Category: male maid

Fair maidens, faint hearts




I find it’s always easier to tell the truth. The aftermath is sometimes extremely difficult.

I have my pride.  At least, I did. Hang on…it’s got to be here somewhere.

By a curious coincidence, I got the cattle prod for ‘last night’ the very second day of my marriage.
I get quite excited about this sort of thing.
I heard Jason was having an operation so I sent flowers and my best wishes for a full recovery.  Well, you never know, he might.









He might as well have buttons and bows

Mistress Kate, of course. I was reminded of her the other day, when a delightful domme made me dance and mime to Wuthering Heights.  I fear I wasn’t very good at it and she mocked me mercilessly… some people can be so cruel.





If he’s lucky, he’s going to be a shower head.  But he’s not been enormously lucky so far in his life, alas.
That reminds me of a date I went on once, actually.  It was a pub quiz and our team came last but oddly it was only right at the end that my date told everyone she was the first and second prize.  So I had to hang around for an hour or so, while the winning and runner-up teams collected their prizes.  Then she said she was tired and just wanted to go home, so I walked with her.  I thought I might be in with a chance but she said she never kisses on a first date, so that was that. Still: I didn’t get kneed in the balls, shat on or made to suck off any gay friends, so all in all I count the evening as a success.  The second date didn’t go so well, unfortunately.

Lots of men make this mistake: she’s asked you about your day so she wanted to be asked about hers, right?  Right?  And now you have chores and you don’t have permission to speak, so it’s too late.  You unfeeling brute.


If they’re quick they can catch happy hour. And then there’s a cabaret, but obviously they won’t have time to stay for that.
I’ve always had a weird phobia about Scrabble, ever since this girl I knew at school followed through on her threat to make me “eat my words”.  The little tiles weren’t so bad on the way in, but even with rounded corners you can certainly feel the sharp edges when they come out again. I was bullied quite severely when I was at school – did I ever mention that?  And afterwards, too, of course – but at school it was free of charge.




Now and then we wonder who the real men are






Oh yes, a proper little sissy, that one.  Has been for years.  Hard to imagine him not in his frillies or
little maid’s dress, to be honest.
You want to know if he’s ever been out in public dressed that way?  Funny how many visitors want to
know that…
Well… he has, from time to time.  But that’s not the most humiliating public
display he’s experienced – is it sissy? Oh, sure, it would be embarassing to appear in public in a little girl’s dress, but the very worst public humiliation he has
experienced was a time when he went out pretending to be a normal man.  Because it’s so ridiculous an idea!  Simply ridiculous, isn’t it, sissy?  That’s right, it is.  And so are you, aren’t you?  
I said: aren’t you ridiculous, sissy?

That’s better.
I’ll tell you the story. 
It was when our ‘relationship’ had just started and it was still a
rather playful, sexual thing, not the 24/7 servitude it is now. Maybe he could
see the direction things were taking, I don’t know, but I found that more and
more often he was asking whether we could just have an evening out ‘as normal
people’.  A guy and his girlfriend, not a
sissy-maid and mistress.  After all,
despite all the games, he was a man, he would say.
Why not?  So we went on a ‘date’. 
 On went a smart jacket and tie…  frilly knickers below them, admittedly, and a
remote-controlled shock device below those, but he looked ‘normal’ enough on the
surface – a bit dweeby, maybe – and out we went, to a trendy bar.
He was nervous about the zapper, but I told him it was just
a mind-game (oh how naïve he was about my intentions towards him back then) and
I was true to my word and zapped not once, no matter how tempted.  We had been in the bar for about half an hour
and he was beginning to relax, when I made my move.
“Look at those two at the bar” I remarked, smiling.  “Don’t they look lovely?”  And I nodded towards two young women laughing
and joking together.  They were indeed
rather glamorous.  I imagined they were
having a couple of drinks together before going on to meet their dates – they certainly
looked dolled up for someone and I was not getting a lesbian vibe from them.
Sissy looked rather alarmed and started wittering about how
they were not as lovely as me, but I shushed him and told him it was fine: I
just meant they looked good, that was all. 
“It’s OK for you to find other women sexy, you know” I smiled. “After
all, I do have the key – and not just to your heart.” He laughed too – more out
of nervousness than the feeble pun, I expect, and admitted that the two ladies
were indeed attractive.
Image result for liqueur"
These are not actually the two ladies from the story.  But the vibe is similar and so is the barman’s beard, which was just like that.
“Right” I said, quietly. 
“Off you go, then.”
“Erm… off I go? Go where?”
I nodded towards the attractive pair.  “Go chat them up.  That’s what real men do.  See if you can get off with one of them.  Give them your best pick-up lines.”
“But I… I…”
I took the remote for his ball-shocker out of my bag and very
deliberately clicked it up to 16 out of 20, holding it so he could see.  His previous record was 14 and he had nearly
screamed the house down.  
“We’ll start at 16.” I said. 
“And we’ll go up to 20.  The
battery’s fully charged.”  I picked the
remote up and rested my thumb on the button.
“Or…” I said, indicating the two at the bar with the remote
itself.  He looked desperately around.
I yawned.  “You can
show me your pulling skills, or you can scream. 
Five, four, three…”
He shot to his feet and barrelled over to the two ladies,
knocking violently against a stool as he went. The disturbance made them both look up, and one smiled in a puzzled, friendly
way.
What sissy used for chat-up lines, I shall never know.  I doubt the two young ladies do either, because
he was stuttering and shaking with embarrassment as he tried to engage them in
conversation, so I doubt he made much sense even close up.  Almost immediately, it became clear that it
was not going well.  The friendly puzzled
smile faded, and she spoke quietly but firmly to him, while her companion just
pursed her lips in disapproval and called the barman for another drink.  Obviously, he had not “pulled” (I’ll confess now
that I had no Plan B for what to do if he had… but it had not seemed very
likely).
With a palpable sigh of relief, he turned away from them, towards
me and started coming back.  I met his
eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of my head and then gestured back towards
the bar.  He knew what I meant.  Real men don’t give up that easily, sissy. Be
forceful. Keep at it.
He looked horrified so I gently slid my thumb across the
button again, and as if by magic he turned back, to play the real man once
more.  His face was white – almost greenish.
His attempts to appear masculine were not helped by the fact that his sweating had
made translucent spots on his shirt, so the shadow of the bra underneath was
very visible, although I don’t know if either of the two ladies noticed.  Again, he spoke to them and this time there
was the reaction I’d hoped for.
No – not a face-slap! 
He’d have enjoyed a face-slap, but that was never going to happen, not
in the vanilla world, only in BDSM sessions and in movies. No: the one who hadn’t
spoken to him so far just lost it, basically. 
She stood up, in his face (slightly taller, in her high heels) and told
him what she thought of creeps like him. 
She spoke loudly and angrily – not quite shouting, but everyone in the
bar could hear her give my poor sissy a piece of her mind about how she was
sick of being unable to sit in a bar and have a quiet drink with her friend
without sad little bastards like him coming up and ogling them and trying on
his lame pick-up lines…. She went on for a while.  It looked rather cathartic.  I smiled myself and quietly left the place,
as a couple of other people went up to the bar to help. 
Only in movies, I’m afraid.  And femdom sessions.  And femdom movies, for that matter.
I hadn’t abandoned him. 
I had just sidled into a nearby doorway to see what happened. Don’t
worry: he wasn’t beaten up or anything – they just marched him out of the bar
and shouted quite a bit more.  Poor sissy.  He does not deal well with conflict.  Perhaps that is why he has allowed himself to
be sucked into his present lifestyle – there is no possibility of conflict in
his life now, just obedience.
He was still shaking when we got home.  He took off his ridiculous male outer clothes
with revulsion and popped on a maid’s outfit to serve me a drink.  I allowed him to calm down, kneeling at my
feet, for quite a while before making sure the lesson had sunk in.
“Any time you feel you want to behave like a real man again,
sissy…” I started, but he shook his head violently.  A shame. 
I was going to suggest going to a football match and getting into a
fight with the other side’s supporters. 
Or paying some streetwalker several decades past her prime for an
encounter in a bleak concrete lay-by smelling of piss and diesel fumes (I don’t
think he’d even need his tube locked on: I have several times forced him to
tell me honest accounts of his fumbling attempts at sexual liaisons in early
adulthood and I can confidently predict that in that circumstance, little peter
would not be rising to the occasion).  Real
man stuff.   
If he ever asks again, I have
quite a few things he might try.
But somehow, he never has. 
 
Isn’t that better, sissy?  Much more your thing.

But females are strong as Hell

Unbreakable!

Servitor’s tip: if you are going to propose to your ‘mistress’ during a ‘fem dom’ session, think about which kinky activities are most appropriate to that moment.  Face-slapping is a definite yes, forced bi rather less so.
Even if (as we suspect) the switching moment is not just about to occur, all true male doms understand that females are submissive really, deep down inside. Master Mark knows he just needs to wait… eventually the girls are bound to follow their natural instincts.

An old caption.  Unless something surprising happens between my putting this into the queue and publication.  Which seems unlikely. As surprising things so often are.

It’s always a shock, in mid-life, to discover you’ve actually been gay for some time without even realising it.
I’d rather go bowling with Simon, actually, but what do my opinions matter?




Spankable moments

If the other maids don’t mind, why should you?




 

Paying €200 per hour only enhances the humiliation of line-writing or corner time, I find.

And don’t forget that a spit-roast is charged at anal rates at both ends.




They say size doesn’t matter, but even fully lubed up I find that it does.

It’s symbolic of something or other.  Most things are.


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.   




Back to reality

… well, the loose approximation of it represented by this blog, anyway.


The holiday, since you ask, was fantastic.  It was in one of those picture-perfect resorts, you know, with the palm trees coming down to the powdery sand sloping down to a turquoise lagoon.  But not at all crowded – it’s a private beach belonging to the hotel and at the prices I was paying, I can tell you, there’d just better be some serious privacy!  And the hotel was as spectacular as the price implied: the rooms, the food, the pool… made a lot of new friends too, apparently.


What do you mean, ‘how do I know’?  She sent me a postcard, of course.  I mean, I didn’t actually see it until after my release because the kennels don’t allow postal deliveries, but I expect she didn’t know that and it was a very kind thought.  She was having so much fun, she hadn’t even put enough postage on it, the silly thing!  Had to come out of my pocket money.  I’d been saving for.. well, I mustn’t complain.

Another year, another… maybe 550 or so captioned images? It hardly bears thinking about, does it?  Better get on…


Stick-fetching is one of those things that sensible husbands quickly learn is not really up for discussion.
You know, I think she might be about to confess her life-long fantasy of making love to a short, slightly overweight guy wearing a frilly french maid outfit.  Give her time.
It’s a shame they can’t both win.
Damn.  That was going well.

It’s awful wearing a chastity belt on a beach – sands gets in, apparently. Not that I’d know.  Sensible concrete floors, that’s what we had in the kennels.  Fresh straw on Thursdays.


Annhilatrices

You know the ‘trix’ ending is almost the only example I can think of where femdom culture ‘dominates’ the mainstream. In principle, one can speak of an editrix, adminstratrix or investigatrix, but it’s only going to conjure up an image of a lady in leather with a whip. As most things do for me, to be honest, but I’m talking about normal people.


Incidentally, is a female alligator an alligatrix?  

Incineratrix
 This particular incineratrix is the wonderful Goddess Sophia, who has occasionally been unlucky enough to have raw untreated Servitor spilling out across her dungeon floor, but she always managed to get it under control before too long.  A powerful and creative lady.
She’s trying to transform the harsh, uncaring image of the findomme business. Although not too much, obviously, or what would be the point of it?

 

The ball gag is an essential element in this style of play, to make sure the little horrors don’t go crawling in where they’re not wanted.  And to prevent him screaming out his safeword, which ironically enough in this case is ‘arachnophobia’.  What’s that you’re asking?  ‘What about his nostrils’? Well, don’t be silly – that would block his breathing passages, wouldn’t it? Honestly, how many times must I remind everyone: safety first!  That’s rules 1, 2 and 3 in BDSM, yeah?  That’s why she’s using the non-poisonous kind, too, see?

Seems a bit soft-hearted to me.  I mean, 6/7 of his bottom won’t be beaten at all, most days.  I thought she’d take a harder line, to be honest.



Of course, if anyone really hates it, she doesn’t just let them suffer in silence.  Quite the contrary, actually.


Oppressed desires

When I look at her, something about her gaze reminds me of my SO.  And the woman in the picture looks like someone I know, too.
They do such a fine job: still delivering healthcare and anti-rape services to the nation despite all the financial cuts

Remember femdom rule number one: never engage in unsafe activities like really pissing your domme off.
I’ve heard there’s a game called Prison Architect but I’ll bet it doesn’t have as many options as this.

Actually, though, cigarette ash is low-calorie, fat free and even vegan.  So it can be a very healthy part of a diet, mixed together with other foodstuffs, which is exactly how I take it.