Category: caption

A man’s place

.. is wherever she puts him.

It did promise to love, honour and obey in sickness and in health, after all.  Didn’t it?


Fortunately teachers are allowed to remain standing in class.

Just as long as I don’t have to swap nappies with Petie. I always hate that, don’t you?



I have occasionally paid women for sex, I’ll admit.  The very first time I tried it I was really nervous but she said I was very cute and that she’d actually enjoyed the sex!  So that was pretty cool.  I hope the guy she did it with enjoyed it too – I never met him.
Women are strange.  Why lie around in what is obviously sexually arousing lingerie, when I’m locked up in a spiked cage? Honestly, you’d think they’d have more sense.


Thankful for small cruelties


More and more companies are discovering the benefits of setting up dedicated disciplinary departments.  Of course, any good manager knows that she should try to deal with performance issues in person whenever possible, but there’s only so many hours in the day.
There’s an honesty about femdom that’s sometimes lacking in other areas of professional sex work, I believe.

So we did.

I went to a financial advisor and explained to her how exciting I found financial domination and she said I should seek professional help.  Which is exactly what I was doing… very confusing.  So I explained that I wanted her to take all my money with no explanation and never give me anything in return – and it was her turn to look confused, because apparently that’s exactly what she does, as an independent financial advisor.


I get a bit fed up with being asked that.  Why do professional ladies assume I’m into SPH?  It’s the first question every doctor I’ve ever had has asked me, for instance.


The lovely Miss Zoe, of course.  Another lady who has suffered the misfortune of having to put the actual real-life Servitor across her knee… but she has preserved her sanity intact.  Apparently you can confess to her here.  Be truthful, now.

Inspiring contempt

It probably wasn’t intentional – just one of those things, you know?  No point making a big deal of it.


Don’t worry, she said ‘yes’ the second time around.  And then she charged for her presence at the marriage ceremony at session rates – rather a sweet touch, don’t you think?
Yes, that should help take your mind off it.  I think she’d like a back-rub too, if you don’t mind.

Many new husbands find it difficult at first, now they have to discuss things with someone else instead of just deciding for themselves.  But it’s actually part of the joy of marriage.  My SO, for example, prefers that I discuss with her before taking important decisions such as speaking, getting up from my knees or leaving her presence and – to be honest – I can hardly imagine how I managed before.

No problem – I’ve got both on speed-dial.


And the wife she keeps the keys


She is so pleased to be a part of the arrangement.  Warning: clip utterly unrelated to femdom and disappointingly safe for work. 

She’s actually very kind – never uses the cattleprod more than she absolutely has to, you know?


Obviously, this is something we cannot condone nowadays.  Asking female co-workers whether they have lock-picking skills is the very definition of workplace sexual harassment, I reckon.

You might not technically be gay but then you’re not really heterosexual in any meaningful sense either, are you? I mean: your hand’s not female.


How about what?
She’ll be able to tell when the power’s back on, because there’s a little green light that flashes above the circuit-breaker. That, and the agonized shrieks for mercy from upstairs.

Carry on screaming

Not necessarily a British cultural reference, merely a description of what I do while my SO takes a couple of minutes’ break to make herself a cup of tea.


Still, for those of you in the know, it was one of the better ones.  “We’re the police – or layabouts”.  And of course Fenella Fielding.  I certainly don’t mind if she smokes.

And speaking of being British… I mean, this isn’t a political blog, you come here to get away from all that stuff, but…. but…  but… what the fuck?  Really!  Huh? I mean, what the fucking fuck?  Look at this mess!  How can anybody seriously think men should have the vote?


Rant over.  Let’s have something decent, sensible and sadistic…



Actually, I find binocular vision quite useful for ironing pleated skirts, but that’s not a huge part of my life – three, four hours a week tops – so I suppose she might as well go ahead.

What a scare!  Thank goodness you were there to call the ambulance, as soon as she collapsed.  You did have to move out of the corner without permission, though, so obviously that’ll have to be dealt with, when she’s back on her feet.  Still: she’s getting the best possible care, and you’re scrubbing out toilets, so everything’s OK.

I used to have a problem with premature ejaculation, but it’s under control now.  Matter of fact, last month I was even a few days late – she was on a business trip.

Don’t worry – they have separate fire drills when they practise evacuating the slaves.  Particularly between November and February.


Actually, I once went out with someone whose Mum had worked as a cleaner all her life.  When I finally plucked up the courage to tell her that I get my rocks off mincing around in a little maid dress pretending to be forced into humiliating cleaning tasks, she was a little offended at first.  But we talked it through – and when I said she could tie me to a bench and beat me, she decided she was OK to give it a go after all.  And do you know, she had a really good time? And there I thought she was pure vanilla!  I’ve never had a session partner be so… enthusiastic.  Even made me sign a little piece of paper promising not to have her arrested for assault, before letting me up and walking out of my life forever.   




Be cruel to thy neighbour

It does, actually.  But it was never very good at it, anyway, so no loss really.
Scurry scurry scurry.

She can track your progress with the little chip thing they insert under your skin. If she can be bothered.

Damn… she’s right.  Eight years I’ve been writing this blog and… oh well.
Thank goodness everyone’s safe.  Everyone who matters, anyway.








I hold these truths to be self-evident

That all women are created equal, and that men are all equally useless.  I’m certainly looking forward to voting for Female Supremacist candidates… I’d really rather not bother my little head about it, but apparently if they’re successful, I won’t have to vote again, which is a relief.



















Back to reality

… well, the loose approximation of it represented by this blog, anyway.


The holiday, since you ask, was fantastic.  It was in one of those picture-perfect resorts, you know, with the palm trees coming down to the powdery sand sloping down to a turquoise lagoon.  But not at all crowded – it’s a private beach belonging to the hotel and at the prices I was paying, I can tell you, there’d just better be some serious privacy!  And the hotel was as spectacular as the price implied: the rooms, the food, the pool… made a lot of new friends too, apparently.


What do you mean, ‘how do I know’?  She sent me a postcard, of course.  I mean, I didn’t actually see it until after my release because the kennels don’t allow postal deliveries, but I expect she didn’t know that and it was a very kind thought.  She was having so much fun, she hadn’t even put enough postage on it, the silly thing!  Had to come out of my pocket money.  I’d been saving for.. well, I mustn’t complain.

Another year, another… maybe 550 or so captioned images? It hardly bears thinking about, does it?  Better get on…


Stick-fetching is one of those things that sensible husbands quickly learn is not really up for discussion.
You know, I think she might be about to confess her life-long fantasy of making love to a short, slightly overweight guy wearing a frilly french maid outfit.  Give her time.
It’s a shame they can’t both win.
Damn.  That was going well.

It’s awful wearing a chastity belt on a beach – sands gets in, apparently. Not that I’d know.  Sensible concrete floors, that’s what we had in the kennels.  Fresh straw on Thursdays.