As had been promised, things did not improve for Malcolm upon their return to his home, now called Masoque Manor. The nephews have not yet arrived, but meanwhile there is no letup in discipline, either by word or deed.
Returned to the boudoir, the statuesque beauty’s eyes chilled haughtily, her strong chin hardened. “Fun and games are over, husband.” Her tall heel crashed. “Open that cabinet.” Malcolm’s knees weakened on seeing the ominous arsenal of straps, lashes, birch-rods, whips, cats, canes, crops and switches that hung within. “You see, lover,” Sada smirked, “I have the means to flog you unconscious – or just make you sparkle. There’ll be disciplining here, without letup, and you’ll learn that chastisement is the heart and soul of it.. You’ll be put to the most debasing drudgery; you’ll slave in any way that might amuse me…without word of protest. I begin your training as a lady’s maid in earnest now. Get me out of this dress – at once!” Her grey-gowned, scarlet-belted luscious figure undulated. Apprehension and servile closeness to the overbearing goddess made Malcolm fumble…and he took several training cuffs before Sada stood forth in the magnificence of black-corsetted dishabille.
Bedazzled by such Junoesque voluptuousness, he moaned “Oh… oh Lord, Sada, h-how can you be so beautiful…” and then winced when her fingers took his ear.
This is a section of Female Supremacist Marriage.
Originally posted 2007-07-12 13:21:06.
Some months ago my Goddess Wife, in Her wisdom, decided that I should submit to daily discipline sessions.
Immediately after we put the children to bed I ‘prepare myself’ – I go to our bedroom where I remove my clothes and fix cuffs to my wrists and ankles, with rope loops attached to each cuff. I remove our firm, plastic whip (if anyone wants to know more about this whip please let me know) from Her wardrobe where it lives, and I lay on our four poster bed and loop the ropes from my feet and one of the wrist cuffs over three corner posts, and await the arrival of my Goddess.
When She arrives my Goddess Wife loops the fourth rope from my free hand over the fourth post of the bed, and I am now bound, naked, butt presented, unable to free myself. At Her mercy for my daily discipline and any punishment She deems necessary.
My daily discipline (designed, for any of you who have not read Elise Sutton, to remind me of my subservience to Her) consists of six strokes to my butt. It is obviously up to Her how hard the strokes are – they are never ‘token’ strokes – they tend to vary from firm to pretty severe, depending on her mood on the day. They always hurt – especially if my butt is sore from recent punishment.
If I have not earned further punishment, my Goddess Wife releases the rope from one wrist, and I thank Her (‘Thank you, Goddess’) and free myself from the remaining ropes before proceeding downstairs to serve and be with Her through the remainder of evening.
When my Goddess Wife first decided that I should receive daily discipline, I thought this was a little harsh. Elise Sutton’s book had suggested periodic discipline – once a week or something like that. Daily seemed a bit much. But by then we had already debated the issues around ‘topping from the bottom’ – this decision, like all decisions that affect our lives, was Hers alone to make, and my role was and is to submit to Her will. I’ve had (at least) six disciplinary strokes to my butt every day since.
This is a great illustration of how wonderful my Goddess Wife is for me. To take the idea of ‘periodic’ discipline and choose to apply it daily was a stroke of pure genius on Her part. I am never far from the last or my next discipline session, and so am constantly reminded of my subservience to Her. Equally, She too is reminded of Her dominance over me. It works great for both of us.
Originally posted 2011-07-12 11:24:51.
“Don’t say that,” Sada reproached her, “he’s a perfect dear of a worm who worships me and its no discredit to him if I show my affections by whippings and humiliation as well as the lovey-dovey. He’s a very happy man under me.” Margery appeared skeptical, particularly when Sada stiffened, head upflung, eyes wide and glacial, nostrils arching in her fine-ridged nose, her full red lips brutally down-drawn. Then rising to her commanding height, the furred and booted woman strode to her man with all the overbearance of a slave-driving Juno.
“I told you to lean on that brush!” Furs billowed and rawhide snapped over his thrusting head. “Take longer strokes, you sluggard, bear down till your neck cracks!” The lash seared his rear and her tone made his flesh crawl. “SCRUB, damn you. You’ll clean this terrace, you loafing muckworm, if you have to slave until you drop.!” Malcolm scrubbed wildly with his mouth-clenched brush, acutely suffering the rawhide consequences of disobedience, dazzled by the patent leather brilliance of pink and lavender boots. Getting into the swing of things, Margery strolled to the happy pair. “Look,” she pointed, he’s left a mess right here.” Sada lowered her whip arm and looked around herself. :Yes… and here’s another mess he’s left behind, HUSBAND!” she bawled, “get to them, you whelp!”
Originally posted 2007-08-08 15:30:59.
After dinner Sada regally sway-strutted the floor, her back arched, nostrils flaring in anticipation, beautiful breasts stretching the blush rose gown which fitted like a second skin. Finally she spoke the fatal words. “Go to my bedroom, Husband, and prepare for punishment!” Malcolm saw no mercy in that haughty, glacier-eyed face, and disrobed, sobbing inwardly. He was standing humbly nude when Sada strode majestically into the bedroom, the heavy strap held in one elbow-high lavender kid-gloved hand. She tossed him some cotton drawers.. “Get into these.”
“W-what are they?” he stammered. “What are they for?”
She gripped his hair, jerking his head back to stare disdainfully into his eyes. “Those are your whipping drawers. You’ll soon find what for.” The thin fabric was skin tight and stretchless from his waist down his thighs and he struggled to get them on. Eyes glittering, Sada pointed to an upholstered bench at the foot of the bed. “Bring that here.” Malcolm obeyed, deadened by dread, watching her remove her dress to reveal a tight-laced pink leather corset hourglassing her voluptuousness. “Get over that bench – crosswise.” She ordered.
The drawers tightened even more when he jack-knifed and he glanced up to see breath-taking sheer-nyloned legs made shapelier by uplifting minaret heels. Sada stepped back, dropping the strap gently across his bottom to gauge her stance as he squirmed, begging for mercy. Then she swooped the flail up as high as her arm could reach and whirled it around to gain speed. As Malcolm quailed in terror, she smashed it down full sweep, flush across his buttocks. He made no outcry but his midsection convulsed upwards from the force of the blow and then slumped back to the bench. Ass the initial numbness warmed into pain, Malcolm could see in the closet-door mirror, his own head-down, butt-up figure with the dynamic, imposing, corseted woman towering over him, preparing the administer the next stroke. He tensed, watching with fear and admiration as she whirled it around her high-swept coiffure, and the leonine grace of the downdrive.
Seven power-packed full-swing agonizing strokes fell, making hollow whacking sounds on Malcolm’s upthrust backside, before he cried out in protest. His sobs came with the eighth stroke, when the whipping drawers began to torment him. The broad welts from the heavy strap were unable to swell within the skin-tight, unstretchable fabric of the garment so his flesh ridged up, unable to escape and agonisedly compressed. Under the relentless, expert, measured blows, Malcolm howled in anguish but made no effort to protect himself or free himself from his Mistress. He squirmed and writhed under the torture while Sada savoured to the utmost his song and dance under the strap, whaling his podex with regal dexterity and aplomb. Cressada thrashed him from each side, and then imprisoned his head between her firm round thighs to flog him vertically. Malcolm clutched her skewer heels as the curling strap snapped excruciatingly down his cheek curves. His cries went unheard in the soundproof penthouse. He could only see Sada’s taut-full hips weaving above him in the mirror with each cracking blow. As his body became a throbbing reservoir of agony, he visioned Sada as a heartless goddess to be glorified for her brutal prowess. At last a bench leg shattered under his pounding and Malcolm slid to the floor, moaning low, his head still pinioned in his Mistress’s shapely limbs.
Originally posted 2007-07-07 16:19:22.
“Husband, be respectful with that tongue.” Cressada’s lips smirked at his abject humiliation. “Slobber just once on my stocking and you’ll feel this whip.” She raised the foot he was licking, toe up, on the skewer heel. “And a good husband knows that his wife’s soles get dirtiest of all.” Cheek against the floor, Malcolm tongue-washed the slipper bottoms, first one and then the other, and sucked the extravagant heels into his mouth until he gagged. All the time he was conscious of the lash dangling over him, ready to strike. Amused, she pressed his face beneath her foot. “Does this little toy frighten you, Pet?” The lash hissed wickedly past his ear. With one foot riding his neck, Malcolm tongues and retongued the glowing shoes in abject humiliation.
In this fashion the “honeymoon” continued, with Malcolm being subjected to increasing discipline. Meanwhile Cressada warns him that when they return to his house, which is being suitably refurnished, things will be worse rather than better. There Mrs Truella Murdstone, the governess, would be installed; also one Sheila Collins, a personal cook, to whom Malcolm would have to “show every consideration.” Finally, there would be Malcolm’s two nephews, as well as his niece, Margery. Things do get worse for Malcolm, but he gets his first real taste of punishment before leaving the hotel.
On the final day she was out alone till after six and when she returned, a pink-sheathed vision of high voltage glamour, Malcolm was panting at the door to take her hat, gloves, furs and packages. Her eyes had tigerish, predatory glow as he prostrated himself and faithfully tongued her lance-heeled, sharp-toed kidskin boots of lavender. He could feel the tinge of iron when she spoke. “Husband, it’s time you faced the facts of life under me. Tonight you’ll get a true taste of the kind of punishment I’ll be laying on. On your knees and open that parcel.” Obeying her steely voice and pointing finger, Malcolm nearly fainted at the sight of what the package revealed – a murderous strap of belting leather, half an inch thick, two inches wide, and over a yard long, with a stiff leather handle and slim wrist loop. Writhing sensually on the couch, Sada laughed throatily at his reactions. “Just one of my special disciplinary instruments, Pet – specially for you – tonight.”
Originally posted 2011-07-15 16:18:21.
Driving back home yesterday, after a few days of not being dominated by Goddess, I found myself wondering what our relationship would be like. Did She still want me to serve Her as a slave? She had not dominated me by text while I was away, so perhaps not.
I got home at around 6.30 and it was great to see Goddess and the girls again. The kids were having their dinner, and I noticed the sink was completely full of dirty dishes from their dinner, and the dishwasher still full of the day’s wash. Clearly, Goddess had left it all for me to deal with. I deduced I was still Her slave.
I still had a bit of a cold, and told Goddess how bad I had been feeling, but after we put the kids to bed, I presented myself in the usual way, thinking that Goddess might forgive me of my discipline strokes due to my illness, but She did not.
She gave me six hard stokes of the steel cane, commenting that my butt had not seen anything for a few days. They really hurt quite a bit.
When She had finished giving me the six, She stood their with the steel cane in Her hand, and said “I am going to give you one more, hard, punishment stroke, just to remind you how hard punishment strokes are, so that you remember to be good.” And She brought the steel cane crashing down. So that confirmed matters – I am back where I belong – under Her.
Last Saturday night Goddess and I went out for a drink with Amanda, one of Her girl friends, a sexy young lady that Goddess works and is quite friendly with. We went to the pub for a few drinks, and then to the table dancing club. Everybody got quite tipsy and a good time was had by all. Whilst I was the perfect gentleman all evening, paying for wine and champagne and taking care of the ladies, I did not actually communicate my submission to Amanda.
Originally posted 2011-07-13 04:00:47.
Male Slave’s Prayer & Contract
Goddess is your Owner and only Owner and Mistress; the absolute Owner of your worthless body and soul; Inferior Slave shall accept no higher authority over Inferior Slave than Goddess.
Inferior Slave shall worship Your Owner continuously and lay down all rights as a human being before Your Owner’s throne: Your Owner’s whip shall be all meaning of justice to slave.
Inferior Slave shall spend all its waking hours learning to exist exclusively for Your Owner’s pleasure, comfort, and happiness, making every deed and thought, a service to Your Owner superior and owner.
Inferior Slave shall not allow its mind to stray even for a moment from Your Owner and when it is not occupied In Your Owner’s service, Inferior Slave shall discipline itself with continuous prayer to Your Owner In adoration of your only Owner.
Inferior Slave shall obey Your Owner’s commands instantly, without questioning any of them and beg for cruel punishments with every prompt confession of disobedience to Goddess, for Inferior Slave shall learn to crawl at Your Owner’s feet like the worthless scum it is. Inferior Slave is the dirt on Your Owner’s boots and act humbly before Your Owner and Your Owner’s image.
Remember, that all Inferior Slave does is Your Owner’s permission of command only and even the permission to eat and sleep are privileges given by Your Owner for Your Owner’s benefit only.
Your Owner’s shall be too holy to ever to be in your mouth and shall refer to Your Owner only with humility and worship
Inferior Slave will never forget that Inferior Slave it is Your Owner’s property.
Inferior Slave shall not know luxury or leisure. Inferior Slave shall eliminate all that is not required for Inferior Slave shall pray that Inferior Slave will satisfy Your Owner to Your Owner’s slightest whim.
Inferior Slave ever know the pain or Your Owner’s punishment but but humble accept its welts, scars, wounds and injuries. Inferior Slave knows that without its Ruler it has no reason to live.
Wifedomme & Husband Servant
In this woman-led household Mistress Wife has dictated that her slave husband always wear an apron.
The apron reminds him that he is her servant, not her equal.
The apron hides the lump of flesh locked in a chastity device. She has no interest in or desire to be reminded that her slave has a penis.
The slave husband prepares Mistress Wife’s meals and serves them to her. While she is eating he stands at attention behind her. If she desires an additional portion he serves it to her. And he refreshes her beverage.
When Mistress has finished eating slave husband scrapes all the leftovers into a big bowl. Placing the bowl on the floor and dropping to hands and knees he eats from the bowl in the position prescribed.
If slave husband has been willful or mischievous the food is dumped into the trash and he dines on dry dog food.
Additional FLR reading: Submissive Males Should Wear Aprons.
Originally posted 2013-04-01 06:13:57.
Amused, Cressada flicked Malcolm’s rump, saying, “I’m pleased you’re so in tune with – ah… petticoat rule and wearing the boots, child, but why single out Langdon for your kind attentions?”
“Bah!” Margery snorted, “He’s always burned my little Frances… thinking he’s so all-fired smart,,, and he’s twice too big for his britches. The kicks I’m getting seeing him cut down to size… Bob now, is a nice inoffensive laddie… but this one…” she swaggered so close to Malcolm’s scrubbing head that he had to veer it aside, “this treatment is exactly what he deserves. Any boot licking mouse that lets a woman thrash him and make a damn fool of him gets no sympathy from me.”
“You’re sweet,” Sada swayed aside. “Let’s be comfortable, girl. I can oversee the husb. from over there. And he asks for no one’s sympathy. He crawled under my heel with his eyes open. And he begged for his punishment, my dear, simply crushed by his inability to defy me.” The blonde, lissome maiden and the dark strapping beauty reclined on a lawn chaise. Fingering the ugly rawhide, she accounted for every move of her toiling groom with chilled-steel grey eyes. A deep surge of despotism swelled her momentous bosom, thrusting the sumptuous furs apart. Margery watched Malcolm’s degration snootily. “One time I respect that man,” she said, “but now he’s just a disgusting worm.”
Originally posted 2007-08-04 03:29:29.
This dominant wife enjoys making her submissive husband’s chores hard, humiliating and public.
She has ordered him to drop to his knees and pull out the growth between the bricks in their patio. And she’s invited a friend to share in the amusement as subhubby is led by leash and collar.