July 2014 – Contemplating the divine

Man talk

Now listen
darling, just about dinner tonight.
Annie wants you to talk to Victor: she’s trying to get him into
chastity, and she thought you might be able to help reassure him. If you could just tell him how much you love
being in chastity, how you’ve never regretted a single day and all that kind of
thing.

Well… I know
it’s not quite true, darling. But
Victor’s a bit reluctant, so it’s probably best not to tell him about the early
days. I expect he’ll have to go through the same anger and frustration, the
tears – god, all that constant whining and pleading! But that’ll be good for their relationship,
just like it was for ours. They mostly
only play at CP these days, so Annie will have to step up a bit in that
department. She’s quite looking forward
to it – she was asking my advice about canes.

Just as long
as Victor accepts that first step and lets her lock him. After that, she can use it as leverage to
sort out the rest of their relationship, and soon it won’t matter in the
slightest what he wants. So telling a
few little white lies isn’t really such a bad thing, if it helps with that, is
it?

Just
remember: big smiles, best thing that ever happened, very happy husband. Oh – and Annie asked me to make sure you were
never alone with Victor. Of course, I
told her you’d have strict instructions about what to say and you wouldn’t dare
disobey me… just make sure either she or I are in earshot at all times.

I mean – you
don’t have any regrets do you darling?

Do you,
darling?

No, didn’t
think so. Off you go and get ready.

Unreasonable force

He’s a lucky guy.

Planet Femdom, of course. If you like statuesque ladies brutally dominating… well, that bloke mostly. I do, actually. Rather a lot.

Cruelty-free farming has its downsides. Still, I’m glad she found a solution.

Oh dear. Another of those painful conversations.

Actually, the story is rather simple. The post of office tampon boy was advertised, so he studied, and prepared and pulled every string he knew of to get it. But wouldn’t you?

Try not to take it too badly. Just because you’ll be spending the rest of your life alone, in poverty, with your empty days filled only with the longing for her doesn’t mean you have to be miserable. It just makes it very, very likely.

Good news bad news

Now, my dear prisoner, I have good news and bad news. Which would you like to hear first?

The bad news? Yes, I suppose that’s a good idea. Hear that first, to get it over with.

Well, the bad news is that the rest of your life is going to be spent down here, and it is going to be utterly miserable. Your hands will stay cuffed behind your back like that forever, and the hobble chain between your ankles isn’t going away either. You won’t be able to stand up, or even crawl, but you should be able slowly to wriggle around, like a maggot, to get across this cold stone floor. You can scream and shout if you like. No one will hear you. Not even me, and there’s no one else for miles around.

There’s more bad news too. In a moment I’ll be leaving, and I’m going to switch off the light and close the door. So it’ll be pitch dark down here – you’re now in the last few moments of light that you’ll ever experience.

That’s right – look at me. This is the last time you’ll ever see anything. Remember me.

More bad news, I’m afraid. You’re going to die down here. But not immediately. There’s plenty of water and I’ve left some piles of food around. Some of the food’s fresh, so if you can find it, as you inch around in the dark, I’d eat that first, as otherwise it’s going to start rotting. But there’s quite a lot of dry food that should be edible for a few months.

But then that’s it. One day, you’ll be painfully wriggling across the floor in the dark; sniffing and licking wherever you go to try to find more food, and there just won’t be any left. But of course, you’ll never be sure that you’ve found it all, so you’ll probably keep trying, as you get weaker, hopelessly dragging yourself back and forth trying everywhere in this pitch black cellar, until you starve to death – alone, in the dark, with no one to care.

So that’s the bad news.

The good news? Oh – erm, yes, now there was some good news. What was it? Goodness, it’s completely slipped my mind. Oh I don’t suppose it matters. Whatever it was, I’m sure it didn’t really concern you anyway.

Goodbye.

The lady in the pictures is Stella van Gent.

In the morning when the madness has faded

Oh hey, good
morning! Listen, thanks for last night,
OK? You were great. One of the best I’ve had.

I loved the
way you shrieked when I was pinning your cock to the board! Don’t you dare tell me you were faking! If you were, you’re just the most amazing
actor ever, and I don’t want to know, OK?

Oh – and I’m
sorry about the mix-up with the enema bags.
You probably realised the soapy one was supposed to go up your ass, not
into your mouth. Still, I don’t suppose
it did you any harm. I’m sure you’ve had worse.

Anyway – the
money’s over there on the sideboard, in an envelope. I put a little extra in!

Hmm? Well, it’s your money, sweetheart. For the
sub session.

What? You mean you’re not…? You weren’t expecting to be paid?

So, you
just…. Oh wow. I mean, wow. I’m sorry, I just assumed…

Well, you
must let me pay for something. Otherwise
I’d feel awful, about doing all those things
to you. It is quite a lot of
money… and I don’t mind, I have plenty.
That’s right. You just take
it. Buy yourself some nice things.

And you must let me
put a little make-up over the bruises on
your face. So you’re pretty, just in
case you want to try another trick tonight, now you’ve done it once.

And… listen,
I was thinking. I don’t have to be
anywhere until after lunchtime. Erm… would
you like to earn a little more?

Don’t worry
about having breakfast – it’ll be easier to do this on an empty stomach.

Bit of politics, bit of politics

I’m trying a few themed posts just at the moment. This is a theme some of you seem to like, presumably because it deals with such a subversive, transgressive topic: men’s lib.

Dangerous to bring politics into what is intended to be a fun and sexy blog and I certainly don’t want to offend anyone. Nothing in this post should be taken in any way as an endorsement of a political programme of equality for men.

…and a little bonus story.

Speaking truth to power

“The so-called men’s liberation movement” Simon wrote “is an
absurd caricature of a true political cause: its slogans meaningless, its
demands more like an infantile tantrum than a realistic political
programme. I regret wasting so much of
my life on it. Men simply are not the
equals of women, and the sooner we accept that, the happier we will be.”

He stared at the sentence he had just written. Strong stuff.
A complete repudiation of everything that he had fought for and believed
in for all of these years. But it had to
had to be said.

He imagined the horror that an activist in the movement
would experience, on reading those damning words. Or indeed, how he himself would have reacted
just a few months before. He had been ‘Commander
Riotboy’, shadowy author of numerous savage polemics against the oppressive
matriarchal system and the attitudes – of both men and women – that allowed its
injustices to be perpetuated down the generations. Oddly, the strongest memory for him was a
smell – the smell of the hot ink as the illegal press whirred furiously through
the night, stamping out copy after copy of their newsletter, to be stapled,
transported around the country and furtively distributed on any of those rare
occasions when men gathered together without close female supervision.

He remembered running too, the sounds of pursuing police
whistles seemingly right behind him, his comrades seized to be taken no doubt
for ‘re-education’. He had always
somehow escaped to fight on another day, in the process becoming something of a
legend in the movement. Riotboy – the man
who would never give up.

But that, he reflected, had all been before he met Karen. And here he was. A meek
little househusband, dressed in skimpy little shorts that she had chosen for
him, beneath which his cock nestled securely in a locked tube to which only she
had the key. Where before he had devoted his life to producing articles furiously
calling for male liberation, today he spent his days at his desk writing words
that said exactly the opposite. And he
felt strangely content to do so.

He sighed. Best to
get on, as Karen would be back soon, and she would come up to check on his
progress. He’d already had a hard
spanking this morning, he certainly didn’t want another.

He picked up his pen and carefully wrote the number “312.” Then next to it, with equal care (because
more than three crossings out on any one page would mean writing that page all
over again), he wrote:

“The so-called men’s liberation movement is an absurd
caricature of a true political cause: its slogans meaningless, its demands more
like an infantile tantrum than a realistic political programme. I regret wasting so much of my life on
it. Men are not the equals of
women, and the sooner we simply accept that, the happier we will be.

313. The so-called
men’s liberation movement is an absurd caricature of a true political cause: its
slogans meaningless, its demands more like an infantile tantrum than a
realistic political programme. I regret wasting
so much of my life on it. Men are
not the equals of women, and the sooner we simply accept that, the happier we
will be.

314 …”

What a long way off number 500 seemed. He hoped tomorrow’s line would be shorter.

…aaaaaand a bonus bonus little mini-story. This is from earlier in the same timeline, just after Simon met Karen:

“And what do you think about the men’s-lib movement?” she
asked sweetly.

“Men’s lib is a ridiculous idea.” Simon replied. “Men must accept their place in society and
be obedient to women, for their own good.”

He tensed.

There was
a pause and then an agonising CRACK! of the paddle across his buttocks. He
cried out loud at the shocking pain.
That had been the hardest yet.

“What do you think of the men’s lib movement?” Karen asked
again.

“Men’s lib is a ridiculous idea” he gasped “Men must accept
their place in society and be… and be obed – “

CRACK!

“No hesitation, remember, Simon. What do you think of the men’s lib movement?”

Arbitrary power

It’s the best sort.

It’s the personal touch that counts.

The awesome Hunteress, also known as Mistress Cassie. But you knew that!

Summer on the roof, winter in the cellar…and you get to see how she lives in the rest of the house twice a year, when you go up or down.

It’s worth taking the time to get these things right.

Don’t worry – you won’t have the apartment to yourself for long. It’s not like you’re her only slave.

One form of castration is much the same as another, I reckon. Just get on with it – that’s what I say.

Turning yet again

Yes – it’s everybody’s favourite series on this femdom blog! Turning points! Captions about scenes that are not actually femdom.

See here if you don’t know what I mean – or everywhere else you can get to by clicking ‘turning points’ in the word cloud there. Oh look, I’ve even done it for you. The earlier ones were better, so you might want to start there.

Here you go then:

Office services

Hi – you
looking for me? Mel Collins?

Right – yes,
I thought you must be. You’re new,
right? Have you been told what you’re
supposed to do?

You’ve got a
general idea, but you’d rather hear a detailed description directly from
me? OK.

Right, well,
with me it’s all about domination and humiliation. I’ve got a big strap-on, and I start by
fucking you up the arse with it. I hope
you’re nice and tight, because I like that to be quite uncomfortable. I’ll be tugging hard on your balls too. Anyway, then I order you to kneel in front of
me and suck it, and you refuse because it’s just come out of your arse and it
smells of your shit. So then I get angry
with you, I best you around the face a bit, then I tie you over the table and
whip you with my belt. It’s good if you
cry. Then you kneel in front of me, with
your hands still handcuffed, and suck it off.
After that, I scatter your money around the room, and you have to crawl
about picking it up with your mouth.
I’ll throw the handcuff key down as well, and just leave you. You can let yourself out – I don’t want to
see you at that point.

Got it? You can start by stripping naked for me right
now. I said NOW you shit-licking whore!

What’s that?

Oh.

Oh, I
see. So you’re here about the network
connection? Not… the other thing?

Well
no, if you’re from IT I suppose you
would be. Sorry – I thought you were
someone else.

So… why are
you still getting undressed?

Bridal, reins and whip

There’s a theme today. See if you can guess what it is!

Generic Contemplating the Divine post

… with comment immediately after the headline, often referring to unrelated music videos.

Occasional attempt to attract attention from search engines, by spamming words like mistress, femdom, dominatrix and so on. Text in Georgia Medium.

Then some reference to the captioned photos that follow:

Alt label embedded in photo to attract search engines

Additional caption providing comment on or extension of caption theme.

Additional caption providing comment on or extension of caption theme. Quite often, this will contaibn a typo.

Additional caption providing comment on or extension of caption theme.

Short side-comment identifying a known pro-domme and encouraging readers to visit her web site.

Additional caption providing comment on or extension of caption theme.

Normally, the additional caption to a picture of Anne will just consist of some inarticulate cry of adoration.

Occasional additional message to ‘readers’, from Servitor. (NB The word ‘readers’ will often be placed in inverted commas, to imply they are not really reading but just looking at the pictures and masturbating. Unlike many blogs, this one often contemptuously insults its visitors, because it is assumed they share Servitor’s desire for humiliation.)