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.
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| Mistress Debbie to you. Scarier than she sounds, huh? |
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| I can feel it helping already. |
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| Well, it wasn’t specifically on his hard limits list, so I suppose it’s OK. |
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| You’ll soon learn to detect the early signs of a long period of impotence. Pursing her lips, finding fault with you – that kind of thing is usually a good early indication of a prolonged period in which you’ll find sexual release difficult if not impossible to achieve. |
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| It’s good to have occasional surprises in marriage. |
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| Maybe just for the company? |
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| And work slowly around the rest of your body. |
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| There’s something comforting about a collar. |
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| Yeah. He’ll have been fine. Probably. Anyway, that’s not really the point of the story, you know? |
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| Oh go on – try the chat-up line anyway, why not? |
…I don’t pretend to know what you want, but I offer love.
(trigger warning: vanilla link. For no obvious reason, I’ve always thought of the song as rather D/S… but I think that of many things).
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| Don’t worry if you’re still confused. Things will be made clear. |
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| I think that’s disgraceful. Just because we’re submissive doesn’t mean ladies can treat us like doormats, can they? Well, I mean, obviously, if a lady like one of these wanted to treat me literally as a doormat, that would be fine, wiping her muddy boots across my back, but erm… OK, maybe they can then. |
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| And you prefer not being gay too, don’t you, so it sounds like you and Master Mark are very compatible! |
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| Get another one, of course. There’s plenty. Hello! Ma’am? Over here! |
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| I offer love… this is one of the most Significant of the Others in my life. Lady Sophia Black is simply wonderful. |
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| I love the way a recent article in the Guardian about science fiction on British TV just *happened* to use an image from this episode featuring whip-wielding dominatrices to exemplify the series Space 1999. |
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| That’s only fair, because you’re not in fact safe. |
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| Aww… look at that little pout. Isn’t she sweet when she’s cross? Better do what the little woman says, hmmm? Just to humour her, you know. You can assert yourself later, I expect. |
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| If you want a picture of the future, imagine a sweaty trainer stamping on a human face — forever*. |
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| I do. |
*Test time! What is the slightly garbled literary reference? Hmm? Anyone? You! You at the back – hands out of your pockets, boy! – what’s the answer?
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| Don’t worry. If you lack the self-discipline to stay away from the ciggies, I am sure she can find alternative, external sources of discipline. She’s got willpower enough for both of you. |
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| Hmm… Do you think they’re going to live happily ever after? |
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| Well, it’s probably someone’s kink. A pink kink. |
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| That’s a relief. I was beginning to think something was wrong with me. |
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| Scamper back to little wife’s apron strings or stay talking to Ms Ratajkowski? Oh what a horrible choice. Dammit, I thought submission was all about giving up responsibility for difficult choices. |
Irony: Iron more than 100 items of clothing in one day.
Bad maids get paddled: Admit to a fault that leads to a paddling.
Bad maids get caned: Admit to a fault that leads to a caning.
Those who wait: complete chores with three hours to spare and spend the remainder of the day in the corner.
Her wish is my command: bring Mistress something she wanted before being commanded to do so.
Friend or enema: complete all daily chores while holding in three quarts.
Silence is bronze: no speech except in response to a direct question for a week.
Silence is silver: no speech except in response to a direct question for a month.
Silence is golden: no speech except in response to a direct question for a year.
Spit-roast: take one of Mistress’s boyfriends at each end.
My special place: spend 8 hours standing in the corner without looking around.
Weekend place: spend 24 hours standing in the corner without looking around.
Shameful duty: appear in full maid’s costume in front of someone from your ‘previous life’.
Shameful discipline: be punished in front of someone from your ‘
previous life’.
Rain man: learn every telephone number in Mistress’s contacts.
Begging for it: request a stroke-for-stroke repetition of a caning immediately after it finishes.
Happy Hubby: Have a perky smile on your face every time Mistress sees you, for a week.
Rash decision: wear the same pair of diapers and plastic pants for three days in a row, without a change.
Bad scrubber: Clean the kitchen floor to Mistress’s satisfaction without once getting up off your knees.
Better scrubber: Clean the kitchen floor to Mistress’s satisfaction with hands tied back, and the brush between your teeth.
Good scrubber: Clean the kitchen floor to Mistress’s satisfaction using your hair as the brush.
Recycler: eat nothing but Mistress’s leftovers for a week.
Know what’s best for you: request a caning for no reason.
Cum-bucket: hold a boyfriend’s semen in your mouth all night without swallowing or spitting.
Dog-tired drudge: Perform housework for 48 hours without a break.
Remorseful: write a letter of apology to every woman with whom you have ever had sex.
Making amends: clean the apartment or house of a former girlfriend in maid outfit.
Revenge is bitter: receive corporal punishment from a former girlfriend.
Party animal: be the only ashtray at one of Mistress’s cocktail parties.
Potty mouth: Don’t spill a drop.
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| He’s a lucky guy. |
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| Cruelty-free farming has its downsides. Still, I’m glad she found a solution. |
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| Oh dear. Another of those painful conversations. |
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| Actually, the story is rather simple. The post of office tampon boy was advertised, so he studied, and prepared and pulled every string he knew of to get it. But wouldn’t you? |
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| Try not to take it too badly. Just because you’ll be spending the rest of your life alone, in poverty, with your empty days filled only with the longing for her doesn’t mean you have to be miserable. It just makes it very, very likely. |
Ah– it’s Jenkins, isn’t it?
Oh don’t look so alarmed, boy. For once, you’re not here to be beaten. You are
here for careers advice, as you will shortly be leaving our school.
Now, as you know, Jenkins, we at Thrashington Hall believe strongly in the
old-fashioned school values.The eight years of misery and brutality you have so
reluctantly endured here did have a purpose.Our system of rote learning,
accompanied by twice-daily cold showers, strict masturbation control and
frequent brutal floggings, was expressly designed by our founder, Constance Thrashington, to build character – so you can venture
out into the adult world with a sound moral foundation and a solid and traditional educational background.
I hope you realise that this makes you very unusual among boys of your age? In the modern world, this sort of education is increasingly rare. When you leave these gates, you will be one of the very few young men more familiar with counting strokes of the cane than with differential calculus, capable of writing the same line for hours without a break, but not of writing anything of your own creation, more familiar with the tawse than you are with a computer mouse. There’s not many young men today that have the self-control needed to remain perfectly in position, while enduring a brutal flogging across their bare buttocks, and then the presence of mind politely to offer thanks for the agonies they have suffered. You have learned to respect your betters, to do as you are told and to fear retribution at all times.
Unfortunately, we’re beginning to realise this doesn’t really work, especially
in the modern world.
The eighteen year-old boys we turn out are quite incapable
of the sort of creative thought needed in modern business, lack any
self-confidence or independent drive and find it impossible to build relationships
with women.Your employment prospects are appalling – with luck, you’ll find
some minimum wage menial job that can provide you with enough money to eke out a miserable
existence in some squalid bed-sit. Many of our graduates become road-sweepers. Street begging is another popular career choice. Some of the more talented manage to secure jobs as burger-flippers, but unless you’re lucky enough to have an authoritarian female boss, you probably won’t be able to concentrate long enough to do a job as complicated as that.
I expect you’ll spend your evenings in sad,
lonely masturbation – your sexual urges are probably perverted and anyway, you
don’t know how to relate to women because you have only experienced them as
disciplinarians. Not much of a life – rather a shame really after enduring such brutal, sexless and miserable teenage years.
Sorry about that.
Anyway– dismissed! I’ll see you at the graduation ceremony tomorrow. Send in
Knightly, please.
So I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to try out Graham’s invention. Of course, you can’t see, because it’s behind you and you’re strapped so very tightly across the whipping block. But back there, the mechanical arm holding the cane is fully retracted, so the machine’s ready to strike. When it does, the electric motor drives a small wheel into rapid motion, increasing tension for a second or two, before the arm is released and the cane lashes across your bottom.
It’s that little delay that makes it work, actually. Poor old Graham kept on trying and trying to propel the arm immediately to make the stroke, but you can never get enough force to get it to lash at the speed you need for a proper impact. It took him ages to find a solution. I was getting quite frustrated actually – he was probably getting more strokes from me manually than he was testing each day on the machine. But that delay lets the speed build up and then – whoosh, and it cracks across your buttocks. So you’ll hear a little whir for a second or so, before you hear the cane whistling through the air. I’ve asked him to work on that whirring sound – it would be better if there weren’t any warning. I’m sure he’ll be able to sort it out, with the right encouragement from me. Still – it canes hard and that’s the main thing.
So after the stroke it winds back again, going a little bit up or down so it doesn’t keep caning the same spot. Graham himself suggested that little feature, actually, after the first time I tried it on him. Twelve on exactly the same spot makes you ever so sore. He started work on the vertical motion straight away after that! Anyway, I can set it to go steadily up or down, or just let it go randomly.
Oh, you’ll find out. The pattern should be clear by stroke three or four or so.
I’m so pleased with this. I mean, I’m not going to stop caning boys manually, obviously! But sometimes it’s nice just to hand the job over. And there’s something quite relentless and brutal about being caned by a machine… the way it just keeps going, no matter what you say or how piteously you cry or scream. I mean, so do I of course, but boys still always start making a fuss after a while, in the hope that I’ll go easy on them. Boys can be so stupid. Well, this machine takes that hope away.
You look worried! No…maybe worried isn’t the right word. You look terrified. Well, so you should. You’re getting twelve, good and hard – and I’ve already programmed them in. Nothing you can do.
But you know, I haven’t told you about the cruellest feature yet. Do you want to know?
I can programme the speed. It can go at any speed I like. So what do you think is about to happen, hmmm?
What?
No. Oh for goodness’ sake. You boys are so unimaginative. You think that the worst thing I could do to you is to make it go as fast as possible? Twelve strokes in quick succession – THWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACK?
Well, it could do that. And obviously that would be sheer hell – it would certainly make you scream. But that’s not what I’ve done. Quite the opposite. Can’t you guess?
Between now and – oh about nine o’clock tonight – you’ll receive twelve strokes. It’s just gone noon, so that’s about one every 45 minutes. But they won’t come regularly. The intervals have been set to be random – anything between 30 seconds and two hours. You will get all twelve – you can depend on that. But you’ll never know when the next one’s coming, as you wait there hour after hour. Until you hear that little whir anyway… then you have a second or so to brace yourself. It’ll be so much better when Graham’s sorted that out…
Yes, you see? I thought you would. It’s much worse than getting twelve all at once, isn’t it?
Do you think the randomness makes it worse? I wasn’t sure about that. I like the thought that you’ll be on edge for all of that time, never knowing when – or precisely where – the next stroke will land. But on the other hand, it might be nice some time to try spacing them evenly – say, one every hour. And you could have a clock in front of you, watching the seconds counting steadily down. Or no clock, and you’d be frantically estimating whether the hour is nearly up. Maybe we’ll try that next time.
Hmm? Oh, we’ve already started. I switched it on about five minutes ago. Every five minutes you have about a one in nine chance of a stroke. It could have happened already. But it didn’t. It will, though. That’s certain: you’ve still got all twelve to go. It could happen any second… or not for almost two hours… it’s just up to that little microchip. Out of my control anyway, and certainly out of yours.
Hmm? Yes, I know it’s cruel. I am.
Anyway, it’s not much of a spectator sport, so I’m going to go about my day and leave you to it. Don’t worry, I’m not leaving the house, so I’ll be able to hear you scream from time to time. You’ll be quite secure here, though. And if you start to feel thirsty – and I think you will, if you keep sweating like that, or if you start crying – just remember that it’s supposed to be a punishment and you deserve it.
See you.
Oh – you know, I just had a thought. Maybe instead of designing out the little whirring sound, Graham could design it in! So that – I don’t know – about five times out of six or so, there’s the sound but no stroke. Wouldn’t that be fun? I’ll have to have a word with him.
Enjoy the rest of the day.
