I met Jan from Prague on Twitter. His image and sweet manner stood out. Sub males are seldom stylish or focused on presenting themselves well. Style and beauty matters to me so it was a matter of time until Jan captured my attention with his pretty little boy from a bygone era aesthetic, his bow tie and docile, well bred demeanor.

I also found out he used to be involved in the world famous spanking movie production house Lupus. Their work was often very artistic, being more of a personal passion project. But on that another time.

As you know, I am Romanian and there’s nothing in my upbringing that would justify my love of the cane or the ritual around it. Although I can say I always knew conventional heterosexuality wasn’t for me, it was rather late that my sexual inclination crystallized in a FemDom form.

So I asked Jan how did a boy from the Czech republic come to be enamored with the English vice. I asked him to write the whole story, and well, it’s rather fascinating.

Read and enjoy.

Few days ago, I had a conversation about the origin of our fetishes and disciplinary preferences which are widely considered as very English, while I am from a country with a different history and socio-cultural background. The discussion turned an interesting angle and I was told to write about it, as it may be an interesting insight into origin of disciplinary femdom preferences of a younger submissive male.

First of all I would point out, there will be no juicy details and any exaggerated information you can read in fabricated sub male fantasies you can find everywhere.

These are my genuine memories and thoughts about things which somehow influenced me.

It would be good to mention, I strongly believe that we are born with our BDSM orientation. So none of these things I want to write about made me kinky. It only shaped my orientation and helped me to find out who I am and understand my submission as an integral part of my personality, something I don’t need to be shame of, but enjoy it.

In my late teens when I have started to explore my sexuality and I fully realized I am deeply attracted by the topics of female dominance and male submission my biggest problem was the self-identification. I did not feel as a slave. I had a real problem with a lack of self-respect on one side and inability to submit to female authority without fighting male ego on the other side, as I have seen in many submissive males. Moreover all that FemDom cliché with latex, leather, dungeons and similar stuff felt so strange to me. Sometimes I felt like it was a world I may have nothing common with. But at the same time, deep inside me I felt, I am submissive and I am deeply attracted to female authority. It was confusing. The world of FemDom I have seen at this time seemed to me too explicit, I would even say vulgar with a lack of elegance and I was unable to find out my place there.

For me, in my late teens, I knew I was attracted to girls or even older ladies who were clever, confident, stylish, socially dominant, who had manners and were successful. And it had nothing to do with any latex, leather outfits or unusual sex practices.

It took me some time to realize, the dominance I seek, is the same as my submission. It is about the true inner self, not about the outer garments. And it is about more things than sex only.

And then I finally understood that, as there are far more archetypes of a dominant woman, there are more archetypes of a submissive male. And as I looked back into my childhood and my experience, I finally found the archetype I am able to identify with.

A boy. Innocent, well behaved, educated boy. An eternal boy. Not a child anymore, but not an adult man yet. A boy who deeply adores a lady who is in charge and who he is attracted to. A boy who knows how to behave, who understands he will never be an adult alpha male in her eyes, but who knows, she will adore his innocence and his devotion.

And from this moment everything has started being far easier.

But what are those memories and experience which helped me?

As I mentioned I am not from UK or US. I am from a country in central Europe, a country from the former communist block. A country where things like good manners, style, old fashioned traditions etc. were not exactly typical.

But somehow, paradoxically, even after all those long years of communism, there were memories about the situation before World War 2 and even about Belle Epoche and Austro-Hungarian Empire. Romanticised memories about the world before communism. Not historically accurate in many ways, but as a reaction to a grey of daily life in real communism, it was something people were able to dream about and the old, remember about. About the good old days. About the world with all manners, style, old fashioned traditions and beauty. A world most of us know from the movies only.

But why I am writing about this when I am much too young to remember anything?

I was raised with my sister in a small industrial town. My parents were liberal intellectuals and we were a typical perfect family. We got a lot of freedom from them, but there were always limits we had to respect. And mostly we did. There were no excessive punishments or anything what would be worth mentioning on this blog.

But things get more interesting when I mention our grand parents. They lived in a famous old baroque pilgrimage place near one of oldest and most beautiful town in my country. Their lives were drastically changed after the communist take over in my country. They lost their jobs, money and a lot of friends. Some of them had to flee abroad, some of them died in prisons. But the regime never broke my grand parents.

After a few difficult years they have simply started to ignore they are living in communism. Even in a changed situation, they still adhered to their old fashioned daily routines. The so called old traditions remained important to them. They still had their manners and lifestyle, which were lost for many other people — or at least difficult to adhere to.

The communism in my country after first few years was not so brutal as in other countries. It was more about a Faustian pact between the regime and people. And my grand parents rejected this pact.

Thankfully for them, the place where they lived was one of few places in my country where the regime somehow tolerated this attitude. I will not explain further, as I would need to explain complicated relationship between the state and the church in my country during those years.

But it helped my grand parents and others live their lives a little differently than most of people in my country.

Of course it was not the same as the life before the World War 2, but it was somehow much closer than you would imagine for a communist country. And from some point of view, even maybe closer than in some parts of the West.

And even after the fall of communism, people did not change their habits.

We spent with our grand parents most of our summer holidays and every winter holiday too. For us, who were raised in a typical modern industrial town, it was kind of a time machine.

Things were so different there and we loved it. Grand parents were far more strict than our parents, but we behaved most time without a problem, because all seemed nearly magical for us. It was an old fashioned, elegant world we knew only from movies or books.

We had to behave differently, we had to dress differently, we had to go to church with grand parents or to old fashioned garden or afternoon tea parties. Grand mother, who was a strong no-nonsense lady in the best meaning of this word, did not tolerate any sloppiness and any bad manners. But we fully accepted it, because in those old magical times things worked that way. We loved to walk with her and listen stories from her younger life, to meet her older friends and experience a world as it was slowly vanishing.

The community, which consisted of more families, young and old, was not as small as you would think. There were more children, so we had got bored.

As I mentioned — grand parents, and grand mother especially — were far more strict then our parents. Strict but fair. And now I have to disappoint readers who would think there will be finally something about corporal punishment memories.


We have never experienced any punishment like that. There was an old cane in the house, but it was never used. Only sometimes if we misbehaved really bad, grand mother mentioned it. Most of the time it would be on one big cupboard not to be seen. And when needed, she pulled it lightly, to only show its crooked end. And this — together with her tales of how it was used where she was of our age — was enough to behave properly for the next few days.

The most often used disciplinary method was kneeling or standing against the wall. If we misbehaved together, she send us each one into the opposite side of the room. It was always done in private and we had to keep our hands behind our backs or less often behind our heads. If only one of us misbehaved, they had to stand against the wall and the other one was strictly prohibited to make any comments.

The other interesting aspect which may be interesting for you, was the fact, that my sister — even she was about over a year younger than me — was put in charge when we reached our early teens, when we were left alone. Grandmother was a firm believer that girls of this age are mentally older and more responsible then boys and have no problem using their advantage.

Sometimes I felt this was a bit unjust to me, but I would never argue with her about it. My sister loved these situations and most times, she was a fair supervisor. But, as those of you with siblings know, sometimes the temptation of power was too big, or me as a boy in my teens misbehaved too easily, so she used her authority, warned me and reported all the juicy details to Grandmother.

Which brings me to another topic. As I mentioned Grandmother was quite a stylish older lady and she insisted we were dressed properly to reach her high standards. The dress code was old fashioned elegant. For my sister it was most often a nice vintage dress or a fashion inspired by girl college style. For me — even in my teens — it was always nice old fashioned shorts with a shirt and cardigan. And always a bow-tie. In colder days knee socks. On Sunday we had to wear our Sunday best clothes, which meant a variation of clothes I have already described, with a white shirt for me and a decent dress with a white collar for my sister.

The lovely detail some readers would enjoy, was the joy my sister took in watching whether I am dressed properly. She loved to choose the shortest shorts and always control that my bow-tie is tied properly and neatly to the neck.

Few years later I finally understood it was the start of my feelings of submission towards girls. And that these my memories somehow helped me cultivate my submission and find the archetype of a submissive male I am able to identify and live with.