One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other.

To celebrate Bastille Day, let’s have some more Regency femdom. The tumbrels and republican principles of the Revolution itself do not lend themselves well to the theme (although I always felt a vague kinship with the sans-culottes) but on the other side of the Channel, the natural order was maintained.
Of course, these are merely modern ‘takes’ on the period. Fashions in femdom at the time were rather different and would seem strange to us today.  Humiliation play, for example, might involve acting out being introduced at a ball to a duchess and incorrectly addressing her as if she were a mere viscountess, or using the wrong fork for the fish and being gently and gigglingly admonished (or – worse – subjected to a sustained pretence by one’s dinner companions not to have noticed!  Oh, the shame).  A ‘forced bi’ scenario would typically end with some roleplaying the inevitable appearance before local magistrates, followed by branding or even transportation to Australia* for committing unnatural acts.  And of course the gimp suits of the time were made of wool or coarse cloth -unthinkable today but they knew no better.
What’s that?  You want me to shut the fuck up and just show you the pictures of hot chicks in empire-line dresses? Oh, OK then.  Sorry.
* Generally regarded as a hard limit by most scene players today – and indeed very few dommes are even prepared to try it, although I understand Mistress Servalan of Sydney has ocasionally put on demonstrations at BDSM conventions.

120 minutes a slave

…followed by a slightly stilted conversation while putting my clothes back on, a quick hug, a kiss of her hand, then back out and switch on the mobile to find out what craziness has been going on at work while I’ve been in session.

You can get upgraded to business class.  The container’s only slightly bigger (though you do feel the difference after a long flight, I find) but you get meaty chunks from a proper tin of food instead of those dry pellets.
Nurses have seen it all, of course, but many women find it quite offensive when a man visibly develops an erection in their presence.  My SO certainly does, and has been helping keep that side of my personality under tight control.

Sometimes you can tell even without looking at them.  And sometimes you just beat them anyway, on the off-chance.  It’s all good.
On my very first date, I actually had a premature orgasm – which was very embarassing.  You see, I was wearing light-coloured trousers, so when she opened the door and said hello, I exploded in a very visible dark stain.  Fortunately, that was the last bad thing that happened on that date, although I did almost get caught on the nose by the door as it slammed shut again.
What do we want? Justice!

Kept men

(we don’t talk about the discarded ones).

Another 2% fantasise desperately about it not happening, or at least not so often and not quite so hard.
Featuring the lovely and no-nonsense Miss Cassie Hunter, the Hunteress.
Right.  It’s about time all this nonsense stopped – I’m going to put my foot down. In fact, I’m going to stamp my foot – hard.  Several times.  And I’m going to to have a proper tantrum.  That should show her she can’t treat me like this.
Their faces usually fall again when she goes on to inform them that she will therefore proceed to the next thrashing, for the next item on her list.
I once asked my SO if she could feminise me, but she just laughed and said she’d love to, but I don’t have the IQ to make a convincing woman.
She cares a lot.

By the way, not ‘found femdom’ in any meaningful way, but over the break I’ve been watching episodes of 90s British sitcom Game On and perving ever so slightly to the lovely Samantha Janus and especially her relationship with the character Martin.  I watched it occasionally at the time it was broadcast and it’s as weird and spectacularly depressing as ever, as the basic set-up is that Matt – a neurotic, agoraphobic narcissist – rents out rooms in his flat to Martin (a wimp) and Mandy (a goddess!).  Martin is a virgin desperate for sex, while Mandy is frustrated with her life and hates herself for sleeping with so many men.  But (da-dum), the only men she absolutely will not have sex with are the other two characters.  With Matt, she refuses and pushes him away but with Martin it obviously never even occurs to her to have sex with him. There’s a lovely scene in this episode (intended to be the first ever, although they varied the order of broadcast), in which her latest boxer boyfriend takes up her whole bed, so she snuggles up with Martin, who lies there with an erection the whole desperate night.  Here, starting 16.22.  Ahhh…

So, yeah, not in any way femdom.  Except that Samantha Janus is quite literally a goddess and I for one intend to found a religion in her honour.

She is notionally Samantha Womack these days, but I’ll be hunting down Mr so-called Womack and forcing the blasphemer to change his name to Janus, as is only right and proper, so don’t worry about that.


Goodness, no. Once would quite enough – look at that horrible thing!  You know, I’ve been resisting my SO’s demands to let Her act out Her castration fantasy for years but She just went on and on about it and I finally said yes.  But I was very firm. Once – just once, and then we’re not going to hear anything more about it, OK? So… that’s done.

Dog food looks awfully fatty but actually you can lose weight quite effectively on a diet of nothing else – particularly if you have difficulty keeping it down.

She’s been showing her love for you with various men for a while now, actually.  This just makes it official.

She makes a very valid point, there. I think you might have to agree with her. Always.

And right now Mistress would like to get the clients safely locked away, take off that ridiculous and uncomfortable clothing and put her feet up with a mug of hot chocolate for an evening in front of the TV, thank you very much.  So in you go.

Taking liberties

There are a few other differences: for example, they use shorter words and less complicated concepts in the male stream, for obvious reasons.

I already wanted to be laundry boy.  Very, very much.

I’ve heard she’s a bit of a sweetie in real life. Torture is just a job for her, you know?  She’s awfully good at it, though.

No… no. I think that’s all very reassuring.
This is the truly delightful (yes: another Lady with the misfortune to have encountered servitor in the quivering flesh), beautiful, witty and sexy Miss Tiffany Naylor. 
Oh, I don’t know.  I think I’d quite like to be at least a little bit late.



Well, that doesn’t seem very fair.  I mean, does Andrew have to ask my permission when he comes in and puts his big muddy boots up on my nice clean chairs?  I think not.

And for you.

Mmm… sissy maid play. Sheer erotic indulgence, every day from 6am right through to bedtime. Hope there’s gruel.
Actually he has a surprise for her.  You know those shoes she threw out into the dumpster and thought she’d never see again?  Well…


As they say about President Knavs’s husband’s tweets: I think the title speaks for itself.

I understand more and more people these days are digging out cellar* conversions, creating lots of lovely extra space down there, far, far down beneath sound-proofed floors.


They could go down to the cellar* and play with her toys.

* still ‘basement’

I’ve got a special brown card – it’s kind of the opposite of a loyalty scheme.  Hotels and airlines treat me like dirt wherever I go.

 I wrote a story about loyalty cards once.  That was when I wrote stories featuring the first domme I ever visited and her friend. They appear briefly in this one, under false names.  

But this was my favourite from back then.

I dunno. Feels a bit weird, trying on her dead dad’s dresses.  Don’t know why.

Apparently she does humiliation scenes too.  She just doesn’t always know when she’s doing one.

Suffering fools

Gladly or otherwise.

I never want to be more than two paces behind… for the rest of my life.

I hate having to disturb her when she’s working.  But I can’t just take money from her purse without permission, so…

Tony gets steak and chips… not fair, I say.  But then he does have a night of vigorous sexual activity ahead of him, so I suppose he needs the calories.

Sometimes they get a babysitter, but if they’re not going out until 7.30 or so, it’s easier just to put Paul to bed half an hour early.  I mean it’s not like anything can go wrong, with his mittens fastened to the sides of the cucky-drawer.

Aparently, a lot of condemned prisoners have women writing to them offering sex.  I don’t think that’s going to happen to him, though.

Too late to reconsider

(no one’s gonna wanna know yer… trigger warning: vanilla video unrelated to femdom)

It took him ages to get her interested in golf, you know.


Men can be such drama queens.  Getting upset over the littlest things.


Oh, OK.  As long as I know. Thanks.
What a sad little caption.  Sad little servitor wrote it.


Press them but not mount them.

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