Stories and pictures themed around female domination and male subjugation and servitude. Unsuitable for children, for alpha males, for hard-core practitioners with an interest in the politics of bdsm and the mechanics of complicated rope work. Of interest to perverts like me, basically.
Who loved a lord and who laughed aloud At the moan of the merryman, moping mum Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb As he sighed for the love of a la-dy.
I used to wonder how girls could spend so long washing their hair. Then I found out.
Air stewardesses often like to have a sub waiting for them on arrival. After a long flight, they really want someone else serving them drinks and food – and if there’ve been any rude, arrogant passengers on the flight it’s still more important to have access to someone on whom to let off a bit of steam.
There are also consequences for remaining silent when she’s asked something, as well as for lying. So it’s all covered, really.
I hope this jokey little caption doesn’t contribute to that hurtful ‘castrating lesbian’ stereotype. Actually, survey data show that lesbians are, if anything, slightly less enthusiastic about castrating males than are heterosexual women, although there’s only a few percentage points in it.
They seem well-equipped.
Ooh… I hate job interviews. Like, I went to one where the interviewer asked me how I’d react to being slapped across the face and she didn’t even let me finish my answer! I did get the job, as it happens, but frankly that turned out to be a mixed blessing.
Fans of the ‘strict governess’ style of femdom might be interested in skipping to exactly 49 minutes into this 1970s British movie (NB, Russian site if you worry about such things), to reach the section which is about Theresa Berkley, of whipping horse fame. The movie is mostly in that 1970s British sex comedy style (oo-err, Missus, gwarn show us yer knockers!) but this bit is, I think, done quite well as it features the slow scolding build-up and anticipation (a theme I tried to convey in one of my few serious pieces: Waiting). Weirdly enough, although most of the film is knockabout farce, towards the end it takes on the tone of a public information film and features the then living, famous and very serious dominatrix, Monique van Cleef, in a short bit starting at 1:15.45. The 1970s were odd. But then, so are we, aren’t we? Extra trivia: the narrator is Charles Gray, narrator of Rocky Horror (where was his neck?) as well as being the best Blofeld, and Mrs Berkley is Carmen Silvera, who later dominated René in Allo Allo.
She had to do something to keep herself amused. She’d already done today’s Wordle, after all.She’s also his personal financial advisor – she’s recently encouraged him to move most of his ready cash into envelopes.
She’s lucky to have Sarah, otherwise she’d be a pushover for any chained-up male with a sob story.
Embarassingly, it was only at the top she realised she’d meant to throw something into the rubbish bin and had to lead you right down and then back up again, the silly forgetful thing.
It’s nice and quiet down there, hardly anyone ever visits. Don’t worry, though: there’s a food chute. Well… down there it’s a food chute. On the surface it’s a rubbish chute. Same difference.
Don’t worry, they always schedule some special ‘couple time’ when your wife has you just to herself.
… for the cameras and the girls (trigger warning: no femdom, big hair, old-fashioned music from when Servitor was young, if such a thing can be imagined).
Always a tricky situation, but she knew exactly how to handle it to prevent embarassment. Women are better at reading social situations like that. Now… what kind of wine goes with spunk?
I’d be their catwalk.
She’s considering a suggestion from some productivity consultants that could eliminate that particular problem. The jerking-off, I mean, not the periods. That would be weird.
She doesn’t have any questions for you, either. It’s that kind of relationship, where you take the other person just as they are. She’s violent and sadistic and you’re… well: restrained and vulnerable. What’s to discuss?
Katharine Hepburn said that. And this [edit] is a picture of Audrey Hepburn, so the picture, like the Hepburns, is unrelated. Thanks to Downlow, low down in the comments for pointing this out. I’ll get me coat…
I’d have to say yes please. Ma’am.
“Readers” with an interest in Hollywood actresses may want to check the blog this coming Sunday. Just saying…
Don’t worry, it’s never too late to fill in any gaps in your schooling. I mean, I went to a school that didn’t have corporal punishment but look at me now.
She’s good with pain. He’s not.
Like many women, she’s discovered she doesn’t need high heels to come across as assetive and commanding.
I’m not sure she’s taking this seriously enough. She ought to have realised already that you did tell them how you felt about it, repeatedly, throughout the nine hours. Not quietly, true, but they were definitely told.
Silly Raoul. I hope he doesn’t feel too embarassed about his mistake, watching her play while busting out all over the place. Maybe she can find some way of cheering him up, in the breaks between sets.
I read somewhere that the medical advice on stress has changed. It used to be seen as something for middle aged and older men to avoid, but apparently recent research has shown that repeated stress and anxiety can make men better at all sorts of useful things, that more than compensate for any loss of life expectancy.
If he’s worried about it dripping randomly, she can always bring the candle down closer for a more accurate aim.
I admire Sylvia’s idealism, but isn’t it about time we all just admitted that men are just too stupid for most modern jobs? I mean, nothing personal guys, but we all know it’s true, right? They’re even inventing artificial intelligence now, before the males of the species have managed the natural kind, so really I don’t see the point in trying to catch up. There are lots of things men are better at than women – mostly involving manual drudgery – as long as they’re firmly supervised, so isn’t that enough? Why just set yourself up to fail?
Always difficult, playing with amateurs. Oh well, how bad can it be?
He also consented to several amendments to that agreement, after a few days of marriage. Funny how there’s always a few things you didn’t think of, isn’t it?
Something I should get for that headline, I suspect. Oh well.
Early on in our marriage, I once tentatively suggested to my SO that she could maybe lend a hand with the housework occasionally. She didn’t react well, although to be fair I was given lighter househod tasks for a few days afterwards, as I recovered. We still commemorate the day every year, actually, like a kind of second anniversary. It’s in a few weeks’ time and I’m already starting to feel that pit of dread in my stomach.
For a one in ten chance it comes up surprisingly infrequently. Oh well, can’t argue with maths – or women.
One of the slaves does understand Czech, but at this point he was trembling too hard to explain to his colleagues what was in store for them.
As AI and other technological marvels come in, I suspect that oral skills are going to be more and more important for young men starting their careers in the business world.
It’s all very well to say I go to bed at 8.30, but frankly Steve can be quite noisy too – as can she – and there are some nights I don’t get a wink of sleep for hours.
Let’s hope Julie’s not still upset about that bad performance review. Sometimes feedback can be unpleasant and hard to take – but it just has to be accepted. I hope she understands that.
Remember you’re an individual: you’re not defined entirely by what’s written on your collar.
Ah, teenage masturbation! Goodness, that seems so long ago now. How lucky I am that my SO has put all that well and truly behind me.
The boots are a lot tastier than the airline food.
The female orgasm can be a mysterious – and very painful – thing.
Oh hi, Mr Folkes. Yeah, I’ve drafted that report like you asked me. Sorry it took so long. I’ve tried to make it read like you wrote it yourself, like you asked.
Actually… well, if you’re interested, I thought I’d try something a bit hi tech, since no one else seemed to want to give the intern work. See, I realised there’s probably quite a lot of stuff out there that you’ve written, so one of these AI thingies ought to be able to write in your own style. Right? So I gave that ChatGPT thing a prompt about the report topic and ‘in the style of Mr Adrian Folkes’ and so on. But it came up with the weirdest stuff!
Look: here’s the bit about the new marketing initiative in Scotland:
Douglas fidgeted nervously as he stood in regulation shorts and cap outside Mrs Harcastle’s oak door. The quarterly sales figures were down by over 15%. Something would undoubtedly be said about that, he knew, and something would be done too. His heart sank as he contemplated that prospect. It was going to be hard, there was no point in pretending otherwise.
“Come!” he heard, and he tried to control the butterflies in his stomach as he turned the door handle. Mrs Hardcastle was standing there, the dreaded three-tailed tawse in one hand, his report in the other.
“Soitseemsmiddle-class ladies from Lothian in their fifties are particularly displeased with your performance, boy!” she sniffed, disapprovingly. “That most certainly includes me and I do not propose to leave the matter unremedied. Clearly, my previous efforts have not been sufficient and a more… vigorous approach is called for. Trousers down and bend over my desk.”
See what I mean? It’s… kind of about the Scottish marketing initiative but… weird.
Here’s another about the new office in Prague:
MadameLoreen leaned back, allowing the heels of her boots to scrape the pallid back of the quaking slave kneeling before her. The furniture in the new facility was barely adequate, she reflected, noting that the criss-crossed whip marks on her footstool’s buttocks suggested that her colleagues thought the same. Furthermore, the artwork that was supposed to decorate the walls had not yet arrived, so the Ladies had tried to brighten the place up by dangling slaves from steel manacles across most of the walls. At least the electricity was working, she thought, watching the slave on the wall before her jerk frantically, mewing into his gag, as the electrodes clamped to his nipples delivered random jolts of electricity.
Clearly,thecontractorhadfailedinthetasksassignedtohim.Aspecialmeetinghadbeenarranged,atwhichalltheLadieswouldhaveachance to express their displeasure with him. Her fingers curled reflexively around the handle of her bullwhip as she thought about that.
Yeah. It just produced something like that every time. Every item I tried: the GPT wrote up your monthly finance analysis as something about a princess and her ‘pay piggies’ for instance and it suggested replacing the contract cleaners with senior male managers dressed as little maids and spanking them until they met their targets. Oh, and the stuff about performance management was just brutal.
It’s weird isn’t it? Do you suppose there must be another Adrian Folkes out there, writing stuff like that? Only, I gave it your address and everything, so…
Anyway, looks like the technology has a long way to go, I ended up just writing the report myself. Old fashioned style. I’ll email it to you, shall I?
I hope you like it. I really made an effort… worked all night on it… I’ve got my internship review coming up, after all Mr Folkes. I’d love to work for this company… get a foot in the door of such a promising new business. I hope you’re going to make a submission to the review board.
I actually took the liberty of drafting one for you, using the GPT thing again. Funny: speaking of foot in the door, it’s mostly about feet, actually. My feet. And about you. Anyway, I don’t think it would be very suitable, but it might give you some ideas, if you’d like a copy?
