Category: brutality

Domestic goddesses

 

She didn’t actually write all of the lyrics herself of course, but she suggested the basic themes.

 

 

 

Don’t feel bad about the waste of electricity, though: no electricity used by a woman to shock a man is ever truly wasted.

 


 


And if you don’t like the red colour, the marks come in purple and black too as long as you go long enough.

The goddess on the left is the lovely Miss Zoe.  The one on the right is not.


She was a spectacularly naughty schoolgirl, I’ve heard.



 

Well, my arm’s not tired either, so why shouldn’t I?  Honestly, women say the strangest – ah, no, let me go, please Ma’am, don’t!

 

 

Brutal honesty

They do say honesty is the basis of every successful romantic relationship – but brutality has its place too.


Don’t worry – she has lots of equipment and techniques to help manage the pain.




They do say small ones have more pain receptors per square millimetre, which is actually quite a turn-on for a lot of ladies.



He’s the foundation of the building just behind her, by coincidence.




Time for the evil – sorry, what?  I can’t say that word!



OK, well if the other two are totally straight I guess they won’t need licking clean, for a change, so that’s a bonus.











Harsh words

Freud once said a cigar is sometimes just a cigar.  Similarly, bath brushes can be used for scrubbing backs, hairbrushes for brushing hair, anal hooks for, erm… well, anyway, the point is: not everything’s BDSM, all the time, you know?  Sadly.


 

 

Don’t worry – the course of justice is not being perverted.  His Lordship was probably going to cut the trial short anyway, as he has so much homework to do.

 

 

 

You might as well consent: it’s going to happen anyway, so why not make it all nice and legal?  Well… it probably won’t be ‘nice’ as such, but you know what I mean.

 

 

 

 

Acting the part here, entirely out of character, is the wonderful Miss Amy Hunter, who once spent a couple of hours giving Servitor a very hard time with a tawse, then made it all all right again with a lovely hug.

 

 


Can’t be too careful.  The nice thing about having spares, is that she doesn’t have to go easy.


 


And I’ll be (your sharp intake of breath)

 Mistress Lennox, of course… and that beardy bloke called Dave.


‘Ideas’ in the same sense that Pinterest sends me emails suggesting I check out ‘ideas’ about boots, corsets or traditional girls’ school uniforms.  And chickens, oddly enough.


Those vanilla passengers can be rather tiresome.  Fortunately one encounters fewer of them, these days.


I have a limited skill set, unfortunately.  And I’m rubbish at it.


Don’t worry – lots of bridegrooms feel a bit nervous on the big day.  None of the guests are likely to realise how well-founded your fears actually are.



It’s an arguable case, legally, or at least it would be were anyone in a position to argue about it.  Which they won’t be, obviously.



Graceful brutality

 

 

Funny how many girls make that mistake.


 

 

Sounds like they’ve got some lost time to make up for.

 

 

I remember early in our relationship, my SO ordering me to bring her a whip for my impertinence.  I told her I didn’t think I had said anything impertinent that deserved a whipping and she laughed and said I just had.  It seemed a little unfair to me, but I didn’t want to argue about it and ruin the mood.

 

 

 

I’m afraid it won’t make you taller, though: that’s just one of those myths. I mean, maybe your spine will be longer by an inch or so at most, but since you won’t be able to walk with all the joints in your limbs dislocated, it won’t bring you any real benefits.  

 

Like many Hollywood stars, she keeps her private relationships carefully out of the media’s eye.

 

Indignity


Ah… furniture privileges.  I remember the first time my SO told me I wasn’t allowed on the furniture any more and I cheekily asked if that included the whipping bench. How we laughed… or we would have done if I’d dared say it out loud.




Elbow-length latex gloves should come with a safety warning, in my view.  And latex gloves that cover the full length of the arm are just unsafe, no matter what the ‘experts’ might tell us about the length of the lower intestine.




See all the little gold rings on their toes?  Aren’t they pretty?  They’ve got lots more gold rings, for you to wear, so maybe you’ll look just as pretty too.  But they’re not going on your toes, obviously.


If it’ll help, the soaking wet towel she is planning to ram down your throat will taste quite soapy.





You might think that spousal abuse is neither funny nor sexy.  My wife disagrees, though: she loves it, so who am I to argue?


Last of the thing?

I’ve done a few posts about the thing… The thing that’s been doing its thing all this year. Anyway, thank goodness female participation in STEM subjects has been going up, because there seem to have been anti-thing vaccines invented in record time… although, to be fair, the men involved deserve some credit too, I’m sure, as the scientists probably needed a regular supply of coffee at work, and supportive hubbies back home too.

So… this may well be my last post about the thing.  But we’ll see.  Maybe there’ll be another thing.  Whatever happens, I will be here, with a painfully contrived femdom take on the situation.

 

Lots of people are finding life very frustrating at the moment.  She understands that.


 

 

Some of her male patients have actually become clients, since, I understand.  It just goes to show, doesn’t it?  



He doesn’t need to self-isolate because they already did that for him.



My own domme is doing occasional sessions, despite being in tier 2.  When I arrive at her dungeon, I don’t see her straight away. I strip, then I have to coat myself all over in sanitising gel, insert a thick rubber dildo gag and then climb into a thick latex bondage bag before she’ll enter the room.  Then she sits about three metres away, reading a magazine, occasionally mocking me or prodding the bag with a long stick.  So… no different from a session in normal times.  I’m lucky.

 


Actually, the police already know where he lives, because he’s the Chief Inspector.


Blonde obedience

But I haven’t even asked yet!

 

Retractable steel blades?  Where’s the fun in that? I prefer her method.



 

Not really.  Sure: it would have been a turn-on.  But would that have made the beatings any easier to take?

 

 

 

It’s all in the wrist.

 

 

To be honest, I didn’t feel like I was running out of things to cry about before.  But I suppose she’s only trying to help.

 

 

Getting through it

 


How you doing there?  You OK? Breathe.  No, really, come on: normal breaths. You need not to hyperventilate.   And just relax on the bench there, let yourself go limp in the restraints. You’ve been pulling away at those straps almost since the start – bruised yourself almost as much as the whip did, I should think!  Well… not really. But you’ll certainly have bruises around those wrists after all that writhing around.

Wow… you lost it a few times during that
session, didn’t you?  I’m glad I had soundproofing
installed last summer – you were shrieking and begging so hard, someone would
have called the police on us, I reckon.

So! 
So… No-safeword
session – pretty brave!  Any
regrets?  I reckon you had quite a few,
at times there, didn’t you? But you must be getting an amazing endorphin rush,
now, right? I can only imagine…. I don’t think I could ever take that much pain.  But I hope it’s worth it for you.

You know, obviously I take consent
really seriously but this sort of no-holds-barred, no mercy, no-safeword
session has to be my favourite style of play. 
I’ve got very few clients who’ve ever dared but … to take someone to
their limit… and then just carry on. 
It’s an incredible rush: nothing like it.  I mean, there’s a lot of stuff written in BDSM porn about ‘breaking’ slaves but until you’ve had someone desperately stuggling against the straps like that, begging hysterically, promising you anything, anything at all to make the pain stop… and I just keep whipping, criss-crossing the welts, enjoying the way the screams and gasps cut off each frantic babbled plea to stop…  

Nothing like it.  Nothing in the world. It’s not sexual, for me, I’ll admit – it’s more like the greatest rollercoaster ride ever, you know?  I enjoy inflicting the pain, I enjoy the power even if I don’t get off on it, sexually.  It’s actually better than sex: I’ll say that. Yeah: better than sex.

Do you know what my favourite bit
is? See: I like to start talking to them as if the session’s over.  About how they feel, as if they’ve got
nothing more to worry about.  When in
fact I’m less than halfway through. It’s a bit cruel, I suppose.  But then, I’m a very cruel person, I suppose.  And as they’re all strapped down, with no safeword
there’s nothing they can do about it anyway. 
Except moan in fear, when they realise, obviously.

Yeah… just like that moan
there.  Dawning terror.  That’s the best rush of all.

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