Mistress Sidonia's Femdom Blog

Slaves must learn to follow their Mistress’ instructions

Supplement: The 12 Days of Xmas Slave Tasks

See the orignal post here: The English Mansion’s 12 Days of Xmas Slave Tasks

A number of my devotees took on the challenge of completing all 12 tasks. Many encountered obstacles along the way, succumbing to worldly distractions and offering some inventive excuses! Gluten intolerance,  was  cited as a reason for not completing Day 7

A commendable few managed all 12 tasks successfully – rewards were given. One eager dolly claimed to have completed the challenge within the first two days, having already been in chastity the week before. I of course insisted on an additional 3 days locked!

For me, the Tasks transformed the torment of the festive season into an enjoyable flurry of filth and submissive endeavor. I was glad for the daily missives, which injected a delightful dose of kink into the ‘holidays’, my slaves making themselves useful by providing me Real Xmas Entertainment! Watching those bits flapping around helplessly; vegetables being deep-throated; and icing of a very special kind, working to shrivel down wanton gristle, was a spectacle in itself. I truly relished all the submissive submissions: Tasks 6 & 7 produced such *hot* videos; and Tasks 1, 8 & 11 were particularly satisfying.

These are the few photos I am able to post – most were too rude

So here is one slave’s perspective, while completing My 12 Days of Xmas Tasks.

My Reflection on the 12 days of Xmas Slave Tasks

I’d like to start with a whore’s take on a quote from
Shakespeare’s ‘Twelfth Night’,
“Be not afraid of sluttiness. Some are born sluts, some achieve sluttiness and some have sluttiness thrust upon ‘em”

The Christmas season loomed like a vast ocean expanse – bland to the horizon, rippled here and there by currents of vanilla celebration. After an eventful and epic year in my journey as a slut, the end of the year yuletide festivities offered little to recommend themselves. I was largely indifferent and had resigned myself to being cast adrift in a world of banal good cheer. There would be none of the activities that really defined me now. Some furtive self-pleasuring offered the only window to my other life which had been placed on hold. And then there it was – the proverbial rescue balloon from Mistress Sidonia from the hallowed halls of The English Mansion.

The 12 Days of Christmas tasks was just the tonic, an antidote to the ennui of the Christmas season, providing an edge that was sorely needed.  With a sense of renewed purpose and vigour, I quickly set about the tasks, deciding to undertake them day by day and early in the allotted time period

On the first day of Christmas, I wrote slut across my forehead in red lipstick. I was working from home. I left it there for over the specified 30 minutes, close to an hour. I went upstairs at one point and looked out at my surrounding area – almost willing someone to see me – enjoying as I do that frisson between my inward true self and that of my outward façade, as presented to ‘normal’ society. I took a photo of it for posterity.

On the second day of Christmas, I arrived early to work. I went to my assigned room where I was conducting an interview in half an hour’s time. No other person was present, but colleagues were traversing the corridor outside. As per Mistress Sidonia’s instruction, I stood in a corner, put my nose to the wall, hands on head and maintained the position for ten minutes. The challenge brought to mind the days of corporal punishment in school, an era I grew up in. Standing in a corner was a classic punishment, designed to shame the offender or transgressor. This slut had left shame well and truly behind and had transgressed much since her school days.

On the third day of Christmas, I returned from an early morning run and made myself some porridge. Once ready I placed it in a bowl, put it on the kitchen floor and proceeded to eat it on my knees with my hands placed behind my back. I could almost sense Mistress Sidonia standing over me, cane in hand, ensuring that I ate every morsel. The act made me feel animal like. I would gladly have rolled on my back there and then at Mistress’ instruction and imbibed her golden nectar as my morning elixir.

On the fourth day of Christmas, I wore pink panties for half a day. In some seasonal observance at one point, I place an elf in my panties, then astride my cock. I put him hanging off my cock as if his dear life depended on it. Elfellato’s appetite for cock was boundless – he wasn’t going to let go! Wearing panties proved to be an easier task, as it’s something I do a lot of the time, to keep me right as it were.

On the fifth day of Christmas, I commenced and recited the slave mantra ‘I am Mistress’s bitch’ for 30 times. I knelt and assumed a supplicant position. I repeated it the following two mornings. I filmed myself doing it. For getting the morning off to a good start, in the right frame of mind, this task was just the thing.

For the sixth day of Christmas, I bought a cucumber and sucked on it for the prescribed four minutes. I did it to the tempo of Ravel’s Bolero, which I have always favoured as a good musical accompaniment to a good slow shaft and balls licking, culminating with taking the head in my mouth, working up a rhythm and then trying to gorge as deep as I can. I gagged on it, but I knew that my deep throating needed more work. One for the new year!

For the seventh day of Christmas, I buttered a slice of bread, wrapped it around my cock and masturbated. The butter, of course, was the perfect lubricant. The bread required some care so as not to break it with spasmodic jerks. I wanked my greasy cock until it fountained onto the open slice. I tried to catch every drop I could. I had a decent load, and I was glad about the precision I managed to achieve in getting it onto the slice. I looked at the cum coated slice, the white of the spunk sitting defiantly on the yellow of the butter. I folded it over and started to eat it. I savoured the taste of the cum and the difference it brought to the ordinary bread and butter slice. If cum was my bread and butter…..

On the eighth day of Christmas, I wrote ‘I will obey my Mistress always’ 200 times over two sheets of paper. This was tedious and again it harkened back to some pubescent period. My wrist and hand grew tired, the most use they were put to since…. oh well….no prizes for guessing!

On the ninth day of Christmas, I ate an egg sized portion of green food, the choice being the leaves of brussels sprouts. This was Christmas day andate it just before my dinner as I had company present and no one was ever going to believe that I was doing it for the requisite roughage. I have a good tolerance for green food, but this was testing.

On the tenth day of Christmas, I went commando. I went for a good long, brisk walk in my sweat pants. I could see the contours of my cock intermittently as it jogged along, unfettered, unrestrained. When I got back home, I went out to the garden and had a good old moon, an act I positively adore. The trees and foliage were passive observers.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, I stripped naked and did 25-star jumps. My cock flopped around hopelessly. Once done, I put my sweatpants back on. Then I went to the fridge and got a glass of crushed ice. I sat down on a floor against a wall and poured the ice down inside the pants onto my cock. It shrivelled, totally taken unawares by this sudden frigid assault. I remained there until the ice melted and then got up, my crotch a dripping cold wet mess…..

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my three-day period of chastity began. There would be no stress relief to hand now. It was a long three days, punctuated by intermittent erections and the wanderings of an idle, lustful and deviant mind.
by sub p