castration – Page 2 – Contemplating the divine

An act of violence pushed to its utmost limits

I’m afraid that once again this blog must turn from its usual light-hearted pursuits to the serious business of war. The last war. The war to end wars. They say there are no winners in war, only losers, but they are wrong. This was World War M.

Until it hurts

and beyond.

My SO’s not really into roleplay. She says she enjoys our heavy pain play sessions most when I’m being myself.

I once saw a lady buying some of those cruelty-free cosmetics which she then put into one of those fashionable manhide handbags. A bit hypocritical, wouldn’t you say? Not that I’m judging her, of course.

A bit embarassing, having to wear a chastity belt over nothing. It felt like I’d got past that stage, you know?

Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to enjoy the psychological aspects while you’re being flogged.

I’ve never asked. To be honest, I’ve never really been able to think of an emergency which would require me to have an orgasm.

It’s a caring profession. They care a lot.

Muliebrious bodily harm

Good word, isn’t it? You can look it up if you don’t know what it means. Or live your life in wilful ignorance – see if I care.

Don’t worry if you end up eating some dirt too, it won’t do you any harm. Refusing to obey her wishes, on the other hand, could be distinctly hazardous.

Can’t be too careful. My SO loves to conduct cavity searches and if she runs out of holes in my body to delve into, she just makes more.

I understand they did make a more scientifically accurate version of the movie, in which at least half the running time was taken up with Bond’s genitals getting slowly charred. I’d pay to see that but apparently it didn’t play well with all demographics.

Sometimes Responsible Females get cross if they arrive after the five day period to find their property already disposed of – but they’re always offered a replacement and they’re usually fine with that.

To be fair, she probably would have snipped them off in due course, but not just yet – probably not for a few days.

The voice of authority

Thank goodness we have women to handle these tough decisions for us.

Don’t worry: you can tell her as many things you really hate as you like. In fact, she’d quite like to know what your number four and number five are, so don’t hold back.

Police have a difficult enough job dealing with rapists, it’s best not to tie their hands with namby-pamby restrictions on what they can or cannot do to them.

Back under the bed. They’ll try to keep the noise down.

She’s not planning to brighten your smile, but then you won’t be smiling much when she’s finished with you, so that’s OK.

If wishes were ponyboys

Once again, this blog takes a little break from its usual commitment to hard-core realism to present some fairy tales. Pretty Grimm, I know, but it’s all I’ve got today.

Don’t worry: if she smashes the door, he has alternative accommodation options. She bought a birdcage, before she had the doll’s house furniture idea.

Even tyrannical despots enjoy ‘bring your daughter to work day’.

Frustrate you? Oh, the poor chap. I wonder how long he’ll be left in that condition?

King Jorral’s queen interpreted the promise as meaning that she would continue to sleep in a queen’s bed, and she was absolutely right about that.

Now she’s learning witchcraft, she’s got some plans for Mr Granger, too.

It’s going to be quite odd for the people running heaven when, in about 970 years, the first post-Internet cohorts of mortals start to arrive. ‘Where are all the men?’, they might ask. Although obviously they’re not allowed actually to say the answer.

The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting

But some males just won’t subdue that easily, so these ladies did whatever had to be done. Fighting to liberate the world for a utopian vision of a true slave-owning democracy, these heroines understood that only through the extensive application of extreme violence could peace finally reign. More tales from when the war between the sexes finally went hot: World War M.

Hell hath no fury like a woman…

…does.

Men don’t really understand stuff like that, unless it’s slapped into them.

It’s a symbolic denial of heterosexuality, you see. And a rather practical and concrete physical one too, of course.

Actually, of course, lady Vikings didn’t usually go raiding. No: they waited at home, standing there tapping their feet and idly stroking their whips as their apologetic husbands returned with more meagre and unsatisfactory booty. There is a reason Vikings were so fierce, you know.

Of course, it doesn’t take the human element out completely – it can’t whip you, for instance.

Thank goodness for that. She must have been quite distraught.

Even if you’re sure it’s not yours (and let’s face it – in your condition, you can be reasonably confident it isn’t, right?) it’s polite to offer to lick it off.

I know I’ve got to get out and cry

Yes, the easily recognised lyrics from what is perhaps the most 1980s big-hair video ever signals not a post about 1980s magazines, but rather an increasingly desperate attempt to find titles vaguely related to ‘turning’ because this, ladies and scum, is a ‘turning point’ post.

Again.

I’m crashing cymbals in outer space

More science fiction: tales of terror, flesh-eating alien monsters, savage alternative realities and more… anything to relieve the moronic awfulness of this so-called ‘real world’.

You might protest that it’s only been a few weeks since the last science fiction special. And, unusually, assuming you’re a male, you’d be right. But (1) no one cares about your opinion, loser and (2) it’s Mistress Toyah’s birthday and that’s her lyric I’m using as a title so there you go. She wants to be free. I don’t.