Fair maidens, faint hearts

I find it’s always easier to tell the truth. The aftermath is sometimes extremely difficult.

I have my pride.  At least, I did. Hang on…it’s got to be here somewhere.

By a curious coincidence, I got the cattle prod for ‘last night’ the very second day of my marriage.
I get quite excited about this sort of thing.
I heard Jason was having an operation so I sent flowers and my best wishes for a full recovery.  Well, you never know, he might.

An orderly marriage

Without question.

Good. Can’t wait for my consciousness to be raised.
10 is the new 8?  You know, just the other week my SO was caning me and I thought we’d finished but she announced that 12 was the new 6!  I don’t know… when I learnt maths in school it all seemed a lot simpler than that. You just held your hand out and counted until she was finished.

Actually, the vicar turned up on time and I have to say: he was quite cross to see what was happening on top of his altar!  So that was a bit embarassing, but the rest of the wedding day passed off smoothly.  The night didn’t go so well, unfortunately, but thank goodness Sven was there too or I think things would really have been difficult.

If I manage to find a copy of the video, I’ll share it with you. I’ve never actually posted a funny cat video – must be the only blog on the Internet not to have done so. 

Shattered ever after

“My other daughter, Cinderella”, the merchant
gabbled, bowing low to the Prince and his party. A
haughty young blonde strode into the room, sat down in the armchair and
crossed her booted legs.  She stared with contempt at her father and step-sisters, huddled together against the back wall.  

“Well?” she demanded.  “Get on with your chores” and she watched them scurry from the room, stammering their apologies.

The Prince sank to his knees before her.  “May I?” he murmured, reaching out with a
trembling hand.  She
nodded curtly and the Prince slowly
unzipped her boot with his right hand, cradling the heel in his left. A moist,
warm miasma emerged as the loosened boot was gently lifted free.

“Sorry about the smell.  Been on my feet all day”, Cinderella

“It’s, erm… it’s no problem at all.” gasped the
Prince.   “You know, Lord Chamberlain, I think we don’t even
need to try the slipper. 
This is obviously the right pair of… pair of feet.” and he moved closer,
his face hovering just above the damp, stockinged foot. 

“Oh yes.  Yes: these are the feet.”

“Are you sure, your Majesty?” the Chamberlain
replied.  “They look a little on the
large side to -”

“Well then the slipper must have shrunk!”
snapped the prince, not taking his eyes from the foot he held so gently.

“Shrunk, Sire?” the Chamberlain replied, one eyebrow
raised.  “The

The Prince turned on him in fury. 
“How dare you question your Prince! 
Arrest this man!  I shall decide
what to do with him later.”

“Perhaps a few years in the salt mines?” Cinderella suggested. “With hard labour? I’ve heard that can be quite

The Prince looked up into her blue eyes in shock.  “That’s quite a harsh, erm… well, for a man in
his age
and condition…
I think…” he tailed off, noting a distinct pout coming over the lovely features
above him.

“Quite right, my dear, of course.” he continued.  “As you wish.”

Her restored smile seemed
to light up the room.  “And
we won’t be needing
that silly thing” she added, indicating the glass slipper with an elegant
finger.  The finger pointed towards a spot on the
floor, where the Prince placed it. 

Stand back”, she instructed.  And down
came Cinderella’s other, still-booted, foot shattering the slipper into ten
thousand iridescent shards.

“Oh dear” she smiled.  “So now I suppose whoever’s foot fits into that gets to be Queen?”, and the Prince raised the boot he was holding in shaking hands towards her gracefully-pointed toes.

And it was a perfect fit.

Further Downton

More of these.  

I should apologise to male readers in advance, many of whom may find some of the material here not to their taste: several of the captions contain a lot of words, some of them quite long and obscure, such as ‘vicarious’, ‘distraught’ and ‘conscientious’.  If it’s too difficult for you, try asking a woman (if you know any) what the words mean, or you can just masturbate to the pictures of the pretty ladies looking stern, all right?


… and very nice too*

All the ways I could be a better husband?  Wow.  I think I’m going to need two days locked in the stocks, at least.

What a lot of fuss, about a routine operation.  You’d think I was the first person whose tonsils she’d removed.  I… hang on… didn’t I have my tonsils out when I was a teenager? 
Oh, don’t worry: I’ll keep looking. I might cry a little, if that’s OK.

She insists on her tea being just the way she likes it. Also the ironing, bed corners, washing up, bookshelves, underwear drawer, bath, breakfast, ornaments, cushions, carpets, gin & tonic, shoes, lawn, floor tiles, nail polish, ….
The splendidly-named Miss Hunter, on whose wall I would love to end up as a trophy.

Many dommes find the things we submissives do disgusting.  That’s why they so enjoy hitting us.

* but if anyone happens to be able to locate the scene in the British sitcom Game On (rather a lovely ‘situation’: sad male failures share flat with goddess) in which Samantha Janus rushes around putting her make-up on to this song, I’d be most grateful.

Pure bliss and divine serenity

Perhaps she ought to explore ways to teach him what her orgasm sounds like.  There must be opportunities, for an independently-minded lady such as her. .
Actually, most of the women I have ever paid to mistreat me are very kind to animals.  Maybe it’s a balance thing.
Thank badness for that.

Hmm… let’s think.  I’m not staying at a Travellodge, OK?  I do have some standards.

I read about this fake findomme who was defrauding her clients. Apparently she was taking their money and then not ignoring them at all.  It’s sad that kind of thing happens, as it gives the whole industry a bad name.

Fantastic terrors never felt before

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Worst fudge ever?  Of course, I’d want to stay out of Devon.

I think it’s sad, to see magnificent beasts penned up in dark underground enclosures, like that.  They should be free to roam the snow-covered fields.
 Mistress Courtney and, erm… another goddess and two maggots, there.

It’s a good point, actually: I do like paella.  So, I suppose I have to be whipped.  Damn – I hate it when she uses logic on me!
There are other extras.  Not as many as there were, but there’s an endless supply waiting patiently outside the studio door.


Noun: the state of being a subject.  That used to be me but now I’m more objective.

No great loss, right?
Somehow it still feels like I’m on the leash, even when I’m not.  Strange, that.
I rolled a six this month!  But apparently “rules are made to be broken”!  Not her usual attitude to rules, I have to say… but that’s women for you.  Bless ’em.
She’s already being the best wife she can. That’s why you’re wearing the shock collar.

My brain hurts.  Sorry: I think I’m just too male today to understand this one. Something about a hash?  Is she talking about breakfast?

Malevolent society

Possibly rather alarming, but don’t worry: she’s a kind and loving person. She has cats, for example.  Cat people are always OK, right?  She has several cats and she loves them dearly.
Fortunately, scurrying is one of the things I do best.

It’s odd, because when I bring up how little I like the idea of giving blow-jobs, she says I shouldn’t rule something out without trying it!  I’m almost tempted to agree with the sexists that women can’t do logic.  But I won’t argue about it.  It’s just very frustrating, though, you know?
Looks like you owe your liberty to her.  I hope you’re grateful.

Poor Diana. Oh well, back to lesbianism I suppose.
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