not the sort of ‘masochist’ who actually enjoys pain, I am glad to say (as otherwise I would gain little pleasure from inflicting it upon him) and although pain is not the only feature of our relationship, the fact is that he is submissive to a sadist and he must take the consequences of that. Indeed, those consequences are essential to underpin the humiliation regime that he secretly craves so deeply: why would anyone (for example) eat vinegar-soaked potato peelings out of a bucket except through fear of the painful consequences of refusing to do so?
I was quite cautious in the way I slowly enveloped him in the web of my control, each silken thread adding just the lightest touch of additional constraint on his freedom and comfort, hiding my fangs until the day when he suddenly came to realise he was bound tight – and at the mercy of someone who has no interest in mercy! I waited a long time before meeting someone like skivvy and I did not want to risk him getting away.
When I first started to experience the stirrings of sadistic sexual desire, as a young girl, I was scared at the thought of where they might take me. My fantasises of humiliation and torture of boys were too intense to ignore but I was well aware of the consequences of acting upon them. I feared either a life of concealed sexual frustration or perhaps even arrest and imprisonment… so when I discovered in my mid-teens about ‘BDSM’ and discovered there were men who would not only let me do to them the nasty things I dreamed of, but would actually beg me to do so, you can imagine how relieved and excited I was! Only once again to be disappointed. Every man I hooked up with (through small ads in magazines, initially, but very soon the Internet) was either too soft or too hard, if you know what I mean. Too soft were the ones who wanted to keep it all strictly play – a bit of spanking and bondage as part of a sexual encounter, but nothing more – and certainly nothing truly unpleasant. Yet still less to my taste were those masochists who sought and craved pain! When I slash a backside with a cane, I want the recipient to shriek in pain, I want them to hate and dread every stroke, begging urgently for mercy… I don’t want some macho fool grunting in pleasure as I thwack away at his leathery backside, taking his pleasure from his ability to ‘take it’. I don’t want him to ‘take it’! I want him to writhe, to beg, to plead… and ‘take it’ only because the straps holding him down (and my implacable will) present him with little choice.
So… while I no longer feared prosecution, I found myself increasingly frustrated, wondering where were the men whose purpose on this planet was to satisfy my needs.
Then I met him. Skivvy. He had a name, back then, as he still does in some circles. It had taken some time: he was a student, fourteen years younger than I. I had a job at a university and on the side, I ran one of the student halls of residence. Possession of pornography was against the rules, so I had an arrangement with the cleaners to bring me any magazines they found. I would then have a chat with the miscreant, which generally gave me the intense pleasure of humiliating the squirming wretches confronted with the evidence of their filthy activities. How I would love to have followed through with the application of an implement of correction to the backsides or hands… or parade them for added humiliation through the corridors, dressed like the semi-naked women in the magazines they so foully lusted over! But this is the real world, not a fantasy, so of course I never did. I doubt they forgot their little interviews, though!
Anyway, at times the magazines I was brought would feature bondage, leather and suchlike. I took particular care over the humiliating interview when the material was the male-dominant variety (as, disturbingly, the majority of it was). Oh, to have been able to work through an issue of ‘Janus’ with one of these chauvinists, visiting upon their own increasingly sore bottom each and every stroke of the punishments inflicted on the imaginary ladies’ bottoms in their magazine! I was particularly struck by how many liberal, left-wing male students secretly cherished fantasies of punishing and humiliating females… quite revolting. In fact, one of our best-known Labour politicians – but my lips are sealed. Those sorts particularly feared exposure, of course, and my little interview would heavily feature that threat, as I pointedly inquired how their feminist friends were likely to react to the news that their cherished male ‘ally’, so keen to decry the slightest hint of sexism in anyone else, would retire to his room and masturbate to images of gymslip-clad adult females being caned severely in the headmaster’s office. A little hypocritical, I suppose, since my own sexual fantasies were almost a mirror image of that, but I did so enjoy making them quake and even beg a little. I hope they learnt their lessons but I doubt it. Men need a more sustained corrective regime, for any real behavioural change.
There was ‘femdom’ material too, of course. But I knew from bitter experience that most of its consumers would be either soft ‘playful spanking’ or hard ‘endurance competition’ types – and I had thoroughly lost interest in both. Most of the magazines simply featured young ladies in uncomfortable-looking leather or PVC underwear. Occasional British issues of Cruella or Vixen raised the tone a little, but even there, the focus was on highly sexualised, ritualistic and fetishized behaviour. The gap between my reality and that fantasy was simply unbridgeable.
Then one day, I was presented with a little collection of ‘Madame in a World of Fantasy’ magazines. I had seen this publication, from ‘Swish’, before, and noted how closely its material accorded with my own desires. The young man whose room had yielded this treasure trove had quite the collector’s set… and the most thumbed (and sometimes stained) pages were those featuring humiliated, crushed sissy males, living lives of oppression under female control. Often control by a rather mature female… Oh my.
Perhaps your readers will now imagine that I called in the miscreant – skivvy, of course, or rather the youngster who would become him – and took things further than the normal humiliating telling-off that I gave to most of these masturbating voyeurs? Perhaps I pulled his feebly resisting form across my womanly lap and gave him the spanking he so richly deserved? No: of course I didn’t. I wasn’t interested in a quick fling (or, for that matter, in losing my job) but I was very interested indeed in the long—term prospects and I was going to take it as slowly as necessary. I asked the cleaner to replace the stash exactly as she had found it. I did my homework on the young man in question. Young: yes. Attractive: yes, if you’re not looking for a hunk, but attractive enough in a slightly dorky, sweet vulnerable way. Oh, so vulnerable… Clever – he was in his second year and had come nearly top in the first year exams. In maths! There is good earning potential in maths. He was the one.
I won’t go into how I seduced him. He turned out to be the pushover that, knowing him better now, he would have been for any female out to get him. But I got him first. Oh – there was a girlfriend, of sorts. She presented no real difficulties. I probably did her a favour, actually. In the years since, I have used punishment essays to ensure I have details on every embarrassing incident in skivvy’s life, so I have complete accounts of every one of his (rather few) attempts at sexual intercourse, and believe me, if that girl was attracted to skivvy at all, it was for his mind. She was quite nice about his fumbles – which skivvy, the poor fool, took to be compliments, until I took him through the essay explaining how what she said was better interpreted as tactful forgiveness for what was clearly a pitiful performance… I had him write to her, actually, apologising, but she never replied. Perhaps she has become less forgiving. We women tend to, with age.
So: I moved rapidly to ensure I had no rivals in his heart. But I moved very slowly indeed in enslaving him. We enjoyed ’playful’ spankings and bondage sessions… goodness, it was difficult at times when he was held firmly across my lap only to smack away with my hand or a slipper in a measured fashion. I did enjoy it, but when I reached orgasm in our little playful sessions – as, to be fair to skivvy, I often did – he might have been surprised at some of the things I was imagining. Surprised and thoroughly disturbed.
This is a comment, not an autobiography so I will not give a blow-by-blow account of skivvy’s descent and my rise to absolute power. A few milestones stand out in my memory, though. I might write more about them and others in due course, but as a taster…
His first ‘serious’ punishment spanking. Abashed and apologetic for arriving late, he offered to be spanked. I refused to be mollified, pointing out that sex play was hardly a punishment for him. He became quite agitated; I suppose his submissiveness is an important part of his character and I was impugning it. So he asked for a ‘real punishment spanking’, agreeing to no safeword. Again, I refused. He ended up on his knees: “I want you to punish me when I’ve been bad. I need that. Please Jessica.” I finally gave in to his entreaties that day – and I have done many times since, occasionally reminding him that all of this is done at his request and his alone.
Going through his clothes, throwing out the ones I did not like (the majority) and then taking him shopping for new ones. All male clothes, that first time, of course. But rather softer, pastel shades than he was used to and anyway, it reinforced the rather maternal nature of our ‘relationship’.
His first face-slap. He did not enjoy it then and he does not now.
Career guidance. I wanted him to go and make money with his clever mathematical skills. He was interested in further ‘research’ and wanted to do a PhD. What a waste of time. ‘Dr Skivvy?’ I don’t think so. We argued about it when he was close to finishing his degree. There were tears – a good sign, I thought, as most adult men would not even try to use tears and pleading in such circumstances. It was his career, after all. So, faced with a pathetically crying skivvy, I graciously compromised and we ‘agreed’ he would do a one year advanced course and then ‘we will see’. At the time, I wondered whether I had been too flexible but actually, when I look back on it, the occasion set a useful precedent. He had got what he wanted – but only by crying and pleading. Useful reinforcement for his developing station in life. A year later, the maths programme nearly complete and my own programme for skivvy’s total subjection considerably further advanced, we had little difficulty ‘agreeing’ that he would immediately go off into the very lucrative but stressful career that he hates to this day.
His first real caning. Bliss. He begged hysterically afterwards for me never to do that to him again. I pointed out that it was up to him, it would depend on his behaviour. Our eyes met. I wonder if just for a fraction of a second he glimpsed his future and recoiled. Then his eyes dropped and he gulped “Yes Jessica, of course. I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.”
Punishment lines and punishment essays. These came quite late. Perhaps it is not too surprising. Even quite intense corporal punishment is still somewhat sexual. The bottom is usually bared, the submissive is tied, I can imagine the after-effects being erotic… there are elements of sensuality in all of that, even when the pain is too brutal to enjoy. Not so sitting fully clothed at a desk, hand aching, the sun shining outside, writing for hours because someone has told you to do it. That is not part of a playful BDSM relationship; it is a pathetic expression of subjugation. His very first line was “I must learn to be more respectful to Jessica; she does not want any back-chat when telling me off.” Just one hundred I think. The first one hundred of so, so very many in the years since.
Yes… that was the start.
Now, my dear, I must draw this to a close. Skivvy is hanging upside down from the ceiling, in the corner of the room iwhere I sit writing this. Occasionally, I prod him with the end of a cane, and he sways slowly. I told him he would dangle there until I had finished this letter and I am afraid that I have written so much more than I had intended, the poor thing must be wondering if I have embarked upon writing a novel!
I will print this letter out, and place it on the floor for him to proof-read, while I go and have a cup of tea. I see no reason why he should not do that from his current position. I can attach a rope to his hair, and pull him slightly sideways by attaching it to the wall, so his head can easily point straight down at the sheets of paper. He’ll just have to remember where any typos are, so he can correct them later on the computer. Do please let me know if he misses any.
How did it make you feel, reading these words, skivvy? Does it make you regret your life? Too late now, my toy. Far too late. I wonder how many tears will have been shed on these printed pages, when I return? I probably won’t be long. Or I might be. It’s up to me… isn’t it skivvy?
My dear, dear Scarlet, I am of course, as ever…
Yours in sincere sisterhood
For info on my own BDSM manual, in several formats, click on an image below.