Contemplating the divine

The power of dependent thought

Don’t worry if you can’ t be brave. She doesn’t mind. In fact: she’s good with pain, so you don’t have to be.

Maybe she could invite a few of the guards over one evening: show them what an obedient and well-adjusted male looks like. You will be on your best behaviour, won’t you?

It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Well… actually it’s not because Nathan later found himself ring-gagged and secured at just the right angle every Friday night, but they weren’t to know that at this point.

Mistress Ezada has never understood the point of labour-saving devices.

She can remember every mocking, searing word of Mr Johnson’s remarks about her Twain essay (well, how was she to know he didn’t mean Shania?). That’s actually quite fortunate, because she’s going to want him to repeat it, pausing after each word for some feedback.

Hmm. I suspect his feet are going to get in the way when they try to put the lid on. Oh well… they’ve got saws and things, I expect they’ll find a way to make everything fit together.

Or thereabouts. More Downton domination; my series of increasingly unimaginative captions set mainly during the inter-war period (although they did not call it that at the time, for some reason, just as few describe our years as the pre-matriarchal era).

Approval required

But rarely granted.

Yeah, everything’s fine. All under control.

You might think this is even worse than that couple caught on the audience cam but don’t worry: it’s all consensual. The three ladies were asked and they said they didn’t mind at all their subs being exposed and humiliated in a clip gathering hundreds of millions of views.

She has quite a lot of interaction with her readership (as do I when the sodding spam filter permits it). She encourages readers to send in their dick pics, for example, often with the dicks in question artfully arranged in vases, or hung as Christmas decorations. She prefers not to receive any of the actual dicks, of course, as the postal service gets funny about that sort of thing, but a few over-enthusiastic readers do like to send her their best cuttings.

Mistress Iris, of course. But you knew that. Pervert.

They also serve, who only scurry and cringe.

In today’s cut-throat business world, any opportunity for effective networking should be taken up. The other businessman featured here was due to go to Davos but his PA messed up and booked him in OWK instead. Poor thing, she must have felt awful about her mistake.

Beauty is power; a smile is its sword

The back is mostly devoted to warnings about how ugly the front is. But fortunately it’s quite hard to read through all the welts.

Those early feminist books were groundbreaking, but modern female supremacist thinking, with its emphasis on sexual inequality and the importance of women’s autonomy over their boys’ bodies, has moved on.

Their corporate philosophy is that every boy can progress to the absolute limit of his potential, with the right guidance and incentives.

And some sexists think that boys are better at quantitative skills than girls! I’d like to see them beat her at this game.

She doesn’t mind being stopped in the street by admirers. She’s even got a little ‘E’ mini branding iron and is only too happy to heat it up with a lighter, for an autograph.

Boots do furnish a room

Today’s special celebrates that most elegant of female footwear (and ankle, calf and, excitingly, occasionally thighwear): the boot. As well as looking and tasting lovely, boots are highly practical and can be used for all kinds of kicking, crushing and treading underfoot. Plus, they’re so easy to get clean and the wearer can even be paid while waiting for the process to be completed to her satisfaction. Boots boots boots boots…*

Both wearing boots in this image. But she’s doing all the work… in so many ways.

She’s blended in quite well with village life: she rides a lot, takes part in the hunt and has even paid to have the quaint old stocks in ther market square repaired and brought back into use.

The delightful Princess Neive, whom I deeply regret never having had the chance to meet when she was working. There are videos of her around… listen to her lovely giggle.

More country pursuits. He provides all the gear they need as well, although some of the whips and sets of spurs are hardly suitable to be used on poor, defenseless horses.

Coincidentally, after his session, her client admitted to being the managing director of one of the largest cold-calling centres in the country. He later regretted telling her that, but she didn’t: she found it motivated her to greater creativity.

Everything my SO says to me is in the imperative, regardless of the precise grammatical form she uses.

I think dommes should tell dumb sub jokes to even the score. “Why did the sub stare for hours at the carton of orange juice?” Because his Mistress fucking told him to.

* Marching up and down again.

Occasionally I put found femdom down here. Now this isn’t found femdom. It’s just a funny little video imagining vikings with modern Scandinavian accents and attitudes. But if you watch to the end, the last second or so is just a little bit Contemplating the Divine. Just a little. But it’s not worth skipping to the end, just watch the video if you think the ‘modern viking’ thing sounds amusing and treat the last moment as a bonus.

If and when she says so

And not a second before or after.

There’s nothing wrong, of course, with finding humour in femdom. It doesn’t all have to be brutal whippings, torture and opppression inflicted by hard-faced unsmiling females. Brutal whipping, torture and oppression inflicted by happy, giggling females is just as good.

Last session she wanted it done anti-clockwise, I understand. But that was then, now is now.

The nice thing about submissive clients (there has to be something, right?) for the working girls is they can fit their sessions around normal customers. If a guy comes in and asks for Yulia, she can just pop boot-worshipper there into a cupboard in mid-lick, give the normal guy whatever he needs, then let the worm back out for a little used condom play before resuming the fucked-up boot thing. If she remembers he’s there, that is.

How many blondes does it take to change a sexist’s entire outlook on life? Just one, as long as she’s got a whip and he’s got an indefinite sentence. But actually, there are over 10,000 blonde officers in the Male Rehabilitation Service, and more than enough whips to go round, so it doesn’t really work like that in practice.

It’ll probably be easier just to rip the whole thing out and install a completely new unit, which at least gives them an opportunity to find a more attractive male.

Funny how that works. For her. Every time.

By the way, obviously there’s a huge amount of slop out there, so I hesitate to recommend anything AI but there are some occasional interesting bits and pieces. This guy’s little videos are quite fun and nicely done, I think, worth a look.

And never brought to mind?

Another year dawns, full of hope and denial. Wishing all my male readers a humiliating and unpleasant year, in which your desires, dreams and fingertips are all crushed beneath an elegant boot.

No doubt, many of you printed off and proudly hung up last year’s CtD calendar, featuring the moist and pungent girls of our sister publication, Armpit Fetishist Monthly. Slightly pointlessly, because it didn’t actually have any dates on it, but no one ever said males were smart, right?

This year’s calendar is equally pointless, to match your pointless lives. It’s a chastity calendar, or chastendar as no one likes to say, in which the absence of any dates allows you all to avoid the misery of noticing that she has not circled one single day in red. Maybe one day she will? Anyway: another year… 365 days… more than thirty-one million seconds, I understand. Enjoy watching them tick by…

Beautifully devastating

Then he can stop being brave and, indeed, stop being a boy, at least on some definitions.

He might have added a gentle little pat, at times, and they’ll be giving him their own version of that too.

He’s got another uniform just as smart as the one you can see in the picture, but with more lace trimming.

Although if you’ve got an existing organ donor card, apparently that already covers it – you’re considered to have donated any organs that seem unlikely to be put to productive use, so they’re free for the taking. Some men have been a bit surprised to discover that, on waking up from a minor unrelated operation, but it’s right there in the small print.

Oh well, I suppose you can be grateful she’s not getting one of those cow milking devices with four tubes, for doing Robert, you and a couple of others all at the same time. For now.

She wasn’t asking for permission

It’s the latest in an occasional series celebrating the thrill and beauty of non-consensual femdom. Do I need to explain that this is intended to be tongue-in-cheek? I probably do, because most of you are male and thus a bit dim, even when you’re not wanking. In reality, consent is obviously of utmost importance in our weird little corner of the Internet. Any male speaking, acting or holding back money without his domme’s active and conscious permission to do so, is doing femdom wrong.