He married a maths teacher

 
Now then, Colin, you’re…let’s see – five foot three in
height.

Runty little shortass.

Aaaannd your cock is… oh dear oh dear – three inches long.

Yes it is – look.

Oh for goodness’ sake. 
All right, because the room’s a bit cold we’ll call it three and a
quarter, OK?

So – how much of you consists of cock?  Can you work it out?

Sixty three inches tall, with a cock that’s three inches
long.  Yes, all right, three and a
quarter.  Pathetic. 

So…?  Three and a
quarter goes into sixty-three how many times?

Yes., it would be easier if it were just three into
sixty-three, wouldn’t it?  But Mr Big
Swinging Quarter Inch insisted, didn’t he? 
So now he’s going to have to work a bit harder.

Nineteen and…. Nineteen and a bit, you say?  What – a little extra foreskinny bit?

OK, yes, let’s call it one in 20.

So – what proportion of you is cock?

No, not one in twenty.

Hmmm?

Well, because you’re not one-dimensional, of course.  Except emotionally.

No, that was a joke. 
Look – even though you look like a single long stream of piss, you are
in fact a three-dimensional object, so your mass and volume go up in proportion
to…?

In proportion to…?

Sigh.  No, not
‘pi’.  In proportion to the cube of your
length.

Your cock is one-twentieth of your length, so it constitutes
about one over twenty cubed of you. 
Which is?

One four thousandth? 
Do you need the cane?  I knew we
should have done this as a schoolboy detention game.  Try again.

Eight thousand! 
Correct!  Finally.

Now, you spend about six thousand hours each year
awake. 

So – how much time each year should you spend playing with
your cock?  Hmm?  If that’s proportional to its size?

That’s right. 
Three-quarters. 

Every year, you get to spend 45 minutes playing with your
cock.  Not all at once, obviously.  I was thinking maybe three fifteen-minute
goes.

No, I don’t want to discuss it, I just want you to say ‘Yes
Chloe’ and thank me.

That’s right.

Oh don’t look so depressed. 
Imagine how bad it would be if you were of normal height!
 

…and it wouldn’t be such fun beating you up, either.

A marriage of obedience


A problem shared… 
 

 

 
 

 

She’s just helping you put it in context.  Don’t forget to be grateful.
 

 

Worth it all for that one night of passion, though, huh?  Huh?
 
 

 

Best just to be passive and forget the aggression.

This is the lovely Gigi Allens from ClareSpanksMen and many other places.  More about her – mostly made up, but illustrated with lots of pictures – here.



Maybe.



Memories, memories, sweet memories

Yes, to bring in the new year, what better than to look back – with more recollections from the lovely ladies of the sadly now defunct Other World Kingdom. 

Well, completely made up stuff from the mind of servitor, anyway.  But I do have a general disclaimer over there to the right, if you care to look.  This blog does not make a fetish of realism.  Muddy boots, yes, sissy panties, certainly, but realism – not so much.

This is the second in a series of, well, two at the moment but you never know.  Here’s the first.

Ladies – over to you.

 

 

 

 

If you like this, you might like http://poorlydressedominatrixes.tumblr.com/  too.

If it isn’t hurting…

…then you’re wasting your money.

 

Actually, I think she just wants to see you get beaten up.

 

The rule is that only the lower brown stripe can still be visible, before the traffic stick treatment can be considered complete.
 
 
It’s good that she’s so broadminded.  I’ll get me coat…
 

 

It’s what your right arm’s for.


It’s amazing the things they can do with CGI special effects these days.  They can actually make it look as if flesh is being burnt off with a red-hot brand, you know.  But her method’s better.

Bah, humbug

Mistress Valerie stars in a Christmas Movie

We begin by meeting Edmund Scrooge, a brash,
charmless, sexist 30-something yuppie in charge of a team of female office
workers.  We see him throwing his weight
around, making sexist comments and denying them any time off at Christmas
(“Unless you want to come round and cook my turkey, girls!”). 
Off he goes, bragging loudly on his mobile
about (quite imaginary) sexual conquests at work, before going down the pub
with his equally obnoxious mates to try out cheesy chat-up lines on
uninterested women.  He returns
(unsuccessful, of course, and drunk) to his bachelor pad, watches a porn video
and has a wank, before crashing out on the couch.


But this Christmas is different.  The ghost of his old drinking partner Joseph
Marley appears in the bachelor pad in the middle of the night, and what a
change from when Scrooge knew him!  He
clanks as he moves; heavy steel chains connecting shackles around his wrists
to the heavy steel collar around his neck, and trailing down from a heavy belt
around his waist to steel shackles around his ankles.  As he shambles forward we see a chastity belt
clamped firmly on his genitals and above his well-striped buttocks we see a
tattoo reading “Property of Mistress Valerie. 
Not to be removed without 
permission.” 
Marley has learnt
from Mistress Valerie the errors of his male chauvinist past – and he is here
with an awful warning for Scrooge to mend his ways!  Three spirits will help him in this task.


We begin with Mistress Valerie of Christmas past.  We see Scrooge, as the adult he is today but
in his childhood clothes, opening his presents on Christmas morning.  He has many but is dissatisfied and complains,
as each gift fails to meet his expectations. 
But then his weary parents fade from view, and Governess Valerie
appears: to show him what might have been had his upbringing been
stricter.  Each present is wrapped again,
and the tawse applied to his hands each time. 
He unwraps each again in turn,, with appropriately polite cries of
delight – and rewrapping each again for a dose of the tawse if  Governess Valerie deems his response too
churlish.  So it goes through the
day.  He gets the strap for not eating up
his sprouts, his knuckles are repeatedly rapped for cheating at Monopoly and
eventually Governess Valerie has had enough and administers a vigorous caning
before the boy is sent to bed.  Back in
the present day …Scrooge wakes up howling on the couch, his hands feel his bottom
incredulously, and he makes his way painfully to work.
 
 


The next night, it is the turn of Mistress Valerie of
Christmas present.  Here we see Scrooge
in the only place he is fit to encounter a lady: tied to the cross in Mistress Valerie’s
dungeon.  She enters, a classic
dominatrix, dressed in PVC.  She
introduces him to all of the modern techniques of punishment: electro play,
bondage and suspension, nipple clamps and flogging.  He is forced to lick clean Her boots, is tied
to act as an ashtray and is fed dog food. 
His genitals are tied, clamped, whipped and then shocked repeatedly with
an insect zapper.  Finally, he is wired
up to Mistress Valerie’s motion-sensitive e-stim and flogged with a long
leather whip, the motion detector clamped firmly between his teeth.  …Back in the present day, Scrooge at work has
his head down, not making eye contact with any of his staff, and he
involuntarily cringes as his secretary leans over the printer and innocently
asks “Shall I switch it on?”

 
 

On the third night, we meet Mistress Valerie of Christmas
yet to come.  Scrooge is an old man now,
gaunt and tired.  We see him in an apron
and nothing else, doing dishes and other chores around a kitchen.  We see his buttocks, striped and ridged after
what must have been decades of punishment. 
From the steel chastity belt around his waist, hangs a slightly rusty
padlock.  A handbell tinkles and he
hurries as well as his old bones can carry him to the living room, where
Mistress Valerie, eternally youthful, indicates his duties with a languid
finger.  It is obvious that his servitude
has been so long and so repetitive that no words need any longer be
spoken.  Mistress Valerie’s friends are
around for Christmas day, and we see them opening presents and laughing.  Some slaves are present, young fit and
obviously happy to be fulfilling their fantasies.  But Scrooge moves around silently performing
his chores, his face blank.  He carries
out his chores efficiently, obviously well schooled in his tasks and is at no
stage acknowledged by any of the party. 
Finally Mistress Valerie beckons him over, says “50” and hands him a
whip, without looking up.  We see him
retreat to a bare room and, alone, begin to lash his buttocks.  Fade out.

We fade back in again to see Mistress Valerie of Christmas
yet to come alone, surrounded by post-Christmas mess.  She is on the phone and saying “Yes, I’m
going to need a new slave.  I had that
last one for thirty-two years, but I suppose nothing lasts for ever“, and the
camera pulls back to reveal a pile of stuffed rubbish bags outside the front
door waiting to be collected.  One is in
the shape of a kneeling human form…

Back in the present, Scrooge wakes up in a cold sweat.  We see him heading out the door in a frantic
rush, and stopping off at a little shop in Soho on his way in to work.  In the office, to the ladies’ puzzlement,
there are presents for all: each receives a pair of new shoes and an implement:
paddles, canes, straps and whips. 
Scrooge explains that he has seen the error of his ways, and begs them
for some ‘performance management’.  The
ladies tuck into mince pies and chat delightedly, as, one by one, they recall
their boss’s most unpleasant habits, and exact a much-needed revenge. 

The camera pulls back from this scene of
Christmas cheer, the giggles and howls fading out, and we see Mistress Valerie,
watching approvingly from afar, a smile on Her face and a whip in Her hand…

 

 

This is one of the very first femdom stories I ever wrote.  I started because the first domme I ever had the pleasure of visiting – a lovely lady, thinly disguised as Mistress Valerie in these early tales – commanded me to write first of all an account of my sessions and then (when that became tedious and repetitive) stories.  I think my writing style has changed… not necessarily for the better.  Anyway, an icy blast from the past, there so wrap up warm.
 
Oh – and here’s an unrelated photo, too.  And a Merry Christmas to one and all!
 
She knows if you’ve been bad or good…
 

These lovely boots exist to drive it round the twist

The call of nature must be obeyed.

 
 

 

She actually has very high standards for sorryness. You’ll see.
 

 

It’s her own recipe.
 
 
Hmmm… edgy blackmail play.  Got to love it.  No really, you do.
 

 

Love her, love her cane, I suppose.
 

 

She has her own way of dealing with problems.


Boys only want love if it’s torture

Regular “readers” will know that my musical tastes rarely extend beyond about 1988.  But I am prepared to make an exception for Mistress Swift.

On with the rest of it… femdom captions, dominatrices, chastity, all those words that get search engines so excited, you know?

Oh no, not again.
 

 

You could try calling her tomorrow.  “Hi!  It’s William from last night.  That’s right, the one with the small penis.  Listen, I was wondering…”
 

 

NO!  Not the comfy chair!
 

 

Well… I hope someone’s asked Andy if he’s OK sharing his cucky closet, that’s all.  Some men can be a bit funny about that sort of thing – it’s their own special place, you know?
 
 

 

…and then if that gets too much, the electric shocks will take your mind off the pain from the welts.



The price of selfishness


Well, maybe I didn’t want you to clean the kitchen, did you
think about that?

If you’re left without orders all day, you should just stand
in the corner waiting, shouldn’t you?  I
was only out for eight hours. 

We can’t have you deciding to do things by yourself, just
because you think they might please me. 
Can we?

Can we?

That’s right.

That’s why we decided you wouldn’t have any money any more,
isn’t it?  Because you were spending it
all on silly presents for me.  It’s so
much better now I can buy things I want.

You can say ‘Yes Maria’ at this point.

I’m not going to have this sort of selfish and
self-indulgent behaviour any more.  It’s
not your place to decide for yourself how to please me, is it?

No.

 
Now on this occasion, it’s just possible that I forgot to
tell you to clean the kitchen, and I did want it done.  But that’s not the point.  So now I want you to spend the next hour or
so rubbing dirt from the rubbish bin all over the floor, and letting some old
food congeal on the plates.  Then you can
clean it again overnight.

Say thank you, Maria!

That’s better.

Coming out

You know, I read somewhere that many men spend their whole lives in the closet.  I think that’s horrible – a tragic waste.  I’m glad to say that I’ve never been put in there for more than five hours at a stretch.  Just lucky, I guess.


Shall we have some captioned images of female domination now?  You up for that?  Great.

The first twenty years are the worst, I’ve heard.
 
 
Cruella, from many many years ago.  But still one of the best photo sets ever.  The accompanying story was even about castration, you know.  Happy days, for the adolescent Servitor.
 

 

The problem is, these sorts of prejudice just seem to be inherent in the male sex.  In fact, that’s one of the reasons she’ll be removing it.

 
 

She’s right, you know.  Women are, you see.
 
 
 
Burble…gibber incoherently…sigh…