Tuesday, February 12, 2008

slave bob's Self-Punishment



Male-creatures are like pet dogs.

Let your normally-obedient pooch off the leash and it’s likely to go wild.

Similarly, no matter how well-trained, unleash a male slave and you’re liable to lose control of it.

For instance, last week I attended a crowded late-night fetish party with hubby-slave bob in tow. Amid all the fun and conversation, bob was free to sniff around on his own.

My mistake.

Predictably, despite My whispered warnings, bob drank far too much. Worse, he kept disappearing outdoors where I couldn’t observe him. I knew he was smoking like a chimney, wildly exceeding his shrinking daily allotment of cigarettes.

I decided not to create a scene.
But I was furious.

That night I locked up bob in the cage I keep in My guest house and promised him the beating of his life in the morning.

Most submissive male creatures would have been ecstatic at the prospect. Male subs fork out handsome fees at the OWK for the privilege of spending a night in a damp underground prison cell, followed by a brutal ass-whipping.

But not My slave bob.

bob needs My permission to play golf and go to the bathroom and masturbate. And he loves it. bob relishes My psychological dominance over him and the fact that I control every aspect of his life.

But bob is no pain-slut. he hates--and fears--the physical punishment he gets when he screws up.

So bob was anything but a happy camper that night, lying in his cold cage and dreading the beating I was going to give him.

The next morning I left bob in his cell a while to sober up and reflect on his bad behavior at the party. I devoted My time to cooking up a curry for lunch.
In the process, I painfully singed the tips of the thumb and forefinger of My right hand.

My whipping/paddling/spanking hand!

When I unlocked bob’s cage that morning, I informed him that I couldn’t punish him and why. he gushed with concern over My minor burns, but I could tell he was secretly gloating.

“And since I can’t punish you,” I added, “you’re going to have to punish yourself.”

I led him stunned and naked into his bedroom and put on his mask and ball gag. I ordered him onto the bed. Then I handed him a basket of clothespins. I pulled up a chair and flipped open a cooking magazine.
“Get busy,” I said.


I spent a delightful morning reading My magazine while My hubby slave pinched his cock and balls with colored clothespins, then pounded his ass raw with a black leather paddle.


To view more pics of bob’s self-punishment session, visit Mistress Leesa’s FemDom Links and click “Family Album” on the navigation bar.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

New Features On Mistress Leesa's FemDom Links



Sorry for the lack of fresh posts recently, but I've been busy adding new free features to Mistress Leesa's FemDom Links.

First and foremost is My "Family Album".

Every Tuesday you'll find a fresh set of graphic personal pics that offer an exclusive peep-hole into My private life.

I'm an obsessive photographer and videographer.

Naturally, except for the occasional impromptu face slap or knee in the groin, I can't resist recording every corrective torment I inflict on My suffering (but still stubborn) slave husband.

I've found that this photographic archive is as useful a tool of control as crushing his quivering testicles in My clenched fist.

He knows that, if angry enough, I'm perfectly capable of selecting a pic of him naked and groveling and putting it on the front of next year's Christmas cards.

Now you can see what he doesn't want you to.

And here's another new feature.

Every Friday, in the "Free Pics" category, you'll find a fresh gallery of FemDom photos showing prominent Pro Dommes disciplining Their useless male slaves.

So on Tuesdays and Fridays, respectively, to view the new features visit Mistress Leesa's FemDom Links and click on "Family Album" or "Free Pics" in the navigation bar.

Mistress Leesa's Smoking Cure: Part 1



For years I’d tolerated My slave bob’s filthy cigarette habit.

At home he’d litter My pristine white floor tiles with disgusting flecks of ash. He’d pile high every ashtray with the gruesome corpses of deceased cigarette butts.

bob had turned My house into a stinking tobacco mortuary.

Every so often I’d try to convince him to quit smoking. I’d point out that I could buy numerous outfits or have a spectacular vacation for the annual cost of his cigarettes.

bob’s mantra never changed.

Whenever I raised the smoking issue he’d whine that he wanted to quit, but smoking was an addiction. he was powerless against the lure of the wicked weed.

Finally, this past summer, I decided I’d suffered enough.

I enrolled slave bob in My radical “Mistress Leesa’s Smoking Cure”.

Since then he’s cut down his consumption from three-packs to less than ten cancer-sticks a day. I won’t be satisfied until bob quits smoking completely.

The secret of My smoking cure’s success?

I make cigarette smoking a real pain in the ass.


The seed for bob’s quit-smoking program was planted at The OWK’s June 2007 Celebrations.

Daily we ate our meals at Pub U Chomouta and spent our late evenings at the nightclub Club Wanda.

At both venues OWK etiquette required Mistresses’ male-creatures to huddle humbly by Their feet.

In My case, that meant sitting above a perpetual chimney, constantly puffing out pollutants.

I would complain bitterly, in the presence of other Mistresses, about the smoke blowing in My face and the noxious odor those fumes left behind.

I complained so often that My friend Mistress Minka (who needed permission from no one) would politely ask Me if She could smoke.

My obvious irritation had an impact.

By the close of the June Celebrations, bob himself had decided that it was more important for him to please His Mistress than to continue smoking.

he begged Me to devise for him a quit-smoking program.

I was more than happy to comply.

My pleasure was twofold.

I was helping My slave get rid of a nasty habit and saving Myself the expense of his cigarettes.

In My next blog entry, I’ll describe in detail “Mistress Leesa’s Smoking Cure”.

Suffice it to say now that there is only one way I will ever permit bob to inhale a cigarette, illustrated by the image at left.

Tune in for Part 2.

Mistress Leesa's Smoking Cure: Part 2



I’m a firm believer in the behavior-correcting power of corporal punishment, especially when the offender is a naughty adult male-creature.

To help My naughty slave bob quit his self-destructive smoking habit, I’‘ve devised the following cure.

Each morning at 7:00 a.m. I check the number of cigarettes smoked in the previous 24 hour period. Then, using My carcass beater, I give bob ten sharp strokes on his bare bottom for every cigarette smoked.

The carcass beater is a flexible rubber loop that instantly raises deep welts and, moments later, C-shaped blue bruises.

This corrective training tool is as painful as any rubber truncheon, without the danger of breaking bones or leaving permanent bruises.

I position My sub on his bed with his ass in the air, naked except for his leather slave collar. (his nudity is important; he is not only going to be punished but humiliated as well.).

However, I do not employ any restraints as I want him to use his own will power, despite the pain, to remain in that humbled position.

The pain often causes him to whimper and cry with real tears streaming down his cheeks. But I show no mercy. That would defeat the object of the beating.

Believe Me, the number of cigarettes smoked is decreasing rapidly.

My smoking cure’s success has surprised some of My friends.

For instance, I emailed My friend Madame Pascale outlining “Mistress Leesa’s Smoking Cure” for bob. Madame Pascal, in Her reply, assumed that bob’s reward for smoking less was more beatings.

I explained to Her that bob is no pain slut. he’s what I call a “psychological submissive”, only happy when a Woman rules every aspect of his life. bob fears pain and will go to great lengths to avoid it. Thus the winning strategy behind My smoking cure.

Currently, bob has reduced his smoking from three packs to nine cigarettes a day.

If bob exceeds his target level of nine cigarettes, there is a 20 stroke penalty for each extra cigarette smoked. So if he smokes one extra cigarette, his punishment will increase from 9 cigarettes X 10 strokes = 90 strokes to 10 cigarettes X 10 strokes = 100 strokes + 20 penalty strokes = 120 strokes.

Occasionally, bob messes up and smokes an extra cigarette. This usually happens when he’s met his buddies at the bar.

I deliver his penalty strokes with such severity that it doesn’t happen often. Naturally, I take no notice of his whining about “never being allowed to have any fun”.

I’ll permit bob to remain at the current target level of nine cigarettes for two weeks. By the end of that period, he must reduce his consumption of cigarettes by one, to eight cigarettes a day.

So far, his fear of the fierce daily punishment has forced him to reach every target level I’ve set for him within the required two weeks.

At the close of each punishment session, bob must crouch on all fours to kiss My feet and thank Me, his Mistress, for helping him to cure his addiction.

Occasionally, if he has been a really good boy by lowering his cigarette consumption to the next target level, I’ll reward him by allowing him to nestle his face between My bare breasts.

Mistress Leesa’s Smoking Cure: Part 3



Depressing news.

After My last blog entry (see October 23, below), My plan for curing slave bob’s wretched addiction to tobacco nearly . . .went up in smoke.

I found out yesterday that, behind My back, during the past month My hubby slave’s consumption of cigarettes sneakily climbed from eight a day to a pack and a half!

I was (and still am) in a rage.

For nearly an hour I spanked the betrayer’s bare ass so severely that I had to turn up the stereo full blast to keep the neighbors from hearing his howls.


How had My subby hubby managed to defy Me?

The truth is, for several weeks I’ve been preoccupied with a serious domestic problem.

Toilet-paper rolls, cleaning liquids, tissues, even My shampoo had started vanishing into that parallel universe where lone lost socks reside. Except that, unlike lost socks, no household items ever re-materialized to turn up under the bed.

Somehow My prima donna, overpaid maid had been harvesting the household goodies for her own private horde, walking them right out My front door.

I fired the greedy bitch.

Now I had to find and hire a new maid, one who would steal at a more moderate pace than her predecessor.

This tiring search for domestic help took weeks. Meanwhile, I had to clean the house (and guest house) plus manage all My other business, including financial transactions, investments, etc. (I not only own hubby bob’s ass, I own his assets, too).

I’’d become so exhausted that I’d stopped recording the number of cigarettes bob smoked each day, depending on him to give Me an honest count.

Fat chance!

The worm took advantage of My plight and turned into a human chimney again.

Now I’m exacting My revenge.

I realized: Why should I hire a maid when I already owned the perfect candidate for domestic servitude?

Why not transform My slave robert into sissy-maid roberta?
So daily now I force the slut to doll up in drag, don the curly blonde wig I bought her and do the daily drudgery that the maid used to do, from ironing to clothes washing to mopping.

When roberta/bob fails to perform flawlessly, I bend her over My spanking bench and beat her butt raw.

In particular, if I find dirt on the floor that she’s allegedly already mopped, I make her drop to her knees and lick the tiles clean with her tongue.

Not that roberta’s alter ego, hubby robert, is getting off easy.

This morning I resumed My smoking cure, delivering 35 enthusiastic strokes--one for each cigarette smoked yesterday--to his/her defenseless, quivering ass.

But, hey, don’t think I lack holiday spirit.

I’m going to print up some Christmas cards, featuring this photo (below) of My special gift to bob this year.


I'll mail these Christmas cards to all bob's stuffy buddies at the country club.

24/7 D/s Relationship: Is It Possible?



As a Pro Domme, specializing in role-play, I usually started a session by asking the client to write out a “contract”: a brief description of the fantasy he wanted to act out.

One of the requested “contracts” was the “Mistress Wife” scenario.

The client would confess that he secretly yearned for a permanent domestic relationship with a Woman who would dominate him 24/7, telling him precisely what to do and when to do it.

A domestic Female tyrant in control both of his mind and his body.

A Wife who would issue orders and punish him severely for the slightest infraction of Her rules.

This fantasy spanking-spouse would treat My client at worst as a sniveling slave and at best as a pampered pet.

And if She occasionally humiliated and shamed him in public, so much the better.

In those domination sessions I would play the role of Mistress Wife.

At the time I often wondered: In reality, was this scenario plausible–-or even possible?

Is the “Mistress Wife” scenario merely another male-creature fantasy or can it be a fact?


Privately, based on My own experience, the answer was: impossible!

Daily I’d spend eight or nine exhausting hours whipping (or otherwise tormenting) My consensual clients.

I loved My work, but by the close of business I‘d feel like a starting pitcher who’d gone extra innings. My arm and wrist would hurt like hell. I would be mentally exhausted from My role-playing.

The last thing I wanted to do was go home and be obliged to beat on My boyfriend.

Then old bob came along.

Before bob retired he'd been CEO of his own company. He could offer me a lifestyle of utter luxury and ease. On My part it wasn't a love match. But bob was bright, considerate and charming.

And oh so very rich.

Unfortunately, once we started sharing the same space, old bob soon revealed typical male-creature symptoms: bullying bursts of testosterone and personal habits fit for a pigsty. (I’m a neat freak!)

I was determined to hold onto our marriage--and bob’s money.

In self-defense, I had no alternative: I was forced to play the real-life role of Mistress Wife.

I had three choices.

*Option 1: 24/7 Mistress-Wife Slaver:

I could transform My husband into My full-time personal slave.

That meant castrating him mentally (and threatening to do it physically).

I rejected that extreme option out of hand.

If bob were My slave 24/7, I would have to play the role of Pro Dominatrix for the same duration.

That sounded too much like work.

Besides, there were parts of My relationship with bob I wanted to preserve, aspects of his personality that amused and entertained me.

When bob was being a good little boy, he could be charming, intellectually stimulating and a friend to confide in.

I needed to be in complete control, without becoming a 24/7 Lady-Slaver.

*Option 2: Weekend Warrior

During My first visit to The Other World Kingdom (read My OWK blog entry below), I’d met several Dominas who actively played the Mistress Wife role only once a week or once a month at special clubs such as SM Club Doma in Amsterdam. The clubs offer fully-equipped S&M “playrooms” and fetish “play parties”.

Nice, but not for Me.

bob needed the threat of the whip every single day, not just on weekends at prearranged times.

So I settled on:

*Option 3: Full-time Wife–-and Mistress On-Demand

On the surface bob and I have an ordinary marriage.

I allow bob to perform all those unpleasant little-boy rituals that male creatures are addicted to: drinking in excess; watching pro football marathons on Sundays; and joining his fellow male creatures in their tribal sport: monopolizing the conversation, at Women’s expense, during dinner parties.

And for every transgression (particularly pro football on Sundays) bob pays a price. I reward his naughtiness with a severe bare-assed spanking.

In private he must address me as Mistress.

Every morning bob's first task is to kneel naked before me and kiss both My feet.

The physical punishment and abject humiliation have improved bob's behavior.

The truth is, living with a man is like sharing a seesaw with a childhood companion.

With you perched on one end and your friend on the other, some of the time is spent simply sitting and interacting: laughing, chatting, having fun.

And then the board slips out of equilibrium.

I always wanted to be the one to take over and restore the board to an even plane.

The bruises I leave on bob’s ass and ego keep our seesaw board in balance.

August 2006 Vacation At The Other World Kingdom



Friday, August 4

This first entry in My diary comes two days before a week-long vacation abroad at an exotic resort hotel.

As usual, there’s the dreaded packing, but this time with a difference.

Aside from My normal resort clothing, I’ll need some special attire you won’t find women flaunting at a hotel in Cancun.

For instance: a pair of leather domina corsets and My newest knee-high, stiletto-heel boots.

And picture the commotion at customs when the inspector unzips My airline carryon and discovers a bullwhip, two paddles, a carcass beater, hood, ball gag, penis whip and a riding crop.

In contrast, hubby bob’s tiny traveling bag will be as empty as the crotch front of his underpants.

All bob needs at this hotel is his black leather thong plus a dog-collar and leash.

The collar is critical.

This hotel requires “Male Creatures” to wear collars 24 hours a day to signify their slave status.

I’m dragging off My reluctant subby hubby to The Other World Kingdom, whose motto is “Women Over Men”.

OWK is an exclusive Feminine monarchy located two hours north of Prague, in the Czech Republic. Queen Patricia rules supreme, commanding a court of fem dom Palace Guards and serf-like male slaves.

That's right: “Women Over Men”.

Punishment over Pleasure.

By week’s end, I suspect, bob may need ass-replacement surgery.