Scream queens

I quite often get scared in session, but I wouldn’t call any of that a ‘phobia’, as such.  Phobias are irrational fears.


Probably best if they never find out. They’re so sweet and innocent, long may they stay that way.
People like her contribute to the unfair stereotyping of the BDSM community.  You should say something – when you’ve got your breath back, obviously.
I don’t think it bothers her.
French capital punishment scenarios require some quite specialised equipment (although easy enough for any domme with slaves with carpentry skills).  Anyone wanting to try out American cap-pun play is going to need something to step up the voltage. Ordinary electricity’s not quite enough to kill, even in Europe.  I mean, it works eventually, but if the client’s only paid for a couple of hours, the domme’s at risk of the scenario not working out.

Keeping it real

More images of female domination that aim to expose the harsh – sometimes even bleak – reality that underlies our harsh – sometimes even bleak – fantasy world.

Subs are all about rules.  It’s good of dommes to indulge us. I don’t know what I’d do with myself without my chastity regime, for example.

Fake lesbian crap?  On this blog? Surely not.

We would not.

…and I suppose it would be exciting to imagine that she’d be sitting on him, too.  But her fantasy is probably more along the lines of her sitting somewhere else entirely – a nice cafe, for instance – properly dressed.


Now you’re thinking with portals

A Serena and Alice story

Ages since I wrote a story about these two lovely ladies.  Serena is smart as a whip but hurts a lot more.  Alice is sweet and playful and kind… OK, not always particularly kind, to be honest.  But definitely playful.  Anyway, they make a lovely couple. 

Fans of sweet and affectionate lesbian relationships, especially those spiced up with a delicious sprinkling of brutal torture of males, might enjoy the following and even find themselves drawn to check out a few more, here.

Readers of a nervous disposition, in contrast, should instead contact Serena in person.  She’d love to get to know you better.

Finally, anyone who is completely cool with castration, torture and murder for sexual kicks but has no idea what the whole ‘portal’ thing is about should watch this.  I believe that GladOS is actually based on Serena, although obviously the game designers made her a much nicer person, for a mainstream audience.

What adventures await on the other side of this mysterious orange portal?  Step through and find out.

Now you’re thinking with portals

“Whee!” Alice laughed delightedly as she tumbled through the
orange-rimmed oval into the waiting arms of her beloved Serena.  The two kissed passionately several times.

“That was my first time!” Alice gasped.  “It’s weird, isn’t it?  One minute I was there, the next I’m here…
with you.” And she smiled, shyly.

“Faster than light” Serena nodded.

Alice’s pretty brow furrowed in puzzlement, as it
occasionally does when the dialogue requires some explication.

“But – I thought faster-than-light travel wasn’t possible?  I thought scientists had proven that.”

“Male scientists” replied Serena.

“Oh I see” Alice replied. 
“Yes, that would explain it.  My husband David has all sorts of funny ideas about speed and time. Just the other day I
told him I needed the kitchen cleaned, the laundry done and dinner cooked all
by 7 o’clock and he said it wasn’t possible! 
I had to explain to him for almost twenty minutes that I wanted it

“And did he manage it all?” Serena smiled.

“Oh yes” Alice replied. 
“In fact, he got it all done with five minutes to spare, even after I’d
taken that extra time explaining.  In fact, he
was begging to be allowed to get on with it less than halfway through my explanation.  He worked very hard after that – he’s a good
boy, really.”

“But he lied to you – when he said it couldn’t be done?”
Serena prompted.

Alice frowned again.  “Yes,
I suppose he did, didn’t he… the lying little toad!  I’ll have to talk to him about that.”

Serena felt a warm glow of satisfaction.  Although she felt no jealously towards David, she
always liked to hear about him suffering. 
As she did with all men, but David’s relationship with Alice gave her a
special interest in his welfare, one she hoped would one day lead to his taking
on a new role: as one of her experimental subjects*.  In the meantime, though, she enjoyed finding fault
with him from a distance.  For his part,
David had learnt to dread conversations with his beloved wife that began with “I
was talking to Serena, and…”

“Anyway, obviously they got the maths wrong” Serena began.

“David does a lot of that, too” nodded Alice. “When we first
got together, he used to use maths to try to get out of buying things for
me.  Things I needed.”  She looked upset again.

“And now we have these amazing portals everywhere” Serena
went on quickly, suddenly worried that her lover might have such a powerful
urge to go and ‘explain’ things to David that she might step back home through
the portal. “It’s astonishing how many uses there are for them.”

Alice took her hand and smiled up at her.  “Maybe.  But I don’t think I’m ever going to need another one, now I’ve got the link between my bedroom and here.”

The two embraced again, at length. 

Serena and Alice.  I believe this might not actually a picture of the two ladies, but David confirmed to me that this is very much how he sees them.  He told me that the one on the left is his beloved Alice and when I asked about the one on the right, he curled into a little ball and started gibbering about finding a happy place, so I guess that must be Serena.

“I mean, my bedroom’s just a few steps away…” Alice murmured,
through her smooshed lips.

“And I’d love to step through with you” smiled Serena. “But
I want to show you a few things first.  I’ve
been thinking with portals!”

“Am I about to have a science lesson?” giggled Alice. Although
not inclined towards intellectual pursuits, she had a keen curiosity about applied
science, as long as it was being applied to males as painfully as possible –
which, fortuitously, happened to be Serena’s main research interest too.

“What have you been doing with them… sending men to
unpleasant places?”

“Oh, portals aren’t just transportation devices.” Serena
replied.  “There are so many uses: they’re
going to transform the world.  You can
break the laws of thermodynamics with a well-positioned pair of portals, so you
can have unlimited free energy, for example. 
Imagine how that could liberate the world from toil and drudgery.”

Down the corridor, a naked male on hands and knees who had
been scrubbing the floorboards with a small brush looked up.  Unluckily, he happened to meet Serena’s gaze
and instantly dropped his head down again, applying himself still more
vigorously to the task. A light sheen of sweat appeared, as he trembled in

“Yes, well, I mean that toil and drudgery will become
optional, anyway” Serena added, staring coolly at the labouring man. “Only
available to a lucky few.”

“Who had better hope for a lifetime of toil and
drudgery.” she continued, in a quiet voice that seemed nonetheless to carry
effortlessly over to the male’s location. 
“Because there are plenty of alternatives and believe me, they are all so much

She watched for a moment more, observing the brush which
itself seemed close to breaking the lightspeed barrier, so quickly was it
flashing back and forth.  A few tears
splashed down and were vigorously rubbed into the wooden boards.  Serena didn’t mind that.  In fact she thought it
provided a pleasant and delicate patina to a wooden surface.  When she’d had a new wooden floor put into
her bedroom, she had worked most of the morning to acquire a bucket brimming
full of male tears, to allow the whole surface to be thoroughly doused with
this most enriching substance.

Serena took out a leather-covered box, of the sort an
expensive ring would come in.  Which is
exactly what it had been, when originally purchased to present Serena with one of
the eleven engagement rings she had received in her life.  None of the men in question had ever actually become her husband, of course, but nine had succeeded in their ambition to
spend the rest of their lives with her, and the surviving two were still
working on it, deep in the cellars beneath her mansion house.

She opened it, to show Alice the ovals glowing orange and
blue against the black velvet cushioning, one in the base and one in the lid of the unclasped box.

“But what’s the point when they’re so small?” Alice asked,
supremely oblivious of the almost intolerable temptation she was placing on the author to make an obvious and very bad joke. 

“I’ll show you” smiled Serena, and she led her lover by the
hand, to a well-furnished room, one side of which was occupied by a large
glass-fronted cupboard that could serve well as a trophy cabinet.  Inside were the trophies: row after row of
male genitalia, most of them with penises encased in a chastity device, some
with permanent-looking piercings apparently achieving the same end.  Some were bruised or showed other signs of violent
treatment; all had a gentle glow of orange or blue behind them, showing the
presence of science’s latest triumph.

Serena opened the door and reached in, for a large, pallid
and relatively undamaged example hanging under a sign reading “Peter the lawyer”.

a picture of Peter the lawyer, in case you were wondering what he looks
like.  This photo was taken the day he met Serena, I believe, which
explains why he is still looking so calm and unbruised.  What’s that? 
You don’t want to see pictures of Peter, you want pictures of the
ladies?  Well, that’s typical of the dismissive attitude to males in
femdom porn, frankly.  He’s central to the story too, you know.  He’s
the canvas on which the work of art will be created, after all.

She flicked open the chastity tube, which had been secured
but not locked, removed it and handed the pallid pile of flesh to her

After at first simply goggling at it lying helplessly in her
hands, Alice turned it over in wonder. 
She had held men’s genitals in her hands before, of course.  Sometimes living and attached to men,
sometimes detached and floppy – more often the latter, since she had become
Serena’s lover.  But never had she held a
set of genitals that were both separated from their owner yet also, somehow,
still attached.  For around the base of the
penis and balls, where the arrangement would normally fuse seamlessly with the rest
of a man’s body, glowed the orange light of a miniature portal some two inches
in diameter, just like the ones Serena had shown her before.

Alice had little doubt that, wherever Peter the lawyer happened
to be, there was a blue glowing ring between his legs, of just the same size as
this one.  When she turned the genitals
over to look closely into the ring, she could see how it cut across the
still-living tissue.  Blood vessels pulsed
gently, showing that vital fluid was circulating still in the penis that,
although still very much attached to its owner’s body, was also in the extraordinarily perilous position of being in Serena’s trophy cabinet and indeed, in Alice’s
hands.  For Serena, as a lesbian, genital
torture was merely another way to inflict pain, but Alice – to her lover’s mild
disapproval – was bisexual and her continuing heterosexual leanings provided
her with a frisson of interest in a shapely cock. Of course, the end result of
the two ladies’ interest in male genitalia was much the same, as Alice’s
sexuality was firmly oriented towards the sadistic end of the spectrum.  But holding a living cock for her still provided
some of the same thrill she had first experienced at school when she had felt a
boy becoming hard in his trousers as he pressed against her in the school diner
queue.  On that occasion, the boy in
question had merely been expelled when she reported him, but the pleasure of
punishing an errant penis had remained with her.

Soon there was no need to observe cross-sectioned vessels pulsing
in order to deduce that blood was flowing into the spongy tissues of the penis,
as Peter the lawyer, his penis liberated from the tight embrace of his steel
tube, was responding naturally to the soft touch of Alice’s hands.  It was unconscious, simply an automatic
sexual response – as was Alice’s desire to inflict unspeakable pain on him, when she saw
what was happening.

“He’s being naughty” she remarked, handing the growing item
back to Serena.  Serena smiled and grasped
the end of the penis, firmly tweaking the end three times to the right.  “That’s a signal” she explained.  “In case he’s out in public: it’s to tell him
to go somewhere private.  Let’s give him sixty

She took a heavy bulldog clip and trapped a generous pinch
of foreskin between its tight jaws then hung the ensemble from a hook in the
wall.  From a small drawer she took a
foot-long metal ruler and a tiny vicious-looking whip with eight thin leather
strands, each terminating in a tight little knot.  She offered both soundlessly to Alice who
dithered pleasurably for a few moments before selecting the whip. 

They waited a moment longer, then Serena said “That’ll do”
and the two ladies went vigorously to work.

Alice had whipped men’s genitals before, of course.  But there was something delightfully different
about flicking the thin leather strands across a pair of balls that dangled at
the end of an object itself hanging from a clipped foreskin.  They moved more than she was used to, the
punished testicles acting as the weight of a pendulum that swang back and forth
as Alice rhythmically struck from one side to the other.  Serena got into the game too, cracking her
ruler to accelerate the battered testicles as they swung back, at one point
cracking so hard that they described a complete circle.

“We could try hooking them up to one of those… what do you
call them – tennis things” gasped Alice, her eyes shining with excitement.

“Swingball!” Serena called back joyously, sending Peter the
lawyer’s testicles hurtling around another full circle.  She grinned at her lover, delighted by her
creativity.  It was Serena who usually
came up with the most unpleasant ideas between the two of them, but she herself
would be the first to admit she would not have invented half the things she
had, without someone to show them off to. 

They batted back and forth for a few minutes more, then
stopped to admire their handiwork.  Peter’s
balls (or, technically, Serena’s balls that happened to be attached to Serena’s
male body often designated ‘Peter’) were swollen and purple.  In
places, burst blood vessels added a still darker patch to the abused
flesh.  Serena took out her phone with
satisfaction, dialled two digits and held it out on speaker.

“Th… thank you Mistress Serena” sobbed the man at the other

“And?” snapped Serena.

“And… and…. I deserved it, and I need the punis – “

“I mean, Miss Alice, you ungrateful little sod!” shouted
Serena and clicked the phone off, in the middle of a gasped “Oh – thank you Miss
A-“.  Then she grasped the abused scrotum
hanging so forlornly on the wall and began twisting it around and around, swapping
hands to maintain the tension as she did so. After six turns, the penis reminded
Alice of a wet towel twisted around to administer a beating (another image that
recalled fond memories of school days, when she had made boys beat one another to
win her favour) but this time it was the rolled-up sausage itself that took the
beating, as Serena expertly cracked the steel ruler across it, working her way
around and down to ensure no nerve endings were left untreated.

Finally, she stopped, allowed the bruised, battered mass to
unravel itself, and hung it back inside the cabinet, beneath the sign proclaiming
the lucky recipient of the desperate nerve signals shrieking their agony out through
the dimensionless portal, to be ‘Peter the lawyer’.

“Aren’t you going to put the chastity tube back on?” asked
Alice, always alert to the danger that a male might obtain some enjoyment in what
was intended to be the eternal misery of his life.  Serena cast an expert eye over the dark
purple mounds that held the future of Peter’s genetic line.

“Probably no need” she murmured.  “Still: best to make sure” and she reached
out and tugged the testicles smartly in a half-circle and down, in a single
sharp motion.  “There” she said.

Serena had more things to show her dear sweet Alice, but
Alice insisted on leading her back through her own portal, the one leading to
her bedroom where, dear reader, whatever the laws of physics might say, you and
I cannot follow.

[End of Part 1. Will there be a Part 2?  Who knows.  I certainly don’t.  Update: now I do and here it is.  And even a Part 3]

It’s OK, they’ve finished now.  You’re allowed in to bring them breakfast when summoned.  It’ll make a nice change for Alice, not to have to wait until that lazy bastard Dave finally gets around to thinking of someone other than himself… **

**(Actually this isn’t a picture of them either.  I was asked not to use real pictures of either lady and when I asked why, Serena muttered something about needing to keep her anonymity so she can track down and ‘collect’ readers of this blog, whatever that means.  Anyway, she’s a very private person.)

 *  Attentive readers might be aware that in an earlier story, that is exactly what happened.  But what is ‘earlier’ and what ‘later’ when we are dealing with concepts such as faster-than-light travel, which can break the laws of causality?  And, for that matter, with Serena and Alice, who have never yet encountered a law they did not feel they could break if they really, really wanted to?  Life is not linear.  It’s more like a wibbly-wobbly ball of timey-wimey…stuff, anyway.

PS – It has just this second occured to me that although I created this series in 2011, the only professional dominatrices I have seen on any kind of a regular basis  in the last five years have been… Serena and Alice.  Both are utterly, utterly wonderful, neither is really much like the characters here***, but I just wonder… is this a subconscious thing?  Or might there be something to this time travel malarky after all?  Cue spooky music…

 *** Except, come to think of it, in hair colour.  Spooky ooky…

Head under heels

That’s the way I fell in love, many years and almost as many orgasms ago…

It’s important to fight back against the stereotypes.  Wear the t-shirt, use the hashtag, carry the pliers.

Well, it’s more romantic than stealing them from clotheslines.

It’s best not to think about it too much.  Thinking generally isn’t a sissy maid’s strong point anyway.

I’ve never really understood knitwear fetishism, although enforced knitting as an alternative to line-writing has its attractions.

Thank goodness for that. Lots of vanilla escorts wouldn’t have been so in tune with your needs, you know, might have just gone ahead and given you a blow job anyway.  She’s obviously very special.


Regrettably, like most submissives I have spent much too much of my life under-ruled.

and a fur coat. From his remaining 20% of his income. Otherwise it wouldn’t count as a present, would it?

I actually find a caning can bring quite intense sexual pleasure. To be honest, that’s usually a relief because she pauses for a while when she comes.

Modern financial products developed specifically for findomme relationships are much more convenient – you can really feel in control of someone else’s finances, which can be very reassuring.

Sounds quite edgy… make sure you agree a safeword before she starts, yeah?

Perhaps she forgot to mention that before? It’s an important point of detail, obviously, but the most important aspects of the plan –  her not married any more, inheriting all your assets – those are actually the same regardless of the actual mechanics of the process.

Graceless, Feckless, Aimless and Pointless

… that’s me.  But also characters in a novel by the divine Stella Gibbons which contains little if any femdom, I’ll admit, although Kate Beckinsale takes a rather firm hand with people in an entirely non-kinky way in the movie.

Now: something nasty from the woodshed.

She’s actually strictly vanilla. Very strictly.

I feel you ought to say something about this.

Oh, I hate mandatory penile minimum rules, don’t you?  It started out just with the nightclubs, and I can understand that, but I took my suit to the dry cleaners the other day, they insisted on a measurement and they wouldn’t take my suit unless I scrubbed and ironed for four hours, just for being four inches below the required minimum length!  It doesn’t seem fair.

Don’t make Mommy use her cattleprod, now!

There are no ‘problems’, only solutions.

Sorry about this

Sometimes I do things like this.  It’s a compulsion.  It’s best just to ignore me.

When I was a lad I fantasised
being by a lady with a cane chastised
visited a
domme and
I paid my dues,

And I polished up the
on her high heeled shoes.

(He polished up
leather on her high heeled shoes.)

I polished up that
That now I am
sissy maid to Mistress B.

(He polished up that
leather so carefully that now he is a sissy maid to Mistress B!)

Ti tum ti tum ti tum ti tum

our next encounter, I played the role

Of a schoolboy, under very strict control,

With my tie askew and my homework late

I wrote five hundred times that I
deserved my fate.

(He wrote five hundred times that he
deserved his fate.)
I copied all those lines so obediently,
That now I am a sissy maid to Mistress B.

(He copied all those lines so obediently
that now he is a sissy maid to Mistress B!)

turned up each month with my tribute in hand

In a plain paper envelope like contraband

And soon found myself, though not first – by far

Appointed to her stable as a regu-lar

(Appointed to her stable as a regu-lar.)
I was
spanked and pegged

That now I am a sissy maid to Mistress B.

(He was spanked and pegged so reg-u-larlee that now he is a sissy maid to Mistress

In visiting my Mistress for my monthly
For a sign of her favour I began to ask
And my joy knew no bounds when, before her throne

I received a leather collar naming me her
(He received a leather collar naming him her own.)
That collar was my passage to slavery,
So now I am a sissy maid to Mistress B

(That collar was his passage to slavery so
now he is a sissy maid to Mistress B!)

Quite soon in my journey as a collared

I was fitted with a tube so I don’t misbehave

And I soon experienced a sharp decrease

In the frequency with which I could achieve release.

(The frequency with which he could
achieve release.

I spent so much time in chastity

That now I am a sissy maid to Mistress B.

(He spent so much time in chastity,
that now he is a sissy maid to Mistress B).

I retired from my job, free at last from

And I bought myself an apron and a frilly

For my plans for retirement had been long

To attempt domestic service as a sissy maid!

(To attempt domestic service as a sissy maid)

I teetered on my heels so precariously

That now I am a sissy maid to Mistress B.

(He teetered on his heels so
precariously, that now he is a sissy maid to Mistress B).


If you dream of a lifetime spent in unpaid work,
the cane awaiting when you dare to shirk

If your heart leaps high at the thought of a mop

And a life down scrubbing on your knees,

(And a life down scrubbing on your knees,

all of your money on your session fee

And you all may be
maids to Mistress B.

(Spend all of your money on a session
fee and you all may be sissy maids to Mistress B

Pictures are from the rather lovely, who surely is.

One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other.

To celebrate Bastille Day, let’s have some more Regency femdom. The tumbrels and republican principles of the Revolution itself do not lend themselves well to the theme (although I always felt a vague kinship with the sans-culottes) but on the other side of the Channel, the natural order was maintained.
Of course, these are merely modern ‘takes’ on the period. Fashions in femdom at the time were rather different and would seem strange to us today.  Humiliation play, for example, might involve acting out being introduced at a ball to a duchess and incorrectly addressing her as if she were a mere viscountess, or using the wrong fork for the fish and being gently and gigglingly admonished (or – worse – subjected to a sustained pretence by one’s dinner companions not to have noticed!  Oh, the shame).  A ‘forced bi’ scenario would typically end with some roleplaying the inevitable appearance before local magistrates, followed by branding or even transportation to Australia* for committing unnatural acts.  And of course the gimp suits of the time were made of wool or coarse cloth -unthinkable today but they knew no better.
What’s that?  You want me to shut the fuck up and just show you the pictures of hot chicks in empire-line dresses? Oh, OK then.  Sorry.
* Generally regarded as a hard limit by most scene players today – and indeed very few dommes are even prepared to try it, although I understand Mistress Servalan of Sydney has ocasionally put on demonstrations at BDSM conventions.

Unnecessary cruelty

But the world would be a grey and soul-less place if we only did things that were strictly ‘necessary’, don’t you think?  Sometimes we have to live a little.

Her leadership style is simultaneously ‘top down’ and ‘bottom up’ if you can imagine such a thing.*

He thought she’d bought them to present him masturbating.  But that turned out to be the other package she’d had delivered, the heavier one.

Financial domination is a rapidly-growing segment of the economy, in these difficult times.  It’s just a more efficient way of giving money to superior ladies, without having to go through all the nonsense of dressing up in fetish clothes, meeting them in person or in any way bothering them.

When you’ve had enough things slapsplained, oddly enough, you actually find it increasingly difficult to retain  information that has been imparted any other way.  After a really effective slapsplaining session, for instance, I am usually very well informed on the specific matter under discussion, but find it hard to remember my own name or where I am.

Why not both?  Freak pays and fucks off.  It’s a win-win-lose, which sounds ideal.

* Very, very long-term readers might notice that I made this joke once before, around 2012 or so, to which I can only reply ‘Have you ever considered getting a life?’**

** My own is largely unused, if anyone wants it.

Lady’s man

I certainly am… well, a lady’s boy, anyway.

There’s nothing like standing in the corner with a well-smacked bottom on display to give you a sense of perspective.

Her fees are reasonable. She isn’t, I’m glad to say.

I tried calling the NHS helpline once, because I thought it would be a turn-on to ask a nurse all sorts of questions about the safety of enemas and how to deal with unwanted erections. The nurse I ended up speaking to was very sympathetic and started taking me through all of the details – but I must somehow have let on that I was just phoning for the sexual turn-on, so it got a bit embarassing after that.  Anyway, he was very nice and we’ve agreed to meet up some time after lockdown ends, so that ended well.

Sometimes a session starts badly, but I find when that happens the best thing to do is put it behind me and try to enjoy myself, anyway.

Wearing a shock collar can give you a sense of perspective too… along with a lot of very unpleasant electric shocks, obviously.

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