An older female is introduced to some foundational mantras, accompanied by painful somatic accentuation à la the signal whip. Following a period of shackled isolation upon a dog bed in the basement, new female Cookie is summoned to a crude whipping post and taught thereafter the rudimentary logic of her place as a humbled female. “Learning is not child’s play; we cannot learn without pain,” Aristotle once said, and this wisdom is lavishly employed in the way the mantras are driven by rote into Cookie’s mind, aided with the fire of the whip upon her derrière and back. This video demonstrates the reality of a woman undertaking the whip. The strokes are by no means gentle and there is no theatrical deception in this video’s production. Every lash and every mark is real. For those interested in observing the effects of the whip upon flesh for the first time, we feel this video does very well in showing them, sans gimmick or pretense in a raw and straightforward format.
An older female is introduced to some foundational mantras, accompanied by painful somatic accentuation à la the signal whip. Following a period of shackled isolation upon a dog bed in the basement, new female Cookie is summoned to a crude whipping post and taught thereafter the rudimentary logic of her place as a humbled female. “Learning is not child’s play; we cannot learn without pain,” Aristotle once said, and this wisdom is lavishly employed in the way the mantras are driven by rote into Cookie’s mind, aided with the fire of the whip upon her derrière and back. This video demonstrates the reality of a woman undertaking the whip. The strokes are by no means gentle and there is no theatrical deception in this video’s production. Every lash and every mark is real. For those interested in observing the effects of the whip upon flesh for the first time, we feel this video does very well in showing them, sans gimmick or pretense in a raw and straightforward format.
“Serving is a form of pleasing—no matter how mundane the task. The humbled female embraces this philosophy and lives it. She kneels in her place as a natural servant to the man in her life, never insinuating herself into the limelight or demanding attention. She is content to serve quietly, patiently, and lovingly. She is ever on the periphery, just beyond the rim of light, waiting silently and invisibly until summoned to please in any way she can, reaping no insult from being rendered voiceless, naked, and ignored until desired.” —Marc Esadrian
Marc Esadrian covers the basics of corporeal punishment in this primer on the whip and rod, providing real-world examples of discipline while discussing techniques in wielding various implements. Learn how to deliver strikes with care and precision, keeping clear of the human body’s more vulnerable areas.
Marc Esadrian covers the basics of corporeal punishment in this primer on the whip and rod, providing real-world examples of discipline while discussing techniques in wielding various implements. Learn how to deliver strikes with care and precision, keeping clear of the human body’s more vulnerable areas.
Penny grovels and kisses her master’s feet in reverence. She’s soon beneath him, paying respect to the source of his maleness. When she has pleased him enough, he stands over her and releases a fresh load of sperm upon her face.
Sadie is reminded of her domestic duties and belted for not doing her chores. The implement of punishment is a time-honored paternal symbol of discipline: the belt.
A new female is available for consideration. She’ll be undergoing orientation and training; look for her in future videos and photo sets. For now, she’s on display in photographs for your enjoyment.
Sadie is collared and used by Marc Esadrian. Note the reverence she pays to the male copulatory organ: as trained, she serves as a sex object, void of her own will and designs and completely obedient to male desire.
A female is conditioned to accept a pretty, yet painful embellishment in her anus as part of her physical conditioning. Many men find plugs a decorative way to enforce increased anal receptivity in their women.
In the motion version of Utilitas, Sadie scrubs her master’s bathroom floors clean with love and devotion, naked from heas to toe with only her collar around her neck. See the companion photo set for large, clear still images.
A collared female scrubbing the floor in the nude: such a simple, wholesome, and perfect image, made even more perfect by the vestiges of the whip from days earlier. Sadie scrubs her master’s bathroom floor spotless.
Dominance, Submission, and the Sturm Und Drang of Family Law
Over the past few years, I’ve had the unique if not undesirable opportunity to put my finger directly upon the pulse of a small portion of the American legal system where it relates to family law—one of the most contentious hells of legal Jeopardy there is. It’s a busy intersection where deeply personal, near endless quarrel between former “lovers” meets the capitalistic exploitation of lawyering in the firmament that is our judicial system. It’s a realm where bizarre and unpredictable things tend to happen, where logic isn’t necessarily relevant and facts can be less important than fiction—a realm made even more bizarre and unpredictable when you dare throw D/s lifestyle practices into the mix.
My story and expressed opinions in this article, which involve exactly those things, begins in a little town in Colorado, where a particularly unhappy woman—let’s call her Lisa—found herself having quite enough of the mental and physical abuse she claimed to have suffered at the hands of an abusive man. In her headstrong and subsequently wayward youth, Lisa insisted on doggedly pursuing a relationship with this man, ignoring the many recurring warnings from others to do otherwise, out of the mistaken belief, perhaps, that his manipulativeness and cruel treatment amounted to good dominance in a male. Many years and three kids later, she finally realized that her husband (who, among many awful and despicable acts, allegedly kicked her in the stomach when pregnant with his own daughter and even threatened to kill her) was unfit to stay with any longer. I’m not certain when the line was finally crossed for her, but when it was, she plotted to move out when he was off at work one day. And so she humbly and quietly slipped away, taking very little of her own possessions, to start a new life away from her husband, at any cost.
Initiation is not a transient affair; it is a process that lasts over many days wherein the female repeatedly reaffirms and reifies her desire to align her body, her mind, her spirit, and her love in obedience and worship to her master. The trials are difficult, and as painful as they may be, she gladly endures them, for the reward awaiting her is the bond of her slavery made complete. This is not a produced “scene,” but documented footage of a female reaffirming her desire to serve a man, repeating her mantra of commitment over and over, feeling the sting of the crop and whip test her resolve symbolically and quite literally.
Sadie is displayed, bound by rope and having received the marks of a harsh initiation the previous evening. Raw, stark, and uncensored, the following images show what a real beating looks like. No acting. No makeup effects or Photoshop enhancements. No simulation.
Imagine you’re walking in a torrential rainstorm on a dark forested hill. You’ve been hiking for hours and your legs ache. It’s approaching winter and the weather is cold and bleak. Due to the low, heavy clouds and thickening mist, you’re not really sure where you are. Heavy raindrops are striking the leaves, making a pleasant hissing sound. While you appreciate the beautiful vista of windswept trees and low patches of fog lingering on the hills below the forbidding purple sky, it is getting dark, starting to storm, and you are wet, cold, hungry, and exhausted. Every few minutes you think you hear rolling thunder and sometimes a lightning strike displays the darkening landscape. You really wish you were sitting by a crackling fire at this moment, with a hot meal in front of you and perhaps a good book or pleasant companion to accompany it, comfortably listening to the rain hit the roof and windows outside this warm, safe shelter.
Suddenly, in the distance, you hear, very faintly, the sound of tinkling wind chimes. They have no particular melody, but they sound beautiful and mysterious. They give you hope and remind you that amid this stunning but inhospitable landscape something human exists. You aren’t doomed to wander these desolate hills forever. Perhaps just around the corner there is a town with a warm, welcoming tavern or restaurant. Perhaps you’ll run across a country road and a kind individual who can give you a ride to such a place. Or maybe there’s a peaceful, unlocked church ahead into which you can slip to get out of the drenching rain.
If you’d like to hear this for yourself, try this link.
I liken the sounds of the wind chimes heard on a cold, stormy night to that of a loyal, devoted a slave repeating her mantra, her words of devotion to her master, as all around her the stormy wilderness of selfish, demanding ego, the me-centric attitudes, the incessant drums of desire, and the extreme hubris of common humanity (including herself, at times) rages unchecked. The random noise of everyone out for himself or herself, everybody trying to fulfill themselves and reach their own personal potential, the standard “me first” call of our culture, has its own sort of beauty, just as a tempestuous storm does, but it can quickly become exhausting. The mindless, selfish, plodding, cacophonic tones of “each man for himself” can drain those exposed to them day after day of warmth, energy, and wonder, making us forget what makes life really worth living. The haunting wind chimes of a slave’s spoken mantra remind her that there is another path she can take, a path that leads to calm valleys of sanity, humanity, generosity, and love. The clear, clean tones of loyalty and willing obedience ring faintly but purely behind all the chaotic, me-centered madness that is modern, ordinary life.
When the time comes, some basic observational exercises can tell you a lot about the female you’ve newly acquired. Is her body pleasing? What of her disposition in the first moments of undressing and obeying commands? Does she have any outward maladies? Can she endure the basic physical rigors of submission? Females Nikki and Sadie are inspected by Marc Esadrian.
Is the rising tide of atheism in the world tilting the scale against the proliferation of male dominance and accepting it in society? In light of religious institutions losing importance in culture at large, where does this leave spiritual precepts that support a male godhead in the home? Further, how can we combat feminism, which appears to be a new form of religion? With the one-two punch of declining faithful and the rise of “goddessing,” can male dominance survive its image crisis in culture at large? Can we “go it alone” without religion or support from the BDSM underground? How do we do that? Marc Esadrian gives his thoughts.
In the world of fetish imagery, female submission is often portrayed in elegant trappings. She may be partially clothed in erotic raiment, serving more as a temple priestess than a chamber maid scrubbing her man’s floors. In this photo set we celebrate a women stripped completely nude and engaged in good old fashioned domestic drudgery, all the while providing a pleasing view. Utilitas and venustus incarnate.
There are times in the life of a submissive female when punishment is necessary. This doesn’t always have to be physical, but when it is, a horse crop comes in quite useful for creating the needed pain associated with a lesson.
Not surprisingly, much of the Internet focuses upon the carnal aspects of the female, and understandably so: Nude and servile women are a beautiful thing. The life of a submissive female isn’t all about sexual service, however. The day of such a woman is yet filled with mundane tasks, albeit colored quite differently by her servile status in the household. Join Humbled Females to learn more about the subtleties that separate us from typical BDSM aesthetic and philosophy.
A post, manacles, a collar, and heavy chain: these are simple, raw elements of time-honored classical discipline. The learning involved at the post needn’t be fleeting. It’s good to familiarize your female with it, to leave her chained there to sleep while tethered, either after her correction or while waiting for it to arrive.
Too often we see so many trappings surrounding the image of female submission. High heels, boots, garter belts, lingerie, masks, and the glittering adornments of jewelery sweeten and accentuate the female form in D/s imagery, but what about the opposite? What about getting back to the simplicity of stripping a woman entirely nude, from head to toe, where the only adornment lies in the collar?
Where does anger come from? Why do we feel it? Why, especially, do submissive women, even slaves, feel it toward the ones they love the most, the ones they claim to be deeply dedicated to serving and pleasing? There are many psychological theories floating around about anger’s roots, its meaning, and its general role in ordinary human lives. There are numerous philosophical and religious points of view about it, as well. But what will be discussed here is something much more specific: anger’s place and role in the life of a slave. What is that place and role? Perhaps a diagram would help illustrate this:
0
That’s right. Anger has zero, none, no place and no role in the life of a slave when it is directed toward her master. It may be useful for other purposes. It can be applied to outside objects in much the way a tool or a weapon can be taken off the shelf and used when needed, but it has as much place in a relationship with the man who controls a woman’s life, actions, sustenance, and happiness as an active chainsaw does in a chamber music recital.
This may initially strike some as a closed-minded and narrow view. It’s only human and natural to express anger, isn’t it? And isn’t it particularly hard for slaves, who give up so much, not to feel frustrated at times? Well, most people also think that the idea of a woman irrevocably giving up her own life to serve another person represents a closed-minded and narrow view: it’s only human and natural to be free, isn’t it? But, quite clearly, some of us thrive in that narrowness and restriction and would think others wrong for characterizing our choice this way or denying us the right to live a life without freedom, if that is what we wish. A narrow perspective is not necessarily an incorrect perspective, especially when the context for the point of view is experienced and understood. Nor does a narrow perspective always equal an impossible-to-meet perspective.
Over the course of our site’s ongoing existence we’ll be putting up montages of inspirational images, such as this one. This first set of images was initially included with the Humbled Females Primer in 2012 and integrated with it in 2014. We’ll post the larger resolution versions of any photos taken for other projects here in the future as a similar collection. You can download the Humbled Females Primer here.
Over the past few years, I’ve had the unique if not undesirable opportunity to put my finger directly upon the pulse of a small portion of the American legal system where it relates to family law—one of the most contentious hells of legal Jeopardy there is. It’s a busy intersection where deeply personal, near endless quarrel between former “lovers” meets the capitalistic exploitation of lawyering in the firmament that is our judicial system. It’s a realm where bizarre and unpredictable things tend to happen, where logic isn’t necessarily relevant and facts can be less important than fiction—a realm made even more bizarre and unpredictable when you dare throw D/s lifestyle practices into the mix.
Imagine you’re walking in a torrential rainstorm on a dark forested hill. You’ve been hiking for hours and your legs ache. It’s approaching winter and the weather is cold and bleak. Due to the low, heavy clouds and thickening mist, you’re not really sure where you are. Heavy raindrops are striking the leaves, making a pleasant hissing sound. While you appreciate the beautiful vista of windswept trees and low patches of fog lingering on the hills below the forbidding purple sky, it is getting dark, starting to storm, and you are wet, cold, hungry, and exhausted. Every few minutes you think you hear rolling thunder and sometimes a lightning strike displays the darkening landscape. You really wish you were sitting by a crackling fire at this moment, with a hot meal in front of you and perhaps a good book or pleasant companion to accompany it, comfortably listening to the rain hit the roof and windows outside this warm, safe shelter.
Where does anger come from? Why do we feel it? Why, especially, do submissive women, even slaves, feel it toward the ones they love the most, the ones they claim to be deeply dedicated to serving and pleasing? There are many psychological theories floating around about anger’s roots, its meaning, and its general role in ordinary human lives. There are numerous philosophical and religious points of view about it, as well. But what will be discussed here is something much more specific: anger’s place and role in the life of a slave. What is that place and role? Perhaps a diagram would help illustrate this: