Author: Servitor

Final edits




So, Mr Poole, we’re all really excited here about your
novel.  It’s going to be huge –
absolutely huge.  It just… well, it just
speaks to that kind of nameless angst we all have, you know?  Draws you in from the very first page.
Brilliant.
Anyway, hope you won’t take this amiss, but it’s my job to
make a few suggestions about style, here and there?  Just – you know – in a first novel it’s often
hard to judge just what the reader will find in something you wrote.
I mean, I have very little to suggest on this one,
obviously. I don’t want to interfere with your distinctive voice.  But there were a few passages where I felt you
could convey your meaning a bit, well, a bit more succinctly…
Like what? Oh, well… erm… when Peter first sees Julie, at
the concert.  I mean, it’s brilliant,
obviously, that scene.  It’s like you’ve
taken a photograph of Julie as he sees her and you’re just playing it into the
reader’s mind a few lines at a time from the very top… her hair, her necklace, her top, her skirt… and then her
shoes.  Yeah.
Actually it’s the
shoes.  I just thought… you know, you’ve
done from the top of her head to her ankles in about a page, so then three
pages just on the shoes… It just seems…
Yeah!  A bit
much!  Exactly.  Just a little too long!  And then again, on their third date, when she
comes back to his apartment.  When she takes off her shoes, the way you’ve written it, it’s erm… the reader’s attention might wander a
bit after the first page or so, that’s all.
Oh – yes, and much later on, during the Raquel episode, where Julie’s furious with him and she
goes running, really pushing herself hard? 
And she gets back to her place and she’s run herself so hard that she’s
sweated stains right through her trainers? 
I mean, that is such a brilliant image! 
Of her rage, you know, just expressing itself but then emerging in kind of a tawdry way.  But, you know, once the
point’s been made, once the image is there, you could move on rather faster.  I mean, at the end of that section I felt
like I knew every millimetre of her sweaty trainers!  Every stitch, every shade of every sweat stain… Like my face had been pressed right up
against them for pages and pages… not a very pleasant image!  I mean, really.  Is it?
Ahem.
Moving on… anyway, there’s one more thing we have to talk about. Quite embarrassing!  Yeah – that’s right: I’m afraid it’s
the sex scene! Sorry… just doing my job. 
Look – don’t worry about it, OK? 
I mean everybody finds it hard to write a really convincing sex scene.
I just thought… the change of mood was really weird and I didn’t quite get why
you did it.  I mean, it was so heavy
and moody and then suddenly it’s more like farce as if you’re playing it for laughs, and –
What do I mean?
Oh.  Well… take this
bit. “Slowly drawing her hand back from his unbuckled belt, Julie gasped in
silent awe as four inches of manhood rose to sway proudly in front of her.  ‘Be gentle’ she whispered, wanting the full
experience of this behemoth, yet at the same time dreading – “ anyway, you get
the point?  I mean why play it for
laughs?
Isn’t it? Oh. I thought it was funny. 
Erm… no, I don’t think I know why.  I just thought it was, erm… funny.  Doesn’t matter.
Anyway!  Later, she’s … well, she’s getting…the full four
inches, right, and she starts giggling a bit, then laughs out loud, just at the
point when he… when he climaxes.  That’s
fine, obviously.  But then later they’re
talking in bed and they both say what a great orgasm they’ve had and – I didn’t
really get that bit.  I mean, she didn’t
have an orgasm, did she? She just laughed at him.
What do you mean, that was the orgasm?
Oh.  Oh, right.
So later, when Peter has a fling with Raquel and he unzips
his pants and she just laughs straight off the moment she sees his… his full
four inches, that’s – ?
Right.  OK.  I misunderstood that. On the first reading.
Fine.
So!  You might just
want to take those thoughts and just, you know… maybe a few short
rewrites.  Actually, if you could get it
from the 90,000 words it is now down to less than eighty that would be really
good.  It’s a better size for the
booksellers. Losing 10,000 words sounds like a lot, but actually I reckon you
could get that just from trimming the bits about ladies’ shoes. Maybe more.
Brilliant!  So –
what’s next?  Amanda told me that you
mentioned you’re already working on a second novel. That’s really
exciting!  Good for the marketing too,
actually.  Got a title you can share with
us?
“Sales incentives?” 
Oooh!  What’s that about?  Yeah? 
Life and loves of the owner of a high street shop, eh? Falling for one
after another of his lady customers, I expect, if he’s anything like
Peter!  Sounds great!
So what does he sell? What sort of shop is it?  Oh hang on – on second thoughts, don’t tell
me.  Let me see if I can guess.

It is to laugh

As you know, this blog occasionally takes a light-hearted approach to our beloved theme of femdom, gently poking fun at some of its clichés and foibles.  And of course, the blog also deals with topics such as testicle-crushing, burial alive, betrayal, murder, blackmail, torture and forced lobotomies – but always with a tongue firmly in someone’s cheek.  In almost precisely the words of the late, great Bob Monkhouse: “People laughed
when I told them I was planning to publish a humorous femdom blog. They’re not laughing
now.”


I know of three other blogs that also poke fun in an affectionate way at our shared obsession, so here are some links in case any of you haven’t come across them yet:


Editor Domme has a particular focus on femdom captions, handing out merciless correction to those which transgress the rules of grammar, abuse homonyms or lack any basic coherence.  The wise Editrix keeps all us captioners on our toes, as awfull punishments await those she catches.*

Much like mine, the Tiresome Sex Tropes blog consists almost entirely of overused, tired femdom stereotypes.  Unlike mine, it takes issue with them, rather than merely doing them to death.  After all, do we really want to spend all our time looking at pictures of young beautiful women wearing leather, latex or starched white blouses, captioned to be saying menacing things?  Hmm? I mean, doesn’t that get boring after a while?  Wouldn’t we rather look at… I dunno, scenic shots of colourful markets in developing countries?  Anyway, I am proud to have been sufficiently tiresome to feature twice already on the TST blog (and I’m only getting started).


Finally, Poorly Dressed Dominatrix is a blog featuring images of… oh, just try to guess.  Perhaps a little crueller than the others**, but I think the mocking is gently affectionate. Plus, the majority of images it features look more like general glamour models who have put on a corset (on one memorable occasion, upside-down), picked up a whip and tried to look fierce for the camera***, rather than real pro-dommes who, after all, are doing their best to provide an essential service in often difficult circumstances – and always look perfect.  It hasn’t been updated for a couple of months, so perhaps there’s no more bad fetish fashion around any more. Job done?


I think all three blogs are great and I check on them regularly.

Right.  Now, if you’ve visited all three, I expect you’re ready for some images of immaculately dressed dominatrices, each image accompanied by a witty caption expressing an entirely original femdom notion in perfect English.  

Sadly, I only have these to offer:










* Splendidly, the existence of the Editor Domme blog means that from now on I can always claim that any spelling or grammatical error committed here is a deliberate attempt to attract the wrath of the stern Editrix.  And those committed before her blog even started, erm, were probably just deliberately anticipating such fun!


** Editor Domme is of course occasionally quite cruel to caption writers.  But that’s just fine.  Ma’am.


*** I’ll confess I do actually quite like this look.  As long as they don’t try to do that thing of looking fierce by drawing back their lips to snarl at the camera.  Particularly if they try to hold that expression for the entire shoot.  Darlings: you’re lovely, but that’s not the way to look scary.

Thank Goddess it’s Friday!

It’s always such a relief to get home on a Friday evening after a tough week at work, when there’s still a few hours to make an early start on the weekend chores.


It’s a bit disappointing that they started without you, actually.  Maybe you should say something? Marriages should be founded on mutual respect.

What a lot of canes she has. One would be quite enough to reduce me to total obedience.  Women, eh?  Can’t control those shopping instincts.  Bless ’em.

Some time it really has to be my turn to serve. Surely.

Most blokes only play at 10, you see, and where can you go from there?

A very good point.  Sexual identity can be complicated.  Best to have someone else in charge of it, I say.
The lovely Mistress Akella, there.  But I forgot!  You’re gay (now) – so I don’t suppose you’re that interested in her?

Incidentally, readers, have any of you noticed that the new British Prime Minister has the same name as a rather splendid British domme?  Well, there’s an ‘h’ of difference but that’s all.  I can’t see the coincidence doing either of their careers any good at all, to be honest, but I wish both well.

He works if you hurt him

So keep coming back.

I expect there’s some good news as well.  Just not for them.






You’re about to find out what happened to all the other pizza delivery boys, by the look of it.




The worrying thing is that there’s at least 900 strokes of the cane due from missed weekly whippings. Still, plenty of time. He’s only 58 years old… or is it 57?

And the really good bit of the scheme is he gets to ask for another ticket to be drawn as often as he likes.  Or as often as she likes.

She’s got a point there, actually.  And did you know that a cloth and a dab of polish will get boots much cleaner than even eight hours of careful tongue-work? It’s true.  We could get the whole femdom thing done a lot quicker if we just took more advantage of modern technology.



It’s what I go to dommes for

...you can call me crazy…


(Kinky bit is 2.18 in if that’s really all you’re after. Pervert).



Of course, as long as everyone keeps quiet there’s no way she can find out who wrote it.  And it’s not as if she can cane the whole class just because one boy misbehaved now, is it?


They do need male teachers, though.  Every time they seem to have got the male/female ratio on the staff up, another lot disppear and they have to start again.  So at least you’ve got job security: there’s that to be said for it.

Cold cream?  And, ermm… not being beaten?


What a bad girl.

I wrote this caption last year, surprisingly enough.


Back to black

You’ll be in real trouble if he doesn’t.

I’ve always been confused about my masculinity. I went to a therapist once, but she just laughed hysterically the whole time.  12 one-hour sessions…I got worried she might do herself some injury, but they do say laughter is the best medecine.

Yes.  So much easier being a domme – if you’re having a bad day, just take it out on your clients.

They say women don’t like men who come quickly, but every woman in whose presence I’ve ever achieved orgasm always just seemed to want to get it over with as quickly as possible.  I suppose it maximises their income per hour.

Just one of many things that can go wrong. Good thing nothing important got damaged this time.


I stand, corrected

Every Sunday from 2pm to 4pm, and usually once or twice during the week as well.

It’s a shame, but if Beth’s not prepared to put in the effort of whipping him to get the house the way it should be, she just has to go.
Of course, she can do it herself.  But it’s good to have a really thorough going-over by a  professional every so often too, don’t you think?

And even if you weren’t thinking it then, you certainly thought it when she mentioned it, didn’t you?  So – no excuses.

They say the first four hours are the worst.  They’re wrong.


Dommes.  Not always easy to please. But then, that’s not why we visit them.


Outnumbered





Mens lib is fine in theory, but someone has to lick out the ashtrays, don’t they?  So I don’t see how it could ever work in practice.   

They don’t aprove of modern fads. Actually, there are lots of things they don’t approve of.  As you’ll discover.

Everyone makes little mistakes when they start out.  No real harm done.
 The parts of the dommes in this little tale were played by two dommes, by an odd coincidence.  The extraordinarily wonderful (as I can personally attest) Lady Sophia Black  and Ms Morigan Hel, whom I briefly met once before Ms Sophia dragged me away, and is probably equally but differently extraordinarily wonderful.

Don’t worry – he’s not a real schoolboy.  And that’s not really his mother.  And the person on the left who seems to be an attractive young blonde lady in a doctor’s coat is actually a 57 year-old computer scientist from Gujurat called Deepak.  Femdom porn… it’s all fake, really, isn’t it?

Time to explain to them that you’re not into that, I suggest.


A little bit of politics there…

[NB: Brexit-related post not of any interest to readers who is not Bri-ish and of little enough to those who are]


As they say, if voting changed anything, they really shouldn’t let men do it.  But it can, and sadly they do, so with some reluctance Servitor posted off his vote to remain in the European Union (which includes the Czech Republic, remember), wistfully hoping for the day when only the superior gender has such a privilege.


Of course, I wouldn’t dream of seeking to advise or influence any female readers of this blog in their important political deliberations.  But for the rest of you, burdened with Y-chromosomes… never mind the economics, never mind the discussions about sovereignty vs effective weight in the politics of the world, fundamentally all you need to know about the Brexit referendum is this:

Ooh la la.

Yup.  Mistress Eleise lives in Paris. So the fewer border controls the better.  Aaand, it’s really none of my business, I don’t know the nationality of all of these ladies for definite, but let me just say, that there are certain advantages in allowing citizens of other EU countries to live and work in Britain.




Nuff said, I’d say.




I was going to try to do the usual five captions, themed
around Brexit, but I got too bored and depressed and they were all kind of samey, so here’s as far as I
got. Normal service resumes on Friday.