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.
The brutal reality
As the little disclaimer to the left there states, this blog makes no claim whatsoever to realism. Over the years, this has served me quite well as a catch-all excuse, when certain commenters – anonymous or otherwise – point out small inconsistencies, minor plot holes or blatant and wildly implausible attempts to ignore the physical laws of the Universe in one caption or another.
Don’t worry, we’ll be rejoining the unreality-based community in the next post, on Tuesday.
One of my regular dommes agreed instantly, when I asked her for a gentle, slow-paced four-hour boot-worship session, but things got a little difficult when I turned up and she realised I’d hoped she’d be wearing the boots during the whole time.
As long as there’s something soft nearby to break her fall if she topples over, maybe?
Anyway, the bowl doesn’t have to go through the bars, does it, he can just stick his head out and… hmmm… Oh well. Ella can be Kross with me whenever she likes and it’s all good.
Cruella especially has perfected the photographic genre of ‘domme standing in stiletto heels on a hard surface surrounded by muddy countryside – with no clue how she got there or how she’s going to get away.’ It’s a minority interest, obviously.
More a comment on this blog’s approach to images of lesbian joy than the general reality.
Too right. I was watching Penance and Repentance for the Naughty Nympho Nuns yesterday evening and they got the words of the catechism completely wrong -spoiled the whole thing for me.
5 thoughts on “The brutal reality”
I think perhaps we have all been in the place that Mistress Yulia’s client finds himself.
It took many years for me to pluck up the courage to actually start worshipping my wife’s feet, despite the many, many years that I had desperately wanted to.
At first she appeared reluctant to enjoy my gentle massage and careful kisses. Unwilling even to acknowledge my fervour and passion. From my perspective it was the literal peak of intimacy. Good while it lasted, and no more now as she has realised the sexual nature of it.
Before that happened, she had started just to point to the bottom of the bed when she wanted my ministrations, provide one foot at a time (if I were very fortunate), and reach for her phone to talk to her friends. On one memorable occasion she arranged the whole of our Christmas social calendar while I was on my knees there at the end of the bed.
I suppose though it is quite boring for the object of our affections, particularly in comparison to their real men, and obviously completely unacceptable when it is perceived as a sexual act.
Perhaps you could try suggesting to her that you’re like one of those little birds that sit on the backs of hippos and pick away at parasites, Mousey? I’m sure she’d take it in good part.
I think perhaps we have all been in the place that Mistress Yulia’s client finds himself.
It took many years for me to pluck up the courage to actually start worshipping my wife’s feet, despite the many, many years that I had desperately wanted to.
At first she appeared reluctant to enjoy my gentle massage and careful kisses. Unwilling even to acknowledge my fervour and passion. From my perspective it was the literal peak of intimacy. Good while it lasted, and no more now as she has realised the sexual nature of it.
Before that happened, she had started just to point to the bottom of the bed when she wanted my ministrations, provide one foot at a time (if I were very fortunate), and reach for her phone to talk to her friends. On one memorable occasion she arranged the whole of our Christmas social calendar while I was on my knees there at the end of the bed.
I suppose though it is quite boring for the object of our affections, particularly in comparison to their real men, and obviously completely unacceptable when it is perceived as a sexual act.
Mr Mouse
Perhaps you could try suggesting to her that you’re like one of those little birds that sit on the backs of hippos and pick away at parasites, Mousey? I’m sure she’d take it in good part.
Best wishes
S
Hippo? Riding on Mistress’s back?
It would be the end of me.
Thank you for trying to help. This though would likely trigger the often threatened oubliette, which in my case is an already soundproofed cellar.
I’m an introvert, but not that much.
Mr M
I can laugh
Good for you, Alberto. You have to laugh or else you cry, as we say in Britain.
Best wishes
S