alpha females – Page 10 – Contemplating the divine

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.

Like a christian fearing vengeance from above…

…I don’t pretend to know what you want, but I offer love.

(trigger warning: vanilla link. For no obvious reason, I’ve always thought of the song as rather D/S… but I think that of many things).

Don’t worry if you’re still confused. Things will be made clear.

I think that’s disgraceful. Just because we’re submissive doesn’t mean ladies can treat us like doormats, can they? Well, I mean, obviously, if a lady like one of these wanted to treat me literally as a doormat, that would be fine, wiping her muddy boots across my back, but erm… OK, maybe they can then.

And you prefer not being gay too, don’t you, so it sounds like you and Master Mark are very compatible!

Get another one, of course. There’s plenty. Hello! Ma’am? Over here!

I offer love… this is one of the most Significant of the Others in my life. Lady Sophia Black is simply wonderful.

It’s uncanny

I was using a thesaurus to look up synonyms for the word ‘impotent’ (I read somewhere it’s not a good idea to repeat precisely the same language in successive lonely hearts ads), and I read the following:

Impotent:

helpless
inadequate
incapable
incompetent
ineffective
ineffectual
inept
paralyzed
powerless
sterile
unproductive

It’s almost as if the thesaurus compilers had met me. The power of words, eh? But enough of that, let’s turn to the power of dominant women, because that’s what you came here for, right?

Everyone should have a hobby. I have several.

I think that although ‘the overall parameters’ might originally have been consensual, it’s probably not a good idea to try to renegotiate those now, either.

Oh dear. I think this Chuck sounds a bit overbearing, don’t you? Maybe you should have a word.

It’s silly to think she’s denied you a last orgasm. I mean, you had a last orgasm already, right?

It’s good to do things together, as a family.

Because she says so

…is there ever any other reason?

It’ll help take your mind off the pain, while you’re waiting, anyway. Nothing like ‘more pain’, to do that.

How exciting! I wonder who it is?

It’s good to talk these things through. And then to smack them out.

You’ve either seen the movie or you haven’t.

Can’t stop staring at.. the …gloves…! Oh, er, right! Dinner. yes, right away.

Rentrée

Literally, a re-entering, so obviously it’s not to be taken literally in my case. But here we are, back again.

Same old, same old.

But more so.

If you know what I mean.

Update: thank you all for the kind comments, while I was away. Sorry I didn’t respond at the time, but if you check back you should find that I have now.

…and while I was away, this blog went over 3 million page hits/views whatever it is! Many of them by automated search bots no doubt, others perhaps by worthless little pathetic worms of no importance or interest to anyone whatsoever (if you’re wondering whether you’re one of them, then you probably are, like me), but even so it’s a nice big number. Thank you all.

Update again. Don’t you just love the horse picture? Not the caption, necessarily. Just the picture. Isn’t it great?

It’s a bit unfair, really. I mean he makes as much noise as he likes. Doesn’t get the fucking sjambok, either. Why do we put up with this sort of thing?

Tawse ready and waiting for naughty boys

I’ve been caught shopkeeping eleven times, now. Oh dear… am I out of butter again? Off to the shops…

Femdom wife humiliation and enslavement oh my

He’s taking a subtle revenge for the lifetime of humiliation and suffering she imposed, though. He’s over-salted the popcorn. Only slightly – but enough to notice, you know? Haha!

You know, people can often behave very differently at home and at work. Although actually, she doesn’t.

I love this picture. I quite like my caption to it, too.

A bonus one, because I am by no means sure this one is actually femdom.

Unreasonable force

He’s a lucky guy.

Planet Femdom, of course. If you like statuesque ladies brutally dominating… well, that bloke mostly. I do, actually. Rather a lot.

Cruelty-free farming has its downsides. Still, I’m glad she found a solution.

Oh dear. Another of those painful conversations.

Actually, the story is rather simple. The post of office tampon boy was advertised, so he studied, and prepared and pulled every string he knew of to get it. But wouldn’t you?

Try not to take it too badly. Just because you’ll be spending the rest of your life alone, in poverty, with your empty days filled only with the longing for her doesn’t mean you have to be miserable. It just makes it very, very likely.

Bit of politics, bit of politics

I’m trying a few themed posts just at the moment. This is a theme some of you seem to like, presumably because it deals with such a subversive, transgressive topic: men’s lib.

Dangerous to bring politics into what is intended to be a fun and sexy blog and I certainly don’t want to offend anyone. Nothing in this post should be taken in any way as an endorsement of a political programme of equality for men.

…and a little bonus story.

Speaking truth to power

“The so-called men’s liberation movement” Simon wrote “is an
absurd caricature of a true political cause: its slogans meaningless, its
demands more like an infantile tantrum than a realistic political
programme. I regret wasting so much of
my life on it. Men simply are not the
equals of women, and the sooner we accept that, the happier we will be.”

He stared at the sentence he had just written. Strong stuff.
A complete repudiation of everything that he had fought for and believed
in for all of these years. But it had to
had to be said.

He imagined the horror that an activist in the movement
would experience, on reading those damning words. Or indeed, how he himself would have reacted
just a few months before. He had been ‘Commander
Riotboy’, shadowy author of numerous savage polemics against the oppressive
matriarchal system and the attitudes – of both men and women – that allowed its
injustices to be perpetuated down the generations. Oddly, the strongest memory for him was a
smell – the smell of the hot ink as the illegal press whirred furiously through
the night, stamping out copy after copy of their newsletter, to be stapled,
transported around the country and furtively distributed on any of those rare
occasions when men gathered together without close female supervision.

He remembered running too, the sounds of pursuing police
whistles seemingly right behind him, his comrades seized to be taken no doubt
for ‘re-education’. He had always
somehow escaped to fight on another day, in the process becoming something of a
legend in the movement. Riotboy – the man
who would never give up.

But that, he reflected, had all been before he met Karen. And here he was. A meek
little househusband, dressed in skimpy little shorts that she had chosen for
him, beneath which his cock nestled securely in a locked tube to which only she
had the key. Where before he had devoted his life to producing articles furiously
calling for male liberation, today he spent his days at his desk writing words
that said exactly the opposite. And he
felt strangely content to do so.

He sighed. Best to
get on, as Karen would be back soon, and she would come up to check on his
progress. He’d already had a hard
spanking this morning, he certainly didn’t want another.

He picked up his pen and carefully wrote the number “312.” Then next to it, with equal care (because
more than three crossings out on any one page would mean writing that page all
over again), he wrote:

“The so-called men’s liberation movement is an absurd
caricature of a true political cause: its slogans meaningless, its demands more
like an infantile tantrum than a realistic political programme. I regret wasting so much of my life on
it. Men are not the equals of
women, and the sooner we simply accept that, the happier we will be.

313. The so-called
men’s liberation movement is an absurd caricature of a true political cause: its
slogans meaningless, its demands more like an infantile tantrum than a
realistic political programme. I regret wasting
so much of my life on it. Men are
not the equals of women, and the sooner we simply accept that, the happier we
will be.

314 …”

What a long way off number 500 seemed. He hoped tomorrow’s line would be shorter.

…aaaaaand a bonus bonus little mini-story. This is from earlier in the same timeline, just after Simon met Karen:

“And what do you think about the men’s-lib movement?” she
asked sweetly.

“Men’s lib is a ridiculous idea.” Simon replied. “Men must accept their place in society and
be obedient to women, for their own good.”

He tensed.

There was
a pause and then an agonising CRACK! of the paddle across his buttocks. He
cried out loud at the shocking pain.
That had been the hardest yet.

“What do you think of the men’s lib movement?” Karen asked
again.

“Men’s lib is a ridiculous idea” he gasped “Men must accept
their place in society and be… and be obed – “

CRACK!

“No hesitation, remember, Simon. What do you think of the men’s lib movement?”

Authority figures

I like a woman who knows what she wants. Don’t you?

Mmmm. If you pay extra maybe she’ll ignore you even more.

It’s tragic, the breakdown in authority in schools these days. Don’t you think?

Mmmm… pretty exciting, huh? I wonder what she has planned? A really hard spanking?

Actually, I have a ‘frequently annoying traveller’ card. So they don’t have to make any special arrangements: the stewardesses just slap me on sight. I get special meals too.

Words of discomfort

And of course, you do. It’s a question of how much you want it. Or rather, how much she does.

It’s good that he feels he can get these things out in the open. And good, as well, that she feels she can beat the shit out of him if he does.

Who’d have guessed?

…and then?

You mustn’t assume from this that they cruelly starve all their slaves to death, because that’s just not true. Some they fatten up for slaughter.

I yam what I yam

… and I thought what I yam was a beta male, but apparently not. It turns out, I am an omega male:

Omega animals are subordinate to all others in the community, and are expected by others in the group to remain submissive to everyone. Omega animals may also be used as communal scapegoats or outlets for frustration, or given the lowest priority when distributing food.

Ah, let me be her outlet for frustration…