August 2025 – Contemplating the divine

Canings and crumpets

“We’ll take our tea in the punishment room, Watkins, as I’m afraid His Lordship needs an extended session today. No tea for him of course but do ask Cook to whip up one of her marvellous horseradish enemas, will you?”

More Downton Domination.

Hell hath no fury like a woman…

…does.

Men don’t really understand stuff like that, unless it’s slapped into them.

It’s a symbolic denial of heterosexuality, you see. And a rather practical and concrete physical one too, of course.

Actually, of course, lady Vikings didn’t usually go raiding. No: they waited at home, standing there tapping their feet and idly stroking their whips as their apologetic husbands returned with more meagre and unsatisfactory booty. There is a reason Vikings were so fierce, you know.

Of course, it doesn’t take the human element out completely – it can’t whip you, for instance.

Thank goodness for that. She must have been quite distraught.

Even if you’re sure it’s not yours (and let’s face it – in your condition, you can be reasonably confident it isn’t, right?) it’s polite to offer to lick it off.

Implacably romantic

Ah…. the holidays are over. So much laundry to do, so many ‘thank you for the fuck’ postcards to send to her holiday beaux. But it’s good to be back to abnormal.

This (tiresomely) repeated theme I run here, of dommes getting bored during foot or shoe worship is thoroughly inaccurate, of course. One of my former dommes used to say she loved extended shoe worship play – it gave her a chance to catch up on all her social media.

Nothing like being fucked up the arse and in the mouth by a gang of big hairy men to cure that irrational fear of gay sex. At the very least, it can turn it into a rational fear and it might even be the start of something beautiful.

Whichever kind Mistress Mina wants, I would suggest. But he might be limited to marques that don’t involve a lot of plosive consonant sounds, given the ball-gag.

Nothing unusual about feeling a bit nervous before getting married. It’s like going to the dentist… as soon as you’re strapped to the chair and you realise the dentist is planning to use a manual drill on your teeth and she’s not giving you anaesthetic, it’s too late so you might as well just lie back and scream so she can enjoy it.

Not illegal. It’s OK to own a cattle prod, as long as you don’t use it on animals, because there are animal cruelty laws preventing that.

In the summertime (10)

Last day of the holidays! I expect my So will be visiting the beach one last time, going back to that special restaurant and having one last all-night fivesome with whichever four local lads most took her fancy. Then back home to normality, and a devoted Servitor, waiting patiently – and quite hungrily – for the familiar tread of those heels on the steps down into the cellar.

I mean, obviously I’m not expecting that unchaining me will be the first thing she does when she arrives home. There’s so many things to sort out… and of course there’s the cat to collect from the cattery. But I’m sure it won’t be more than a day… perhaps two… before I am once again dragged blinking into the light and strapped over the whipping bench to catch up on a week and a half’s-worth of missed marital bliss. It’s nice to get away but there’s no place like home, you know?