The more cruelly she treats him

“…and the more faithless she is, the worse she uses him, the more wantonly she plays with him, the less pity she shows him, by so much the more will she increase his desire, be loved, worshipped by him.” The Founder himself said that, in Venus in Furs. He was right, although I don’t suppose Wanda thought any more of him as a result.

She’s trying her best to make this chastity regime work but you at least have to meet her halfway.
Good thing he warned her, or this could turn out to be a lot more painful than he’d expected.
He may be dying a virgin but he can be happy that he’s provided a woman with sexual fulfillment, even if only in his agonised dying moments. So there’s that.
If you think an affectionate little peck on her shoe is embarassing in public, try being slapped in public. Just not doing the kiss should be enough to bring it on.
I’m one of those people who can’t be hypnotised. Some say it’s a willpower thing, but as a sub it’s hard for me to believe that. A few people are just immune and that’s that. Back when I was a smoker, my girlfriend at the time persuaded me to go to a hypnotherapist she knew and the smoking craving was just as strong after the session as before. As it happens I did give up smoking soon after, but that was because I couldn’t really afford it, because I suddenly realised, that very evening, that I wanted to start handing over 75% of my income to my girlfriend. So it was just coincidence that it was right after the session with the hypnotist. It was difficult, but I managed to give up the cigarettes, entirely on my own, even though I decided I should be buying a pack daily for her new boyfriend, soon after. Maybe it is willpower, after all.
Pro tip: arguing that you weren’t, in this situation, is a losing proposition.

The things you do that tease and hurt me bad

It’s the way you do the things you do to me.

Sounds like she’s making a lot of effort to make this relationship work – I hope you’re duly grateful.
Don’t worry about presuming on their hospitality. They have an obligation to take in any male travellers who wander their way. Only to take them in, you understand, not to let them out again.
Trouble is, you were planning to cook something special for your anniversary, weren’t you? Oh well, probably better another day anyway. The kind of guys she brings home don’t generally have sophisticated culinary tastes.
I tried going on a humiliatrix dinner-date with a pro-domme once but she decided it wasn’t working between us and left just after we’d ordered the food. So, really no different from an ordinary date… I felt a bit of a fool for paying her so much, to be honest.
Your explanation should include the words ‘laziness’ and ‘incompetence’.
Don’t worry, she won’t visit very often.

PS, fans of old British femdom mags and of quirky mainstream takes on our little hobby might be interested in Alf Garnett discusses Cruella, over on Mr Rogue-Hagen’s magnificent Cruella site. Alf Garnett was the British inspiration for Archie Bunker, for American ‘readers’: an old man satirising right-wing views in absurd ill-informed bigoted rants. Nowadays of course, our political leaders do that themselves, so there is no need for such stuff.

And thank her afterwards

Nothing wrong with a bit of good old-fashioned pain, without all that fetishy nonsense, as my SO likes to say.
My VR settings show all women as fully clothed – even naked ones. Apparently that’s better for me.
Many girls find the sight of a penis and balls revolting – risible, even. But clip on a couple of heavy duty electrodes and most will see the erotic potential.
Actually ejaculating will be another €400 on top of that, by the way, so make sure you’ve got enough. Money, I mean, not semen: you’ve got far too much of that and need to keep it to yourself.
It’s a job with a lot of prospects – most of them quite demeaning and unpleasant.

The lovely ‘Victoria’ from Cruella, of course, with whom (in magazine form) I spent rather more time than was good for me back around 1989 or so.

Something weird with her stuff? The very idea!

There’s a place I know where we should go

Holi – holiday!

So, for the next two weeks Servitor’s owner will be on holiday, so I’ll have the pleasure of 14-hour workdays for no pay in a different location.

As regular ‘readers’ will be aware, this blog has a fine tradition of clearing out old unpublished images that aren’t very good posting extra, bonus images during the holiday period by putting up a daily post with three unconnected, unthemed captioned images without context, wit or point. So that will happen starting from tomorrow for two weeks.

For today, however, the first post of an occasional new series: Holidays in Heaven, which has as a theme slightly contrived situations in which a couple from a ‘normal’ country (i.e. a patriarchal hell-hole) are on holiday in a female supremacist paradise.

OK, very contrived then. Whatever. I need to go and get my crate ready for the long flight. Let’s hope I don’t spend too long trundling round and round on the luggage carousel before she collects me this time. Last time it was two weeks, the entire holiday. But she’s always been forgetful like that, bless her.

Kiss the boys or make them cry

 or both, even.

Nervous young husbands might want to check out Servitor’s old series ‘Seven Secrets of a Happy Marriage‘ which contains about 30 pieces of advice, each one of them as accurate and helpful as the title proclaiming there will be ‘seven’.

Women can often be oddly protective of their shoes, can’t they?  And their panties too, in my experience.  Just ask any of the women in my neighbourhood, or the judge in my court case for that matter.  There’s probably an over-protective, nurturing, nest-building sort of impulse behind it, I expect.  The neighbours I mean, not the judge – she was just doing her job, except when she made me do that little dance dressed up and frillied in front of the court.  Happy days… where was I?  Oh yes.

Fake it to make it and escape it.



Anyway, you look so cute taking little steps, with the bells hanging from your nipple clamps going jingle jingle jingle.



If you think the client in question is behaving in a humiliating way, wanking off looking at this lovely lady but not allowed to touch her or her clothing… what does that say about what you’re doing, right now?  Hmm?



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
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
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.

As she pleases

I’m sure she won’t mind.  Cindy’s very easy-going.

You say bukkake, I say bukkaka.

Self-locking nipple clamps.  What’s not to like?
Don’t worry. There’ll be things for you to eat too.  Just a bit later.


Do you suppose you can catch an STD from licking a domme’s boots, if some other guy came on them in an earlier session?  Perhaps medical professionals should carry out some experiments on that.

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