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.
Oh – a CtD post on a Thursday! Hmm, you say. Must be an extra, because Servitor is celebrating the blog’s fifteenth anniversary. And certainly not because silly Servitor messed up the dates in scheduling the posts and thought 29 January was a Friday and noticed too late to delete it, as Sam had already commented. No no no no no… So, yeah, an extra post, because Friday’s post hurriedly recscheduled from later in February will obviously come out as normal tomorrow.
They say the secret of a successful relationship is mutual respect. Which just goes to show how little ‘they’ know. She says the secret of a successful relationship is tyranny and fear and I really can’t disagree with her on that.
Findommes… the unsung heroines of the consumer economy.
It’s funny, back when I was dating, two of the girls I – OK, OK both of the girls I slept with – rated my perfomance as the ‘worst fuck in human history’. Which doesn’t strike me as being right, as one of those fucks must have been worse than the other. Of course, I’m using ‘sleep’ as a euphemism – I never actually ‘slept’ with them, if you know what I mean: they threw me out. But not before I’d had my eighteen seconds of passion!
He didn’t wonder why she was constructing a prison cell in the cellar? Ah, love makes one blind. So does masturbation, ‘they’ say, although my SO says red-hot needles are actually more effective.
I wonder… have any subs who’ve been in this situation ever been tempted to stop brushing for just a moment, turn the hairbrush round and administer a sharp, stinging… I mean, I’m not saying I have, of course! Just to be clear, ahem. But it’s like – or I imagine it would be like – that feeling you get standing on the edge of a cliff, you know? That you could just… jump. Only a lot more dangerous than that, obviously.
Ah, Gigi Allens. A lady with plenty of inches and strong hips to back them up.
Yes, what a touching story. I like to imagine that every time she sees them sparkle, she’s reminded of how she has lots of other lovely necklaces too. Long-time readers will of course be well aware that my visions of the future show that in her political career, President Annie will re-orient male vocational training towards traditional, manly, backbreaking labour or domestic tasks, so really the college fund was no loss.
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.
She had to do something to keep herself amused. She’d already done today’s Wordle, after all.She’s also his personal financial advisor – she’s recently encouraged him to move most of his ready cash into envelopes.
She’s lucky to have Sarah, otherwise she’d be a pushover for any chained-up male with a sob story.
Embarassingly, it was only at the top she realised she’d meant to throw something into the rubbish bin and had to lead you right down and then back up again, the silly forgetful thing.
It’s nice and quiet down there, hardly anyone ever visits. Don’t worry, though: there’s a food chute. Well… down there it’s a food chute. On the surface it’s a rubbish chute. Same difference.
Don’t worry, they always schedule some special ‘couple time’ when your wife has you just to herself.
Actually, in context that word made perfect sense. Just like the words “worm”, “pervert” and “weirdo” in the various contexts she used them in your last performance review.
Good practice for tomorrow. Sven’s a bit larger – and I imagine his brothers are similar.
Lucy doesn’t mind. She’s nice like that.
Easier just to run the sessions in parallel, you might think. And if anyone paid the slightest attention to what you thought, maybe you’d be right, but they don’t so you’re not.
Then later on, you can clean up the sticky messes upstairs too. Probably won’t taste as nice, so make the most of this bit.
It’s not that Robert can’t do his own, obviously. But you’re so much better at it than him – and so much worse at sex. It just makes sense all round.
You’ll notice she hasn’t said you have to decide quickly, as she’s getting a lot of interest from other potential occupants? That’s because she isn’t and anyway, she’s already decided.
A cover’s probably best. They’re quite compassionate, the two of them, so having something unpleasant like that in sight could ruin what they had planned to be rather a special moment.
Ah… back in the time when the gimp suit came off at the end of the day. I miss that stage of our relationship, but times change, I suppose, and we move on.
It’s best not to quibble about the word ‘enjoy’. It’s like the word ‘slavery’ – means different things to different people.
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.
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.
