Oscar night

Oh wow.  Hey… this is… this just so great.  Thank you.  Thank you so, so much.
Listen – I
just want to say a word or two about my very good friend Mark, OK?

I think you
know who I mean.  I know he didn’t direct
this movie. Fact is, he hasn’t directed any movie since that unfortunate incident
of masturbating into some of the female extras’ shoes on that last movie of
his.  That was a bad time for him.

But listen –
Mark isn’t a quitter. No way.  And he loves this business.  Sure, he couldn’t get any directing or
writing jobs any more.  But he came to us
and he begged for some work on this movie – any work. He was on his knees in
front of me and Brad, crying his eyes out and kissing the ground.  That’s how passionate he is about movies.

So we took
pity and gave him a job as a laundry boy. 
Just for the clothes.  Not the shoes.
We made that very clear.  You see, some of the shoes in the movie were really valuable – Louboutin – you
know?  And the costumist was really
worried about them with Mark around. 
Semen can damage fine leather quite badly, apparently.  So we were all talking about it, and saying maybe
we should get a lockable cupboard or something, when Brad said “Why not lock
his cock away instead?”.

And you know
– when we told him that was a condition of his staying on the picture crew,
Mark didn’t hesitate. He wore a chastity belt for five months, right
through the hot summer months. Why?  OK,
because he was desperate.  But also
because he’s a true professional.

And I just
want to say that that same professionalism shone through everything he
did.  The chorus girls’ sweaty leotards,
the stuntmen’s grimy overalls, even Brad’s favourite socks came back clean and
pressed every day without fail. One time, I had such a heavy period and we only
had one spare of the white shorts I had to wear for the scene we were shooting?
Well, every time they got stained, Mark would take them off and hand-wash them
and dry them carefully with a blow dryer, in time for me to change and just
keep on filming.  Didn’t I tell you he isn’t a quitter!

Yeah!  That’s right! 
Give it up for Mark!  We love you Mark!
And he’s
here tonight!  Can we get a spotlight on
that table there? No – the next along…there! 

Hey Mark!

So, yeah,
Mark – I know you didn’t want any kind of fuss made.  But all the other stars who’ve made speeches
have thanked all the people who played really important roles in the
movie.  So I thought maybe I’d use my
time to thank you instead.  And I know
just how to do it.

You ladies,
there on the table with Mark?  Yeah – you
three beautiful ladies!  I want you to
stand up on the table in front of him. 
Yeah, that’s right.  ON the
table.  Careful how you get up there. And one by one – I want you to
let him sniff your shoes, nice and slow.

Oooh – Jimmy
Choo! Mark’s in luck.

Go on Mark.
You know you want to.  You deserve it. I got my Oscar, and you get your reward too,
compadre! Good job. 

Let’s hear
it for Mark!

Hey – have
we got time to get him up here for a speech too?  If we’re quick?  OK!

Mark – c’mon
up here!  We want to hear from you!
Oh – he’s shy.  C’mon guys, slow clap. We can get him up here.
Mark. Mark.  MARK.  MARK. MARK. MARK.
Actually, I almost never watch the Academy Awards. I find it rather offensive, the way some of the stars they celebrate are men. And even in the awards for actresses, I find they often single out people other than Anne to win.  There’s just no need for that, in my view and I wish they wouldn’t do it.

Just like a prayer

Humbler and humbler we become.
Brisk, businesslike and to the point.
I was the victim in an abusive relationship once.  It’s actually quite a traumatic memory.  I was upset for months afterwards… begging her to come back.


It’s good to have a hobby.
Charlotte’s Web – the femdom version.  With bacon for supper.


Can you imagine?

Hmm?  This?
Oh – well, I’m a bit embarrassed you caught me reading
it, actually.  It’s the autobiography of
a professional ‘dominatrix’.  You
know?  One of those tarts that dresses up
in leather and smacks men’s bottoms. Can you imagine?
Janice lent it to me. 
I thought it wouldn’t be my thing – well, it isn’t really – but I can’t
put it down. It’s amazing some of the things she gets up to.
Sad too, actually. 
She says one of her oldest clients is married, but he’d never plucked up
the courage to tell his wife what he wanted. 
And it’s weird because she sounds like a real harridan!  Apparently, one time he turned up for a
‘session’ and he wanted to cancel the thing she’d planned, because this wife
had just been screaming at him after he’d wrapped the car around a tree.  And he felt the need to be properly punished
or something.  Should have just asked his wife to take the cane to him – she sounds like the sort of woman who’d enjoy it.  Do you remember how cross I was that time you
crashed the car! You’re lucky I didn’t have a cane handy, now I come to think
of it! I’d have given you what for.
And he wants to spend his time serving her as her ‘slave husband’
but of course he can’t say that either, so he just does odd bits of housework
and fetches and carries for her and things – serving his mistress in his head
you see. (Oh thanks, love – just put it there on the coaster. Sweetener not sugar, right?  Great.)


It’s amazing, the freaky stuff that’s out there, isn’t
it?  People leading these sad, secret
hidden lives, and you’d never know.   He must have wasted a fortune on this “Lady Nightshade”. Maybe it’s best if his wife never does find out!  She’d probably be furious – wouldn’t you? I would.  She charges hundreds each time!  All that money, just for a sore bottom once in a while. 
know, her ‘dungeon’ is in Ealing? Near the tube station.  I mean, she calls it a dungeon but it’s a walk-up apartment really.  Just like any other house.  You probably walk right past it every month,
when you go and visit your osteopath.  
Can you imagine?

Just a short one for Anne

Oo-er sounds a bit rude!

Anyway, Servitor here, just wanted to mention that a few weeks back, I was having a discussion in the comments (actually, all the comments are written by me, in a pathetic bid to make the blog look popular, but that’s another matter – this one was under my own name) and I said:

But then the consciously and
obviously “femdom” movies generally are disappointing. Walk All Over Me
had Tricia Helfer, but not for long.

I suspect the less
consciously femdom things work better. Anne Hathaway gives femdom phone
sex in a Russian accent in Valentines Day. But the swoon moment for me
was when her vanilla character looks cross with her boyfriend right at
the end of the movie. Ah well.

 And I just thought you’d like to see, so:


Don’t you think?  Hmm?

Anyway, that’s it for today.  No captioned images, so…. oh all right then.  Here’s just one.

Oh, go on then, why not:

Right, that’s it.  Now go away and leave me to contemplate the divine Anne in peace.

For her

Weirdest client?  Oh,
I dunno. I mean, they’re all weird, aren’t they?

There was one once though – quite a regular.  And I had a party for my regular subs and
they got to arguing about which one adored me most – silly old fuckers, like I
care as long as they keep paying! 
Anyway, they decided to settle it with a breath-holding contest.   And when it was this guy’s turn, he took out
a roll of duct tape and wrapped his mouth up, popped a clamp onto his nose and
then slipped a pair of handcuffs on behind his back! 

Well, as you can imagine, after a minute or so, he was writhing around and all purple in the face, and I was just
about to look around for something to cut the tape when one of the other slaves
said “Should
n’t you cut him loose, Mistress?”. 
Well, of course you can’t stand for that sort of impertinence, so I gave
him a good slap and I settled back in my chair and said “He’ll breathe again
when I decide, slave, not before.”  All haughty-like, you
know.  You have to be like that, as a domme.  They like it.

And I gave it a bit longer and then I graciously instructed
them to cut his gag off.  And they faffed
about and panicked like slaves will. And then it was all too late!

Hmm? Oh no. Not dead. 
Severe brain damage, though.  It’s
the oxygen, apparently.

Shame really.  So
maybe he was the weirdest…. Oh, but hang on, there was other guy that had this
thing about asparagus!   And you know how
asparagus makes your wee smell? So one time – oh this is really funny, even
funnier than the other thing! – one time, right, this guy brought a big bunch
of asparagus with him and… 

Well versed in etiquette

Fastidious and precise.

Maybe ask for a prescription for some painkillers?

Well, obviously not every month.  That would be silly.  But maybe occasionally..?

Shame clothing. I’ve never found I’ve needed it.

Who needs pocket money when your skirts don’t even have pockets?

Hmm.  It might be a while before the next blog posting.  And it might be a bit dull… (more so than usual, even).

She looked me up and down and really put me in my place

She said: “Nice legs, shame about your face.”

Been revisiting the music of my teenage years.  Although to be honest this one provides a rather more accurate picture of my dating experience. And this one is just timeless, as far as I’m concerned.

Actually, as a former investment banker he’d probably be better at handling the financial negotiations himself.  But they each have their own role in the business, I suppose.

I hate it when that happens.  But then I hate it when it doesn’t, too.  You know?

He used to be a client.  A lot of the stuff that’s lying around did.  Some of the leather coverings too, if we’re brutally honest about things.

Especially with her reading circle coming round to discuss it that very evening.

That’s good. Because when Madame Svetlana is displeased, very regrettable things happen.

Kiss the boys and make them cry

The ‘client’ in this picture was of course the remarkable, rather intimidating… OK, very intimidating, Mistress Cassie Hunter.

Yeah, I tried vanilla sex once.  Well, I tried to try it anyway… but she wasn’t having any of it.

There’s men would kill to be in his position. Perhaps one day she’ll let them.

No reason not to mix business with pleasure.

Ah.. voluntary consent.  It’s just non-negotiable. As George is finding out.

Brand awareness

But how silly, darling! Is that why you haven’t wanted to play bondage games lately?

I told you at the time, didn’t I? I just wanted the branding irons in my initials as a symbol of your submission to me.    I wasn’t planning actually to use them!

And I can see if you were thinking that already, that you might find it a bit worrying when I got those workmen in, to unblock the fire in our bedroom.

But I just thought it would be sexy sometimes to have a real fire going, you know? Just imagine the reflections of the flames on my shiny leather or latex, hmm?

And don’t the branding irons look awfully nice fixed to the wall above the fire, like that?

Really, though, I can’t believe you thought I might burn my initials into your flesh without consent! I mean, after all that fuss you made when I tried to play just a little with a lit cigarette against your skin? Do you remember?  I’ve never heard such a noise!  Imagine if I held a hot iron to your buttocks for a slow count of three. You’d scream the place down wouldn’t you?  And we’d have the neighbours calling the police!

Well, unless you were really, really tightly gagged, obviously. Like with a couple of balled-up panties under that new muzzle gag I got you.

Or the inflatable gag, I suppose.  That would be OK. And you’d need a harness, so you couldn’t struggle much, so the letter comes out nice and clearly.

But anyway, it doesn’t matter because I’m not going to do it, am I?  So can you stop being so paranoid, and let your goddess wife start tying you up again, hmm?

Look – I’m wearing your favourite outfit. How about you let me tie you up tightly, just like I used to – OK?  And do terrible, evil things to you. 

Tell you what – I promise not to burn my initials deep into your quivering, naked flesh if you can get me to come three times!

Joking! I’m joking… Good grief, darling. Try to keep a sense of proportion, OK?

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