Thomas Lavalle's Blog, page 7

LEO: GROWING UP IN A MATRIARCHAL HOME, Part Two

[Note from Thomas Lavalle: Regular reader “Leo” continues his fond memories of coming of age in a strict matriarchal clan headed by his mother and her sister. In this part, Leo describes how the torch of female authority was passed from his mother to his older sister and how she began to exercise dominion over him at an early age. He will expand a bit on this in a scheduled third part.]

Not surprisingly, my sister, who is two years older, inherited the strong character of the women in our family. I will never forget my sister’s eighteenth birthday, when I was sixteen. For some reason I dared to talk back to her and got a slap that almost sent me spinning to the floor.“How dare you talk back to me!” she snapped, and gave me a backhand that left me seeing stars. In the midst of my shock and bewilderment, I heard my mother's approaching heels. She took my chin in her hands and forced me to look directly into her unyielding gaze.“Do not think for a moment that I will allow you to show disrespect to your sister!”This no-nonsense message from my mother was punctuated with a resounding slap of her own.It was only then that I discovered my father had witnessed the whole scene—in silence, not daring to intervene or plead for me. But, just to be sure of his compliance, my mother walked over and stood directly in front of him. I should mention here that my mother was a beautiful woman, intimidating and imposing.“What about you?” she challenged. “Do you have something to say?”My father looked genuinely frightened. He replied as he’d been taught to do. “No, Ma’am.”

At this, Mom snapped her fingers and pointed to the door. Obediently, Dad bowed his head and went into the kitchen.With that first sharp slap on her eighteenth birthday, as I would soon learn, my sister had just asserted her new authority over me—an authority conferred on her by my mother according to the rules of our matriarchy.
Let me mention that women’s birthday were always special days in our matriarchal clan. They were celebrated as great events, with parties, gifts and invited guests, while male birthdays went almost unnoticed. (Although Mom did like to give Dad useful presents on his birthday. Cleaning and cooking utensils and things like that.)
Beginning with that birthday slap, I became a kind of personal servant to my older sister.* I had to clean and tidy her room, wash and iron her clothes and keep her collection of shoes and boots immaculately polished. I have no idea how many times I implored her not to punish me again, but even with all that, I was genuinely happy being my sister’s servant. As time went on, I felt more and more that it was a proper subservient role for me. I've always loved my sister and to this day feel deeply proud of her and of my devoted service to her.As I’m sure you can imagine, I learned early not to complain to my mother about my sister’s treatment me. The few times I tried, I was reprimanded harshly and reminded that my obligation was always to obey my sister without asking stupid questions or daring to complain. In fact, at home Dad and I both learned that when women are speaking, men are to keep their mouths shut. We learned, too, that it is best not to ask stupid questions, and that orders from a woman are to be obeyed instantly and silently.My mother used to give us this excellent advice: “A husband must learn to keep his mouth shut. Before ever opening his mouth, a husband should be prudent and think very well what he is going to say. Otherwise he may end up in trouble.”At my Aunt's house, things were handled in much the same way. As heads of households in our strict matriarchal clan, both my aunt and my mother used to take lovers now and then, and they did so quite openly, without hiding their “wanderings” from their husbands, a fact that I gradually became aware of during my teens. To put it plainly, both my father and my Aunt's husband were cuckolds who had no choice but to accept that their wives had every right to do whatever they pleased. Let me emphasize that these were happy marriages, marriages that lasted decades. Looking back, I can see that they were truly successful and blessed marriages, and I can further attest that ours were really happy families.I am a firm believer that a strong Female Supremacist Matriarchy is the most perfect and healthy way to create a harmonious, fair and peaceful society. I believe this is the natural order of things, plain and simple. And I welcome all comments and/or questions.___________________________________________________________________
*It was on a subsequent birthday that my mother gave my sister full authority over Dad, but I will leave that for a subsequent post.

LEO: GROWING UP IN A MATRIARCHAL HOME, Part One

[Note from Thomas Lavalle: This guest post came to me as an email from a regular reader, who shares fond memories of coming of age in a no-nonsense matriarchal clan headed his mother and her sister. In Part Two, Leo describes how the torch of female authority was passed from his mother to his older sister and how she began to exercise dominion over him at an early age.]

I am a 58-year-old man who believes strongly that women were born to rule. I was fortunate to grow up in a household ruled by women. In fact, the women's authority in what I will call our matriarchal clan (which includes the family of my wife’s sister) was absolute and unquestionable. My mother and her sister both ruled their homes under the philosophy and precepts of a strong matriarchy.

You need to understand that I'm talking about the ’60s and ’70s when women needed to ask their husband's permission to work outside the home. But not in our family! On the contrary, my mother and aunt were the ones who worked outside the home while their husbands remained at home doing all the household chores.

Although concepts such as female supremacy and female superiority were not used in those days—or at least were not a topic of discussion anywhere that I ever saw—the women in our family could be accurately described as staunch female supremacists who exercised over their men an indisputable authority. A stern look from either of these two
sisters was enough for their husbands to shut their mouths instantly and humbly bow their heads. Such was the respect and, yes, fear that my father and my uncle had for their ruling wives.

Some people may think that fear has no place in a healthy relationship. But, with all due respect for others’ opinions, I have to say that I have seen that a good dose of fear reinforces the respect and obedience that a husband should always have for his wife. In fact, I am convinced that a wife who truly loves her husband is a wife who does not spare the rod, the leather belt, slapping, etc., in order to educate her husband and make him a better man. In our family, the men were grateful for any such
physical correction, since they knew, as all males should instinctively know, that the proper position of a man before a woman is one of absolute subordination.

I had a happy childhood in this matriarchal environment. My mother patiently guided and educated me and very early in life I learned to respect and obey her. During those early years, as I recall, her punishments were limited to half a dozen spankings to correct the natural rebelliousness or tendency to be naughty that boys have. In light of this, I thought it completely natural to see my father obeying my mother, just like I had to do, and to see her correcting and even berating him for any negligence or sign of laziness.

As I grew older, however, I began to see that the domination my mother exercised over my father went way beyond mere scoldings. I must have been around 12 or 13 when I secretly listened outside my parents’ bedroom one evening and overheard my Dad begging Mom not to beat him again. Her response was to order him, in no uncertain terms, to
shut up (actually she used stronger language).

Then came the punishment, which I also overheard and which must have lasted about 15 minutes. Believe me, I trembled as I listened to the obvious thrashing my mother was giving my father. But, to my surprise, when he finally finished moaning, he began thanking her for the physical correction she’d just given him!

I also must confess that what I overheard that night behind closed doors caused me some arousal—and also made me feel deeply proud of my beloved mother.

Over the next several years, certainly by the time I was 15, I had eavesdropped on many such beatings of my father by my mother. She had also begun to assert her authority openly in front of all the family. More than a few times, in fact, I witnessed Mom silencing Dad with a hard slap for speaking disrespectfully or thoughtlessly. One of the many lessons that I began to learn, from those days onward, was that silence, humility and obedience are virtues that males need to cultivate. When the women of the family were speaking, Dad and I knew to remain in absolute silence.

(End Part One)

MISTRESS SANDRA: Commenting on the Post ‘FEMALE LED FAMILIES: SUBMISSIVE DADS & DOMINANT DAUGHTERS’

(Note from Thomas Lavalle: I am extremely honored to publish a guest post by Mistress Sandra, who is well known to regular readers of Mistress Kathy’s Femdom 101 blog, for her passionate advocacy of, and informative comments on femdom marriages. Here she offers insights on my previous posting, ‘Female Led Families: Submissive Dads & Dominant Daughters, which, with her permission, I am publishing here as a separate posting. I am hopeful that Mistress Sandra will continue to grace these pages on a regular basis.)
This subject is extremely controversial, and I think we can all see why. But for those that truly believe in the positive aspects of female rule, a daughter coming of age and becoming a female authority to any male in the home, including her father, should be very natural.
I do think that in a home where this is a possibility, the ultimate female authority and head of the house, the wife and mother, should consider how far this should go. Her comfort with whatever happens should be the most important consideration when the time comes.
A woman who believes in Female-Led homes should pass these beliefs on to her daughter, and teach her how to be a proper and positive female authority as she prepares for a Female-Led home of her own.
The father’s behavior should be an example to his daughter of how a well-trained, obedient and devoted male should act. As young teens, girls should see their father being very obedient and respectful of their mothers. The father should do the housework, yard work and serve his wife in other ways as she wishes. He should also serve his daughter in ways that will benefit her without being obvious about his beliefs in the value of Female-Led homes. A man must balance between being a father while also being a respectful servant to his daughter.
[image error] Later, as a girl get older, around her late teens, she may be ready to start leading. And at this stage the fathers should be more open about taking orders from their daughters and waiting on them as the opportunities arise. By the time a girl turns 21, she is a woman and deserving of being shown the same respect and obedience as her mother. It would not be out of line if a mother decided that her daughter should be addressed with a “Yes, Ma’am” and “No, Ma’am” by her father. She should be in a position of authority to approve or deny any request by her father, and also be in full authority to assign him chores and discipline him as she sees fit. For her position of authority, if it is to be valid, must include the authority to discipline any male in her service.  
A young woman fortunate enough to have her mother as a mentor, learning from her how a confident woman trains a submissive male and seeing her father set the example for proper male behavior in a Female-Led home, is one of the best and most positive beginnings I can think of for her own Femdom marriage.
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FEMALE LED FAMILIES: SUBMISSIVE DADS & DOMINANT DAUGHTERS

I won’t pretend that this topic (see the all-capped title above) isn’t edgy and controversial. I know it is. In fact, it’s a family dynamic my wife June and I both wrestled with as our daughter, Gretchen, blossomed from little girlhood into her preteens and mid- and late teens and lovely young womanhood.
Yes, even my ruling wife, the authority in all family matters and to whom I defer on all things, had second thoughts about seeing her husband being bossed around more and more openly by our daughter.
Which is kind of funny, because, basically, as far back as infancy, Gretch had been  ordering me about as her adoring slave. “You’re not the boss of me,” I once scolded moppet Gretch. “I am too!” she shot back.
How else could it be, then, given Gretchen’s strong and stubborn personality and my submissive and deferential role as subordinate parent? Gretchen grew up knowing that Mommy was the boss in all things. That Daddy never second-guessed Mommy or talked back, or, if he did, got shushed for disrespect.
As Gretchen became 12 and 13, she knew only Mommy could give permission for a sleepover, or a trip to the movies with friends, or a coveted mall purchase. Gretch knew there was no earthly point in asking Daddy anything of consequence, because he only had to ask Mommy. Gretch knew her father rarely had more than ten dollars in his wallet, and usually less, left over from the small weekly allowance Mommy gave him; and on one embarrassing cross-examination of her father, Gretch discovered that Daddy couldn't even use his emergency debit card without Mommy’s specific permission.
Little Gretchen had grown up seeing Mommy seated at the head of the table, and Daddy always serving and then clearing away after meals and doing the dishes and kitchen cleanup, and cooking under Mommy’s supervision whenever Mommy didn’t want to cook. And, of course, Gretchen saw Daddy doing housework on weekends and as soon as he came home from work, while Mommy watched TV or read or chatted on the phone or went shopping or whatever.
But, most of all, Gretchen felt the love that pervades our matriarchal home, and Daddy’s obvious happiness and fulfillment in his properly subservient role, obeying his wise and superior wife and catering to his willful, superior daughter. And Gretchen could also see, in sharp contrast, the domestic strife and even bitter divorces that afflicted too many of her girlfriends’ families.
So, as Gretchen turned 14, and 15, it seemed only natural that she would begin to exercise more authority in the family, and more authority over me. She went to a private girls high school and had to have her uniform blouse and skirt cleaned and pressed, every morning. Why would Daddy not be given this privileged assignment, and why would he not be happy and proud to fulfill it? And to do all Gretchen’s laundry, and keep her room clean and make her bed, while her smart mother helped her with algebra and geometry homework that was beyond Daddy’s brain to fathom?
And, so, when Gretch became 16, it did not seem in the least odd that she, not Daddy, was put in authority over the house whenever Mommy was away.
“If you see Daddy watching televised sports,” my wife would announce to almost-grown-up Gretchen before going out the door, “make sure he’s done all his chores first and you have nothing else for him to do.”
This sort of thing would be said in a teasing, lighthearted way, but it was meant seriously, and Gretchen definitely took it that way. My daughter was, and is, a natural supervisor and came up with all sorts of systems and short cuts to help me get more done faster on my weekly chore list. I remember one of her tips went something like this:
“Sitting for hours watching other guys exercise is a big time-waster. Turn off the TV, do some quick pushups or situps or whatever and then go back to your chores!”
I was pretty good with this setup for awhile, though it took some getting used to, knowing Gretchen was always keeping an eye on me and probably reporting back to June and maybe even giving evaluations. But one afternoon, when my wife was off on a short business trip, I put my foot down and refused to turn off this big NFL playoff game with the score tied even after Gretchen told me twice to do so!
So Gretchen grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV herself. And I got angry and petulant and, when she put down the remote and left the room, I turned the game back on, but with the sound real low.
But Gretchen heard it and stormed back. She turned it off again and pocketed the remote and then walked right up and slapped me, telling me I had to obey her, as Mommy had told me to do, and get back to my chores right now.
I was shocked. Gretchen had slapped me before, but playfully, even giggling about it, pretending to be Mommy. But this was serious. Even worse, I knew it was fully justified, that I’d been way out of line. I also knew that Gretchen would be calling her mother and that there would be serious repercussions.
I was right. My wife called a family meeting the night she got home. She had Gretchen tell her whole story in detail—and she did it accurately, I have to admit. June asked me for my version, but I kept silent, knowing I had no defense.
The consequences (aside from my closed-door spanking) were:
1)   All my TV privileges were immediately canceled. If there was anything I wanted to watch, I would need to ask specific permission a week in advance and then be prepared to have my request denied (this has not changed, by the way); and2)   From then on, Gretchen’s general authority over me was made specific, including her right to slap me anytime I willfully and defiantly disobeyed her, whether or not June was home; and finally3)   June was going to be much stricter in future about promoting and enforcing female authority in our home, in as many ways as possible. (Stay tuned!)  “In case you didn’t know it before,” June told me, summing up, “we women are in charge here. And we can all laugh and have fun together as long as you remember that."
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ENFORCING MALE SILENCE IN A FEMALE LED HOME

(Note: Male silence is definitely golden in female supremacist homes and families. In support of this proposition, I’ve gathered below some provocative quotes from several online sources. Many of these, you may note, first appeared on Mark Remond’s Worshipping Your Wife blog. Mr. Remond deserves much credit for his efforts in publicizing female led families through the wonderful guests posts of “Beckie Sue,” “Ms. Amanda” and “Ms. Jenn.” Alas, the WYW blog is currently inactive, and Mr. Remond informs me that he is no longer in contact with  any of those three powerful and persuasive matriarchs. With his blessing, then, I reprint those quotes and others, and make an appeal to anyone, male or female, who has lived in, or is currently living in, a strict matriarchal marriage or female led family to contact me. I would love to hear from you.—Thomas Lavalle, thomaslavalle@gmail.com)
“Protocol: Men are to speak only when spoken to; Women don’t really care what men have to say; men learn by listening to Women.”(“Meeting Joan and Learning ‘The Protocols”)
“My Mistress values silence. It’s as though she follows the maxim "Slaves are to be seen and not heard.’ There are stretches of time when we communicate mostly through rituals -- the routines of service, the greeting at the door, the finger pointing at the floor, the raised foot, the empty cup. She smiles and giggles. She’s very sweet to me.”(Comment by “brian1” to Mistress Kathy’s Femdom101 blog)
“I will not back talk to my wife. I will not interrupt. I will not comment on everything. I will listen carefully so she does not have to repeat things. When she says to stop something that is annoying her, I will stop immediately, no whining, no moping, no bad attitude. I will not disagree with her in public.”(“CurbingMy Enthusiasm, Part 1”)

“My greatest thrill in our social life is when we have a few friends over and the wives all talk openly to each other and the men are finally lulled by Ms. Louise’s dominance and their own wives into quiet, sensible submission. The sound of male quiet during female conversation is the music of a matriarchal home. If I excitedly offer my opinion Ms. Louise often returns me to my place with a loving chide: ‘Honey, please, the women are speaking now.’ And that is the motto of our matriarchy: the women are speaking now; men, you’ve had your chance, and please be silent.”(“Mr. Louise,”” Spousechat Archive Excerpt No. 9”)
“In some female-led households, of course, the wife is encouraged to be more than a bit bossy. One such matriarchal wife instituted the following conversational rule for her mate: ‘If I speak, you must be silent, even if you are speaking first.’”(“CurbingMy Enthusiasm, Part 2”)


Seven Rules1-Obey at once.2-Mind your business.3-Stay on your knees with your eyes down.4-Answer Yes Ma’am or No Ma’am.5-Speak only when spoken to.6-Never ever expect sex.7-There are rewards and punishments-so never complain.(“Seven Rules,” Elise Sutton, Female Domination)
“A wife should not have to bore herself with listening to her husband’s interests, they are not important whereas her interests are of the most import. Any problem at his work he needs to deal with; his purpose is to earn money for her to enjoy. Outside of work he should have no other interest other than serving his wife and the chores she assigns to him. When the husband forfeits all freedom to her, he forfeits any outside interests. He must listen to and pay attention to all his wife says and consider these his interests.

“My husband and I used to talk all the time and I couldn't have cared less what he had to say, but was polite. I finally told him to shut up (yes, I said those words and have learned to use them many times since). The males (husband and son) in my house go about their chores and lives in quiet. It is just normal now. Our two daughters and I are quite talkative and the 'boys' always listen and only talk when asked to.”(“Siobhan,” commenting on “Toward A Lifelong Female-Led Marriage: Obedience”)
“The slave should always seek permission to speak before addressing his Mistress… 'Please Mistress your slave/it begs permission to speak’ is appropriate… If I ever wish a conversation with the slave I will initiate one, but it will always occur with him in a position of subjugation. I may even ask his opinion on some matter but I never place the slave in a position where he might get even the slightest idea that he being treated as an equal… “ (Ingrid Bellemare, Owning and Training a Male Slave )
“My husband is only allowed to talk at the table to answer questions from our daughters or me, which is a good example for our son.”(Ms. Amanda, “Female Authority Within the Family, Part 2”)
“I decided that, from then on, during dinner my husband would not speak at all unless spoken to specifically and keep his head down as a sign of his subordinate position to me and my daughters. It would also send a good signal to my 8-year-old son who talks too much during dinner. This has worked out really well! My daughters and I have really enjoyed the silence of the males at the table.”(Ms. Jenn, “Female Authority Within the Family, Part 1”)

“Men are designed to work hard, do as they’re told and do it in silence.”(Matriarch “Linda,” quoted by “Sam,” “It’s Holiday Time for the Women”) 

“My husband had great difficulties getting used to, as a rule, keeping his mouth shut until he was asked… I cannot explain why it was so hard for him to keep quiet, and it was at times not just annoying but embarrassing, as for instance when he even interrupted a female. Fortunately it has never embarrassed me to use one of the [many convenient] phrases or in other ways making him shut up. It embarrassed him totally, in front of the study group or my friends, having to be reminded that he was supposed to be quiet until asked, and eventually it had the effect that he learned to keep quiet. At home I would scold and slap him for not being quiet in public, and after we came to share our first apartment, he also a few times was caned for this offense.

“In private to be told to shut up had not the same embarrassing effect as when it happened in public, but then other methods could be used, and on occasion I several times kept him quiet for hours by closing his mouth with tape. Combined with stern reprimands, face slapping and at times also a sound spanking, the effect was satisfactory.

“In my house it is a golden rule that, especially at meals, the males do not speak unless spoken to, and on the rare occasions when, despite the rule, it happens that one of them cannot keep his mouth shut, this instantly causes a surprised, almost shocked silence; everybody looks at the culprit who blushes and shamefully lowers his head and whispers an apology. He will of course be dismissed from the table and have to stand in the corner until he later can be punished properly. This rule is not departed from just because we have guests, and not even when the guest is a friend of one of the children.”(Ms. Charlotte, Female Led Relationships, “Men Who Accept Being Inferior Make the Best Husbands”)


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LADY SUSAN: A SHOE SHRINE FOR REVERENT MALES

(A note from Thomas Lavalle: Readers of Mark Remond’s Worshipping Your Wife blog (now on extended hiatus) may recall many references to a strict matriarchal clan in the posts of dennis, Ms. Nancy (his ruling wife), and Ms. Nancy’s mother, Lady Susan. Indeed, dennis even wrote about learning proper male obedience and service protocols from Ms. Nancy’s grandmother, Ms. Joan. Wishing to learn more about these remarkable women and their female supremacist lifestyle, I wrote to Mr. Remond, informing him that I would be honored to publish any additional posts from dennis, Ms. Nancy, Lady Susan or any other members of this multi-generational, exended matriarchal family. I’m delighted to have received the following brief offering from Lady Susan.)
In our living room, on the path to the kitchen, is a small table on which a pair of Women’s shoes is placed for worship and adoration. Whenever passing this shrine, men must genuflect and reverently kiss the shoe as a sign of their acceptance of their subordinate role. Of course, the Women understand that genuflecting to and kissing the shoe are not always practical, such as when a male is carrying a tray of drinks. In such circumstances, a curtsy will suffice. By the way, the shoes on display in our living room are not limited to high-heel stilettos, although most are. We often have kitten heels, the occasional flats, and, sometimes for fun, Nancy’s stripper heels.
There are other opportunities for shoe worship by properly reverent males. For example, if Lady Susan is seated and points to Her shoes, this is an unspoken command to the male in attendance (usually, but not always, dennis) to render Her shoes and, of course, Herself, homage—and it doesn’t matter who else is present. The male kneels before Her and kisses Her shoes until She disengages.
Melissa (the niece of Lady Susan’s sister, Julie) taught the Women an interesting variation on shoe worship. It involves having the male kneel in front of the Woman, or each of the Women in turn, and extending his tongue, thereby offering visual testimony to his complete acceptance of Her authority over him. The Woman then rubs the soles of Her shoes on the male’s tongue.  This form of worship usually lasts a minute or two and usually entails serving all of the Women present, although it can last much longer. My sister Julie (Melissa’s aunt) uses other variations, such as a man’s taking the entire length of a stiletto heel into his mouth—certainly another eloquent indication of a man’s complete obedience.
In Our family, proper shoe worship has been enshrined in the Protocols* Over the years, the Protocols have grown to enshrine many new rituals, such as these We describe. We believe that men need rules—lots of them—to ensure proper behavior, and, when needed, discipline. By whatever name—Protocols, Rules, House Rules, Her Rules, Deference, Etiquette, Formalities, Decorum—men know that complying with these dictates is the best way to ensure a happy relationship and to avoid the extremely painful consequences associated with misbehavior.
(*These were instituted by Joan, Lady Susan’s mother, to codify proper male service to the superior Female gender.)
Shoe worship also works into Goddess worship with our local congregation. There is lots of ritual involved that is intended to reinforce the status and power of Women and help initiate men into the congregation, although in limited roles.*
(As was mentioned in one of dennis’ posts on the Wife Worship blog, this is a new age church focused on Goddess worship and indeed encouraging women to think of themselves as Goddesses. Men are permitted to join the congregation after securing sponsorship from three women and after completing an extensive orientation program.)

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'I SOLD YOU TODAY' by EOSUCHUS, Part 2

(Note from Thomas Lavalle: I first came across the femdom fiction writer cyber-named "Eosuchus" on Mark Remond's Worshipping Your Wife  blog. Sadly, Mark has lost touch with Eosuchus, but passed along to me one of his older stories, " I SOLD YOU TODAY," a two-parter set in an alternate future with state-sanctioned femdom marriages. This is the concluding part.)

Part Two of “I SOLD YOU TODAY”
“Let’s take a look at him,” said the deeper voice above his head. “You said you dropped his name, yeah?”
“Oh, yeah, he hasn’t been anything except 'slave' for about a year now. I don’t really see why they need names, unless you have more than one, you know, like a stable.”
“You’re so right. I like to train them so I don’t have to say anything much, and they always know when I want something.”
‘That sounds ideal.”
“Slave, look up.”
For the first time he dared to raise his head. He felt his eyes widen involuntarily.
His new Mistress was indeed voluptuous, with big hips and a massive bust line. She was also very beautiful. Her skin was a light brown, her hair straight black and curled in an expensive looking coif. There was a slight African American cast to her features, which apart from the size and spacing of her eyes and the generous, full lips were delicate and small. On top of that she was wearing, correction, she was crammed into, a tight-fitting suit with a faux leopard-skin pattern, and her heavy breasts were pressing out against the fabric. The skirt was cut to the knee, but tight, and her fishnet stockings ran down to ankle boots in the same fake leopard-skin with five-inch heels.
At the sight of her, he felt his penis harden inside the chastity tube. She was older than him, but she was earth-mother beautiful. Maybe being sold wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
“Okay, I want you stand up now.”
He sprang to his feet and stood at attention.
“You got something he can stand on?” said Mistress Brenda.
“Oh, sure. Slave, bring over the kitchen stool and stand on it for your new Mistress.”
When he was up on the stool with his hands on his head. Mistress Brenda peeled down his slave panties. His penis bobbed up and down, straining inside the chastity tube.
“You got the key, I hope.” Both women laughed. There had been a news story a month before about someone losing the key to her slave’s chastity device and how this had complicated her sale of him to another woman.
The key was produced, turned in the lock and then the tube was pulled free.
He felt his cock leap instantly to a throbbing, full-tilt erection.
“My… that does seem interesting.” Mistress Brenda took his penis in her hand and felt it carefully, testing its size and heft. He shivered and shook at her touch, which was firm and yet quite casual. Mistress Brenda was obviously familiar with slave cock. “Mmmm, impressive, I like that. Never did like men with weenies, you know what I’m saying?”
“Oh, sure, he’s a nice size there. But I never let him come, you know, that way…”
Mistress Brenda laughed again. A generous hearty laugh that filled the room. “Damned right, girl, slaves don’t come very often and when they do they got to pay for it.” Her hand had taken him by the balls now and she kneaded them between her fingers. “These babies are full, huh?”
“Oh, sure, I keep him as frustrated as possible. They’re so much more obedient when they’re desperate that way.”
“That’s how we rule them, no doubt about it.”
A quirt had appeared from nowhere in Mistress Brenda’s hand. Casually, but with force, she stropped it down on his ass. A line of fire shot through him and he almost fell off the stool. His erection lost a little of its intensity and with it went the chance that he might come accidentally.
“Down on your knees now!” Mistress Brenda said without even looking at him. His total obedience was simply expected. She was reading something off her Blackberry.
“Okay, we have to finalize the Divorce and then do the Marriage thing.”
He knelt, that hot line on his ass still smarting. The way she wielded that quirt was just a little scary. He wouldn’t want Mistress Brenda like, really mad at him. Ever.
“Here,” said Mistress Brenda. “Put this back on and lock it up good and give me the key.”
He crammed his semi-erect cock into the tube and replaced the lock. Mistress Brenda took the key on its chain and slipped it over her head. He watched the little brass key bounce down between her massive breasts. Control over his sexuality had been transferred from one woman to another. There were just the legal formalities and it would all be over.
Mistress Sarah had the State Female Led Marriage website up on her laptop.
“There’s a webcam connection. They say it’s all very easy.”
“Yeah, my friend Shanika took a new slave last month. I was her Bridesmistress. The whole thing took about five minutes.” Mistress Brenda sighed and patted her fabulous-looking ass.
“Then we took that boy to the bedroom and had him eat some ass. By the time we were done, he was about passed out. So we whupped on him a little. Shanika has a strong arm, so he came back to life pretty quick.”
Both women giggled.
“And then we did him with some different-sized strap-ons, got him used to being a slave bitch boi.”
By the sound of it, life as Mistress Brenda’s slave was going to be stretching his limits. Mistress Sarah had never been that interested in the strap-on thing and hadn’t done it to him in months.
“Okay, we’re on.” Mistress Sarah pointed to the screen.
A female judge, looking smart and just a little stern, appeared on the screen.
“Good evening, you have petitioned the court for a Divorce and New Marriage under the FLM Act, Section Eleven, is that correct?”
“Uh, yes, Ma’am,” said Mistress Sarah.

“Is the husband present?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Please put him on the webcam. He has signed Section Eleven, but he still has the right to ask for Clemency and a dissolution of Contract. Beyond that, you have full ownership rights, of course.”
“If he does that, we just put him out on the street, correct?”

“No, that would lead to a public nuisance. We don’t want men in panties wandering around the streets. Someone who’s been a house slave for ten years or more is pretty much helpless outdoors. So, he would have the choice of job training at the County Center, or being put up for auction, again under the FLM rules of Section Eleven. You would be responsible for transporting him to the County Center and booking him in there.”
“Okay.” Mistress Sarah turned to him. “You better get up here so the Judge can see you.”
He found himself standing there in front of the the little camera on the laptop, trembling a little, trying to concentrate, trying to think. He’d been a slave now for almost two years. He could barely remember what his previous life had been like, when he’d had a job, and driven a car and all those things that marked a free man from a Woman’s slave and property. If he spoke up, he could have his freedom again. He could get job training, he would get to live his own life, he could have a car again, he would be somebody, not a Woman’s property.
The judge was reading a file on a secondary screen.
“You are David Green, correct?”
His name. He hadn’t heard it in a long time now. It was a bit strange to be addressed by that name now. He’d been "slave," or "honey," or "baby," for so long, that was what he thought when he thought of himself, not “david.”
“Uhh, yeah.”
“You married Sarah Person on September 4th, 2019, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you signed Section Eleven of the Female Led Marriage Contract, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Under the law she may divorce you and sell your contract to another woman. You have been introduced to that woman?”
“Uh, yes, Mistress.”
The judge looked up and stared at him through the webcam. She had a slight smile on her lips. “No, honey, I’m the Judge, not your new wife.”
“S-s-s-sorry,” he stammered and blushed. The judge was amused.
“Okay. Do you agree with these actions under Section Eleven? That Sarah Person will divorce you and sell your contract to Miss Brenda McKay?”
So this was the moment. This was where he had his last chance to stop this. Did he want to be “david” again? To be something more than “slave”? To be able to touch his own penis, to even, God, masturbate? How long had it been since he’d done that? Was he going to make a stand? Or accept his fate as a male slave and be taken away by Mistress Brenda to a new life under her heel?
“Well?”
“I,” he hesitated, saw Mistress Brenda frown, and instinctively flinched inside. To have Mistress Brenda frown in his direction terrified him.
“I accept,” he said.
The judge smiled again. “Good. I like to see a man who is happy under Section Eleven. I put my husband under contract some years ago after he lost his job. I have to say that we’re both very happy.”
Mistress Brenda, however, was still unhappy with him, he could tell, but for now she was eager to get on with the ceremony.

“For the Divorce proceedings, the wife just has to say on camera, ‘I divorce my husband, David Green,' and pass his contract to, and then you give the name of the lady who is purchasing David from you.”
“Got it,” said Mistress Sarah. She repeated the formula, and downloaded a copy of the official divorce document.
“You are keeping all of his property?” said the judge, who was putting in notes on another laptop by her side.
“Yes.”
“He must have at least a pair of panties.”
“He does.”
“Okay. Now, for the Marriage Ceremony, Miss, uh--”
“McKay, Brenda McKay.”
“Good, Miss McKay, all you have to say is 'I, Brenda McKay, do take ownership of FLM Contract 11D38-473-736, and the person of David Green, to be my husband under the rules established in Section Eleven of the FLM Act. I have complied with all regulations and codes therein and I promise to keep said David Green in health and in legal compliance with all county laws, rules, regulations and codes.'”
Mistress Brenda repeated the words and, as she did, so he felt something shift under him, whether it was the ground or his life, he didn’t know. It was all happening so quickly, and he had no way of stopping it.

And, he didn’t want to, either.
“Now, David, you have to say, 'I accept Marriage to Brenda McKay under Section Eleven of the FLM Act and her ownership of Contract 11D38-473-736. I promise to serve her as a good husband, within the laws and regulations of the county.'”
He said the words and with each one he felt something stronger than iron binding around him.
“Good,” said the judge. “I declare you Wife and man, and may you be happy for as long as she wants. Go in peace.”
The ceremony was over. He had been sold. Brenda was actually cutting an electronic check for Mistress Sarah, while he knelt in the corner again.
“Okay, that’s it,” Sarah said. Both women turned back to him.
Mistress Brenda had produced a thick black leather collar from her bag.


“I believe in keeping a slave collared,” she said. “And leashed in public.”
“Oh, yeah, well I never went that far with him,” said Sarah.
“Slave, kneel up.”
He raised his head and Mistress Brenda set the collar around his neck and fastened it in place. A moment later she clipped a braided leather leash to it, then turned back to Mistress Sarah.
“Well, Ms. Person, thank you very much. I think that’s everything.”
She jerked on the leash. “Say your goodbyes to Mistress Sarah, slave.”
He bent down for the last time to kiss Mistress Sarah’s feet, and for a moment he remembered the first time, when he was still her boyfriend, and she was just introducing him to her style of Female Domination. That night, playing Femdom games, letting her spank him for the first time, had been so innocent, so sexually stimulating, it had opened the door to his own true submissive nature. At the time he’d had no idea where it would lead, or that within three months he would’ve married Sarah and become her official, contract slave under the Female Led Marriage Law.
If he’d known then what he knew now? Would he have run for his life? No. He knew in his heart of hearts that he would still have called her the next day, and kept calling, and begged to see her, begged to be allowed to worship her.
“Goodbye, slave,” she said, and Mistress Brenda tugged lightly on the leash and he knelt up. For a moment his eyes met Sarah’s. She smiled slightly and then she and Mistress Brenda were talking and he was being led to the door.
The door opened, Mistress Brenda walked out, her fabulous buttocks, which were quite a bit bigger than Sarah’s, doing incredible things inside that tight, faux leopard-skin skirt, and he followed her, barely hearing the door shut behind him.
Ahead was a bright yellow Mini station wagon. Mistress Brenda led him to the hatchback which was rising with a little beep as she pressed a button on her keyset.
Suddenly it came home to him that he was outdoors, wearing nothing but a pair of pink panties and a chastity system. He hadn’t been outside for more than a year, and he hadn’t worn anything except slave panties for about the same length of time. The blue sky seemed enormous. Distances were frightening for some reason, and he blushed deep red when a woman drove by and stared at him standing there in nothing but pink slave panties, slave collar and leash.
“Get in, lie down on the bed there.”
There was an extra large dog bed in the back of the Mini wagon. He got up onto it and lay down. Mistress Brenda clipped a special safety belt across his body. He saw “Slavertransit Belt” printed on it and felt his jaw drop. Wow, the market for this kind of thing must have boomed in recent years. Women really were taking over. For a moment she looked down at him, then she put her hand on his thigh and ran it up and inside to his crotch, taking him by the balls. Her grip was firm, but comfortable, as if she’d owned his balls for years and years. His cock was as hard as it could get inside the chastity system.
“You know you’re going to be punished the moment we get home, don’t you?”
He did. He nodded, frightened already by the thought.
“You hesitated there, when the judge asked you the question. That embarrassed me, and no slave ever embarrasses me twice, understood?”
“I’m so sorry, Mistress, I, I, it was all so sudden. I didn’t know…”
“Didn’t know what?”
“Uh, well, that Mistress was going to sell me, not until just an hour ago.”
His whole life had been turned upside down in less than an hour.
From massaging Sarah’s perfect rump and keeping the little house in Floral Park clean and perfect for his former girlfriend, who’d become his owner under the law, he’d been sold, he’d been handed over to another woman, a perfect stranger, that he had only met a few minutes ago. And then he’d been made to stand before that judge, with her knowing eyes and accept that he was just a piece of property to be bought and sold by women whenever they wanted. He’d been sold and he was going to be this other woman’s property now, and her slave, just like that. And he’d agreed, and he was incredibly aroused by Mistress Brenda’s body and her attitude, but he was also deeply afraid of her.
Mistress Brenda softened. She could see how frightened and
confused he was. The concern in her eyes melted his heart like wax under a blowtorch. She was such a beautiful lady. It would be a privilege to serve her. He resolved to be the best slave he could possibly be for her.
“I see, well, yeah, that could be a little hard. Okay, that will be taken into account, but you will still be punished. Just a spanking perhaps, and then you can show me how good you are at worshiping my ass.”
“Yes, Mistress, of course.”
She squeezed his balls, and patted his cheek, then shut the hatch door, went around to the front, got in and started the car. A moment later they were on their way driving into a whole new slavery for him, and as they went he saw in his mind’s eye, Mistress Brenda’s majestic behind, swaying in front of him, regal, gorgeous and destined to take him to a whole new understanding of Female Domination.
Copyright Permian Systems 2008

I SOLD YOU TODAY – PART 1 BY EOSUCHUS

(Note from Thomas Lavalle: I first came across the femdom fiction writer cybernamed "Eosuchus" on Mark Remond's Worshipping Your Wife blog. Sadly, Mark has lost touch with Eosuchus, but passed along to me one of his older stories, " I SOLD YOU TODAY," a two-parter set in an alternate future with state-sanctioned femdom marriages. I’m taking the liberty of reprinting it here, but will happily take it down if contacted by the author. Where are you, Eosuchus?)

Part One of “I SOLD YOU TODAY”
“Sell me?”
He was stunned. He knew things had been going downhill for a few months. He knew that his lovely, dominant wife was no longer interested in dominating him very much. She wasn’t even bothering to cuckold him in obvious ways like she had during the winter. Back then she’d made him dress her for her dates and then clean her up with his tongue when she got home. She’d really enjoyed that, he knew, because while he swallowed some other man’s sperm, she would tell him all about her date and how they’d gone to some fabulous hotel and how much money the guy had spent to impress her and how she’d made the guy strip naked for her, and introduced the guy to the beginning stages of Female Domination, and then how she’d fucked the guy’s brains out and how big his cock was and how hard it stayed, for hours at a time.
And all the time, while she was having the guy give her the rumpy-pumpy to orgasm after orgasm, she knew that her slave husband was at home hand-washing her panties, scrubbing the kitchen and vacuum cleaning the house. She got a huge kick out of all that. But he was so totally dominated now, so completely enslaved, that for her the thrill was gone.
“See, what I like is the chase,” she’d told him many times. “I like to get a guy hot for me, desperate for me, begging on his knees. Then I like to break him and take him down. Get him used to my ass on his face. Get him into taking a good beating whenever I feel like giving him one. Take him with the strap-on like he’s the girl. Turning him into my personal servant, my housemaid, my total slave. She would grin, listening to the sound of his kisses on her toes. “Like you.”
That had been then, this was now.
“But…” he sputtered. He’d stopped massaging her. Normally that would have put him in acute danger of a whipping.
“You heard me. I checked out the Slave Market Report at the Femme Domme Society. They have a rating system?” She was up-talking, so he knew she was really excited.
“What?”
He was still shaking, only in his bare feet though, since he wore nothing in the house except his chastity device and his slave panties. Well, since he hadn’t been outside in more than a year, that was all that he ever wore.
“Yeah, you feed in some pictures of the slave and fill out a form, you know? It asks questions like– how big is the slave’s cock, how good is the slave at cooking, or giving oral, or whatever.”
He was feeling a chill down his spine. This didn’t sound like a joke, unh-uh. Not at all.
“Wait, you can’t sell me. I mean, we’re married.”
She laughed. Put her head back and roared. “Oh, baby, you are such a deluded dude.”
He felt terribly foolish and vulnerable. What did she know that he didn’t? She was studying him, her green eyes could penetrate his mind, he knew. She’d always been able to read him like an open book. He’d loved her, he still did, he worshipped her, in fact, but he knew she was no longer interested in him. It was heartbreaking. He felt tears welling up in his eyes.
“I did what you wanted. I thought you liked having me as your, uh...” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t say the word.
“My slave. And you didn’t read the Advanced Marriage Contract either, did you?” Her smile was cruel now. She was loving this.
“N-n-n-no, I didn’t.”
“In a marriage set up under Female Lead Relationship Rules, okay? Where the Wife is the acknowledged Primary Income earner and has the primary share in all property ownership?”

He stared at her. He’d given up his job on her orders. He’d signed everything over to her on her demand. He’d surrendered completely to her will.
“Then the male party may sign himself over as Chattel Property to the Wife. It was Clause Eleven. You signed it, I know. I made sure of that.”
All he remembered was a fat contract that he had to sign in several places in duplicate. It had been under the Department of Health and Human Services, the Marriage Division. He remembered the headline. And afterward, she’d spanked him and sat on his face for hours. So now he learned that he’d signed himself over to her as a piece of property. Well, he’d always felt that he belonged to her that way. He’d been happy to be her slave.
“See,” she said. “They put that in after the National Femme Domme Society got Senator Julia Masterman to get it through the Senate. You don’t remember that?”
He shook his head. He didn’t know things like that. He was just a slave to a Dominant Wife. He knew about cooking and cleaning and doing her pedicure. The days when he watched the news or used a computer seemed long ago, in another life.
“Yeah, it was just for the FemDom community, but you know, we’re an important group in this state. So the President signed it. I bet the First Lady was leaning hard on him over that, too.”
The President was a man. The first male president in a while, too, and he’d heard that he might be the last one, ever. Women had definitely taken over the government.
“So, anyway, we’ll file for divorce under the Female Led rules. That means I keep everything, except your chastity device and one pair of panties. Everything else will be provided by your new owner. Doesn’t that sound great?”
“My 401K?” he said in a kind of despairing bleat.
“Honey, you’re a slave now. You don’t contribute to that anymore. I get all that, all your belongings. You know, they’re working on slave retirement schemes right now, because some older slaves are already being retired by their owners, and of course they don’t have anything to live on. So the state is setting up slave farms, where old slaves will spend their final years, working for the good of society, growing vegetables and stuff.”

He didn’t know what to say.
“Don’t worry, women are in charge now. You won’t be making any decisions, ever again.”
He stared at her. She was so beautiful, so deadly, so irresistible, he ached to be allowed to kneel before her and provide oral servitude. He longed to feel the collar on his neck and the tug of the leash towards the bedroom. But now, he knew, that tug would never come again.
Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “I don’t recall telling you to stop.”
He dropped his eyes and resumed massaging her lovely, left leg, smoothing and pressing the hamstring muscle between his fingers. She played tennis, jogged, worked out at the gym and did yoga. Her body was a thing of perfection, and she knew perfectly well how to use it as a weapon to subdue and enslave men. As he reached her knee, she brought her legs together and then rolled onto her stomach.
“Massage my ass,” she said with a chuckle. She knew his weakness in that direction. Her ass was sculpted by exercise and diet into a gorgeous testament to the beauty of Woman. He had kissed those smooth, perfect globes many, many times and had worshipped with his face pressed between them for many, many hours. Just working on those sacred muscles, which were firm, even hard under pressure, brought his penis up tightly into the chastity tube. It bucked a little until the chain tightened and held him down.
He could not have erections. Erections were only allowed under the gaze and control of his owner, whoever She might be. She held the key to his chastity device and thereby to his sexuality. He continued the massage and after a while she spoke again.
“You always loved my ass, didn’t you?” she chuckled. “I know you did, you were always so responsive to it. Well, don’t worry, your new owner will have one, too. Perhaps not quite as pretty as mine, but you’ll get used to it.”
He squeezed, released, gathered his hands together and squeezed again, trying not to weep at the thought of never worshiping at this altar of Female Beauty again.
“Anyway, I visited a slave agency today and talked to a broker. She gave me the documents, pointed me to their website and even helped upload the pictures of you.”

He listened in a state of stunned disbelief. It sounded so mundane, so normal. A Dominant Wife went in and sold her husband and then went out and got another one. Slave husbands had become goods, like cars, or horses, or something.
“Guess what? I had five responses in an hour. Three in-state, one from Florida and one from Hawaii. Isn’t that great?”
He felt an uptick of interest. Was five responses good? He didn’t have the faintest idea. Hawaii?
“You always were a cute guy, and I’ve kept you nice and slim and well toned, and you do have a nice, big cock. Plus, you got your cooking diploma and you passed the State Housecleaning Boards with an A. The broker said you would get some interest. Ladies like men who can cook, and if they’re big down there, then that’s a bonus. So, anyway, I called the two local ladies who bid for you? One underbid on you, so I went with the other.”
“You sold me?” it just slipped out. He sucked in a breath, terrified that he’d gone too far and would get a whipping.
“Yep. Her name is Brenda McKay, she’s forty two and really rather, uh, voluptuous. She bid $6,000, and we settled at $7,500, which isn’t bad at all, really. She’s coming to collect you in about half an hour, too.”
“What?”
He’d stopped massaging again. His jaw had dropped too. He gasped. She turned her head, her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. He trembled.
“If you stop my massage again without permission, she’ll be picking up her new slave with a red hot, striped, purple ass on him. You hear me?”
He forced himself to concentrate on the job at hand. Gathering the marvelous, solid ass muscle in his hand and pressing, squeezing and relaxing it.
“I have the documentation, so I can transfer title to her. You’ll have to have a cyber wedding, too, to make it legal. But it only takes a couple of minutes now. You see, once you’ve married into a Female Led Marriage under the law, you stay there unless the Wife specifically releases you. And I didn’t, did I?”
He could imagine the cruel little smile on her lips as she said that. Her phone rang. He hurried to fetch it from the sofa in the living room. The number was unfamiliar to him, but he handed it to her and resumed massaging her ass.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “Yes, Floral Park. Just go right down sixty-two until you come to the big box mall there. Take the right, then the first left turn. I’m about half a mile farther down. The house is pink with white trim, my neighbors are pale blue on one side and white on the other.
“Yes, he’s all ready. Nothing to pack, after all, is there?” She chuckled. “Well, it was a bit of a shock, but I’m sure you’ll have him warmed up quickly. You sound very experienced.”
Was that good? An experienced Domme? He had no idea. She’d been his first and she’d been experienced enough by the time he fell under her control and signed that fatal marriage contract.
Press together the beautiful ass-flesh of the left buttock. Compress it smoothly between his hands, dig his thumbs in and bring them down together, placing smooth, stress releasing pressure on the big muscles there. He tried to concentrate entirely on the task in hand.
Of course, now that she had her phone in her hand she called Annie, her best friend and co-conspirator in things fun and devilish. “Yeah, he’s sold. $7,500. Great, yeah? Let’s go out later. Coco’s? Maybe we can pick up some studs, take them to the Pink House. Could be good. Celebrate, yeah?
“How did he take it? Oh, he’s sobbing a little. Well, I know, and he’s gonna miss my ass. Well, I know, it’s the best looking ass for miles.” She laughed. “Yeah. Yeah. I know. Yeah. Totally. Like, what else is new?” She laughed some more. “Oh, he’ll get over it. What’s she like? Well, not like me, a bit heavier, shall we say. Oh no, not fat or anything. Oh no, she’s more, like, well, voluptuous is the word that keeps coming up in my mind. The picture she sent me to use for the cyber wedding was pretty amazing. Where? Oh, up in the hills somewhere. Nice looking house. Bigger than mine. I don’t think she has other slaves. I mean, you can only marry one.”

More laughter. “Have to wait for the next President for that! I could use two or three at a time, I guess. But you know, you’d have to do stuff with each one to keep them happy. You don’t want sulky slaves that you have to whip all the time. And they’re expensive. Did you see they hiked the price of Science Diet by two dollars? Plus the Slave Health Plan went up forty bucks this month. It all adds up.”
He continued massaging the prettiest ass for miles around, but his mind was full of questions. Voluptuous? Brenda McKay? And behind the questions was the looming certainty. He had been sold. He was going to be divorced, and then remarried via a website and then taken away by his new Dominant Wife to a new life, somewhere up in the hills.

And there it was, underneath his sorrow, lurking like some crazy, unbeatable weed, that thrilling FemDom lust. He knew it had gone out of his marriage. He knew she didn’t even care to whip him anymore. But he still loved her and that made him sad. And yet, the thought of this Brenda McKay coming to take him away was arousing that old FemDom lust in his soul. He felt torn in half by it all.
But he never stopped massaging her, aware that she would make good on that threatened whipping no matter what. And then they heard a car door slam. Heels clicked up the walk and the doorbell rang. She got off the table, pointed to the slave corner and went to answer the door herself. He knelt down in the corner, penitent, humble, and yet aroused. His fate had been determined. There was nothing he could do about it. He’d been sold to another woman. He heard their voices—hers and another female’s, that one a little deeper, a little husky.
Heels clacked on the floor. “He’s in here, all yours.”
End of Part One ~ Continued in Part Two

Copyright Permian Systems 2008

‘BOSS JULIE’ WILSON ON MATRIARCHAL HOUSEHOLDS, Pt. 2

(Continuing with excerpts from the provocative writings of “Boss Julie” Wilson representing a Female Supremacist organization called Christian Home, which (alas) Google can no longer find. As noted in part one, I will happily remove these postings or, more happily, publish more, if contacted by “Boss Julie.”—Tom Lavalle)


Improving Masculine Attitudes and Behavior
Men are born with the genetic inheritance of the prehistoric hunter/warrior, but this genetic disposition can be counteracted through feminine training. Of course, men will never rise completely to the moral level of women, but insofar as they submit to feminine guidance, there will be plenty of room for improvement.

Feminizing Him The most effective framework for the feminization of men is the home. A home in which the woman is boss will do more to feminize the male than any gender studies course ever could. The husband will be feminized over time by submitting to the moral guidance of his wife. Boys who grow up in female-dominant households will also be feminized.
The best contribution a father can make to the moral upbringing of his son is to set an example by accepting the guidance of his wife. While the fostering of female supremacy in the home is the crucial step toward a society in which males are feminized, it is not the only step. It is also important for children of both sexes to grow up in a society where they can see women in positions of public power. This means, among other things, electing more women to public office. More women and fewer men!


Ask ‘Boss Julie’
[Q&A with a husband whose wife wants him to wear panties]

Over the years I have had several women friends who made their husbands or boyfriends wear women’s panties under their street clothes, and so I believe that I can answer all your questions about this practice.
You say that your wife’s proposal is “unnecessary, undeserved, unfair and unjust.” Let us take these one at a time. You say that you have never been unfaithful to your wife and that you do not intend to be. I believe you. You may feel confident about this, but there have been a lot of other men who also felt confident only to wake up one morning with a shattered marriage.
What your wife wants to do is to help you resist temptation. The fact that you have been faithful in the past does not mean that you won’t be tempted in the future.
If she were to wait until you actually committed adultery, it would be too late. Even if the odds were only one in 10, or one in 100 that you might do so in the future, it still seems to me that wearing panties would be a very small price to pay to head it off.
So my advice is this: Wear the panties that your wife has picked out for you except when you have an appointment to see the doctor. It will give her a degree of peace of mind. You can tell your wife that [1] you have no intention of ever being unfaithful to her and that [2] in order to prove this to her, you promise to wear whatever underclothes she wants.
[A second letter from the same writer:]
Dear Julie,
My wife was overjoyed by your response. You supported her and advised me to wear the panties she picked out for me and to tell her that I would never be unfaithful and that I would prove it by promising to wear whatever underclothes she wanted. As you probably expected, your advice did not exactly make my day.
Being true to my word, however, I did everything you advised, word for word. At her request, I even put my promise in writing to make her feel more secure.
Instead of being grateful to me for following your advice, she seems intent on maximizing my embarrassment. She expects me to wear panties that are more frilly and feminine than anything she wears herself. When I complained, she said, “The more girlish they are, the more careful you’ll be about showing them off to other women.”
Finally, she says that she has continued to review your editorial and has concluded that it would actually be a positive thing if our children knew I was now in panties at her direction. She believes this would strengthen the confidence and self-esteem of our daughters while setting a good example for our son. What about my self-esteem? I think I should try to set a good masculine example in our home. Why do you think my wife is acting this way?—Fancy Pants Dear Mr. Fancy Pants: Things seem to be developing quite rapidly in your household. When you first wrote, your wife had one goal: [1] to help you resist the temptation to be unfaithful. Now there are two more goals: [2] to help you overcome the residual contempt for women that you picked up in childhood and [3] to help your children develop respect for women. Let’s take these one at a time.
Regarding your wife’s desire to provide you with a deterrent against infidelity, I think that she is perfectly right that frilly, girlish underthings work better than plain white cotton. It is much better for you to be wearing lace-trimmed nylon panties in pretty colors, and I am glad that your wife has taken the initiative in this matter. Of all the couples I have known who have done what you are now doing, I have never heard of the husband wearing only white cotton panties.
I have known a number of women who put their husbands in women’s panties, and the husbands always came to accept it. The time will come when it no longer embarrasses you to slip into your girlish underpants in the morning. The only reason for your present discomfort is the prejudice against women that you picked up in childhood, and that can be overcome.
One basic role-playing scenario would be for you to wear a dress and women’s shoes (along with all the appropriate underpinnings) and do housework. Your wife could give you a feminine name for you to answer to during the role-playing sessions.

In addition, you could do some appropriate reading while dressed in your role-playing outfit. One possibility would be for you to do a little reading in women’s magazines every day. Another possibility would be to read some romantic novels. Women read these books, but men do not, and you could try to figure out why this is so. If you can, then you will have learned a lot about differences between the sexes. Reading these novels will not be easy at first, as they tend to be quite complex, but you will find that they get easier with practice. You might want to start with a romantic novel written for teenage girls, as they tend to be simpler.
Whatever you do for your role-playing exercises, it helps to keep a diary in which you write down what you did each day. Your wife will probably want to review what you write to see if there is anything that should be added to your account.
These are some of the things that other couples in your situation have done. Your wife will probably have some ideas of her own as well.
Finally, you say that your wife wants to tell the children now rather than later that she has you wearing women’s panties. I believe that you have already answered your own question about this, Mr. Fancy Pants. You write about how hard it is to overcome long-standing attitudes that go back to childhood. You are right about this, and you have an opportunity to help your children avoid the prejudices about women that you seem to have acquired as a child. You can be a good parent and help your children grow up with real respect for women.
Dear Julie,
My wife thought we should write you to thank you for your wonderful advice concerning putting husbands into panties and having them engage in role-playing. I have been in panties for almost six months now, and my wife says I will wear them as long as we are married. You said that I would eventually get used to my “girlish underpants,” but it certainly hasn’t happened yet.My wife sees to it that my panty drawer is filled with the most feminine underpants available. There isn’t a single pair that isn’t decorated or trimmed with ribbons, bows, lace, ruffles or some such thing. It still embarrasses me to look at them knowing they’re mine, let alone having to wear them at all times.
You were right about one thing. Our two daughters not only accepted this when my wife told them; they thought it was “cool” that I was wearing panties. They have actually helped my wife shop for them. They even suggested that their brother also wear panties.
Role-playing is also embarrassing, but in my case not a great deal more so than wearing panties alone under my clothes. I would much rather be in boxer shorts and blue jeans, but these days I am just as likely to find myself in a skirt helping my wife around the house.
I recently told my wife that it seemed to me that some of the Christian Home readers were agreeable to this sort of thing since they were sissies to begin with and actually liked wearing women’s clothing.
She frowned and told me to follow her. She took me to the bedroom and told me to look at myself in our full-length mirror and tell her what I saw. I was in a role-playing outfit at the time and was wearing a white blouse and a flowered skirt. She then told me to lift the skirt and describe what I was wearing underneath. I had to admit that I was wearing a half slip, pantyhose and pink, lace-trimmed panties. She then handed me the dictionary again and told me to reread the definition of a sissy.
She asked me if she had made her point. She said I was a sissy and if I had true respect for women, I should view that as a positive thing. She said that I should always think of myself as a sissy and that I should try to behave as one. She said that if I had any doubts about my sissy status, I could always sneak a peak at my panties and I would know the truth.
My wife believes Christian Home has made a great improvement in our marriage and tells me constantly how happy she is with the “new me.” She sees to it that our sex life has never been better.
I still have strong doubts and would not recommend this method of training to any of your male readers who is not already a sissy. I think there have to be other methods for teaching men to respect women that do not include wearing panties and other feminine things.
Six months ago I felt like I was just a regular guy who only wanted the best for his wife and family. Now I wear frilly panties at all times and am supposed to think of myself as a sissy. I don’t think most men would like this, and I hope they can avoid it.
I will be the first to admit that I am developing more and more respect for women, but I sure don’t like the teaching methods.
Fancy Pants
PS—My wife says she bets you have your husband Bill in panties and skirts just as she does me. I said I didn’t think so because you never seem to write about your own household. Who is right?
Dear Mr. Fancy Pants: You can tell your wife that she wins the bet. Actually, I did write about my own household once—in the very first issue of the newsletter, back in August 1992. It was in an article about how to get your man to do more of the housework. It is available as a reprint for $10, but if your wife sends me some pictures of the new you, I will send it to you for free. I like seeing men in pretty clothes.
There is no better way to help a man develop respect for women than role-playing. Psychologists agree that role-playing is the best method for breaking down prejudice, and prejudice against women is no exception. You say that most men wouldn’t like it, but isn’t that strange when you think about it? Women don’t feel threatened by the idea of wearing men’s clothes. So why should men feel threatened by the prospect of wearing women’s clothes?

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‘BOSS JULIE’ WILSON ON MATRIARCHAL HOUSEHOLDS, Pt. 1

(Note from Tom Lavalle: Over many years of ’net surfing, I’ve squirreled away scads of provocative femdom writings and postings. Among my favorites are some brief entries by a woman signing herself Julie Wilson or “Boss Julie.” She was apparently connected with a Chicago-based female supremacist organization called Christian Home. Alas, a current Google search turns up nothing more, indeed, nothing at all. I’ve decided to share these fragmentary treasures (in two installments) with readers of this blog, and will, of course, happily remove them if contacted by the much-missed“Boss Jule,” or, even more happily, publish more at her direction.)
Foot Worship
A man with a submissive personality will already have an inclination toward foot worship, and a woman can start him in at once. Some men may not be ready for it, however. One way for a woman to tell if a man is ready is to have him massage her feet. If he shows disdain for them, then it will be necessary to lead him to foot worship in stages. This is done by training him with other fetishes first. Besides the female foot, all other major fetishes are articles of women’s clothing. These items tend to be clustered from the waist down. There is a
reason for this. As women’s power has increased, the lower parts of women’s bodies have received more attention from men. The twentieth century has witnessed a progressive increase in the power of women and a corresponding decline in the power of men; as a consequence, more attention is being paid to women’s legs and feet. A woman can tease her man by putting on and taking off the stockings, crossing and uncrossing her legs, letting her shoe dangle and stopping to straighten her seams from time to time. And a woman’s feet become more enticing when sheathed in sheer nylon.
The submissive man in particular sees the high heel as an authority symbol; he is more inclined to obey a woman who wears them than one who doesn’t. The shoes that work best for this are ones with slender (“stiletto” or “spike”) heels that are relatively high—say three inches or more, although two and three-quarter inches can be good enough for occasions that call for more formal dress. If you are considerate enough to wear your stiletto heels for him, then he should be grateful enough to massage your feet for you when you ask him to, and you can tell him so. You can rub his chest with your stockinged feet and then go on to get him to kiss your feet. Always keep in mind that the goal is to bring him to the point that he will worship your feet, or your feet and shoes.
Household Hints
It is amazing how little most men know about basic cleanliness around the house. But it is important for him to do housework, as it involves doing something that directly benefits other members of the household and helps to undermine male selfishness.
Trying to get men to do housework is a frustration experienced by millions of women. Amanda says this about her ex-husband: “I could not seem to convey to him that his time spent golfing was in no way equivalent to the time I spent cleaning the house. I would tell him, ‘Hey, this is work,’ and he’d reply, ‘You think I don’t work up a sweat on the golf course?’ Then he’d ask if I wanted to learn golf. Since it was my choice not to, he seemed to feel that as long as I was in the house, I might as well scrub it.”
So what can be done if men resist doing housework because, deep down, they think it’s women’s work? A Mr. Goodman makes some proposals, but it’s not clear that they are very satisfactory. One of his proposed solutions is to hire a cleaning woman. This would get the house cleaned, but I’m still uncomfortable with it. The only reason that so many women are available to do housekeeping is because we women are discriminated against when it comes to better jobs. So if I hire a cleaning woman, I would be reinforcing the general pattern of sexual discrimination.
Mr. Goodman has another proposal. He suggests making a list of all the things that need to be done and then having your man choose which ones he will do. This approach has the advantage of using psychology to get the man over his fear of housework, but it still doesn’t accomplish what I want. I am the lady of the house; this is my home, and I ought to be in control. This means that I should be the one to decide what my husband will do when it comes to housework. Letting him choose from a list means that I no longer am in control. I consider this unacceptable.
What works for me, when I am dealing with my Billy, is to use psychology in a different way. Since the problem is that he unconsciously thinks of housework as “women’s work,” I get him into the proper frame of mind by dressing him in women’s clothes. It works! First I make him put on a pair of lace-trimmed nylon panties and a padded bra. It helps him to develop the proper attitude if he is aware of what he is wearing, so I always cinch the bra a little on the tight side. Then he has to wiggle into a tight girdle and hook up a pair of gartered stockings. These are followed by a white nylon slip and a colorful, feminine housedress. Finally he puts on a pair of high-heeled pumps, and he is ready for
me to lead him to where he will be working. Sometimes, if my women friends are dropping by, I might apply some lipstick and tie up his hair in a scarf.
Other women may complain that their men don’t do enough around the house, but I no longer have this problem. My Billy cooperates fully because he knows that I love him and that I would never make him do anything that was bad for him. Of course, most men are not very skilled at housework when they first try it, so you have to do a lot of supervising at first, but you will find that if you put him in a dress, he will learn much faster.
Housework Tasks for Hubby
1. Cook all meals and clean up afterwards.2. Prepare a weekly menu and review it with your partner.3. Do the shopping for the food, track food usage, and keep the kitchen stocked.4. Clean the bathrooms (with brushes and cleanser, not your tongue).5. Make the beds (including the pillows).6. Do the laundry, iron, fold and put away.7. Dust and vacuum and yes, do the windows, too.8. Put out potpourris, candles, or oils with her favorite scents so that the house is always fragrant.9. Feed, bathe, and groom the pets.10. Take the children to school (or bring them to the bus stop).11. Do home repairs within your capabilities.12. Take the garbage pails to the curb on garbage nights.13. Clean the pails after the garbage has been collected.14. Package the recycling, wrap the newspapers and bring them to the curb on recycling days.15. Prepare the monthly bills and payments for review and prepare all checks for the domme’s signature.
Yardwork :16. Mow, edge, and trim the yard regularly.17. Take care of the garden beds and trim the trees.18. Make certain the lawn and flower beds are watered regularly.19. Care for the pool and spa.20. Keep the patio, drive, and garage swept and clean, including cobwebs.21. Remove the leaves from the gutters. (If any of these “yardwork” tasks are done by a lawn service, have the sub manage the relationship (e.g., payment, negotiations, appointment management, etc.)
Nightly Activities:22. Bring late night snacks while his partner watches TV.23. Give up the remote! LOL!24. Go on the Internet and research the Dish schedule (or TV Guide) and print out items which are of interest to the domme.25. Get on the Internet and read the papers and her magazines to create the equivalent of an executive clipping service... articles of interest with key points highlighted.26. Take down her bed (including the pillows).27. Sit on the toilet seat before she needs to go in (in the winter it gets kind of cold).28. Take her cell phone from her bag and put it on the charger (and then put it back in her bag, turned on, in the morning).29. Draw the blinds and shades (and open them in the morning).30. Put toothpaste on her toothbrush.31. Fill her glass with water.32. Bring her slippers.33. Brush her hair.34. Lay out the clothes she selects and press as appropriate.35. Light scented candles, and put them out after she is asleep.36. MASSAGE her back until she falls asleep (every night).
In the Car:37. Keep a pager or cell phone so you can be called to pick her up at a moment’s notice.38. Ask her if she’d prefer to drive.39. If not, drive her wherever she needs to go and wait for her to come out.40. Arrive at the front of the building within 10 seconds of her first step outside the door, 5 if the weather is not good. Keep an umbrella handy and escort her to the car if it’s raining.41. Keep her favorite magazines and CDs in the car.42. Never, ever criticize her driving or suggest a “quicker way” (unless she requests it).43. Wash the car regularly inside and out.44. Preheat and de-ice the car on cold mornings.
Around the House:45. Pee sitting down so that the toilet seat is never up and you don’t leave “droplets.”46. Prepare her bath (and the kid’s baths, if appropriate) and run the water until it’s warm for her showers.47. Paint her toenails.48. Pick up her shoes from the front hallway and carry them to her closet, inspect them and polish them as need be (with real polish, not saliva).49. Keep her favorite magazines, books and CD’s ready in her favorite sitting areas.50. Answer the phone and make phone calls for her (such as ordering items she’s marked in a catalogue).
Spanking and Taking Control
A lot of men have fantasies about being spanked by a woman, and if your husband is one of them, you should be able to get him to agree to let you be the boss at all times and not just during your spanking sessions.
There are a couple problems with a man who wants to be spanked. One is that he will have a tendency to misbehave just to get you to spank him. This can get to be quite irritating, as you come home after a hard day at the office only to find that dinner will be late again. The way to deal with this problem is to make the spankings severe enough that he will not try to provoke you anywhere near as often. He will still have his need to be spanked, but the spankings will be few and far between.
The other problem is that he will probably lose interest in being spanked after a while. Sadomasochists who have a strong interest in spanking call this phenomenon “burnout.” Burnout can be illustrated with reference to the 19th-century author Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, the man from whose name is derived our word “masochism.”
Sacher-Masoch wrote the novel Venus in Furs, in which the protagonist makes a contract with a woman, obligating him to be her servant and authorizing her to use corporal punishment to discipline him. This arrangement worked fine in the novel, and he subsequently married a woman with whom he was able to make a similar agreement. But it didn’t last. Over time, Sacher-Masoch lost interest in being dominated by his wife, and one day, when she entered his study swinging her whip as he was working at his desk, he simply threw her out of the room. Finally, he left his wife and devoted himself to helping to bring literacy to rural villages.
The phenomenon of burnout shows that a man’s interest in corporal punishment is not a sufficient basis for a long-term relationship in which the woman is boss. It can be the starting-point—and a very good starting-point—but the woman will have to find other grounds for her dominance. In the long run, the best motives are his desire for her approval and his desire for moral betterment. This is where the woman who wants to be in command should concentrate her attention. But whatever means you decide to employ and whatever goals you adopt for your relationship, always remember: You can do it—he’s only a man!
Female Led Families
Female supremacists can have homes in which it is obvious to the children that their mother is the boss. The father can set an example for his sons through his obedience to the lady of the house. This is in fact the most important thing a man can do for his sons—to give them this example of obedience to his wife. Then the children can grow up expecting to have the same kind of marriage as adults.
Femdom Paradigms: Mistress-Slave vs. Parent-Child
In the parent-child paradigm, the woman justifies her domination of the man in terms of a concern for his welfare. She points out that he needs a pretty boss; that it’s for his own good, while a mistress will express indifference to the man’s well-being, or even pleasure in his suffering.
It seems to me pretty obvious that the mistress-slave relation is pure sadomasochism, while the Christian Home “parent-child” paradigm is something different from that. The mistress-slave paradigm will always be limited primarily to “sessions”—short periods of scripted dominance and submission that begin on cue and end on cue.
Things are quite different in the parent-child framework. Here the concern is with developing activities which will make the man more obedient. Such activities do not necessarily provide him with sexual release; in fact, they often do just the opposite. One example of this is teasing, which involves getting the man sexually aroused and then denying him any release. A mistress-slave session can also involve teasing, but there its function is to get the man stimulated as a prelude to sexual release. In the parent-child paradigm, teasing is designed to make the man emotionally dependent on the woman who is training him. So it does not lead to immediate release.
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A reader comments: “I completely agree with Christian Home‘s perspective: female domination in a matriarchal relationship doesn’t end up with sexual satisfaction, but it is intended as an infallible way to increase intimacy between the wife and the husband by increasing a man’s submission and obedience to his wife.
(Continued in Part Two…)

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