There is no fire

Music only a little related. But don't you just love the way Mistress Lennox's voice sort of... swoops in at the start? I do. And I tried to find a version with a video, and I found this and she looks lovely, but someone's ringing a bell, playing an electric organ and generally messing up that opening.

Sigh.  First world problems...

More things follow:

I had this wonderful puppy play session in the park, the other day.  She did that thing of making me balance a twig on my nose in sitting position?  And then she backed slowly away saying 'stay... stayyyy'.  It's actually quite hard to stay still for long like that, so after only seven hours, I sneezed and the twig fell off. If I ever see her again, I'll have to tell her and be punished. Exciting thought!

 

Oh, just a plain vanilla ball-crusher, then? OK, sorry.  Just go ahead.

I still remember the first time she called me a 'lazy little bastard'...

It's actually not quite true to say she doesn't care. She enjoys making you cry. But she's trying to spare your feelings, the dear thing.

Yup. All about the rules.

Never say never again

Please?  Please don't say that. I'll be good, I promise.  I - 

Its ridiculous really. If she wants a curvy cock, what does she think this is, neatly tucked away in the tube around my scrotum?  Women, eh?

He'll be thanking her particularly fulsomely.*

Maybe I could have sex in the fields?  When the weather's a bit warmer, obviously.

I wonder what the question was... Honestly, who writes these things? Why be so obscure?

And new things about bears. I've heard they shit in the... anyway, I'm sure you'll have a very interesting time.

* 'Fulsome' is a word often mis-used to mean 'complete' or 'enthusiastic' when in fact it means 'excessively flattering or insincerely earnest'.  I once emailed a domme I was visiting, expresing my 'fulsome' thanks for my treatment in our last session, to be greeted next time by a Mistress holding a dictionary and a cane.

Begging the question

It's usually "May I? Please Mistress?"

Typical. She remembered to pack plenty of condoms for her own sexual pleasure, didn't she? But didn't think to bring just one little key.  Honestly: if I'm permitted speaking rights at any point during this trip, I'm going to give her a piece of my mind!

Many people get uncomfortable at the idea of public humiliation scenes, which impose your own sexuality on random strangers without their consent.  But in this case, she made you go around asking everyone in the cafe if they were OK with watching you being humiliated for sexual kicks, so that's all right.

Actually, the neighbours wouldn't mind.  They never liked him. But it's thoughtful of her to think of them.

'Fool around'?  Who says that, these days? Why do people in porn talk so weirdly?

Can't argue with the science.

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.

Stunted little runt

OK, so the story is that the guy had won a chance to meet me – it was a charity thing I did, yeah?  Raised a lot of money. For, maybe, stray cats or something?  Or dogs, I don’t remember.  Maybe homeless people, come to think of it.

Anyway, I met the guy backstage at a convention like this one and… let’s just say he was the typical loser fanboy?  I mean, no offence to anyone here but you know the type, right?  Lanky hair, black t-shirt, scuzzy trainers.  He started out by saying he’d been hoping I’d be wearing the Wonder Woman outfit, which was kind of a bad sign from the beginning, you know?

And then he said ‘can you do a fight move’?  And I was, like, no way: that’s only on-set in carefully controlled conditions, with professional stunt-men.  But he started ducking and dancing about saying ‘I know stuntwork - fight me’ and… well, suddenly I saw he had this massive – actually not so massive but very prominent – bulge in his pants, you know?  The guy had a boner.  And I just reacted instinctively and I spun and kicked hard at the side of his head.

OK, he’d said he knew stunt work, right?  He'd said that.  When you’re taking a hit to the head, you lean with it.  Everyone knows that. Day one at stunt school - lean with the blow. But he leaned into it.  Got the full force of the kick right to the side of the head – blam!  I was a physical fitness instructor in the Israeli army, yeah?  I’ve got strong legs.

So… he’d wanted a fight move, I was doing a fight move. That spin and kick – it’s a two stage move.  A kick to the head, the stunt guy falls back and sideways, I finish the spin, shift the weight from one foot to the other and do the second kick which just misses his chin but with the right camera angle, the audience can’t see that. It's all one motion - has to be, or I'd fall over.  I need the second kick to balance up.  It's just reflex with me now, anyway.

So I came around and I guess I could somehow sense he wasn’t in the right place.  Totally not in the right place. He was reeling, staggering, whatever,and he was way too close.  But I had no time to think and the second kick went right in, and it was still on the upstroke, probably just at its most powerful moment, unfortunately, right up between his legs.  The force actually carried him off the ground… and he was kind of overweight, so there was a lot of power going in there.

Like I said, I’ve got strong legs.

And that was it… my people called an ambulance immediately, obviously.  He was quite lucky actually – he had a minor fracture to the skull from the first kick, but no permanent cranial or brain damage. That would have been really bad.  The second kick… yeah, well, that didn’t work out so well for him.

I’m actually sorry for the guy, yeah?  I really am.  I don’t mean I said sorry for what I did – that’s actually a different word in Hebrew, the difference is clearer.  Maybe I should say I don't 'apologise'?  Because everything was the guy’s own fault, right?   But he had a pretty sad life to begin with and now there’s… less in it.  So I feel kind of sorry about that.  Although I don’t think he was ever going to have much of a sex life anyway, if you know what I mean.

And we raised a lot of money for the stray cats.  I don’t know how much, but I heard it was a lot.  Or for the homeless people – whatever.

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.

I am not a doormat

OK: that's not strictly accurate: obviously I am a doormat. But I'm not just a doormat, you know?  I am also a foot-rest, a cup-holder, a draft excluder, a bookshelf end and a rather amusing vase for flowers.  Although no more than three of those things simultaneously.

It's odd how sometimes the most sadistic individuals so often realise later that they weren't cruel enough.  My SO has this problem all the time: you'd think she'd learn and stop being so lenient.

So... does that mean next week it's my turn again?  No?  Oh.

There seems to be quite a lot of shared understanding in that room. Obviously some great teaching techniques being applied.

Lion?  Lover-boy?  Lady-killer?  Liposome?  Leprechuan?

Perhaps they could somehow transplant the ones from the real rapist?  After a fair trial and conviction, obviously.  Oh - he already lost them in the police station?  That's unlucky.  Funny how often that happens... you'd think the police would take more care.

Several times now, upon a time

Tales about bold princesses rescuing helpless princes from evil, erm, princesses and all that kind of thing.  Again.

Why do three wishes always turn out this way?  You'd think people would have the sense to learn.  But the protagonist in this one is presumed to be male, so I guess 'sense' is not really an option.

Freely given

Some years ago, I decided that as a fairly experienced sub, I had something of a duty to use this platform to share my experiences and advice about visiting professional dommes.  After all, it can be nerve-racking for a first-timer, and it's hardly something you can ask your friends at work about!  Unless your work is as a male maid for a dominatrix, I suppose.  But that's quite rare. 

Anyway, the reaction was very positive and it - well, I certainly didn't get any complaints - and I'm older and even wiser now, so here are a few more tips from Servitor: advice to a novice sub.

No, don't bother to thank me.  Just the thought of some nervous first-timer walking into a 'femdomme sex dungeon' and trying one or more of these ideas out is reward enough!

If you liked these, you'll find more of this sort of thing by clicking this here link, so I suggest you do so.  If you didn't like these, you won't want to click that because you'll find more things you don't like.  Perfectly simple, even for boys, yeah?

Oh: and watch out for Servitor's exciting new series: Advice to a novice domme!  Coming soon.  Ish.

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.

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.