Stories and pictures themed around female domination and male subjugation and servitude. Unsuitable for children, for alpha males, for hard-core practitioners with an interest in the politics of bdsm and the mechanics of complicated rope work. Of interest to perverts like me, basically.
It’s another science fiction special. Now you might object that we just had a science fiction special and for once you’d be right (well done you!) but I’ve just written a tonne* of sci-fi captions, a great many featuring Seven of Nine, so we’re going to be having a lot of them. And in honour of everyone’s favourite Borg, we’ll have seven captioned images each time. Got to get them out there somehow.
Also, I do have a World War M post ready but given there’s quite a lot of actual war around, I think perhaps we’ll keep that on hold for now.
*That’s slightly more than a ton.
You might expect her to add that this is going to hurt her more than it will hurt him, but her programming prevents her from lying.
Goodness, the Borg are so much more advanced than us even in plumbing. Resistance is indeed futile… where can I surrender, please, Ma’am?
If it would be completely unethical to enslave billions of people, then presumably it would only be a tiny fraction as unethical to enslave just one… or even a few.
Realism is overrated, which is why I write this blog.
I wonder whether the local culture has developed any techniques for dealing with this situation? Implements, even.
She’s appalled at the waste. It’s like throwing away perfectly good chocolate spread.
The 70s was a difficult time and many people say that its sci-fi reflected that, featuring a lot of dystopian, dark visions of the future but in these TV shows at least, I see nothing but optimism that things might turn out OK. Too optimistic, if anything: that’s Space 1999 down in the bottom right: if only 1999 had been like that. Everywhere, I mean, not just a few select locations in most major cities and a large estate on the outskirts of Černá, Czech Republic.
Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to get used to it.
She and Sister Amy often struggle together with their vows of chastity. And I’m afraid it has to be admitted that the vows of chastity don’t usually win. But they’re young, they have years ahead of them to become more experienced in their nunnery’s ways.
Hurry up – imagine how awful she’d feel if she accidentally caused you a serious spinal injury, just because you were dawdling?
My SO had her beauty therapist look at my facial bruises one day. She said they were really nicely done.
Fans of this lovely lady may wish to watch her dancing as Wednesday, here. I mean, it’s not femdom or anything but it’s very… ummm… well, it’s just very. I believe that is the original, but I have to say I prefer the version set to Joy Division. But then, I is Bri-ish, innit?
Don’t worry: when she finally lets you go, you’ll feel very happy about that.
He initially denied taking any inappropriate photos, which is a bit foolish when there’s a photographic record and near-suicidally reckless when there’s both a photographic record and a very angry Madame Šárka.
Between the chores, privileges and of course those ‘little kindnesses’ she so likes you to show her, the day can get quite busy.
Whe nshe got there, she realised that of course they weren‘t there – she’d put them in the cellar. She was dreadfully embarrassed, poor thing.
Oh, I hope she’s not going to chat for long. I get so socially awkward in these situations.
Thank goodness. If there’s one thing every men’s group needs, it’s a woman’s guidance. Otherwise the conversation can go in all sorts of unproductive directions. Men can achieve so much when they are all working to a common purpose – imposed by a woman, obviously. Just see how much a chain gang can get done, for instance, given the proper motivation not to slack off.
At least four of them played suspiciously badly… almost as if they wanted to be, to be… no, that’s ridiculous.
Sonme of us want that even less than others. But we’re not the decisive half of ‘us’.
‘Tis Mothers’ Day!* So we celebrate all mothers, mother-in-laws, stepmothers and other females prepared to take young lads, or older ones for that matter, firmly in hand.
*Yes ’tis, ’tisn’t in May. Not in Britain, we prefer our Mothering Sundays cold and miserable, to match our outlook on life.
Actually, Mum prefers old-fashioned methods to using electric shock collars, but she’s got enough respect for her daughter to take the remote in the spirit it’s offered.
Almost.
There could be many, many things. He should try gasping a few of them out.
I’m sure she’ll be understanding about your being so late. She understands men very well, very well indeed.
I wonder what present she’s got? Something to get the marriage off to the best possible start, I imagine.
It’s sadly rare in modern societies for a mother-in-law to take some of the responsibility for a husband’s upbringing, but it can be so important.
Friday the 13th, it is. I’m not superstitious, of course. I believe that rational (and therefore female) thought can explain any apparent mystery. And there’s no such thing as bad luck, not really, except as the working of chance. Like the coin my SO tosses every month (to avoid stressing me out, she tosses it in private and tells me the result): it’s got an equal chance of heads or tails so it’s perfectly understandable that it should have come up tails eleven times in a row – it’s just a one in two thousand chance, that’s all. Which is extraordinarily unlucky, true, but then, as she often points out, I’m extraordinarily lucky to be married to her, so it more than evens out.
Anyway, thought we’d go for a slightly macabre theme today, in contrast to the usual romantic fluff.
Being married, of course, they didn’t have to be careful not to leave any marks.
Does Pink Floyd count? Genesis?
And everyone else lived unhappily ever after, to her great delight.
Wow – speaking of luck, what a lucky escape you just had, running into these two! They look very capable, too: I’m sure they’d be more than a match for any castrating, mutilating psycho serial killer.
Aww… she said you have yummy eyeballs. I reckon you’re in, here.
Actually Gothic Griselda and Strict Nanny Susan aren’t that different. Both enjoy expensive presents and neither is particularly keen on ‘happy endings’, for instance.
Actually, guys with small penises have proportionately more everything. My little finger, for instance, is huge in comparison – a woman remarked upon it, once.
They’re reworking the pay structure too, to make it more discriminatory.
Zoe’s good at games, usually winning on the first move when she plays slaves at chess. She also enjoys playing ‘guess the voltage’.
I expect he’ll come up with some lavish belated gift or other… she can even make some suggestions while she has his full attention like this.
Of course it’s best to wear thick gloves when handling that X stuff as it can irritate the skin. But they’re professionals, they know how to handle things that can be irritating.
She likes to give her clients a ‘happy beginning’ occasionally.
Another post pointing out the various ways in which vanilla sex is just plain weird, as well as weirdly plain. Vanilla vs. Femdom – no contest, really, is it?
Sometimes, the simplest things – and males are very simple – can be the hardest to explain.
Quite right too – how absurd to claim any incidents involved excessive brutality. The level of brutality is always just right.
Working for Mistress is a reward in itself and she’s very generous with her rewards.
She’s covered against accidental breakages too.
She’s a very keen gardener – has boys out there in all weathers planting, potting, pruning or just spending a few hours making the lawn nice and neat with a pair of nail scissors.
Sometimes she’s just not in the mood to tolerate it… oddly enough, the consequences are much the same in both cases.
Or at least, if you do mind,you’re OK with her ignoring that?
Any man who still clings to outdated notions that women are slow to adopt technology should try locking an electric shock device onto his genitals and handing his partner the remote. He’ll soon learn.
I’m sure they’ll all accept Fergus’s heartfelt apologies, eventually.
I’d be very anxious, if I were her husband, but I guess that just shows why he needs the pills.
It’s funny how many men visit ladies like ‘Strict Auntie Susan’, claiming their wives don’t understand them… when if given half the chance, those wives would understand all too well.
I’m sure she appreciates the clarification and she’ll show that in her response.
Yes, more scenes from stories of brave princesses rescuing – or not – helpless knights and suchlike. A ‘happy ending’ every time – without even the need to plead and beg for it.
They get porridge to eat, of course, and it’s always ‘just right’ too, despite being cold and lumpy.
Ah, the first electric shock of married life. I remember mine so well. It’s traditional for the husband then to ask his loving wife ‘How long do I have to wear this, darling?’ to which the correct response is of course a peal of delighted laughter.
You do get a say. Not the decisive say, not even an important one, but a say, anyway. Or a squeak, at least.
It’s not as easy a life as you might imagine – those pegs hurt just as much as they would if they were suspending a ‘normal’ male body, for instance.
The grateful populace of the kingdom later began a tradition of staging a re-enactment every year, to celebrate their beloved King’s heroic deed, although obviously, lacking centaurs, they had to use ordinary horses and stable-lads.
He may have found a comfortable place to live, but he remains vigilent. As he trots obediently at her heel, or chases madly after sticks, Sir Foofles is always alert for possible witches in the vicinity, but so far he has never found any. Perhaps they don’t exist? That would certainly explain it.
