Category: caption

Girls don’t make passes

… at boys with slapped arses.




I had to post this, because it’s something I have personally experienced and I think it is precisely the sort of abusive behaviour that comes from negative stereotyping of male submissives.  What – just because I’m sexually submissive, some random stranger expected me to give her money, to go shopping with her, pay for everything, carry the stuff home, wash her car, cook and serve a meal for her and her boyfriend and then fuck off? If I hadn’t had her socks stuffed in my mouth the whole time, I’d have told her a thing or two about mutual respect in BDSM!











She’s still technically employed as a housemaid, but on a substantially higher pay scale.







Nor would I, willingly.









Character development is important in snip-lit.  Women want depth and emotional complexity in the characters they read about.  They don’t just want to read accounts of guys screaming in pain and terror as the cheesewire tightens… they want to know something of the inner pain they’re experiencing too.









Even an ordinary hotel room will normally have coat-hangers, kettles, maybe even a sewing set with needles.  Oh – and if there isn’t a steam iron, you can send for one.  You can have lots of fun in even the most vanilla environments.
The lovely Lucy Mistress Sidonia,  there, of course.

Stunted little runt




OK, so the story is that the guy had won
a chance to meet me – it was a charity thing I did, yeah?  Raised a lot of money. For, maybe, stray cats
or something?  Or dogs, I don’t
remember.  Maybe homeless people, come to think of it.

Anyway, I met the guy backstage at a convention like this one and… let’s just say he was the typical loser fanboy?  I mean, no offence to anyone here but you know the type, right?  Lanky hair, black t-shirt, scuzzy
trainers.  He started out by saying he’d been hoping I’d be wearing the Wonder Woman outfit,
which was kind of a bad sign from the beginning, you know?

And then he said ‘can you do a fight
move’?  And I was, like, no way: that’s
only on-set in carefully controlled conditions, with professional
stunt-men.  But he started ducking and
dancing about saying ‘I know stuntwork – fight me’ and… well, suddenly I saw he
had this massive – actually not so massive but very prominent – bulge in his pants, you know?  The guy had a boner.  And I just reacted instinctively and I spun
and kicked hard at the side of his head.

OK, he’d said he knew stunt work,
right?  He’d said that.  When you’re taking a hit to the
head, you lean with it.  Everyone knows that. Day one at stunt school – lean with the blow. But he leaned
into it.  Got the full force of the kick
right to the side of the head – blam! 
I was a physical fitness instructor in the Israeli army, yeah?  I’ve got strong legs.

So… he’d wanted a fight move, I was doing a fight move. That spin and kick – it’s a two
stage move.  A kick to the head, the
stunt guy falls back and sideways, I finish the spin, shift the weight from one
foot to the other and do the second kick which just misses his chin but with
the right camera angle, the audience can’t see that. It’s all one motion – has to be, or I’d fall over.  I need the second kick to balance up.  It’s just reflex with me now, anyway.

So I came around and I guess I could somehow sense he wasn’t in the right place.  Totally not in the right place. He was
reeling, staggering, whatever,and he was way too close.  But I had no time to think and the second kick
went right in, and it was still on the upstroke, probably just at its most powerful moment,
unfortunately, right up between his legs. 
The force actually carried him off the ground… and he was kind of overweight, so there was a lot of power going in there.
Like I said, I’ve
got strong legs.

And that was it… my people called an ambulance
immediately, obviously.  He was quite
lucky actually – he had a minor fracture to the skull from the first kick, but
no permanent cranial or brain damage. That would have been really bad.  The second kick… yeah, well, that didn’t work
out so well for him.

I’m actually sorry for the guy, yeah?  I really am.  I don’t mean I said sorry for what I did – that’s actually a different word in
Hebrew, the difference is clearer.  Maybe I should say I don’t ‘apologise’?  Because everything was the guy’s own
fault, right?   But he had a pretty sad life to
begin with and now there’s… less in it. 
So I feel kind of sorry about that.  Although I don’t think he was ever going to have much of a sex life
anyway, if you know what I mean.

And we raised a lot of money for the stray cats.  I don’t know how much, but I heard it was a
lot.  Or for the homeless people – whatever.

He might as well have buttons and bows

Mistress Kate, of course. I was reminded of her the other day, when a delightful domme made me dance and mime to Wuthering Heights.  I fear I wasn’t very good at it and she mocked me mercilessly… some people can be so cruel.





If he’s lucky, he’s going to be a shower head.  But he’s not been enormously lucky so far in his life, alas.
That reminds me of a date I went on once, actually.  It was a pub quiz and our team came last but oddly it was only right at the end that my date told everyone she was the first and second prize.  So I had to hang around for an hour or so, while the winning and runner-up teams collected their prizes.  Then she said she was tired and just wanted to go home, so I walked with her.  I thought I might be in with a chance but she said she never kisses on a first date, so that was that. Still: I didn’t get kneed in the balls, shat on or made to suck off any gay friends, so all in all I count the evening as a success.  The second date didn’t go so well, unfortunately.

Lots of men make this mistake: she’s asked you about your day so she wanted to be asked about hers, right?  Right?  And now you have chores and you don’t have permission to speak, so it’s too late.  You unfeeling brute.


If they’re quick they can catch happy hour. And then there’s a cabaret, but obviously they won’t have time to stay for that.
I’ve always had a weird phobia about Scrabble, ever since this girl I knew at school followed through on her threat to make me “eat my words”.  The little tiles weren’t so bad on the way in, but even with rounded corners you can certainly feel the sharp edges when they come out again. I was bullied quite severely when I was at school – did I ever mention that?  And afterwards, too, of course – but at school it was free of charge.




I am not a doormat

OK: that’s not strictly accurate: obviously I am a doormat. But I’m not just a doormat, you know?  I am also a foot-rest, a cup-holder, a draft excluder, a bookshelf end and a rather amusing vase for flowers.  Although no more than three of those things simultaneously.

It’s odd how sometimes the most sadistic individuals so often realise later that they weren’t cruel enough.  My SO has this problem all the time: you’d think she’d learn and stop being so lenient.

So… does that mean next week it’s my turn again?  No?  Oh.

There seems to be quite a lot of shared understanding in that room. Obviously some great teaching techniques being applied.

Lion?  Lover-boy?  Lady-killer?  Liposome?  Leprechuan?

Perhaps they could somehow transplant the ones from the real rapist?  After a fair trial and conviction, obviously.  Oh – he already lost them in the police station?  That’s unlucky.  Funny how often that happens… you’d think the police would take more care.




Several times now, upon a time

Tales about bold princesses rescuing helpless princes from evil, erm, princesses and all that kind of thing.  Again.


Why do three wishes always turn out this way?  You’d think people would have the sense to learn.  But the protagonist in this one is presumed to be male, so I guess ‘sense’ is not really an option.




Freely given

Some years ago, I decided that as a fairly experienced sub, I had something of a duty to use this platform to share my experiences and advice about visiting professional dommes.  After all, it can be nerve-racking for a first-timer, and it’s hardly something you can ask your friends at work about!  Unless your work is as a male maid for a dominatrix, I suppose.  But that’s quite rare. 

Anyway, the reaction was very positive and it – well, I certainly didn’t get any complaints – and I’m older and even wiser now, so here are a few more tips from Servitor: advice to a novice sub.


No, don’t bother to thank me.  Just the thought of some nervous first-timer walking into a ‘femdomme sex dungeon’ and trying one or more of these ideas out is reward enough!








If you liked these, you’ll find more of this sort of thing by clicking this here link, so I suggest you do so.  If you didn’t like these, you won’t want to click that because you’ll find more things you don’t like.  Perfectly simple, even for boys, yeah?


Oh: and watch out for Servitor’s exciting new series: Advice to a novice domme!  Coming soon.  Ish.

But females are strong as Hell

Unbreakable!

Servitor’s tip: if you are going to propose to your ‘mistress’ during a ‘fem dom’ session, think about which kinky activities are most appropriate to that moment.  Face-slapping is a definite yes, forced bi rather less so.
Even if (as we suspect) the switching moment is not just about to occur, all true male doms understand that females are submissive really, deep down inside. Master Mark knows he just needs to wait… eventually the girls are bound to follow their natural instincts.

An old caption.  Unless something surprising happens between my putting this into the queue and publication.  Which seems unlikely. As surprising things so often are.

It’s always a shock, in mid-life, to discover you’ve actually been gay for some time without even realising it.
I’d rather go bowling with Simon, actually, but what do my opinions matter?




First footing

This is a British – mainly Scottish – custom, which might not be understood by readers from the rest of the world.  It refers to the first foot-worship session of the new year (or, in the rougher parts of Glasgow, the first ball-busting session of the new year).  

It is considered a great sign of good luck to first-foot a domme, having previously negotiated her complicated booking form and waited for several days wondering whether or not it would be appropriate to send a respectful reminder.  If granted an audience, and having sent the deposit at least a week before and a text confirming, on the day, the first-footer arrives precisely two minutes before the time of the appointment bringing gifts – sometimes Champagne, gifts of expensive lingerie or other stuff that she has identified on her wishlist (but not anything else) – and also, most crucially, an unsealed envelope stuffed with cash. 

Traditionally, the first-footer is greeted warmly by the domme, while stuttering in embarassment, and proceeds to a session in which she makes sure he gets at least some, but not all, of the rather random stuff he wrote about in his email or on her booking form. Foot massaging will take place in the last half hour or so, and she pretends he’s actually surprisingly good at it.  Then the session is brought to a close, in perfect time to finish on the dot, even though she did not look once at a clock. He gets dressed again, offers to help clean up and is politely declined, and makes stilted conversation for a bit, wondering why on earth he was so nervous when he arrived.  He then heads off into the night, thinking it a bit weird to be walking among vanilla people with his sore bottom, feeling edgy and decadent, and wondering what they would say if they knew.


So… yeah, OK, it’s not all that different from a regular foot-worship session, to be honest.  Unless I forgot to mention the haggis?


Anyway, new year same old… oh, I’ve even done that joke before.  Ninth year of the blog!  Bloody hell.  Don’t any of us have anything better to do?

Kinksters might occasionally be surprised by how ready vanilla folks might be to indulge them in their fetish.  I think it’s fair to say, for example, that every girl I’ve ever had a date with has totally been into the idea of chastity play and orgasm denial.  In fact, I don’t recall any of them permitting me any sort of sexual activity whatsoever.  Guess there’s more kink out there than we assume, huh?
She doesn’t get a lot of repeat business.  That’s why she has to charge so much.

It’s important to understand that it’s not gay to give another man a foot massage. Or a blow job. 
Wag wag wag wag wag…
You can do anything but don’t come on her brown suede boots.










Downton on your knees

Sorry about that.  I find it hard to resist a pun, no matter how bad. If only there were someone who could mete out painful consequences for such lapses of judgement on my part… whom I could pay to judge me, find fault and punish me. But obviously no such profession exists, so I suppose I’ll just carry on.

Anyway, Downton day today!  I won’t say where I got the photos. You might recognise the sytyle, I’ve used similar before.  The photographer has a lot more on his web site and I’m sure you can find it but probably best not to jump there straight from this site as I doubt he would appreciate this particular use of his images.  I wouldn’t want to have to take this post down … ton.







P.S.  Nothing at all to do with Downton but Oh My Goddess  look at this! 

You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot

My favourite Christmas lyrics. Of course, I hear that phrase all through the year, but it means so much more to me in this very special season.


Let me take this opportunity to wish a very merry Christmas to this blog’s handful of female readers, and I hope the rest of you have the miserable, bleak and pitiful time you all so richly deserve – and secretly crave – you revolting little creeps.