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.
A pair of wonderful French dominatrices there: on the right, the talented and beautiful Maîtresse Blanche who has had the dubioius pleasure of inserting various medical things into Servitor and peeing on me, while on the left I believe is la talentueuse et belle Maîtresse Euryale, who probably has much better facilities into which to relieve herself… but I hope some day may yet find a stinking load of raw, untreated Servitor piled up on her doorstep needing humane disposal.
HM SCHOOLS INSPECTORATE
Provisional report – provided for information, HMG circulation only
School inspected: Mrs Thwackbottom’s Boarding School for Naughty Boys
Date of inspection: 3 March 2024
Categorisation:
Summary scores:
Background
The Inspectorate was made aware of the existence of Mrs Thwackbottom’s Boarding School for Naughty Boys (hereafter BSNB) only late last year. The legal status of the school is unclear, as is therefore the Inspectorate’s responsibility for the establishment. This report should therefore be considered provisional.
The school is based in a large nineteenth century house, in the London suburb of Streatham. Unusually, it caters only to adult pupils, most of whom are occasional visitors rather than enrolled full-time. The youngest pupil of whom we are aware is 34 years old, the oldest 78. Although advertised as a boarding school, in fact pupils rarely stay for longer than one night, although ocasional ‘long weekends’ are organised, as well as an annual week-long ‘summer school’ for the most eager learners.
The establishment’s single sex status is equally ambiguous. All the pupils our inspectors encountered were male, although about one third of them were considered ‘special girls’ by the school and dressed accordingly. Mrs Smackbottom, the headmistress (who prefers that gender-specific term to our standard ‘Head’) told us that female pupils would be very welcome, but that few women seemed to experience a need for the specific educational services she and her staff provide. One of the younger teachers (female, like all of the teaching staff) does appear to be registered as an occasional pupil, confusingly, but only in one-to-one classes with the Headmistress and only outside regular school hours. This activity features in a part of the school’s web site that can only be accessed by paying a subscription. Other young women do occasionally arrive as pupils but only in a prefectorial capacity – acting, in effect, as classroom assistants – and it was unclear to us what learning goals they themselves were set, if any.
Overall, the school applies a mixed learning environment, in which classes of different abilities and different ages are often taught multiple subjects within a single lesson. Expectations of pupils are relentlessly high, in that approximately 90% of the written work, oral answers in class and test scores appeared to be considered to fall far short of the required standard, resulting in pupils being disciplined for unacceptable work. Similarly, school behavioural rules are exceptionally complicated and it is rare for a pupil to complete a day’s attendance without finding himself in breach of at least one rule. Furthermore, some rules are ‘unwritten’.
Despite this challengingly low level of compliance, student discipline is very high at BSNB, perhaps as a result of the Headmistress’s vigorous emphasis on this aspect of the educational experience. Although some pupils arrive at school seemingly determined to break rules or ‘cheek’ the teachers, the thoroughly strict application of the school’s unusual disciplinary regime seems to instill an increasing desire to avoid further punishment as the school day progresses. The approach to discipline is old-fashioned and can best be described as ‘brutal’. We note that most of the techniques used are not only obsolete in every other school the Inspectorate has evaluated but would be clearly illegal if applied to children. However, all of the pupils are over 18 and have consented in writing to (indeed, typically requested) this harsh regime.
Lesson observation
Our inspectors observed a lesson conducted by ‘Miss Taylor’ (real name: Stacey Lewis, aged 23, with no apparent teaching qualifications, whose normal occupation was later discovered to be ‘glamour model’). There were seven pupils in the class, including three ‘special girls’. The class began with roll-call and a unform inspection, which exemplified the extreme complexity of the school rules mentioned above and the punctiliousness with which the school staff apply them. No fewer than four of the pupils were found to have committed the infractions of the uniform code and although these seemed to our inspectors to be minor (one boy with a tie knot fractionally too wide, a ‘special girl’ wearing the wrong shade of knickers etc), they nonethless resulted in a punishment tawse being applied to the miscreants’ palms. One other pupil received a similar punishment for ‘looking at Miss Taylor funny’ during this procedure. This seemingly arbitrary and brutal start set the tone for the rest of the lesson.
The subject was initially mathematics, but bizarrely shifted to geography halfway through (before concluding with a multi-disciplinary written exercise). Our inspectors have serious concerns about Miss Taylor’s expertise in either subject. Several ‘sums’ written up on the board (a traditional chalk blackboard – the whiteboard revolution, let alone modern AV techniques, not having reached Mrs Thwackbottom’s establishment) were incorrect as, later, were some of the city locations, spellings and pronounciations when Miss Taylor switched to geography. Our inspectors also found that Miss Taylor could benefit from refreshing her class engagement techniques as, far from seeking to develop and encourage a questionning and self-learning environment, her approach was based almost entirely on rote learning and a binary ‘right or wrong’ attitude: for example putting up a ‘sum’, challenging a pupil instantly to solve it, then applying the leather tawse, a wooden classroom ruler or simply the palm of her hand in violent retribution, should the response not be satisfactory. This approach was rendered particularly inappropriate in light of her own errors: on several occasions, pupils were beaten for having given what were clearly the correct answers.
This did not go unnoticed by the pupils themselves. Any sceptical or doubting look was usually met with a slap to the face, Miss Taylor emphasising that she was the teacher, usually accompanying the slap with coarse swear words. One pupil made the grave mistake of taking her to task for her errors in mathematics. He (or she – this was a ‘special girl’ in a gymslip) did so very politely, indeed his demeanour could be described as ‘cringing’ and ‘servile’. It did him no good. Miss Taylor, perhaps due to her lack of training as a teacher, did not attempt to maintain her composure but instead assaulted the poor pupil violently with slaps and even kicks (he was kneeling before her), then dispatched him to the Headmistress’s office for a caning. When he returned he was made to kiss her shoes in apology, which our Inspectors considered a questionnable practice.
In the meantime, perhaps taking the criticism more to heart than she had been prepared to admit, Miss Taylor switched the lesson to geography. Alas, her competence in this discipline was still less. The pupils were forced to memorise lists of cities and their associated countries, in which Vienna was held to be in Germany, Damascus in ‘Damaria’ and Cape Town in ‘Argentina or that long thin one next to it – Chilly’. Perhaps wisely, none of the pupils raised any objections to this. Eventually, Miss Taylor appeared to tire of the class and set them written work, which consisted of copying out pages from a textbook – or rather, different textbooks, as the pupils were all given different books on entirely different subjects. During this time, Miss Taylor either sat at her desk staring at her phone, or ocasionally wandered the classroom, administering blows with various implements for bad handwriting, apparent ‘smiling’ or just ‘having a stupid haircut’. When the bell rang for the end of class, Miss Taylor collected the written work, tore it all up and threw the pieces on the floor, instructing one of the pupils to remain behind and tidy them up. The educational value of this written exercise was therefore not apparent.
As noted in the summary section, what Miss Taylor’s class lacked in subject matter or educational technique, it more than made up for in discipline. Indeed, our Inspectors estimated that no less than about 40% of the class time was taken up with disciplinary action against one pupil or another. Furthermore, while the tirades, scolding and inevitable beatings handed out by Miss Taylor were being conducted, all of the other pupils stopped work and wateched intently. Thus, there was little time available actually for learning, except the learning – of which Miss Taylor several times declared herself a firm devotee – that can be imparted with a tawse or other punishment implement. However, given the inaccurate information Miss Taylor provided in the more conventionally educational sections of the lesson, perhaps this was no loss.
Catering
The food available for pupils at lunch can best be desribed as ‘traditional’. A rather fatty and gristly stew, accompanied by lumpy mashed potatos and boiled cabbage. Regretably, the meal had been prepared too far ahead of time, despite the lunch break beginning precisely on schedule, so it had gone cold by the time the pupils (in some cases gingerly) sat down on the hard wooden bench at the dining table. However, all managed to eat up everything on their plate, as this is apparently a school rule, and one that was supervised quite closely by Mrs Thwackbottom herself.
One of our inspectors pointed out that the vegetables in the meal had been boiled almost to oblivion and questioned whether a cold salad or some such would be healthier, as it would retain vitamins. Mrs Thwackbottom laughed and assured her that pupils regularly ate uncooked food – raw vegetables and suchlike – so possibly lunch on the day we observed was atypical.
The teaching staff took a pizza delivery order for their own lunch.
Physical Education
In the afternoon, another young (female) teacher, Miss Rylands (whose qualifications the Inspectorate were unable later to verify, not least because each one of her online ventures requires a subscription to view and she states that even ‘direct messages’ over social media will not receive a response unless accompanied by gift cards), took a physical education lesson. Like so many educational facilities in these straitened times, the school lacks a dedicated gym but furniture in the main classroom was pushed to the sides, and a mat laid down, providing adequate space for some simple exercises.
The pupils then changed into ‘gym kit’ of various kinds, closely supervised by Miss Rylands, who seemed not to be familiar with D of E guidance on promoting self esteem in pupils’ bodily image, as her comments both on the unfitness of the bodies revealed during the changing (and afterwards, as most gym outfits were distinctly skimpy), as well as more general comments on physical appearance seemed ill-judged, if her intention was to promote body-positivity feelings. Miss Rylands seemed particularly to hold the view that a small penis is to be disparaged, frequently making comparisons to her apparently well-endowed boyfriend. We believe this does not confirm to best practice. We would also like to take this opportunity to express our regrets on behalf of the female inspector who laughed apparently in response to one of Miss Rylands’ comments: she has assured an internal investigation that she was merely thinking about a funny cat video she had viewed the evening before.
The PE itself consisted mainly of simple in-place exercises: press-ups, star jumps and the like. Unsuprisingly, given the vast age range of the pupils, the requirements were tailored to each individual pupil’s needs, which is commendable, although in every case, our inspectors felt that the targets being set were perhaps a little too stretching, leading pupils to fail with the inevitable consequence – this time from a traditional and flexible rubber gym shoe (or ‘plimsole’, as one of the older inspectors affectionately called it) wielded by Ms Rylands. Ms Rylands did occasionally seek to employ her disciplinary techniques in a positive manner, for example by applying an upward stroke to the thighs to assist a pupil doing star-jumps. However, on other occasions she deliberately hindered the pupils in their task. For example, she often placed her foot on the back of pupils doing press-ups (or stood in such a position that they could not avoid their faces coming into contact with her shoes on the down-stroke) and casually kicked, slapped and tickled the entire row of pupils attempting to stand on one leg, until all failed. While we regard this approach as commendably challenging, one of our inspectors felt that it was unduly discouraging and attempted gently to remonstrate with Miss Rylands, to which she responded with a phrase that we will not reprint here and must record as being thoroughly inappropriate in a classroom environment.
We also have to note that Miss Rylands smoked several cigarettes during this session, obviously against Departmental guidelines (albeit arguably legal, as the the school may count as a private facility) and particularly inappropriate in a physical education lesson. Despite apparently being a habitual smoker, Miss Rylands had neglected to bring an ashtray with her and once again, it was the pupils who had to deal with the consequences of this lapse.
After about 45 minutes, Miss Rylands started to dismiss the pupils, oldest first. Each was instructed to stand with hands on head and nose touching the wall, while the younger (or rather, less elderly) pupils continued the P.E. lesson. Finally, all the pupils were in this position and Miss Rylands simply left the room abruptly. It was not obvious to our inspectors whether the class was at an end or not (and they did not believe it fair to ask any of the pupils for advice, given the likely consequences for the latter of breaking silence), so after a few embarassed minutes they quietly left too, to rejoin the staff in the staffroom, where Ms Rylands appeared to be drinking a can of beer and smoking yet another cigarette – thankfully, this time flicking her ash into a proper receptacle.
Rather than disturb her – as she had taken such vigorous exception to the earlier advice she had been offered – our inspectors quietly tidied their notes, while (presumably) the pupils stood in silence, noses against the wall, for about a half hour, before being dismissed for showers (cold, supervised) and to change back into their uniforms.
We would recommend that Miss Ryland’s teaching qualifications be revoked, should she possess any. We discussed her case briefly with Mrs Thwackbottom, who merely described her as a ‘mean girl’ and a ‘Class A bitch’ (we regret having to reproduce this sexist slur) – but noted that she made quite a lot of money out of it, several of the school’s pupils apparently seeking her guidance on financial and other matters outside school hours. We did not press the matter further.
Pastoral care
The last item on the timetable for the day turned out to be another classroom exercise, but this time in social skills and sexual health. Mrs Thwackbottom conducted the class with the two other teachers and was able to unite these two apparently unrelated topics, by expounding her view that ‘respect for women’ was being undermined by excessive self-abuse (masturbation) by males in society.
She appeared to hold this view very strongly, along with some perhaps less justfiable concerns about the moral and physical harm potentially caused by excessive masturbation. She expounded very vigorously on these points both in general and with specific reference to the pupils in the class, each of whose sexual history, in turn, was exposed and mocked.
The inspectors therefore found it very surprising when, despite this clearly-expressed opposition to masturbation, Mrs Thwackbottom finished this lesson by insisting on the pupils masturbating to orgasm then and there. Furthermore, during this surprising turn of events, the two other teachers held and stroked one another in blatantly sexualised ways while mocking the masturbating pupils in front of them.
One positive result was that, for the first time in the entire school day, each of the pupils managed to achieve the objectives set for them, albeit after some time for the older members of class (and in one case considerable attention paid to Miss Rylands’ shoes). As each reached the stage of ejaculation, Mrs Thwackbottom and her colleagues expressed profound disgust and mockery but – again, uniquely in our observation of the school’s approach – failed then to take any consequential disciplinary action against what they appeared to consider a filthy sin (albeit one ordered my Mrs Thwackbottom herself). Indeed, it was against those pupils who were slower to reach orgasm that disciplinary measures were threatened, Mrs Thwackbottom repeatedly tapping her cane manacingly against her thigh, or flexing it as if in readiness to administer a beating – but, for once, not carrying out any such brutal action.
Regardless of any opinion they might hold about her view on masturbation itself, therefore, the inspectors felt that Mrs Thwackbottom could try to be more consistent in the way she expresses it in class. Numerous studies have shown the importance of consistency and clear messaging when it comes to communicating moral and social advice in particular, and although the pupils in Mrs Thwackbottom’s class may well have left it feeling satisfied, they must alkso surely have been left somewhat confused about her ambiguous attitude to self-stimulated sexual activity.
More generally, the class itself and the school day then broke up in somewhat ragged style and again the inspectors noticed an inconstency of approach. Despite her consistently rigorous and strict approach throughout the day, Mrs Thwackbottom took on a distinctly informal tone as the day ended, even hugging two of the pupils once they had changed out of uniform and were preparing to take their leave. At the same time, the two teachers who had been close to engaging in a lesbian tryst seemed to lose interest in one another and instead went around gathering up their belongings. Once the last pupil had left, Mrs Thwackbottom collated the fees (which, most unusually, seem to have been payable in cash on the day, each pupil handing over an envelope before registration) and handed some out to the other teachers who then departed. At this point, our inspectors, too, made their excuses and left.
Personal note: Chief Schools Inspector to Special Advisor to the Ministry of Education. Hi Julie. Bit of a strange one, as you can see! Legal seem fairly confident that this is not actually an ‘Educational Establishment’ within the meaning of the Act, so it need not fall within our purview and this report could simply be deleted and forgotten, along with all of the related files. On the other hand, one of our inspectors discovered that the Minister himself occasionally attends the establishment. I must confess myself surprised he can find the time in all his onerous public duties for such continuous education but Mrs Thwackbottom (apparently under the impression we were something to do with HM Tax Inspectorate) insisted he was a regular and we should discuss the matter with him. So we wondered if after all, it might be of interest to forward this to the Department and perhaps even circulate more widely?
What do you think? I really can’t decide, not least because of worries over the continuing uncertainty over our budget for the next two years and especially the crucial issue of senior staff salaries. I do hope a ministerial decision on that will be forthcoming soon… I’m afraid the Minister’s homework on this one is well and truly overdue. Mrs Thwackbottom would not approve, of that I’m quite sure!
All best wishes
Rachel
Oh, and as you’re still here, a couple of links. Not ‘found femdom’ exactly (I think of that as being things in mainstream culture that hit our weirdly-situated buttons), as these are both from professional dominatrices but both are very lovely things that caught my eye.
First, the rather wonderful Domina M has taken to posting free videos on her web site. For the avoidance of doubt, the ‘rather’ in that sentence should be read as British delberate understatement to mean ‘absolutely, fantastically, brilliantly’ wonderful. All the videos are great. Rather cleverly (if I understand correctly), the latest one can be accessed directly, the full set need registration of an email address but are free.
More briefly, I thought this was delightful, reminiscent of course of that Orwell quote: “If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face— forever.” But more fun than a 1940s vision of a Stalinist totalitarian Britain.
You will, of course, have recognised the title from the divine Jane’s Sense and Sensibility and thus have girded your loins (or had someone else firmly gird them for you) for another chapter of this blog’s longest running theme: period femdom. Like period drama you see, only…
What? No, not that kind of ‘period’. Pervert.
Anyway, here come the hot chicks in empire-line dresses, bustles, cropped bodices and suchlike.
I’m not thinking of escape.
…and one I’ll call a bonus as there isn’t necessarily anything femdom about it:
Just like his wife but how she was before the tears
Lady Darla, there, one of many reasons to visit Warsaw – and stay there indefinitely.
Cast your minds back, British readers over a certain age, to a time when dominatrices advertised on little cards in phone boxes rather than OnlyFans, when femdom images were to be found only on furtive trips to specialised shops in Soho and when those same images came wrapped not in endless entreaties to subscribe to one or other specialised service but in plain paper bags, usually a pastel shade rather than brown, for some reason.
Yes, I am talking about last July, 2023, when this blog featured a post called ‘The 1980s called‘, devoted in part to rhapsodising about the magazines of Servitor’s mis-spent youth and in part to a rip-off of homage to those magazines, in the form of a ‘letters’ section written in his mis-spent late adulthood.
I warned you then this might become a series and so it has. OK, I recognise that the number of this blog’s readers who ever came across such magazines can probably be counted on the fingers of the one hand that is not presently in your trousers. But I don’t care: this blog has never sought the easy route of popularity, and it has been consistently successful in avoiding it.
So, let me first feature a couple more covers from the real thing, the Vixen and Mistress magazines.
So, so lovely…
These are from the web page of the helpful guy at Swish Publications. He’s scanned them all and is happy to sell them to you for a remarkably modest price (fewer £s than the originals cost way back then) so why you are still here reading my shabby imitation I have no idea. And I must also mention in a kind of Wayne’s World ‘we’re not worthy’ manner that the creator of the slightly later generation of femdom mag that was Cruella and Goddess is still going strong too, at https://cruella.com. Go on, Andy, Mr Rogue-Hagen, scan the old stuff and sell them as pdf mags… you won’t regret it. And we’d love to see ‘Victoria’ and co again.
Right…
As before, the below are entirely made-up letters to an entirely made-up magazine called Empress, together with some modern photos made to look a bit like a 1980s magazine scan. Why? Oh, who knows. But with the world in such a terrible state, I guess we all just have to do what we can.
Empress Vol 3, Issue 2. Letters to The Editrix
Most sublime Goddess-Lady Lucia
The article entitled A dog’s life for Steven in the June 1986 edition of your wonderful magazine reminded me of something your readers might enjoy hearing about. My wife is firmly in charge in our marriage: in all important respects I am no more than her slave. I long since learnt that any failures on my part – let alone attempts at asserting my independence – will be met with swift and painful corrective measures.
Just over a year ago, my wife came back from the shops with a small package. It turned out she had been to the pet shop and bought what I understand is called a ‘shock collar’ for dogs. It looked like a regular thin leather dog collar, with a kind of plastic box attached to it, from the inside edge of which protruded two rounded metal studs. It came without batteries (why don’t manufacturers simply include them?), so I was sent out to the newsagent – it took one of those little 9 volt rectangular ones, and I bought one and a spare.
With battery installed, it was fastened around my neck and my wife fiddled a bit with the remote control that came with it and suddenly I had a horrible feeling that made me gasp. It’s hard to describe, Goddess-Lady Lucia, even though I have since experienced it hundreds of times. It is not a hot, searing kind of pain on the skin of the neck… in an odd way it’s not really pain at all, it’s a kind of wrench right inside one’s body. As I said, it’s not exactly pain but the sense that someone has reached inside your chest and tugged at everything inside there at the same time is deeply unpleasant. Of course, I begged and whined to be released – and she did take it off, but this turned out just to be to drill an extra hole through the leather collar, to fit a small padlock. And on it went again.
I now wear it whenever I am in the house, and quite often outside. I have never particularly liked roll-neck pullovers but now I have several of them because they are just what is needed to cover it up. We don’t play at my being her dog, you understand – it is just another way or punishing me for my faults and reminding me of my place whenever she deems that necessary. I am responsible for ensuring that it always has a working battery and that there is always a spare battery in the house.
As I am not a dog, of course, I can touch it with my fingers. So I soon realised that a small piece of paper, slid carefully down between my neck and the prongs, could insulate me from any shocks. I tried that once – just once. I jumped and squawked, whenever I saw her pressing the button, but of course sooner or later she gave it a press when I was not looking. The paper was found, the husband was caned mercilessly, every one of the shocks I had so deceitfully avoided (or her estimation of that total) were applied in triplicate and believe me I have never dared repeat the attempt.
I now give generously whenever I pass one of those collection boxes for the RSPCA. I have never been much of a dog lover, but I can definitely say they have my full sympathy!
In collared submission
Mrs Henshaw’s husband.
Well, Mrs Henshaw sounds like a lady after my own heart! I strongly disapprove of these devices being used to hurt our four-legged friends, so I hope that every one of the vile devices is bought up by wives to put to the excellent use you describe. There is, after all, no Society (Royal or other) for the prevention of cruelty to husbands and nor should there be! G-L L.
Most Superior Goddess-Lady Lucia
Your publication is simply wonderful, easily the best of its kind on the market. I particularly like the school-themed stories, as my own fantasies typically involve my sitting with head bowed at a plain wooden school desk, often frantically scribbling punishment lines, while a stern lady teacher taps her cane thoughtfully against her palm, planning the next phase of my detention.
Goddess-Lady Lucia, you are so beautiful and commanding and wise. I would love to spend my evenings in pointless drudgery, writing punishment lines at your command. If I could write lines in your honour, Goddess-Lady Lucia, what should I write and how many would you require me to do?
Yours in scholastic supplication
Dayboy
How ridiculous you men all are! Fine – why not? Take an edition of Empress, roll two dice to pick a page, then close your eyes and point at a sentence. If it’s less than fifteen words, close your eyes and point again until you find one. Then write it out for me, oh… shall we say a million times? Don’t write again until that’s done. If you manage to finish before you die, you can send the completed library-full to the address for letters – or better yet, don’t. If you die first, just make sure your will makes clear I do NOT want to see the stupid things. G-L L.
Most Superior Goddess-Lady Lucia
I have been an avid reader of your wonderful magazine since the first issue, having always fantasised about being under the command of a beatiful young lady like yourself. Recently, I got married to a sweet but very inexperienced girl and after a few weeks I plucked up the courage to ask her for a spanking. She looked shocked and confused and said she wanted to talk to her Mum about it.
Although embarassed she’d be talking to her Mum (a lady I’d always suspected did not approve of me – any more than I did of her), it was perhaps not that unreasonable, as she was so inexperienced in matters sexual. I was just relieved she hadn’t immediately said no, or laughed or something like that. But a few days later, I came home and she announced she was ready to give it a go. Delighted, I took off my trousers but then to my horror she shouted ‘Mum!’ and my mother-in-law came into the room, put me firmly across her ample lap and whalloped the bejasus out of me! My God, she had a firm hand – and a bloody strong right arm, too. When she finally let me up, my face was red and wet with tears and my buttocks were black and blue – I could hardly walk! Needless to say, my cock had shrivelled to almost nothing, it was the most unsexy experience of my life.
I thought maybe that would be that, she’d leave and I could talk to my lovely young wife and explain that this was not what I had in mind. But the old harridan had come to stay with us! The next day, after a night on the couch, I found myself alone with my wife and tried to speak about it but… ‘Mum!’. And you can guess what happened then.
Since then, they have found my stash of Empress magazines and I fear that has given them ideas. I do the housework in a little apron, I clean shoes with my tongue and handwash underwear – some very large and horribly stained underwear too – and they have bought a cane. All of my fantasies have come true – and I hate every moment. But the worst horror was to be threatened with ‘facesitting’ after my ‘Mother Superior’ read the story titled Lydia’s living cushion in one of the recent issues. I don’t think I’d survive – she must weigh 200 lbs at least!
Please, please Goddess-Lady Lucia, help me. You understand this is a sex fetish. Can you help me explain to my lovely young wife and her evil old cow of a mother that I just want an occasional sexy spanking, not to be the slave of some brutal old tyrant? I was thinking maybe an article about how to balance sex fantasies with reality? Obviously, please don’t print this letter.
Yours in supplication
Desperate Dan
Ha ha ha! My favourite letter of the month… oh I hope it is true. And if the lady you describe as an ‘evil old cow’ is reading this then I hope she both takes note of how you described her and also reads carefully through the story titled ‘The queue for the Ladies”, because I think the scenario described there is another that you would probably enjoy less in reality than in fantasy. But I’ve tried it and it’s perfectly practical: all she’ll need is a plastic funnel and a suitably contemptuous attitude. Ladies of a certain age often need to pee quite frequently, so having someone ready (if not truly willing) wherever she is, at a moment’s notice, would be a great comfort. Try eating asparagus first too, my dear, to give him an even more revolting time! G-L. L.
Dear Goddess-Lady Lucia
I have noticed that many of the stories in your magazine feature lesbians. The beautiful girls who seem to indulge in this practice are often accompanied by pasty-fleshed, unattractive middle-aged males. Do you think perhaps they might take more of an interest in men if they had more impressive specimens to play with? I myself am fit, young and particularly well-endowed and I would be happy to teach any of these girls about the joys of being on the business end of a real man’s tool.
Rifleman James
I assume this is a joke. You certainly are, small-bore Jimmy. I myself am bisexual as although I prefer to date women (the conversation, sex, hygiene and manners are all infinitely better), I do love the male penis. I have a special box full of small braided whips, clamps, spiked wheels and rough sandpaper and will happily spend an hour or two playing with a firmly secured fine male appendage, to get into the mood before sinking into the arms of my blonde beloved later. Your own penis sounds so lovely, I think I would probably want to keep it. In a box by the bed. Now go and wank off to a different magazine, as this one is obviously too difficult for you to understand. G-L L.
Esteemed Lady Lucia
I so admire the ladies in the stories in this magazine. I myself was ‘introduced’ to female domination as fantasy play by the man who become my husband and then, soon after our wedding, it was my turn to introduce him to what a real disciplinary relationship can be like. This came as quite a shock for him… I think he had expected me to prance around in leather and occasionally gently tap his bottom with the end of a riding whip, the silly thing. Needless to say, as soon as I had grasped the basic concept and with the help of lesser magazines than yours, I decided that a cane was my preferred instrument. Although ‘bondage’ hadn’t featured in his fantasies, I also soon discovered that a good caning could only be administered if his wrists and ankles were secured. And the combination of a firmly secured man and a cane wielded with determination and entirely without mercy has provided me with a thoroughly satisfactory domestic arrangement ever since.
He said the funniest thing the other day, while strapped down over an armchair in our sitting room, awaiting the second dozen of a twenty-four stroke caning. Amidst all the tears and pleading, he blurted out “You don’t know how much it hurts!”. And of course, he’s entirely right. I have never allowed anyone to hit me with a vicious implement like that and I never will. Why on earth would I? In this world, there are those who cane and there are those who are caned – and I have no doubt which side of that divide I prefer to be on! It is truly better to give than receive, as my dear mother used to say. Don’t you agree, Lady Lucia?
A generous wife
No doubt you make sure that your husband appreciates the gifts you so generously bestow on him. As for the great divide, I quite agree about which side it is best to be on. I know there are some females who prefer the submissive role, but I have never felt the slightest desire to experiment with that! Unlike you, though, I have tried out the cane – I once asked a dear lady friend to give me just one stroke on the thigh, just to see what it was like. Bloody murder it was – and I am sure she did not lay it on hard. It almost made me sympathise the next time I had to dish out a proper caning to one of my slaves. Almost, but not quite. My own mother used to say ‘Life’s not fair’ and it has been a delight for me, discovering just how unfair it can be made to be. G-L. L.
To Our Lady Lucia of the Boots
Oh, Mistress Lucia, what a delight to see so many pictures of you in lace-up boots in the March edition of your perfect magazine. I found myself consumed with jealousy at the sight of your two office slaves, permitted to lick the divine leather after their well-deserved thrashings.
My fantasy is to be nothing but a boot cleaner. Chained in a steel compartment, I wait for a passing lady to deposit a pair in the chute leading down to my box. I get to work, first carefully unlacing them, then licking all the mud off, before commencing the brushing and polishing and relacing the boots. A suitably dirty pair will take anything up to 12 hours. I place the cleaned boots on my back and lean forward into a floor-level pillory that automatically snaps into place. This displays a sign outside my box that the boots are ready and some time later that day or the day after, the front of the box will be lifted up, the lady customer will pick up and inspect her boots, award me a rating out of ten and administer any additional strokes of the handy crop she deems appropriate. Every few days the overseers come around and thrash us, at a rate of ten strokes for each rating short of a perfect ten we have received for each pair of boots serviced.
Goddess-Lady Lucia I know of course that my fantasy is unrealisable but while there are booted and demanding Ladies like yourself out there, the dream remains alive.
Bootcleaner #23
Well, #23, your fantasy, while ridiculous, is amusing enough and shows a proper appreciation of your place in this world. Licking boots, however, is a privilege not a valuable service: the tongue applied to a truly muddy boot will merely smear the mess around and excessive saliva does the leather no good. I insist instead on vigorous brushwork – but I do make the slave eat up the pile of dirt left on the newspaper when it is done. The boots you saw being licked are a special pair I wear when a slave deserves the reward of using his tongue – and I make sure he knows full well that the leather is impregnated with the saliva of many males before him. Yet still they beg for the privilege – what absurd and easily-enslaved creatures you all are! G-L. L.
Goddess-Lady Lucia is presently overseeing the production of the next issue of Empress, which will feature:
Male creatures are instructed to ensure they have sufficient funds to buy it, then give the rest of their money anonymously to a woman.
A note and apology to everyone who has tried to comment in the last few weeks. I had a new spam filter on and the settings were much too restrictive. I have turned them down and I have belatedly found the allow requests lists and approved everyone who didn’t look like a spammer. So do please try again.
If you get blocked again, let me know with a short comment if it lets you post something, or in an allow request if not. I’ll keep tweaking the settings. There are no restrictions on ‘adult’ words or content, it’s all about detecting phrases that seem like ads and scams. So it’s possible your witty and sexy comment about a findomme who wants to MAKE MONEY NOW!!! still won’t get through…
Sorry about this, still getting to grips with WordPress. I’m not the first. I think at one point, Paltego’s site at Femdom Resource was blocking comments with words like ‘femdom’ or ‘dominatrix’ in them, which was a bit unfortunate.
In case you missed it: Kitten went viral over the summer! And there’s a new one, too… love the way she slams the door.
