Tag Archives: slave

Idle wondering and innocent images

I love to see the pro Dommes who have what appears to be their own, long term sub. Despite the income earning nature of their output, you know they are REAL in a REAL relationship. Bojana the Balkan Brat, Mistress Elaine and sissy maid Vicky, Melanie the Barefoot Princess, Cruel Sarah and her cuck, Kelli and her cuck, Louis Margot and her cuck, Princess Perfect and her sub, etc.

What I sometimes wonder about is whether some of the deliciously cruel pro Domme women who regularly appear in videos and photo shoots with many DIFFERENT subs, have a long term male sub at home? A male sub at home who suffers a regime in keeping with the cruelty these delightful women show with the subs in their videos? (And do any of them read this blog I wonder ???)

For instance, any of the women from; Miami Mean girls,  from the Brat Princesses, from Men Are Slaves, etc. And women such as Empress Jennifer,  Mistress Cindy, Mistress Elise, Brat princess Christina, Miss Barnes, Goddess Amadahy, Cybil Troy, Sarah Eve, Karin Von Kroft, etc.















Might some of these women have a full time sub at home who they do not want on video? Or do they have a vanilla male because they get all their sadism and dominance out when making femdom videos?

Just something I sometimes ponder on.


Below I provide details of my new guide for beginner Dommes. Linked to my alternative blog and, possibly unique, as it is specifically written to avoid frightening a vanilla wife or girlfriend away from trying an FLR relationship.


Deeply Affecting Collar

An excerpt below from a recently received comment, for which I am grateful. I had never before considered the extra psychological affect of a locking collar that does not even have a padlock, (to attempt to interfere with). Wow, I love it!

…..My Mistress has now replaced the leather one with a steel one that has an integrated lock, which as a result cannot be cut through. It is impossible to use a hacksaw on either the lock, or the collar without injuring yourself. The only way I think it can be removed, without the key, is by the Fire Brigade.

This is the one thing that has totally broken me as there is no possible escape from it. As it is seldom removed it is there when I go to sleep, it is there when I wake up, it is there my every waking moment, pressing down on the nape of my neck. When on display there is no way I can pretend to be anything other than a slave.

There is no physiological escape from my status with this collar. I asked Mistress the once whether see preferred me with or without my collar, the answer was immediate and it looks as if I will be wearing it for the rest of my life……

……….. Yes Mistress Scarlet that is exactly the one I have been wearing for nearly two years.
As I stated it is impossible to have it on display and pretend it is anything other than it is.
It is impossible to to ignore as the weight is always there on your shoulder.
The physiological effect is all encompassing. You cannot escape either physically or mentally, to the extent that every waking moment you have no chose but to realise that you are the property of your mistress.





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




Lady Jessica – saying NEVER!

Lady Jessica provides another delicious, delightful comment with a superb sting in the tail!

My dear Mistress Scarlet

What a lovely recent series of posts! Your confinement seems to have made you still more creatively wicked. How lucky bb must consider himself to have such undivided attention!

I feel much the same. Skivvy’s continuous domestic presence is a foretaste of what awaits him when finally he can give up the pretence at being an autonomous adult human that he has to adopt to go to the office – in normal times. That time is not far off, economy permitting, as his age and the money I have accumulated through his hard work make retirement quite possible.

I quite agree, my dear, in the value of ‘zero hope’, just as much as in other circumstances I delight in raising hopes and dashing them again. One of the words that it is a true pleasure for a dominant to pronounce is ‘never’. Like you, I have made clear that skivvy will never again have actual sexual intercourse with any female, for example. There are some more minor ‘nevers’ in his life too – he does not own and will never again wear an item of male underwear, for example.

When finally he does retire, this list of nevers will multiply as fast as my whims dictate, since he will have no opportunities for mischievous behaviour. He greatly enjoys his cup of coffee in the morning, for example. I occasionally deny him it, but I know that I cannot forbid it completely or on working days he could probably find some way of getting some, despite my tight financial controls.

So, one morning, when he is retired, I will announce that I’ve decided he has stopped drinking coffee. And that will be that. He will carefully number all the capsules, which he will need for making my coffee, so I will know if he takes one and I will impose fearsome sanctions for attempting to consume any dregs or spillage. And that will be that: one of life’s little pleasures, gone. Why? Because I say so.

And he knows this will happen. Don’t you, skivvy? Because you read this blog. One day, you’ll have a rather underwhelming little gathering at your office, making embarrassed small talk over tepid wine with your soon to be ex-workers, and then to everyone’s relief the two of us will come home and you, my little toy, will enter the final stage of your degradation. Do you feel oppressed now? Oh, just wait, you delicious little morsel, until I have you securely locked behind these doors for ever. Dreading it, skivvy? Perhaps with a little thrill of anticipation? It really doesn’t matter what you think does it? You’re not going to rebel, so it’s quite inevitable.

Yes, there will be many nevers. Perhaps one day I’ll decide he’ll never have hair again. Or warm showers. And of course, one day there’ll be the best ‘never’ of all, won’t there skivvy? Perhaps I won’t tell you that one… just leave you waiting and wondering, for ever. Wondering if perhaps today might be the day when you discover that it is not quite final, not yet. A reprieve. With just a little hope, ever-diminishing towards infinitesimal levels, but never quite, absolute zero.

Which would you find more unpleasant, skivvy? Knowing an orgasm would be your last? Or not knowing? Not that it matters what you think: my decision.

One final thought, for skivvy, especially for him. When you’re thinking about what will happen should I decide to keep you locked forever without telling you, when you’re imagining how it might feel day after day to wonder whether you will ever again experience release, thinking back longingly to your last distant orgasm, trying to supress the feelings of rage and frustration… when you think about how you’d feel if I imposed that indefinite chastity on you, think of this:

What if I already have?

Mistress Scarlet, your blog continues to shine as a beacon of sanity and joy, in a mad and msierable world. I hope you and bb are both well, you to continue your evangelising mission and he to suffer the consequential miseries for decades to come.

Yours in sincere sisterhood

Lady Jessica



Another wonderful Lady Jessica contribution

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

Lady Jessica


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








Second Interview with Jordan, Cortney’s servantboy

The first interview posted on this blog was very warmly received and greatly enjoyed by many. Cortney, (Fetlife username – MissCortney),  and Jordan have graciously provided more.

I will add one caveat. Jordan is obviously very lucky that, as he says below, he came out as a submissive to open minded family and friends. It isn’t always like that and I would be very, very cautious coming out to vanilla people. It can go very wrong indeed. I know this may sound wrong, but I suggest don’t come out to anyone you don’t need to, to live the life you want. Your choice of course.

Second Interview

What are some highlight moments from your day-to-day life as a submissive?

Being able to submit to you everyday. Having a partner that accepts me and loves me for who I am and being able to submit to you, as myself, on my knees serving and worshipping you. It feels content and more at home than ever before. Even through the rough parts I don’t like so much.
I really look forward to chances to cum because you control the frequency of my orgasms and I go days or more without them. It gets increasingly frustrating as the days go on but at that moment when you pull the keys out I get really excited in my chest. Obviously the feeling of the orgasm itself is amazing but I feel like that goes without saying.
Whenever I get your approval or praise anytime you’re happy with me or call me a good boy. That always excites when I’m pleasing you because I know that I’m doing my job and I feel useful in my place.

What are some ways my actions or words instantly send you into submission?

Anytime you call me ‘bitch’ or ‘servantboy’ or refer to me in any derogatory way or sexually tease me in anyway. Times when you randomly grab me by the hair, push me to the ground and tell me to kiss your feet. When you have terse commands, short and direct. There are times when you snap your fingers at me and tell me do something. Anytime you give me a command rather than asking for something really.

Do you think your submission has made you a better person outside of the relationship? Explain.

It’s made me more open to being myself out in public. It’s given me confidence in my day to day life to be more honest. This has become such an important thing and I care more about that and maintaining our relationship and not disrespecting you by trying to hide it from everyone – even though it’s scary and humiliating sometimes – I’m proud to wear your collar out in public now. I want to be that example for people. You don’t have to be afraid to be yourself out in the world and if people don’t like it they can look away or move on.

How do you handle pain as a sub? Any coping techniques?

There’s nothing I do, I just fucking take it. (laughing from both) Nothing I can think of. I’m completely lost in the moment. I’m not thinking of anything but the direct pain and if you have anything to say to me I’m listening whole heartedly through the pain. It basically gives me a single mind focus of you and what you’re doing and the pain I’m receiving, and there is no coping.

Do you feel submissive receiving pain?

Yes, I’m basically feeling like a piece of meat and feeling – I don’t know how to explain it – lost in this crazy fucking feeling. It is kind of like a high, but not exactly a relaxing high. It just puts me in this weird state of mind. I’m lost in the moment and I focus on each strike and the feeling. Thinking about it now, I’m scared of you but I’m revere you at the same time. It’s really hot to see your lack of empathy for me in those moments but it’s also scary. It becomes this trippy feeling in my head and mixing that with physical pain – I don’t know if that’s what subspace is?

How does ass licking and face-sitting/smothering make you feel? Has it always been a turn on?

It makes me feel really submissive! It was conflicting feelings at first. I’d seen it in porn when I was younger and was intrigued by it, but it also kind of grossed me out. I didn’t want to admit that I liked it because it was also humiliating – an ass is generally considered one of the dirtiest parts of a person. I found myself strangely intoxicated by the whole feeling. I find your scent’s intoxicating, my brain receives it in a positive way even though it’s not traditionally a pleasant smell. It puts me into a state that I think would be subspace. Presently, you’ve conditioned me so much over the years to be turned on by your smells and it’s humiliating to think that’s all I’m given to orgasm most of the time. Not always your ass, sometimes your feet, and used to be your armpits for awhile. Yet, it strangely gives me the contentment I need deep down.

What are your thoughts on subs that top from the bottom? And have you ever done this in the past?

Definitely did in the past somewhat. I wanted more of the pleasurable things and less of the servitude and work. I don’t know if it was topping from the bottom necessarily – I never told you what specific scenes to do – but I would try to push the bedroom stuff a lot more. I didn’t really want to do the chores and mundane tasks just to get what I wanted. I wanted all the pleasure without the pain or work.

It seems odd to me because if you’re really submissive then what you actually want is the person to take control. I think, sometimes, subs topping from the bottom are with people that aren’t really dominant or at least haven’t expressed or explored their dominance yet. And they are with a sub that has these fantasies and the way males get when we’re horny, we’re so single minded. At least from a males perspective, I can’t speak for a female submissive. As a submissive male, you get so horny and single-minded, and I imagine if you’re not with someone that’s expressing dominance much you might have a desire to guide it to a particular scene. But to me, I think it would leave you unsatisfied in the end if you had been the one topping and controlling the situation that happened, because then you’re not really even being dominated…

What advice would you give to a budding submissive?

If there’s something you seem interested in, try not to feel embarrassed or ashamed of it, because that’s something I know I felt from the start. Continuing to feel ashamed of something that you’re into, especially if you’re not hurting anyone, you’re basically making it into a bad thing yourself, by hiding it and harbouring all these negative feelings for it. The moment where I finally accepted my submission openly – not shouting it at the world but more, it’s here if you want to see it now – was so fucking freeing. For submissive men to be able to accept themselves and to just give in and go with it. It might open other doors to new pleasures you might not have otherwise. For lifestyle submissives specifically, be prepared to accept a reality that’s much different than the fantasy.

When you accepted your submission and told your friends and family about it, how were their responses and the entire experience of sharing your true self?

It was positive for me because it was a very underwhelming reaction from everyone. Everyone was just like, ‘okay’, and they were interested in it. I expected a much bigger reaction. It was definitely freeing to see people not judging me. That being said, I know there’s tons of people out there that do or would judge me for it, but I guess it doesn’t matter to me as much when it’s just random people. It’s the people in my life that I was more concerned with their thoughts/opinions.

What do you think has made our female led relationship as successful and strong as it has been?

Open communication is number one, for sure. Honesty. Consistency from both sides. That’s when I noticed a big difference in feeling subjugated everyday as opposed to in short bursts. You are literally always on me now. You’re always controlling. You enforce rules which I have to live by, or else. That in turn, keeping me in my place all the time, has allowed to me to grow as your sub, and serve you better and more whole heartedly.

In our relationship specifically, what are you most grateful for?

You, Mistress.

Cortney’s story

Here is another generously provided account. This one from a fantastic young Domme by the name of Cortney. A real lifestyle girlfriend enforcing a pretty full-on regime that began when she was 20.
I have found it rare for women to come to be dominant young in life. The women I have come across, with a few of exceptions, have all come to dominance in their late 30s, or their 40s or 50s.
I hate stereotyping by any attribute; including age, but I do notice a delightful and impressive purity of approach in women who have come to dominance while young. An absolute feeling or sense that submissives are solely for using and abusing to make life easy and pleasurable for the Domme; AND that there is NO COMPROMISE to that; there can be almost no give and take, almost regardless of what the submissives may prefer or dislike. I know and understand why such an approach is the perfect fantasy for most submissives. There is zero ambiguity. The submissive has no influence over how they are dominated beyond pleading, or imploring, which may often be rejected. That zero ambiguity can be a huge 24/7/365 comfort for a submissive. Cortney is a superb Domme in this regard.
I adore her account and her attitude.
Our BDSM Beginnings

My name is Cortney – 27 years old – and I have been exploring bdsm and building a female-led relationship with my partner and submissive, Jordan – 26 years old – for the past seven years.

It wasn’t long into our vanilla relationship that we became intrigued by the kinky world of bdsm play. We started dating in January 2013 – my first REAL relationship at 20 years of age and first partner I trusted to explore some kinks that I’d heard about with. But, we didn’t start the relationship with me being dominant.

I believe it to be the pressures of tradition and societal upbringing that naturally caused us to presume the opposite roles then those we subconsciously desired. You know; the man in charge, sexually dominant and in control, the woman submitting on her knees and pleasuring the man as he wishes. *eye roll*

My mindset change began with realizing, first, what I didn’t like. He’d usually be on top, his weight alone pinning me down; he’d pull my hair and occasionally grip my throat; he’d put hand his over my mouth and call me his slut; he’d thrust his dick further in my mouth; he’d forcefully move me into new positions he desired. I felt used, a little degraded and it was distracting me from what I wanted and pulling me out of the mental high we all wish to achieve in sex .

At first, I didn’t speak up – years of oppression conditioned me to be silent. But our relationship was loving and trusting and that allowed me to blossom. I started to say ‘no’, to slap his hand away and resist his dominant acts. He was always fucking me till he orgasmed and I rarely did. I let him know of my dissatisfaction and he looked disappointed in himself, and his mindset started shifting his aim to pleasing me – bringing me to orgasm.

I can remember the first moment I felt in control of my pleasure. I had mounted him of my own volition, kissed him when I wanted to be kissed, gripped his hair and pulled his head back when it was enough. I held his wrists down and used his body, his manhood, for my pleasure alone. I let go of my thoughts, all reservations and inhibitions.  I listened to my impulses and acted on them. I felt strong and sexy and empowered, things I rarely felt. Jordan was really receptive, and by the end of it, looked a little lost in a miraculous way. A little in awe of me. From there we started incorporating more bondage, him relinquishing more control to me, and I would verbalize my dominance over him. We were freeing ourselves from the restraints of societal expectation, not knowing that it’d soon grow into a lifestyle that would, in fact, challenge society.

I used to find it really hard to reach orgasm in the beginning of our relationship, that’d we’d often both become exhausted and I’d give up. Gradually, orgasms began happening more, but still difficult to reach. Then all of a sudden, a few years into our relationship (coincidentally when our D/s element was picking up) I started having multiple intense orgasms – lasting minutes, squirting and leaking so much fluid, legs tensed and aching. It was phenomenal. I never attributed it to the power I was feeling but it now makes sense to me. 

After I began switching roles in the bedroom more often, he was falling further into submission and battling with self-acceptance and societal judgement of what was beginning to feel like his natural place. He liked being used for my pleasure and found himself wanting more intensity and less freedom. Despite seeing femdom on the rise in porn, it was still a filthy secret Jordan refused to admit to anyone he knew, besides myself.

I vividly remember the day that I believe sparked the explosion that is now our FLR. Him and I were walking the streets of Oshawa, Ontario, visiting one of the three sex shops that we liked there. We were filled with so much sexual adventure and still so uneducated on anything BDSM. What we knew was that he was an ass guy, and he wanted to try more ass play (giving), and I was super curious about having a tongue in my ass! I honestly don’t remember what we purchased that day – anal beads? Lube? Crotchless panties? I don’t know.. Anyway, we were on a mission – a journey – to get that hot moist tongue circling my asshole and send us both into ecstasy. There was a bit more hesitation (on my end) the first moment I was introducing him to my scent, though as I remember it, he was eager to get in there. ;] After that session, we discussed it and we needed an outlet. Somewhere to connect with people that share this interest and help us learn and grow and try out more. We found Fetlife and that has been our outlet ever since.

The ass licking turned to face-sitting, and then smothering while he’s restrained, and so forth.. I found myself planning more trips to Forbidden Pleasures and Naughty But Nice and finding new ways to control, tease and torture him. I became fascinated by chastity/orgasm control, light sadism, forced feminization, and exhibitionism. He accepted that he was turned on by being forced to do things he didn’t like.

Thinking back to our first years with BDSM, I find some of what we did laughable in comparison to where we are now with it. I can only imagine my mindset in another 5, 10 years. For example, when we were getting into chastity, I mostly only caged his dick when I would leave for work to ensure he receives no pleasure, no orgasms in my absence. But for the most part, if I was home, I didn’t think he required the cage. (Little did I know it is ABSOLUTELY necessary for his training and conditioning.) Eventually, I created a point-system for him to receive his freedom. Every day the cage would go on and he’d have a variety of tasks worth 1 – 3 points and he’d have to earn his release. I now find this method pathetic and unsatisfying because I was basically relinquishing control to my sub for him to decide when he wanted to complete tasks and he’d only be useful to me when he was ready for his cum, and then afterwards he’d become disobedient, bratty and inattentive.

Our entire FLR has progressed with the help of Fetlife linking us to fetishes we never knew about, groups and events geared towards varying fetishes, and all types of people to learn from. Fetlife is where we have been broadcasting insight into our FLR greatly; through photos, but I am considering a bdsm blog of my own to elaborate on our experiences and serve any purpose it provides. It’s been seven years since we delved into this kinky abyss and we have plenty of growth to come.



I’ve been wanting to write this piece for some time now. To enlighten and educate anyone interested in learning about the raw realities of our relationship. Every D/s relationship is different and I speak only for ours specifically. I hope this will provide a better understanding and also deter pathetic subs begging/harassing me for what they can’t handle.

I wouldn’t say that our relationship is not extreme BDSM at all. Yes it can be intense at times but I still consider it to be mild in the grand spectrum of BDSM and from what I’ve seen on Fetlife. Though for beginners, and anyone seeking BDSM play solely for sexual purposes, I don’t think MY lifestyle is necessarily for you. You will have to build up your femdom lifestyle in your own unique way. My sub endured years of training and conditioning to be compliant and content with where we are now. You can’t just watch some kinky porn, try bondage once and be able to step into the chastity device of my sub knowing how to serve. Yes, he is quite fortunate to have a full-time Domme, but I am also fortunate to have a sub so eager to serve, suffer and yield his life to me. He is attentive, patient, loyal, passionate, honest and diligent. I know not all of you first entering the realm of BDSM would be resilient enough to succeed as my sub. But with a compatible match, consistency and passion you can create a deep, trusting D/s dynamic that works for both of you.

Our female led relationship is a lifestyle choice, not just a kinky sex life. This entails many non-pleasurable and mundane responsibilities. We aren’t always horny / in play-mode. We are average people, living average lives. We have other hobbies and responsibilities. We have vulnerabilities and insecurities and passions. While we exercise our female-led relationship everyday, not every part of me is dominant and not every part of him is submissive. I can be passive, indecisive, or indifferent. I can be empathetic and soft. I can be lazy or tired or depressed or moody and have no motivation to express my dominance. But that’s okay, because everyone has bad days and my sub understands what I need at these times. The same with my sub, he has his bad days too. He can be lazy and stubborn and challenging. He can get emotional and sensitive and not in the mood to serve. But we keep trying, keep building each other up to be a better Domme and a better sub for one another.



Yes, he is always chastised (24-7) and I am in complete control of when and how he receives orgasms. There is no specific schedule or system, I like it to be at my impulse. I am not incredibly torturous and he is my handy sex toy, so usually, I will let him cum once or twice a week. These are the only times he is out of chastity, at which time he also gives the chastity device a thorough cleaning. BUT! He could be chastised for a week or more and it’s not always pleasant surrendering the freedom of your manhood and orgasms.

Included in the orgasm control is the fact that he can only receive pleasure through me. He is sexually denied other women, watching porn, jerking off to other women, nor can he flirt or entertain the idea of the receiving pleasure of any form from another women. He ONLY receives orgasm and sexual pleasure through worshipping/serving/pleasuring me. All I allow him is the freedom to browse Fetlife photos (while chastised) and he also quite enjoys reading the BDSM blog of MsScarlet. For my benefit, I get to hear about the stories he reads and often inspires me with new ideas for growth (and furthering suffering for him :P).



Servitude is the most consistent, everyday aspect of our FLR, and the most valuable requirement I’d expect from any sub that wishes to serve me. This is also the part that can be mundane and tiresome for a sub day in, day out. I command him to prepare the coffee maker every morning – despite him not drinking coffee himself. I have him cook me meals – he may be my table or foot stool while I eat and his food gets cold, he may eat at my feet, or I may be generous and allow him to eat with me on my level. He services me with massages – EVERY SINGLE DAY – and not just my feet or back. He often is required to massage my entire body while I relax and enjoy my shows.

He opens my doors. He carries my shopping items or pushes my cart when there’s too many to carry and then pays for my purchases. He takes me out for meals and pays the bill with no complaints. Everything we do together he serves me first. He packs my bongs and serves it to me on his knees. He chauffeurs me to do errands and anywhere I need to go. He refers to me as Miss in public, Mistress if no one vanilla is around. He’s required to clean up the apartment when it is needed. Even if he is given time to himself, he must be ready to serve at any moment I call him.

While the fantasy of servitude can be hot to some, the reality is that it requires a lot of discipline and dedication. We know that it takes consistency and we each have the responsibility to our role. Even if he is lazy, in the middle of a video game, desperate to cum and knowing he won’t be getting release; he must still get up and serve me that coffee, he must still kneel before me and massage my feet, he must still open my doors and cook my meals. And, if he denies, resists or takes too long to act, it is then my responsibility to set him in line, remind him of his place and assertively guide him in the right direction.

Along with the chastity, he also wears a collar at all times, except when working. The collar serves as, not only a constant reminder of his servitude but also, an act of humiliation when he goes out in public.



I have never actually considered myself a sadist. I don’t seek out sadistic porn, it does nothing for me. But for some reason I have grown to quite enjoy watching sub squirm and burst in sudden moans of pain as I lash him. My clit is starting to dance at the thought of him now, wriggling beneath me.

Sadism and degradation is exercised most in our sexual encounters and his punishments. For punishments it’s fairly self explanatory. If he misbehaves, he needs to be punished. Varying degrees depending on the extent of the infraction and this almost always entails some sort of sadistic session – cropping/flogging/shocking/etc – paired with bondage and verbal degradation, followed by a longer duration of chastity.

One of my biggest fantasies is kidnapped slave/mild rape play, in which sadism and degradation play a huge role. Our sex life isn’t always so physically pleasurable for sub as he’s choked, gagged, restrained, masked, objectified and used for my pleasure. I may crop or paddle or peg his sweet ass. I may call him degrading words and choke him of his. He becomes a pathetic, helpless bitch and by the end of it I have him loving every bit of it, wanting my cum all over him. I need this from a sub. I need to know I am not limited by narrow comfort levels and low pain tolerance. I need the depth of trust and acceptance in a sub that frees my dominance.



Humiliation is growing to be a more prominent part of our relationship, largely because I can see how it affects him – flicking his submissive switch instantly and I can see the fear in his eyes.

This could include..

  • Forced feminization – wearing panties, female maid outfit, frilly pink outfits. Not always in the privacy of our home. Could be in the backyard, on the balcony, or under his regular clothes when he’s out in public.
  • Cuck masturbation – having him chastised, licking my ass while I vibe my clit to porn, or denying him altogether as I get off.
  • Mental subjugation – relinquishing his life to me in its entirety (elaborated on in lifestyle control paragraph below)
  • Objectification – he’s often required to carry my shopping items or act as my furniture, remaining in awkward, uncomfortable positions for extended periods of time.



Sub also has to surrender his personal life to me. I may deny him his pleasure-foods and control how much he needs to exercise. I control how much alcohol he’s allowed to drink, if at all. XD. I control how much time he’s allowed to himself and how he’s allowed to spend that time.

I ultimately make all the decisions that matter to me. Don’t get me wrong, I will ask sub his opinion or to give me input, so I can make a more informed decision, and sometimes I am flat-out indifferent. But what matters, is that if I make a decision, my sub must accept it without complaining or arguing.

Our FLR is constantly evolving and intensifying. Over the years that we’ve been together we’ve had struggles – both in and out of the relationship – and the dominance/submission we provide one another has been healing to our souls and fulfilling in our lives.

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!

Can vanilla ever compare? (post 2)

Well a rather low response to my post of 11 May on a comparison of the number/quality of orgasms Domme women get compared to vanilla women. But the comments I did get were of very high quality! Thank you so much to those that commented on this personal topic!

From my limited sample so far, plus my own experience, it seems pretty conclusive that both the number and the quality of orgasms Domme women get are hugely superior to those of vanilla women. This is perhaps an issue of importance I have underplayed both in my blog and in my published BDSM manual, as a component of convincing vanilla women to become Dominants.

I was VERY DISAPPOINTED with the many MALE submissives who read my blog who  have experienced relationships with vanilla women and then dominant women, but did not help me gather the data I was after. Shame on them. I would still however like more data on this topic because I like to make claims about BDSM based on evidence rather than intuition.

I understand many womens’ magazines have articles on female orgasms and how to get them or get more. I bet none has suggested women find a sub male (or female) and become a Domme!

I was and am surprised over the coyness of Dommes to talk about this topic. :-) Dommes who have no coyness at all over telling the world about their very depraved activities while using and abusing their male puppets, blushingly tight lipped about their orgasms. :-) I fear this may be societal / cultural conditioning. Men are quite happy to bang on about how, on average, they are born physically stronger than females and with better spatial awareness. But women too shy to mention, even on this blog!, that can have a far superior orgasm count than males during a ‘sex’ session.

As an aside, it dawned on me how it must be a little less sexually satisfying being a male Dom rather than a female Domme? The male Dom experiencing a loss of interest in things sexual for quite some time after orgasm while for most female Dommes, interest immediately and fully continues!



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


Sweet for her, nasty for him.

To what does the heading refer? I refer to tone of voice and demeanour.

One thing I REALLY love, which you occasionally see in Femdom videos, is the schizophrenic tonal style Dommes can adopt when there is more than one of them present with one sub male.

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

Two Dommes or several Dommes applying this schizophrenic tonal style alternation is a delight to witness. It is something Mistress Nicola does sometimes when visiting bitch-boy and I, and it is a joy to witness.

The implication is clear. The Domme applying this schizophrenic tonal style alternation demonstrates what a considerate, contented and polite person she is when addressing a fellow female, but then, when addressing the sub she shows her utter contempt of him and absence of patience or leniency. She is irritated the male exists at all. Slow responses will not be tolerated. The smallest infractions will not be tolerated. Delightful!