Category: boots

Traditional crop-wielding ladies

 

Not a problem: premium cat food doesn’t actually taste as nice as the adverts imply.  In fact, in tests I understand eight out of ten slaves said they preferred to go hungry than be forced to eat it… but why should anyone care about that?

 

 

Which is odd, because women are supposed to be good at empathy.


 

Having said which, these two – while not exactly exhibiting empathy I’ll admit – are certainly very concerned to ensure fair treatment of all of the prisoners.  Which is nice.

 

 

 

She does use him for sex, but only in a facilitative capacity.

 

 

 

And I’m very persuadable.  I’ll even pay for it.


The love that dare not speak

 … without permission.


Perhaps you could write her a nice thank-you note while you’re wearing it.



No, they didn’t mention Rodney. I hope I don’t have to pay extra for him.



Just a soft little harmless thing.



When visting a French domme, once, I confused ‘quatorze’ (14) with ‘quarante’ (40).  The difference is actually very easy to remember, when the 26 ‘extras’ are laid on with full force.




She believes in having honest relationships with her clients.  Most dommes do. It must be awful for vanilla sex workers, having to pretend to like their clients and to enjoy their nasty desires.



Stable relationships

 

Maybe when the two of you are married, you can talk to her about being less cruel to poor dumb animals.


Well, she should have been clearer. It took me ages…



No spoilers, now!



Don’t worry, you’ll soon warm up after Lady Sarah arrives.



He only discovered about her fetishes after the marriage.  She has quite a few. The ones not involving inflicting pain on older men are mostly about girlfriends and money.

Fair mistreatment

 

How soon will she be back?  Oh… you know.  It’ll be forever and it’ll also be too soon, same as usual.

 


There’s actually another guy out there, but you’re unlikely to see him unless you start digging in the compost pile, and why would you do that?

 The lovely but, by the looks of things, retired Princess Neive. I wonder what she did with the boots?  I’d give them a loving home.



Poor thing. She seems very upset.  I hope this will make her feel better.


As her name is ‘Josephine’, maybe you’re better off sticking with ‘hamster’?  At least ‘hamster’ fits on one line.




Shocky!

Unoriginal sins





Don’t worry: you’ll feel her pain






It probably wouldn’t say anything very interesting, to be honest.  Mostly whiny pleading.  They’re not missing anything.


Like many male teachers in girls’ secondary schools, he often finds himself being the teacher who has to deal with the bullies.
I understand that if you actually open them up, by breaking the flesh from whipping too hard for example, you can void the warranty.  But it doesn’t sound like she’s done that, so it’s probably OK.









She’s not a pro-domme, anyway, because to the eternal howls of anguish from love-sick slaves, I believe Lady Sophia Black has retired.

Crawl space

Actually that’s not true – she takes the keenest interest in making your knees hurt and derives great pleasure from it.


I’m actually really good at fetching sticks.  On dates, I usually try to work the conversation around, so I can casually mention it.
I tried ‘coming out’ by telling some female co-workers about my true sexual nature and I have to say I didn’t get anything like this understanding reaction.  Actually, the entire experience was utterly humiliating and very painful.  So that was nice.

It’s odd – when the lady who’s now my SO and I first got together, she always (well… both times, anyway) complained that I came too soon. Nowadays, apparently I take too long and she never has time, even though I’m pretty sure I’m quicker than ever.  Women, eh?

“throne”?
The Divine Mistress Heather, of course. Divinity lessons have never been so intense.

Tread softly, for you tread on my…

…actually, modesty forbids me from saying what she was treading on.  Let’s just say that she crushed my hopes and severely injured my pride.

 
That should take your mind off the pain from the ring she just put on you.
Has she ever considered just walking around the horse shit?  I mean, that would be so much more considerate, right?
Yet another example of a failure properly to consider Rule #18, here.
So much better to resolve these things without having to involve the insurance companies.  Paying and fucking off is actually one of my favourite femdom activities, so it’s even a bit of a turn on too!
Men in this day and age have to realise that there is nothing inherently humiliating about being financially dependent on a woman. The humiliation, if any, is all in the way it is done.






Written submissions



There’s actually a funny story to how I came by that nickname.  Just ask anyone.







Lots of men find it hard to navigate the unwriten rules of modern office etiquette, which is why it can be so useful to receive feedback that is frank, immediate and eye-wateringly painful when the inevitable occasional slip-ups occur.

Another word Auntie Kate can teach you is ‘sadist’ but that’s for another day.
For the grand finale they invite members of the audience to step up and join them.

Myself, I’m not too choosy about clothing – I just wear whatever happens to be locked onto me that morning, you know?

Enthralled

What a lovely word.  I am her thrall.


Happiest day of your life!  And don’t you forget it, you ungrateful little bastard, or she’ll give you something to be unhappy about!

 

It’s not just convicted sexists, either.  Carry the donor card, help someone to look fabulous after your death.










I’ve never liked spiders. Bitter acrid flavour and the legs get stuck between your teeth.










Looks fun.  And they give you a little souvenir bag of sugar at the end of the month.  Give it to your domme, the next time you book a normal session and thank your lucky stars it’s just fantasy play.










He found her through a card she’d put up in the local telegraphy office.


Shattered ever after


“My other daughter, Cinderella”, the merchant
gabbled, bowing low to the Prince and his party. A
haughty young blonde strode into the room, sat down in the armchair and
crossed her booted legs.  She stared with contempt at her father and step-sisters, huddled together against the back wall.  

“Well?” she demanded.  “Get on with your chores” and she watched them scurry from the room, stammering their apologies.


The Prince sank to his knees before her.  “May I?” he murmured, reaching out with a
trembling hand.  She nodded curtly and the Prince slowly
unzipped her boot with his right hand, cradling the heel in his left. A moist,
warm miasma emerged as the loosened boot was gently lifted free.

“Sorry about the smell.  Been on my feet all day”, Cinderella
explained.

“It’s, erm… it’s no problem at all.” gasped the
Prince.   “You know, Lord Chamberlain, I think we don’t even
need to try the slipper. 
This is obviously the right pair of… pair of feet.” and he moved closer,
his face hovering just above the damp, stockinged foot. 

“Oh yes.  Yes: these are the feet.”

“Are you sure, your Majesty?” the Chamberlain
replied.  “They look a little on the
large side to -”

“Well then the slipper must have shrunk!”
snapped the prince, not taking his eyes from the foot he held so gently.

“Shrunk, Sire?” the Chamberlain replied, one eyebrow
raised.  “The glass
slipper?”

The Prince turned on him in fury. 
“How dare you question your Prince! 
Arrest this man!  I shall decide
what to do with him later.”

“Perhaps a few years in the salt mines?” Cinderella suggested. “With hard labour? I’ve heard that can be quite
effective.”

The Prince looked up into her blue eyes in shock.  “That’s quite a harsh, erm… well, for a man in
his age and condition…
I think…” he tailed off, noting a distinct pout coming over the lovely features
above him.

“Quite right, my dear, of course.” he continued.  “As you wish.”

Her restored smile seemed
to light up the room.  “And we won’t be needing
that silly thing” she added, indicating the glass slipper with an elegant
finger.  The finger pointed towards a spot on the
floor, where the Prince placed it. 

Stand back”, she instructed.  And down
came Cinderella’s other, still-booted, foot shattering the slipper into ten
thousand iridescent shards.

“Oh dear” she smiled.  “So now I suppose whoever’s foot fits into that gets to be Queen?”, and the Prince raised the boot he was holding in shaking hands towards her gracefully-pointed toes.

And it was a perfect fit.