maid – Page 2 – Contemplating the divine

Clean sweep

A few weeks ago, I published ‘Advice to a novice domme‘ in which, among many other wise and practical ideas, I humbly suggested that dommes should not “assign actual housework tasks to ‘sissy maids’ because they’ll fuck them up and might actually damage your stuff. All they want to do is mince around with a feather duster and then get spanked, anyway”.

It occurs to me that several sissy maids might be offended, hurt and humiliated by this suggestion. That’s absolutely fine, of course, no one cares about a few sulky sissies. I’m sure your mistress can wipe that frown off your face, with a few well-aimed slaps from her palm. And for those who have a humiliation kink, perhaps you should even send me some session fees as compensation, hmm sissy?

But if there are still any sissies out there stamping their little feet, balling their fists together and having squeaky tantrums, here is some actual proof (all images certified collected at random from the Internet, so I think we can agree their accuracy is unquestionable) that you’re all completely useless.

Proud to present: cleaning sissies, on the job

A little dishwashing mop, sissy? For that task? Only… I don’t see any dishes there, do you? Oh – and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a mop quite so pristine…. I’d have thought that if you’ve been working hard using it, it would have been a little discoloured by now? That lady behind you looks quite cross, doesn’t she? But then maybe that’s what you’re hoping for.

Good idea sissy. Nothing worse than a dusty TV-cabinet. Let’s fluff that dust up so it settles somewhere else.

Dusting the floor, sissy? OK, well, whatever.

Not a shoe brush. And you’re out of uniform, sissy, you bad girl.

Also not a shoe brush. So not a shoe brush. What is that thing? Also, sissy, the technique seems to involve your domme standing on one (high-heeled) foot, holding her other foot off the ground, while you flick at the shoe with… with that. She’s going to be almost as uncomfortable as you are. Well: until she decides to make you more uncomfortable still, I suppose.

Uh-huh. Might take quite a while to get the whole house done. Still… I expect you’re paying by the hour, so that’s not her problem.

I don’t even want to think about what’s going on here, but I suspect it’s not conducive to really effective cleaning.

That’s right, sissy. Mistress is going to be very pleased with you when she looks out through the sparkly clean, erm… lower half of each of her ground floor windows. Dommes never use the top halves of windows; it’s a well-known fact.

What is it with sissy maids and feather dusters?

So… let me make sure I understand. You’ve got the brush from a dustpan and brush set and you’re placing a few bristles from it against the floor? Right. And this is intended to accomplish what, exactly? I mean in cleaning terms, rather than sexual gratification, obviously.

Oh good: another feather duster. And… what are you planning to clean with that, sissy? The floor? That mat? I don’t think so. Not ‘cleaning’ cleaning.

…and just for avoidance of doubt: if actually instructed to use an inappropriate cleaning implement, then you’d better bend your head down and get on it it, hadn’t you, hmm? That pert little mouth is for scouring and sponging the kitchen floor, not for answering back, girl! And don’t you forget it.

Now: for any sissy maid still offended… Just stop crying, girl, you’re just smudging your make-up and making yourself look even more ridiculous than usual, OK? Don’t worry: no one’s going to take your feather duster away. Or your frillies. Goodness: what a fuss!

Ooh!

It’s as far as I can take it.

Do you think you could ask him to slow down for just a moment while I write the captions under the pictures? No? OK, well, I’ll do my – ouch, that was a deep one! – I’ll do my best.

Sounds like someone’s having a bad day. Who’d have thought being sissy maid to a sadistic perfectionist would be so difficult?

Trick question. You need a lot more and she’s waiting for you to tell her that. It’s a Mars/Venus thing, just go with it.

Her sister rebelled against the whole female supremacy thing. Lives with a guy in Brighton and she lets him have his own pocket money and she even helps out occasionally with the housework. Still, each to their own.

What a very sharp observation.

Girls don’t make passes

… at boys with slapped arses.

I had to post this, because it’s something I have personally experienced and I think it is precisely the sort of abusive behaviour that comes from negative stereotyping of male submissives. What – just because I’m sexually submissive, some random stranger expected me to give her money, to go shopping with her, pay for everything, carry the stuff home, wash her car, cook and serve a meal for her and her boyfriend and then fuck off? If I hadn’t had her socks stuffed in my mouth the whole time, I’d have told her a thing or two about mutual respect in BDSM!

She’s still technically employed as a housemaid, but on a substantially higher pay scale.

Nor would I, willingly.

Character development is important in snip-lit. Women want depth and emotional complexity in the characters they read about. They don’t just want to read accounts of guys screaming in pain and terror as the cheesewire tightens… they want to know something of the inner pain they’re experiencing too.

Even an ordinary hotel room will normally have coat-hangers, kettles, maybe even a sewing set with needles. Oh – and if there isn’t a steam iron, you can send for one. You can have lots of fun in even the most vanilla environments.

The lovely ~~Lucy~~ Mistress Sidonia, there, of course.

Carry on screaming

Not necessarily a British cultural reference, merely a description of what I do while my SO takes a couple of minutes’ break to make herself a cup of tea.

Still, for those of you in the know, it was one of the better ones. “We’re the police – or layabouts”. And of course Fenella Fielding. I certainly don’t mind if she smokes.

And speaking of being British… I mean, this isn’t a political blog, you come here to get away from all that stuff, but…. but… but… what the fuck? Really! Huh? I mean, what the fucking fuck? Look at this mess! How can anybody seriously think men should have the vote?

Rant over. Let’s have something decent, sensible and sadistic…

Actually, I find binocular vision quite useful for ironing pleated skirts, but that’s not a huge part of my life – three, four hours a week tops – so I suppose she might as well go ahead.

What a scare! Thank goodness you were there to call the ambulance, as soon as she collapsed. You did have to move out of the corner without permission, though, so obviously that’ll have to be dealt with, when she’s back on her feet. Still: she’s getting the best possible care, and you’re scrubbing out toilets, so everything’s OK.

I used to have a problem with premature ejaculation, but it’s under control now. Matter of fact, last month I was even a few days late – she was on a business trip.

Don’t worry – they have separate fire drills when they practise evacuating the slaves. Particularly between November and February.

Actually, I once went out with someone whose Mum had worked as a cleaner all her life. When I finally plucked up the courage to tell her that I get my rocks off mincing around in a little maid dress pretending to be forced into humiliating cleaning tasks, she was a little offended at first. But we talked it through – and when I said she could tie me to a bench and beat me, she decided she was OK to give it a go after all. And do you know, she had a really good time? And there I thought she was pure vanilla! I’ve never had a session partner be so… enthusiastic. Even made me sign a little piece of paper promising not to have her arrested for assault, before letting me up and walking out of my life forever.

She says…

… now baby just you shut your mouth.

Not complaining. It’s just that I usually make it through the first three minutes without one, that’s all.

Try to be reasonable. She is. She sees good in everyone actually – a rare gift.

Obviously, it’s all perfectly consensual. She asked for her husband to be beaten. And she’s got a safeword – you know, just in case it goes too far.

My SO and I are actually playing what I’m fairly sure is the longest game of tease and denial ever right now. We started on our wedding night and it’s just amazing. I tried calling the Guinness Book of Records people but they said it didn’t count because I am such a sad little loser.

Downton domination. More of these to come.

Slap me on the patio

I’ll take it now.

There must be lots of things you can do to take your mind off sex. Do some laundry maybe… or watch TV. The women’s tennis final is on, I understand. That should be exciting. Or beach volleyball. Anyway, it’s only for a few weeks, right?

My SO can be quite hard to please. I found it a bit dispiriting at first but then I learned about this technique for lowering the expectations you set yourself? So now I just aim for ‘Not totally furious with me’ and I hit that at least two days out of three, so that’s pretty good.

Unlike some human women, though, they won’t insist on going again while you’re still completely drained from the last time.

I took a personality test once. Apparently I don’t have one.

Don’t worry, she’s obviously not going to drain you to an empty husk all in one go. Look at that figure – she probably limits herself to a couple of pints of blood a day. You might even last a week.

Denagratrix

Thank goodness for modern anaesthetics

Speaking of modern anaesthetics, for those of you into extreme femdom violence, torture and castration, here’s a sweet little move clip I found.

I’m encouraged already, actually.

…and if I do?

You can download an app that’ll translate any length of text into morse code. She discovered that the next day…

The annual performance reviews can be a bit brutal.

Maids of dishonour

Just as long as I don’t have to do the thing with the blow-up flamingo again.

He’s lucky she’s in such a good mood. When she gets cross, things can get quite unpleasant.

The delightful and sweet-natured Mistress Sidonia of the English Mansion, of course. She has a wonderful blog, full of unusual and interesting stuff. I’m sure you knew that already.

The editors get a lot of letters like that. They have to hide them from their own wives, of course.

He came to the Sanctuary hoping to act out his fantasies about brutal rape. Which, in a way, he did.

They look like they have high standards don’t they? Or maybe the surface was just very, very dustry. He’ll be hoovering the bath after this.

Here’s an extra one. Doesn’t feature any actual females, so doesn’t really count (the same principle should apply to elections and board meetings, in my humblest opinion):

Spousework

Very sensible of her to discuss it straight away, so they can sort whatever it is out and get on with their marriage.

I suppose it’s good that she’s finally getting more use out of them. Normally, she puts them on once a month at most and even then she only uses one finger and a thumb of the left glove.

Nothing humiliating there… move on.

Oh, Susan will blame him. She needn’t worry about that. He should, though.

Mind what? Why can’t the ladies featured on this blog just say what they mean? It’s maddening, it really is.

I’m gonna give you some terrible thrills

Like a…

Earth… it’s like a drive-in burger bar for hungry space travellers.

My signalling organ is permanently set to ‘silent mode’.

Not going to work – you need to use an internationally recognised safeword as established by the Geneva Convention. In Esperanto.

I’m sure he’d like to apologise to her and to women in general, for the thoughtless behaviour that got him into his mess. Trouble is, that mouth’s not really built for speaking. Plus, everyone he’s going to meet from now on is likely to be a man.

What do you mean, it’s not science fiction? This is your future.