Well, it’s a lovely spring holiday weekend here in Notrealland: the sun is out, the first flowers are blooming and so the muse just couldn’t summon up the energy to strike me today*. So rather than toss off** some captions, I just got my trusty old Hasselblad out and wandered around the lovely Notrealshire town of Notrealingham, where I don’t really live, taking pictures of some of my favourite spots that don’t really exist.
Sometimes even this blog doesn’t have to be about femdom porn, OK? Let’s just take a moment to savour the pleasures of humdrum day-to-day life.
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| The old village green, at what is now the town centre.*** A lovely spot. I can sit there for hours at a time: sometimes looking around at the scenery, sometimes, you know, just staring at the inside of a leather hood. It’s where I do my thinking. |
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| From the historic to the ultra-modern. This place opened up about two years ago and it’s really transformed the way the ladies of the town oppress their men. It’s got the latest equipment, underground storage – even a coffee bar to relax in while waiting for the shorter treatments to be completed (they collect and deliver for longer-stay procedures). I think it’s a shame in some ways: we used to have three discipline parlours run by old-fashioned governesses on the High Street but so many ladies bring their men here to be beaten now that there’s only one parlour left and even they’re trying to go modern with perspex canes and whatnot. Still, I suppose that’s progress for you. And small businesses can adapt: they just have to find a niche. We have an artisanal shackles shop operating out of the old blacksmith’s, for example. They can even do on-body welding, which you won’t find at a swanky outfit like Elsa Summers! |
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| Ah, the male health clinic. That’s Lisa and Debbie there: lovely girls. They always had a dream of setting up their own clinic, even when they were at school. I remember hiding behind the bins with the other boys whenever we heard they wanted to play doctors and nurses. That’s them in the picture on the wall behind them too, actually, with their dad. Well, their late dad I suppose I should say. He died of complications after some surgery went wrong. But you can’t let one little mistake put you off, can you, so I’m glad to see they’ve stuck with their medical vocation. Bye Lisa, Debbie! What’s that? No, I don’t think I’ve got an appointment next week…? Oh, I see – my wife made it? OK, I expect she was going to tell me all about it in due course. See you next week, then. Bye |
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| Trying for an arty wide-angle shot here. Signs outside the local newsagent. I can’t help thinking the newspapers aren’t quite as interesting, now that men aren’t in charge any more. We used to have wars, crime, stuff like that. Still, I suppose I mustn’t complain. |
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| And finishing off at our lovely municipal park, named in commemoration of a very lovely American lady. Just the place to spend an Easter Sunday afternoon, so if you don’t mind I’ll leave you now and head off for the pony stables. They have a bridleway that goes right around the lake, and there’s nothing better than clip-clopping along on a spring ride with your beloved: the wind in your hair, the smell of freshly-mown grass rising up from your nosebag and the flick-flick-flick of her whip against your buttocks. It’s been winter too long. Don’t you agree?**** |
* Yes, I know I’ve made the ‘muse striking me’ joke several times before. I like it, OK?
** Yes, I know. I like that one too.
*** Well, OK, if you want to quibble, that particular place does actually exist.
**** What? Well, OK, unless you live in the Southern hemisphere I suppose. Do you have to be so pedantic all the time? Just read the bloody blog, why can’t you? I spent ages in Photoshop with most of these pictures and I don’t know why I bothered, as I know that you’ll hate them because there’s no pictures of women. What do you want – porn? (Don’t answer that).
I love your humour
Aww… thank you.
Does that say Male History Guilt or Quilt. I suppose it could be using the celebrated Women's art form now rescued from its enforced obscurity under the patriarchy of quilting to make a tableu of male guilt. What would there former clothing be used for anyway. Its warm enough for male nudity. Well I say nudity but as you see in the honoured Ms Solanus park not quite nude. Ah the swish of nettles as pony boys are whipped around the lake. Femsup
Well, 'guilt' of course Femsup. I mean, for goodness sake – 'Male History Quilt' would just be silly, wouldn't it? And this blog only deals with serious subjects, as you very well know.
It is warm enough for male nudity, indeed. In fact, my SO reckons the UK is warm enough all year round, particularly for boys who can't control themselves. A point she has made forcefully to me on several occasions.
There is a cafe in Melbourne Australia The chalkboard reads: “House Rules, Rule #1: women have priority seating. Rule #2: men will be charged an 18% premium to reflect the gender pay gap (2016) which is donated to a women’s service.
Sounds lovely. In my local cafe, the chalkboard is mostly taken up with writing assignments to keep male customers gainfully occupied while the women enjoy a restful break.