beach bunnies – Contemplating the divine

Cruel summer (14)

Last in the series, with a few extras. Back to abnormal service tomorrow, with a silly Sunday story about a Victorian governess.

It might take a day or two before I get a chance to reply to all the comments. You know how it is when you’re just back from holiday: so many chores to do around the house, so many apologies to be properly made, so much cage time because haven’t I just had a lovely holiday for goodness’ sake, and won’t it do me good to spend a little time locked away in the cellar, counting my blessings? But reply I shall, Goddess willing and permitting.

Beach-slapped

Servitor will soon be going on holiday – no more hours of toil chained up in a laundry room in a dark cellar in a town house for me, for the next couple of weeks I’ll be doing my hours of unpaid labour chained up in the laundry room of a luxury holiday villa! As is now traditional, there will be daily posts with captioned images without context, comment, replies to comments or point. But to warm things up, today’s post is holiday-themed.

That’s one of the nice things about being on holiday: the way you sometimes have to find a way without the things you’re used to. Like… one time I booked this villa that didn’t have wi-fi or any kind of Internet access, so my SO and her friends just spent the time beating me savagely for my blunder, instead of going online.

In general you don’t need any preparations different from visiting any other country, but do be aware that certain kinds of injuries are excluded from the health insurance.

Speech rules and frequent use of the gag do tend to result in one’s conversational skills atrophying. But you won’t hear me complain.

In case you’re maybe thinking this is an unfair over-reaction, I should explain that it’s not just Paul’s lacklustre oral sex performance the previous night that’s led them to feed him alive to the snakes. Or the wild dogs, whatever. No: it’s been a few things over the last few days. Not enough gin in Lydia’s cocktail, too much in Suzie’s… that almost-sulky look when instructed to move all of the deckchairs a little to the left, when he had just finished moving them a little to the right… that kind of thing. Plus, his ears stick out a bit making him look funny, as Yvonne rightly pointed out. So really, being torn apart by wild dogs (or having whatever snakes do, done to him) is what he deserves. Anyway, just relax and do the best job you can tonight, OK?

My apologies to any ‘readers’ who’ll have to declare they looked at a forbidden image and face the consequences. if you look really closely, you’ll find you cannot actually see any naughty bits. But then ‘looking really closely’ is forbidden by most sensible females too…

Some men complain once they’ve arrived about the brochure being misleading (quite apart from missing out the whole slavery thing, it does fail to reflect the full age profile of the resident females) but they usually realise the error of their ways quickly enough.

Slavish loyalty

…it’s the best sort.

While they’re gone, the areas on your back they left free of suncream should get nicely sunburnt, so you can pass the time trying to work out what word they wrote.

Kevin’s going to stand up and be a man. For once.

I admire high-powered career women like her. She manages to hold time a full time job and still take care of inspecting all the housework, as well as putting a lot of time and effort into the relationship itself.

Fortunately, shrieking hysterically when subjected to even moderate CP is something I’m really good at, as every domme I have ever sessioned with can attest.

You’re special, never forget that. She won’t.

Come along, darling

Don’t dawdle.

Oooh… 50% of the way there! That’s closer than I’ve ever got.

It’s not as high-margin a business as you might expect, but fortunately some of her labour costs are very low indeed. Speaking of which, have you negotiated your salary yet? No? OK.

From the look of the sea, they’ve got ages… which is just as well, because Julie can be quite slow to get aroused, unless she can use her cattle prod.

Every poet should have a muse. This lucky lad has two.

And let’s not have any old-fashioned patriarchal nonsense about ‘earning’ it, OK? It’s not your salary, not now you’re married.

You might find it hard to imagine you’ll forget you’re wearing something as heavy and bulky as that, but believe me: once the nipple clamps go on and the scrotal ring is properly anchored to your ankle chain, you’ll hardly notice it.

Unethical statements

Both, probably.

She’ll have to break me first…. eeek!

Yes, doing the little dance routine should definitely help with the feeling of humiliation.

I’m never sure whether I prefer sand or seaweed for my punishment meals when we’re at the beach. Not that I actually get to choose, of course.

No harm done. Sissy didn’t need those knees.

You know, I’ve often been struck

She’s actually communicating her feelings on several different levels here. It’s a Mars/Venus thing – you don’t have to understand but you could at least try to feel her pain.

If you argue it might go on longer – and wouldn’t that be just awful?

Some of us are already having the cry, thanks. Although oddly it’s the cuddle that usually brings them on in floods.

What to do, what to do… You might want to try playing safe. They won’t let you (and anyway, you’re not safe), but I expect you’ll want to try.

She’s being rather unfair here. She often is: if you want my honest opinion, she’s a vicious and vindictive person with serious anger management issues. Always was. Anyway – congratulations on your special day! I’m sure you’ll be very.. well, maybe you’ll both be… anyway, congratulations, yeah? You’re a lucky guy. We all think so.

Who loves the sun?

I do! After a miserable rainy May, we now have bright sunshine chez elle (i.e. where I live) and I thought I’d do a sun-drenched special to celebrate summer’s balmy days. Admittedly, I myself haven’t yet seen the sun, as there are no windows in the part of the house where I live (not a problem, of course – after all, what would be the point, this far underground?). But she’s promised to break out the summer sweaters and the heavy rubber gimp suit, to take me out into the garden this weekend to where the treadmill awaits, bathed in sunshine. So that’ll be a nice change. I’ve also just booked a romantic stay for two at a beach resort for later in the summer, but I wont divulge the details as she hasn’t decided which boyfriend to take with her. They get so jealous – especially a certain old bull I won’t name! *

Anyway, here we are: summery captions.

I doubt that. I have actually become quite good at accurately judging women’s weight. But sometimes you have to tell them little white lies – bless them. The number of times I’ve had to control my breathing carefully to say ‘no, no – light as a feather!’ without gasping…

It’s great. Yeah. I’m getting quite good at never having any sexy thoughts at all, as long-term readers of this blog will know only too well.

Oh… don’t mind me.

She
likes long walks in the country, getting caught in the rain and keeping
up with the latest developments in applied metallurgy.

Actually, I brought a spare myself. I always do, just in case. I mean, imagine how awful it would be to run into Gal by chance and not have a leather belt or similar implement on you… a lifetime of regret would await.

* Regular readers shouldn’t worry. There’ll always be a place for Raoul in her heart – and in her vagina, mouth and anus, too of course.

Good authority

Actually, she found him quite easily. She’s clever like that.

Hmmm… well, I suppose it makes a change from having to deal with uncomfortably large things.

I think your educational prospects just became a lot brighter. No one forgets a really committed teacher.

They have separate resuscitation practice sessions, but they do that inside with the volunteer strapped to a table. One of the girls is ex-military and has done some waterboarding, so it’s all very safe.

Remember: professional submission is not prostitution. He should consider himself more as a therapist, helping clients deal with feelings of anger.

Back to reality

… well, the loose approximation of it represented by this blog, anyway.

The holiday, since you ask, was fantastic. It was in one of those picture-perfect resorts, you know, with the palm trees coming down to the powdery sand sloping down to a turquoise lagoon. But not at all crowded – it’s a private beach belonging to the hotel and at the prices I was paying, I can tell you, there’d just better be some serious privacy! And the hotel was as spectacular as the price implied: the rooms, the food, the pool… made a lot of new friends too, apparently.

What do you mean, ‘how do I know’? She sent me a postcard, of course. I mean, I didn’t actually see it until after my release because the kennels don’t allow postal deliveries, but I expect she didn’t know that and it was a very kind thought. She was having so much fun, she hadn’t even put enough postage on it, the silly thing! Had to come out of my pocket money. I’d been saving for.. well, I mustn’t complain.

Another year, another… maybe 550 or so captioned images? It hardly bears thinking about, does it? Better get on…

Stick-fetching is one of those things that sensible husbands quickly learn is not really up for discussion.

You know, I think she might be about to confess her life-long fantasy of making love to a short, slightly overweight guy wearing a frilly french maid outfit. Give her time.

It’s a shame they can’t both win.

Damn. That was going well.

It’s awful wearing a chastity belt on a beach – sands gets in, apparently. Not that I’d know. Sensible concrete floors, that’s what we had in the kennels. Fresh straw on Thursdays.

Senseful brutality

Well.. someone might mind, actually. But no one who matters.

Goodness, what a large one. As no woman has ever said to me, in my entire life. More seriously, though, I really, really like this caption. If you don’t like this one then you are probably ‘reading’ the wrong femdom blog, because as far as I’m concerned, this is as good as it gets (sorry).

Actually, I stopped complaining to Mum when I realised she was always going to take my sister’s side. And obviously there was no point complaining to Dad – he tried to stick up for me once, and we both got a spanking for his trouble.

Looking? Looking where?

Actually, I really like this one too…