Category: castration

Unmancipation

When I first started dating my SO, I’d often finish before She had a chance to come, but now things are more under control She typically has oh… two, three…maybe even four hundred orgasms before that happens.






It’s always embarassing when men have to go to what’s basically a girls’ night out, isn’t it? You kind of stand around awkwardly, watching the wives roaring with laughter while you make polite converation about ironing tips and suchlike.  Women are just better at social events… it’s because they’ve got more empathy.

 

Life will be a lot simpler.  You can do as she says or starve.

Big decision.  Don’t pressure her, OK?



I’m down on my hands and knees.  Point me to the broken glass.

Sexual kneeling


Mmm… concussion play.




To be fair, she did promise Simon a blow-job.  So don’t dawdle.

They did a guy last year who – purely by coincidence – actually developed tonsillitis two weeks later. It took forever to get him strapped down the second time, goodness only know what they poor thing thought they were planning to cut off on that occasion!

It likes looking at the pretty pictures and thinking naughty thoughts, though, doesn’t it?
Well, all right then. But I hope Mike doesn’t go talking about it at work on Monday, that’s all.


Conscious incompetence

That’s me…with occasional periods of unconsciousness, when She plays a little too vigorously.

I
don’t know about you, but I’ve reached the point in my life where just
stuffing high-value notes into an envelope gives me an erection.




He gets up early and sings his little song.

The irony is, they then use ordinary gelding clippers to remove what remains of the burnt semi-dissolved flesh. So it’s all a bit pointless, really.  Will you tell her, or shall I?


Unaccompanied males can enter the country on their own passports, of course.  It’s just leaving that’s forbidden.
Best not to argue, though.


Love is a danger of a different kind

It’s guilt edged, glamorous and sleek by design; you know it’s jealous by nature,
false and unkind.

Cuts and more cuts!  What do I pay my taxes for, I’d like to know?  Well… OK, I don’t actually pay taxes because I just get £5 a week pocket money.  But my wife pays taxes on my income, so I think this is just disgraceful.

That’s a rhetorical question.  No need to provide reasons in response.
Let’s find out.
Lose coffee privileges??  Ooh – hard limit!  Red, Mistress, red!

Which is quite often, obviously.

And when force is gone, there’s always Mom

Hi Mom!

She’s right you know.  It’s the first thing a new husband should learn: always ask permission.  Humbly.  Even when she’s being an impossible girl.

Boundaries, consequences… firmness.  I was reading about it in a book about making your marriage work.  Well… I say it was about marriage. Technically, it was about dog training.  But the principles are the same.

Best years of his life.  And many, many more to come, I suspect.

I am.  They have a mission statement, you know. It’s quite inspiring.  Oh… now what was it again?

Boundaries, consequences.  Didn’t I tell you?






Callous talk

…doesn’t cost lives, in my experience, rather a few hundred pounds stuffed into an envelope and left closed but not sealed within the bag containing a gift.

Oh, he’s got nothing else to do down there in the basement.  Might as well have some fun with him.

Large vagina humiliation.  It’s the latest thing in the female submission world. I’d be really good at it, but sadly I have no dominant instincts.
I don’t think the verbal reasoning test should have much weight. The job mostly involves responding to simple, clear instructions.

I think it’s outrageous that convicted rapists receive free medical treatment anyway, actually. They should stop mollycoddling them like that – it’s supposed to be a pumishment, after all.

She’d take some of the other men with her too – the ones who know that no one will be coming for them within the three days – but Angie would object. She says one man around the home is enough, possibly even more than enough.




Dancing to Her tune




It’s definitely syrup, so don’t worry about that, OK?


I mean it’s no wonder she prefers spending time just with Howard if you’re all gloomy, is it?
I dunno. She orders me around, ignores my wishes, feeds my genitals to the cat… Sometimes I wonder why I put up with it all.


See? And you were worried you might not be having any sex on your honeymoon!




Domino specialists are odd.   To visit one, you need to book in advance, phone that same morning before 10am to confirm (and receive instructions on meeting up, the first time) then take your course fees along in an unsealed envelope.  I always take a little gift, too.  Not dominoes – I expect they get enough of those.

Panic of girls

Oh well.  It has to be better than that call centre in Dhaka she put me in last year.

That is what little boys are made of, after all.  Somehow I always knew.

Well, as long as she’s genuinely rehabilitated herself, I suppose it’s OK.

Girls have always known I’m ‘special’ and treated me accordingly.

 

I feel disempowered every time I even see a picture of Gal Gadot. I go weak at the knees.


What She said



Damn… I’d already bought the ring. Oh well. I suppose the cock could take one more, but they’re going to jingle together when I walk.

You don’t know until you’ve tried it, do you?

Mmpphh mpphhhnnmm mmmphhh nng.

Well, they might not care and she might not care, but I care. Doesn’t that count for anything?  Oh.  OK, then.

Probably just as well that physical responses to stereotypically sexually submissive outfits don’t engender automatic castration. I mean, Tumblr’s business model would collapse, for a start.



PS: dedicated readers of this blog might enjoy this four minute movie.  It’s not, like, explicit femdom or anything but I thought it was rather sweet.  He’s a lucky guy – the husband, I mean. Well, Santa too, I guess.

Curled up with a good book

My weekend newspaper’s book review section always includes a roundup of the top five
bestsellers in some literary genre: science fiction, historical novels, that
kind of thing.  This week, they’re focusing on castration lit.  I was
heartened to see that this popular genre is breaking out into the mainstream at
last, so I thought I’d ignore the law on copyright and share the piece with
you.


I expect these
are all available on Amazon, somewhere.  Incidentally, isn’t that a great
name for a company? 

Bestsellers monthly: Cast-lit

This month, our bestsellers feature reports on the castration literature phenomenon that swept the
English-speaking world in 2016 and shows no sign of abating as 2017 draws towards its close.  Here are the top five on this month’s
chopping block!



Find Out What you Mean to Me

Susan’s unhappy marriage turns into what seems likely to be
a still more unhappy divorce – until Susan has a brilliant idea to turn her
life around!  Her husband Oliver is a deeply
dislikable character whose inevitable end on the cutting table we anticipate
with growing pleasure – and we are not disappointed.  In the run up to this satisfying denouement,
however, Susan must first learn about the tools of her trade – and there are newspaper
boys, divorce lawyers and an unfortunate Anglican vicar along the way, to give
her the opportunity.  Strictly by the
numbers but if you enjoy scenes of men in agony, pleading in terror to avoid
their richly-deserved fates – and who doesn’t? – this one is for you. 

Rising cast-lit star Liz Folgate, author of Find Out What you Mean to Me.



Scream Louder for Me: the Chronicles of Cutting, vol 5.

Patricia Layton knows what her readers like and reliably
delivers it to them in a fifth volume of her popular series.  Literary critics affect to despise her
contrived plots and weak characterisation, but no one writes a torture scene
like Layton. Every male character we meet is going to end up strapped to a
wooden block awaiting his fate in terror before too long anyway, so do we
really care much about their motivations? 
More than 200 million sales worldwide says that most of us don’t.

The queen of scream herself, Patricia Layton. Not a believer in cruelty-free fashion!



Sins of Omission

Many would not consider this debut novel to be ‘cast lit’ at
all. Julie Melfoy builds her world slowly and with care, inviting the reader
fully to enter it – and readers seeking a slash and scream experience should look
elsewhere, as no cutting occurs at all in the first two-thirds of the
book.  John Laurie, the main male character,
is far from the arrogant obnoxious stereotypical man providing the meat in a
typical cast-lit story and Rosie Vinners, his childhood sweetheart, no sadistic
torturess. Yet their relationship seems always fated to end up with him on the
cutting board and the path they take there is richly satisfying.  For readers who want literary ‘meat’ as well
as the more ordinary kind, when reading about castration, this book is strongly
recommended.

Can men and women ever resolve their differences without resorting to castration?  Sins of Omission explores this dilemma with flair and sensitivity.  The movie adaptation, pictured above, is eagerly awaited for 2018.



Pride and Penectomy

Olivia Rawston’s tongue is always firmly in her cheek in
this witty homage to Austen.  Will Mr
Darcy manage to save his family jewels? 
Of course not.  Austen-lovers will
adore Rawston’s wry and wickedly sadistic take on a classic, others will just
enjoy the inventive use of agricultural tools as Elizabeth and her sisters turn
the tables on their pompous suitors.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good set of genitals must be in want of a gelding knife.




Endgame

Dark and complex, this novel turns the established cast-lit
plot on its head. The screaming never lets up, but this is no mere orgy of pain.  Instead of meeting a sequence of unpleasant men who will
inevitably receive their just desserts, we are introduced to each character when he is already on the
cutting-table and we learn his story through his desperate confessions. Initially, our sympathies are –
for once – with the men, who seem to be the innocent victims, but the truth is
slowly and oh-so-painfully extracted from them and we come to appreciate and
admire the wielder of the red-hot pincers. 
Her story is told only at second hand, through the agonised pleading of the men who have wronged her – but what a tale it is.  Be warned: this novel will make you think, it
will make you weep and it may well change your life.  Shortlisted for the Booker Prize.


 

All of Endgame takes place in a single room but somehow the novel avoids any feelings of claustophobia. Instead, in its life-affirming conclusion, true freedom is found within the bare stone walls of a torture cell.