Cruelty is its own reward

…but you often still have to pay her for it.

I suppose there comes a point when, if she’s gradually cut away every piece of you that isn’t your genitals, there’s only the genitals left. But then isn’t that equivalent to castrating you? Interesting philosophical question, there, to help you while away the time as you dangle in mute agony.
She has a low boredom threshold, so best not to keep going on about it.
My pain tolerance level has increased slightly over the years but unfortunately so has my SO’s.

Sharp-eyed readers (or just those who spend a lot of time wanking on the Internet) will of course recognise the lovely Goddess Mina Thorne.

You’ll soon learn about what’s important to her and what isn’t.
When they talk later, I expect she’ll need to release a lot of that anger and he’ll need – will desperately need – to release other things.
Actually, in a sense he’s getting off lightly. He was sentenced to 35 years but he’ll actually only have done 34 years, 364 days and about 12 hours. Lucky bastard, I hope he appreciates it.

Sordid scenes

Words can hurt… he’s upset now, because he didn’t say it in the hope of getting out of the whipping, but because he meant it and he loves her. Whips can hurt too, of course. Quite a lot.
See, if you can’t be bothered to remind her at the right time, why should she be bothered about it?
Just follow the sound of her voice… I live my life according to that principle even when I’m not blindfolded.
Many guys see nothing wrong in an appreciative stare at a sexy girl. And increasingly, many girls see nothing wrong in bundling those guys into burlap sacks and brutally torturing them in a windowless underground cell. So it’s all just about finding the right partner.
Whenever I read yet another article claiming that men aren’t doing so well in the modern IT-oriented office, I just think about all the guys reading this blog: still working the computer effectively with just one hand, and with trousers down around their ankles. Show me a woman who’d do that.
She learns a lot from the conversations with them. For instance, she has discovered that it is “a nice skateboard”. Sometimes the conversation even goes as far as “Uh, yeah. Really, really nice.”

The meaning of my life is she, she

Oh, she. Warning: SFW material at the link entirely unrelated to femdom porn.

It’s always difficult, the morning after a first date, if the girl says she doesn’t want to see you again. But he’ll move on.
Another truth: be particularly careful if one of them ‘happens’ to have a roll of duct tape in her handbag.
Wow, what an opportunity! Because being pathetic is something I’m really good at.
your heart would have responded / Gaily, when invited, beating obedient /
To controlling hands
It’s actually not that radical a change. All men will still be considered to be created equal, endowed with life and the pursuit of female happiness.

Tears are not enough

But they can help.


BBWs go well with SIMs – scrawny, insignificant males.



Andy wasn’t very likeable but Janet very much enjoyed his company, towards the end.



A well-equipped playroom, I see.


I was once taken in by a policewoman strippergram that someone had arranged as a surprise at my 18th birthday party – I actually genuinely thought I was in trouble with the law!  How we laughed when I was released six months later.




Kitten likes to keep the conversation focused on things that are important.






Textual humiliation

Scamper scamper… wag wag wag.



She’s not, like, a pervert or anything.




Mistress’s boyfriend actually, so a bit of both you might say.



Personally, I just feel more comfortable wearing stereotypically female clothing, because when I try to sneak any male clothing on I invariably get found out and beaten.



One fewer thing to worry about, then.







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.


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 harmful fun

 …and nothing wrong with that.

They take pain management very seriously.

It’s best to double-check these things.  I’ve been on at least two dates which ended up in an argument relating to a confusion between inches and centimetres – and on one of them my so-called ‘date’ actually beat me up.

Obviously, we should be trying to encourage more women to go into STEM subjects.  Because technical progress and science are important – so best not left to morons.

That’s a relief.  I was worried.

It just shows I’m a red-hot lurrve machine, surely?

She’s right, you know

 She just is.

SO once told me that it was on our honeymoon that I gave her the best
sex she’s ever experienced.  Which is a bit of luck, really, as you
never know what you’re going to get when you’re in a foreign place and
you don’t know the escort agencies well.

It’s only fair: she took his electric razor, when they split up, I understand.

Got there eventually.  Well done.  Now let’s talk about ironing pleats.

Don’t worry: he won’t allow himself to be improperly influenced.  Properly influenced, yes, certainly, possibly even vigorously influenced.  But no more than that.

Women, eh?  Sometimes you’re supposed to scream in agony, sometimes you’re supposed to stay silent.  How are we supposed to know?  I mean, unless they use ball-gags and stuff.

Deeply indebted to her

…but she sometimes lets me off the monthly interest if I consent to one of the ‘special’ games she likes to play.  It’s quite an incentive to keep the payments up, actually.

Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve heard you can see the sea from the bar they’re planning to spend the afternoon in, so I’m sure they’ll notice if the tide comes a bit further up than they were expecting.

Hmmm… it’s almost like they’re in a – what’s the word?  Predicament.

What can it mean?  I don’t know… I just work here.
Consent is very important in BDSM.  My SO absolutely insists on it.

Ah well.  Nearly got a freebie there.  You know… I was playing SPH humiliation scenes years before I knew that was a thing.  I just called it ‘dating’.

Lovingly brutal

My SO has some lovely heavy rubber gimp outfits she likes me to wear.  But for some reason only in summer. This time of year I’m not allowed to wear them. Or indeed any clothing at all.  (I don’t count anything made of metal as clothing).

On the other hand, he does have to pay for it.  A sissy slave doesn’t, which is just as well as they’re rarely allowed much pocket money.

She’s Head of the family now that her mother has passed away, of course. I mean, her father’s still around, I think, but no one ever paid much attention to him anyway.
This is the magnificent Goddess Sophia, on whose dungeon floor I have occasionally had the honour to be an unsightly smudge.
I think it’s all a bit unfair, really.  I mean the hunters have trucks, high-powered rifles and female brains.

I think she wants creative control. And the biggest trailer on the set, with a soundproofed playroom too, obviously.

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