Month: March 2026

Whipping yarns

Sometimes, the simplest things – and males are very simple – can be the hardest to explain.
Quite right too – how absurd to claim any incidents involved excessive brutality. The level of brutality is always just right.
Working for Mistress is a reward in itself and she’s very generous with her rewards.
She’s covered against accidental breakages too.
She’s a very keen gardener – has boys out there in all weathers planting, potting, pruning or just spending a few hours making the lawn nice and neat with a pair of nail scissors.
Sometimes she’s just not in the mood to tolerate it… oddly enough, the consequences are much the same in both cases.

Disdainful pleasures

Or at least, if you do mind,you’re OK with her ignoring that?
Any man who still clings to outdated notions that women are slow to adopt technology should try locking an electric shock device onto his genitals and handing his partner the remote. He’ll soon learn.
I’m sure they’ll all accept Fergus’s heartfelt apologies, eventually.
I’d be very anxious, if I were her husband, but I guess that just shows why he needs the pills.
It’s funny how many men visit ladies like ‘Strict Auntie Susan’, claiming their wives don’t understand them… when if given half the chance, those wives would understand all too well.
I’m sure she appreciates the clarification and she’ll show that in her response.

Fairy tale romances

Yes, more scenes from stories of brave princesses rescuing – or not – helpless knights and suchlike. A ‘happy ending’ every time – without even the need to plead and beg for it.

They get porridge to eat, of course, and it’s always ‘just right’ too, despite being cold and lumpy.
Ah, the first electric shock of married life. I remember mine so well. It’s traditional for the husband then to ask his loving wife ‘How long do I have to wear this, darling?’ to which the correct response is of course a peal of delighted laughter.
You do get a say. Not the decisive say, not even an important one, but a say, anyway. Or a squeak, at least.
It’s not as easy a life as you might imagine – those pegs hurt just as much as they would if they were suspending a ‘normal’ male body, for instance.
The grateful populace of the kingdom later began a tradition of staging a re-enactment every year, to celebrate their beloved King’s heroic deed, although obviously, lacking centaurs, they had to use ordinary horses and stable-lads.
He may have found a comfortable place to live, but he remains vigilent. As he trots obediently at her heel, or chases madly after sticks, Sir Foofles is always alert for possible witches in the vicinity, but so far he has never found any. Perhaps they don’t exist? That would certainly explain it.