Category: cane

Gender imbalance

I won’t give away the ending. Oh all right then, I will.  The book falls off and he gets the crap beaten out of him with a perspex cane. OK?


Now I understand why they make the interns wear shorts.

erm… Translation?  Rotation?  Summation?

I’ve heard that if you insult the waiting staff in some restaurants, they’ll spit into your food. But I just can’t bring myself to be other than grovellingly respectful to a waitress.  What’s a sub to do?



One day she’ll meet Mr Perfect and won’t feel the need to enslave and degrade him.  One day.




Simply divine, darling





It’s always such a relief when finally the boxes are all unpacked, there’s a chain the right length in each room, all the pillories and cages have been assembled and you can get back to ordinary married life, for goodness sake.

She’s always taken roleplay very seriously. They tried medical fetish play once and it didn’t turn out well.

Making a decision of my own free will, to do exactly whatever she has told me, immediately, is the secret to a happy life I find.
Oh, you’ve already promised to honour and obey him, so adding love to the mix doesn’t change much.

The truth will not set you free.


Six of the best

A good caning never hurt anyone, right?


Oh, hang on…

I think I’m pretty strongly oriented towards serving Mistress Eleise already.

What to do… what to do.

Ermm… oh, you know.  Nothing really.  Just one of those things. Forget I said anything.     Please?






You should stand up for your rights.  When you’ve finished bending over for the cane, obviously.








I hope she doesn’t mind frantic tugging at the bonds, and pitiful pleading, mixed in with the screaming.






She’ll probably be able to empathise more with your pain, now. Probably


Silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent way



You might want to pay particular attention to the inflight safeword briefing.

Damn.  Maybe we could play backgammon instead?

If it’s any consolation, Jerry’s no happier about it than you are,  In fact, he’s bloody furious.  Try to make him happy, OK?

Hmm.  That’s diamonds  eleven times in a row, now. That means hearts must come up next time, right?
I don’t want you to get the impression that reading this blog in any way singles you out as a loser, OK? As long as no one ever, ever finds out, then there’s nothing to be ashamed of.  Obviously, if they do, then there is but that just means you have to take care, right?


Unsafe words

…and some bloody dangerous pictures too.

Ah, you always need to watch out for the feminine, unthreatening ones.  And even more for the feminine, extremely threatening ones, obviously.


Oh well.  Something to do while waiting to drive her home, I suppose.

I imagine most readers of this blog will mainly be familiar with this actress from Walk All Over Me, but I understand she was also in a science fiction series on TV.


She wishes she didn’t have to do this, you know.  She hates pain.  Oh no, hang on – that’s him.  Never mind.  She’s fine with it. 


Actually, I come closest to achieving self respect in precisely those circumstances.  But it’s never that close, admittedly.

…and a bonus topical one: 
 

Reasons to be fearful

You need to be careful about dehydration, as that can cause brain damage.  So, if the sub’s higher brain functions are important to you, make sure you give him plenty of water.  But if not, don’t worry about it.

 

Somehow I’m guessing that saying ‘no – sorry, I think there’s nothing here like that’ would not actually result in the beating being cancelled.

You just have to learn to masturbate without using your hands. Or moving.

It’s the difference between a cold, professional relationship and the warm partnership of a real marriage.

There’s a lot more of it, though.


Thank Goddess it’s Friday!

It’s always such a relief to get home on a Friday evening after a tough week at work, when there’s still a few hours to make an early start on the weekend chores.


It’s a bit disappointing that they started without you, actually.  Maybe you should say something? Marriages should be founded on mutual respect.

What a lot of canes she has. One would be quite enough to reduce me to total obedience.  Women, eh?  Can’t control those shopping instincts.  Bless ’em.

Some time it really has to be my turn to serve. Surely.

Most blokes only play at 10, you see, and where can you go from there?

A very good point.  Sexual identity can be complicated.  Best to have someone else in charge of it, I say.
The lovely Mistress Akella, there.  But I forgot!  You’re gay (now) – so I don’t suppose you’re that interested in her?

Incidentally, readers, have any of you noticed that the new British Prime Minister has the same name as a rather splendid British domme?  Well, there’s an ‘h’ of difference but that’s all.  I can’t see the coincidence doing either of their careers any good at all, to be honest, but I wish both well.

It’s what I go to dommes for

...you can call me crazy…


(Kinky bit is 2.18 in if that’s really all you’re after. Pervert).



Of course, as long as everyone keeps quiet there’s no way she can find out who wrote it.  And it’s not as if she can cane the whole class just because one boy misbehaved now, is it?


They do need male teachers, though.  Every time they seem to have got the male/female ratio on the staff up, another lot disppear and they have to start again.  So at least you’ve got job security: there’s that to be said for it.

Cold cream?  And, ermm… not being beaten?


What a bad girl.

I wrote this caption last year, surprisingly enough.


I was so upset that I cried

… all the way to the chip shop 

(trigger warning: video is unrelated to the subject matter of this blog, although I suppose those with a really really strong cuckoldry and insult fetish might just about find something in it).

 

And she’ll hold on to that very special key, just to make specially sure.

It’s true, actually.  There’s nothing that drives away mild discomfort quite like agony.
A bit foolish, really.  She could easily claim pro-domme rates for acting as his slavemistress and then where would he be?
I eventually got round to asking my wife whether my performance in bed was OK or not.  I was a bit worried, but actually she was very nice about it.  Said it was so long ago she’d completely forgotten after all these years and why would it matter to anyone anyway?  I was so relieved.

Silly wasting money on a bus when it’s only eight miles anyway. Think how good you’d feel putting the bus fare into the fur coat fund instead.  Every little helps.






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