And – which is more – you’ll be a man, my son



Ah– it’s Jenkins, isn’t it?

Oh don’t look so alarmed, boy. For once, you’re not here to be beaten. You are
here for careers advice, as you will shortly be leaving our school.


Now, as you know, Jenkins, we at Thrashington Hall believe strongly in the
old-fashioned school values.The eight years of misery and brutality you have so
reluctantly endured here did have a purpose.Our system of rote learning,
accompanied by twice-daily cold showers, strict masturbation control and
frequent brutal floggings, was expressly designed by our founder, Constance Thrashington, to build character – so you can venture
out into the adult world with a sound moral foundation and a solid and traditional educational background.


I hope you realise that this makes you very unusual among boys of your age?  In the modern world, this sort of education is increasingly rare.  When you leave these gates, you will be one of the very few young men more familiar with counting strokes of the cane than with differential calculus, capable of writing the same line for hours without a break, but not of writing anything of your own creation, more familiar with the tawse than you are with a computer mouse. There’s not many young men today that have the self-control needed to remain perfectly in position, while enduring a brutal flogging across their bare buttocks, and then the presence of mind politely to offer thanks for the agonies they have suffered.  You have learned to respect your betters, to do as you are told and to fear retribution at all times.

Unfortunately, we’re beginning to realise this doesn’t really work, especially
in the modern world.


The eighteen year-old boys we turn out are quite incapable
of the sort of creative thought needed in modern business, lack any
self-confidence or independent drive and find it impossible to build relationships
with women.Your employment prospects are appalling – with luck, you’ll find
some minimum wage menial job that can provide you with enough money to eke out a miserable
existence in some squalid bed-sit. Many of our graduates become road-sweepers.  Street begging is another popular career choice.  Some of the more talented manage to secure jobs as burger-flippers, but unless you’re lucky enough to have an authoritarian female boss, you probably won’t be able to concentrate long enough to do a job as complicated as that.


I expect you’ll spend your evenings in sad,
lonely masturbation – your sexual urges are probably perverted and anyway, you
don’t know how to relate to women because you have only experienced them as
disciplinarians.  Not much of a life – rather a shame really after enduring such brutal, sexless and miserable teenage years.


Sorry about that.

Anyway– dismissed!  I’ll see you at the graduation ceremony tomorrow. Send in
Knightly, please.

 

 
The lady in the picture is the delightful, scary and astonishingly beautiful Lady Sophia Black.  I have had the immense privilege of being beaten, derided and ignored by her in the past, and I hope very soon to experience that unpleasant delight again.

Get a dose of her in jackboots and kilt

She’s the kind of a girl that makes the News of the World
Yes you could say she was attractively built.

(Pictures are unrelated. I just like the song and the idea of linking it to femdom.)

Bent over secretary
Yes, do try.  Fortunately, I had a bit of an off day when writing these captions, so there are no sexy thoughts here.  Carry on – it’s perfectly safe.
 

Mistress and sissy
Of course, you can refuse if you like.  But then she’ll stay cross.  That’s really not good news.
Lexi Sindel… and some bloke dressed in pink. 
 

Girl with sniper rifle
Hmmm.  Well, I’ll try anything once, you know?
 

Femdom scene 345
Errr… two and a half?  Two and three-quarters… thr… three?
 

Actually, this isn’t one of mine.  It just arrived in my email inbox.  I thought I’d share it.

It’s not just Irene


“Well Holmes!” I expostulated as soon as we were ensconced
in the first class compartment, waiting for the train to depart.  “You certainly surprised us all this
time!  I was quite convinced the
Governess was the culprit”

Holmes nodded wearily. 
“A natural mistake to make” he replied, and opened a newspaper as if to
close the conversation.


“I mean, damn it all Holmes” I went on, determined not to
allow him to avoid explanations.  “Her
glove was found at the scene of the crime, the rope used in the hanging came
from her sash window, we found the bloodied knife in her room and on top of
everything, Sir Horace had recently changed his will leaving everything to her.”


Holmes put his paper down with some visible
irritation.  He seemed to be physically
discomforted, in addition to his usual irascibility.


“Indeed Watson.  But
as you know, I had a very long talk with the, erm, formidable Miss Huntingdon
in her schoolroom, and she explained everything to me very clearly.  Very clearly indeed.  I cannot breach her confidence to explain
why, but there is no question of her guilt. 
She was most persuasive.”


And he fell silent as if recalling a vivid memory, then shook his head and shifted nervously in his seat – and instantly, it seems, regretted it, as he
winced in some pain.


“This railway company is a disgrace.” he remarked.  “Singularly uncomfortable seats.”


“We could swap” I offered.  “Mine is well upholstered.”  But he refused with a curter shake
of his head.


“So…”  I mused.  “Suicide, after all.  But Holmes, how ever did Sir Horace hang
himself and stab himself several times, after
tying his own hands behind his back?  And
did you ever solve the mystery of the strange marks across his buttocks?”


“The English aristocrat is a remarkably creative animal,
Watson” Holmes remarked.  “Damn this seat”
– and he got up, wincing all the way.



“If you’ll excuse me, Watson” he remarked, I think I might
after all not accompany you all the way to London.  I cannot abandon Miss Huntingdon, at this
difficult time.  To lose her employer and
gain control of a household and vast fortune all in one week like that… the
poor woman will need a man’s guidance.  I
shall return to Castle Charingbourne.

And he left the compartment, leaving me to brood with my
thoughts.  One day, I decided, I would
make him tell the whole story, even if it had to be sealed for posterity to
learn its secrets at some later date. 
But a thought struck me, just as the train began to pull out of the
station, and I lowered the window and called out to the retreating Holmes, who
was standing pensively – but perhaps rather stiffly – on the platform.

“But dash it all, Holmes! 
Sir Horace was an unmarried man! 
Why employ a governess, if you have no children?”



But he did not – or would not – hear me or look in my direction, gazing instead almost longingly up the hill in the direction
of the great house, with the faintest smile playing across his lips. 

Timing is everything


So I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to try out Graham’s invention.  Of course, you can’t see, because it’s behind you and you’re strapped so very tightly across the whipping block.  But back there, the mechanical arm holding the cane is fully retracted, so the machine’s ready to strike.  When it does, the electric motor drives a small wheel into rapid motion, increasing tension for a second or two, before the arm is released and the cane lashes across your bottom.

It’s that little delay that makes it work, actually. Poor old Graham kept on trying and trying to propel the arm immediately to make the stroke, but you can never get enough force to get it to lash at the speed you need for a proper impact.  It took him ages to find a solution.  I was getting quite frustrated actually – he was probably getting more strokes from me manually than he was testing each day on the machine.  But that delay lets the speed build up and then – whoosh, and it cracks across your buttocks.  So you’ll hear a little whir for a second or so, before you hear the cane whistling through the air.  I’ve asked him to work on that whirring sound – it would be better if there weren’t any warning.  I’m sure he’ll be able to sort it out, with the right encouragement from me.  Still – it canes hard and that’s the main thing.

So after the stroke it winds back again, going a little bit up or down so it doesn’t keep caning the same spot.  Graham himself suggested that little feature, actually, after the first time I tried it on him.  Twelve on exactly the same spot makes you ever so sore.  He started work on the vertical motion straight away after that!  Anyway, I can set it to go steadily up or down, or just let it go randomly.

Oh, you’ll find out.  The pattern should be clear by stroke three or four or so.


I’m so pleased with this.  I mean, I’m not going to stop caning boys manually, obviously!  But sometimes it’s nice just to hand the job over.  And there’s something quite relentless and brutal about being caned by a machine… the way it just keeps going, no matter what you say or how piteously you cry or scream.  I mean, so do I of course, but boys still always start making a fuss after a while, in the hope that I’ll go easy on them.  Boys can be so stupid. Well, this machine takes that hope away.

You look worried!  No…maybe worried isn’t the right word.  You look terrified.  Well, so you should.  You’re getting twelve, good and hard – and I’ve already programmed them in.  Nothing you can do.

But you know, I haven’t told you about the cruellest feature yet.  Do you want to know?



I can programme the speed.  It can go at any speed I like.  So what do you think is about to happen, hmmm?

What?

No.  Oh for goodness’ sake.  You boys are so unimaginative.  You think that the worst thing I could do to you is to make it go as fast as possible?  Twelve strokes in quick succession – THWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACK?

Well, it could do that.  And obviously that would be sheer hell – it would certainly make you scream.  But that’s not what I’ve done.  Quite the opposite.  Can’t you guess?

Between now and – oh about nine o’clock tonight – you’ll receive twelve strokes.  It’s just gone noon, so that’s about one every 45 minutes.  But they won’t come regularly.  The intervals have been set to be random – anything between 30 seconds and two hours.  You will get all twelve – you can depend on that.  But you’ll never know when the next one’s coming, as you wait there hour after hour.  Until you hear that little whir anyway… then you have a second or so to brace yourself.  It’ll be so much better when Graham’s sorted that out…

Yes, you see?  I thought you would.  It’s much worse than getting twelve all at once, isn’t it? 

Do you think the randomness makes it worse?  I wasn’t sure about that.  I like the thought that you’ll be on edge for all of that time, never knowing when – or precisely where – the next stroke will land.  But on the other hand, it might be nice some time to try spacing them evenly – say, one every hour.   And you could have a clock in front of you, watching the seconds counting steadily down.  Or no clock, and you’d be frantically estimating whether the hour is nearly up.  Maybe we’ll try that next time.

Hmm?  Oh, we’ve already started.  I switched it on about five minutes ago.  Every five minutes you have about a one in nine chance of a stroke.  It could have happened already. But it didn’t.  It will, though.  That’s certain: you’ve still got all twelve to go.  It could happen any second… or not for almost two hours… it’s just up to that little microchip.  Out of my control anyway, and certainly out of yours.

Hmm?  Yes, I know it’s cruel.  I am.

Anyway, it’s not much of a spectator sport, so I’m going to go about my day and leave you to it.  Don’t worry, I’m not leaving the house, so I’ll be able to hear you scream from time to time.  You’ll be quite secure here, though.  And if you start to feel thirsty – and I think you will, if you keep sweating like that, or if you start crying – just remember that it’s supposed to be a punishment and you deserve it.

See you.

Oh – you know, I just had a thought.  Maybe instead of designing out the little whirring sound, Graham could design it in!  So that – I don’t know – about five times out of six or so, there’s the sound but no stroke.  Wouldn’t that be fun?  I’ll have to have a word with him.

Enjoy the rest of the day.


  The lady here is of course the formidable and beautiful (and formidably beautiful) Mistress Cassie Hunter, The Hunteress.  Visit her web site if you’re feeling interested and want to see more, visit her in person if you’re feeling guilty and need to suffer.

Entrées

She began with a soft kiss on the very tip of the dildo, her
moist lips held slightly apart, allowing her tongue lightly to flick across the black
rubber.

And then she took it into her mouth, kneading with her lips and nibbling gently at the
glans.  With little nibbles she inched
her way down to the base, the black rubber gradually disappearing into her
accommodating mouth, before his astonished eyes. 
Meeting his gaze, she giggled, fastened
her lips firmly around the base and slowly drew back along the length of the
dildo, which emerged glistening with her spittle.

Then, after a pause for breath, she opened her mouth wide
and bit hard just behind the head.  Her
teeth sank deep into the reluctantly yielding rubber, and when they could go no
further, she shook her head gently to work them loose and, once again, bit deep
and hard.  This time the bite went clean
through and the head came free in her mouth, to be spat out onto the floor.

Her mouth opened wide for a third time, and took in another
inch of what remained of the black rubber – and she bit down again, this time
chewing her way slowly until another ragged chunk came away.  And so on down to the base, biting more and
more off as she went until her amused eyes were level with his horrified gaze,
and nothing but a rough stump remained. 
He fainted clean away in shock.

… to wake up with wrists and ankles firmly bound, the
remains of the dildo gag still in his mouth. 
He tried to lift his head, to look down to where he could feel her
presence between his legs and hear her breathing, but he could see nothing but
the top of her head, lowering down towards his groin.



She began with a soft kiss on the very tip of his cock, her moist lips held slightly apart, allowing her tongue lightly to flick across the skin.
… 
 
Disappointed?  Wanted a proper posting with five captioned images of lovely ladies in leather smacking men’s bottoms?  Then try the ‘lucky dip’ widget to the right there. Experience the incoherence of Contemplating the Divine in random order.

You can get more with a harsh word and a whip

… than you can with just a harsh word.  To misquote Al Capone.

Femdom objectification
And perhaps not.  It really doesn’t have any say in the matter anyway.
 
 

Boxed slave
I wonder what’s in the box?
 
 

Caning mistress
Very practical.
 
 

Double domme
Anyway, it’s not really a problem if he does suffocate: she’ll still come.
 
 

She has my attention already.
 

Servitor says: new widget!   Try the new lucky dip feature, over to the right there.

Long wait

Hi!  Just thought I’d
pop back and check how you were doing in there.

Listen – I’m sorry I’ve been away so long. 


You must have wondered if I was ever coming back!


But you know how it is – with one thing and another, I’m
afraid it just slipped my mind.  I was
just going to come and see how you were doing but then I had a call from one of
my girlfriends.  Chloe – haven’t seen her
for years.  Inviting me to go to Thailand
with her!  Just out of the blue!  So I went for two months. – really
brilliant. 

 
And anyway, after that I had
to go off for the residential section of my course…
…and then it was Christmas,
and I went to see my Mum, so… just one thing after another really.  I know it’s been a while.

What?  No of course
I’m not going to let you out!  Actually,
I haven’t even brought the key with me, so you can forget about that.


But I have got a lovely surprise for you!  Because I expect you’ve been feeling a bit
cooped up and frustrated all this time.

 
Can you guess what it is?
Pictures of me
in Thailand!  Oh – I had such a great time.

I’ll just top up your food hopper,  then I’ll show them to you.  Don’t go away!

Images are from the rather lovely Pupstail website.  Good boy! 

Any flavour except vanilla

… or raspberry ripple.  I really hate raspberry ripple.  


Goodness, I hope none of the dommes with whom I  have the honour of serving from time to time read this blog and find out my little secret.  They might force me to eat raspberry ripple ice cream in session.  How awful that would be!

Monthly renewal of chastity
‘We’ are indeed trying.  Fortunately, only one of ‘us’ has to succeed, doesn’t she?




CNFM shopping
You ever had one of those dreams?  When you’re naked, surrounded by a hundred jeering, mocking beautiful women?  And you can’t speak and you can’t seem to run, but then you have to do a little dance for them and… and then you wake up.  And realise it was only a dream?  Always such a fucking disappointment.



Femdom space programme
She’s been working too on a better recovery system.  Crashing into a net is fine but it’s just not very… fetish, you know?  So she’s been working on something involving combining an aircraft carrier’s ‘arrestor hook’ system, with various anal toys.  All top secret just now, I’m afraid, so I don’t know any more details than that.
This is the divine Mistress Ezada Sinn, if you didn’t know that already




Lovely Clara
Lucky George.  Sharp-eyed observers of more than one ‘scene’ might spot a reference here to an earlier post.

Boyfriends, eh? Always spoiling the fun! Why can’t she just do her own beating up? I’d go for that. I’d even pay.




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