Category: cruelty

Well, you don’t sound very grateful

Recent quote from a lovely domme, disappointed by my bad manners. Needless to say, she helped me to express my gratitude more profusely.

Pictures are neither more nor less related than usual.

I expect she has quite firm views – vigorously expressed – on gratitude, too.
Of course she’s not actually going to throw the gift set away – I mean, she has it now, so she might as well keep it. But its the principle of the thing. Ironically enough, that particular cosmetics firm practises cruelty-free testing. And she knows that. But she holds to her principles very strongly.
What a shame she doesn’t let you have enough money to afford her services. Oh well, there’s always sitting alone in the dark and howling inwardly, right?
There’s a guy who hangs around the coffee shop just waiting to see that domme approaching the door, so he can leap ahead of her in the queue and ‘pay her coffee on’. Sadly, she doesn’t know that because she’s never had to pay for a coffee there and thinks its free… so she just occasionally notices with irritation the guy who always barges ahead of her in the queue. But life was never meant to be fair.
As a last service, try to notice which way your beloved wife bet and then breathe faster or slower, depending, to help her win. That would be a loving gesture and it’s not as if you’ll have many more opportunities to show how much you care for her.
I wonder what it does mean? Madame Šárka seems to know… I expect she’ll be able to help him understand his mistake – and the seriousness thereof.

As a bit of found (and probably unintended) femdom, this is rather lovely, by the way. I wonder if it works with anything other than golf balls?

Grimm tales

More fairy-themed fantasy folly.

A fairy grants you wishes three / So never wish to buggered be / For if you do ’twill come to pass / And you must take it up the arse.
Actually, the female sensibility that men have for centuries maligned as ‘witchcraft’ is really just about being more in touch with nature, more attuned to the rhythms of the natural world. Men find that hard to understand, but a few years spent living as a toad can help.
She could have just learnt to do ventriloquism but this seemed a lot easier.
You could wish to taste particularly yummy? That would make her happy. You want to make her happy, don’t you?
Again, it’s a lot easier this way. I mean, have you ever tried to assemble any of the human furniture IKEA sells? Nightmare.
Don’t worry, she’ll probably get bored after a billion years or two.

Emotional stupidity

In case you’re wondering why I am posting on a Thursday instead of the usual Friday, the answer is ‘rank incompetence – the idiot’s not even able to read a calendar properly, for goodness’ sake!’.

They say great art is 90% perspiration.
She’s a specialist in pain management.
Nice clean shoes – good job! Now, let’s have that chat.
Thank goodness they reminded him – how embarassing it would have been to have had to admit he’d forgotten the anniversay again.
Surprisingly unsurprisingly “People for the Ethical Treatment of Paypigs” just isn’t a thing.
She seems nice. My SO taught me the right way to do laundry by just whipping me without explanation every time it wasn’t right. We got there, but it was a lot of work for her, poor thing.

Trying not to pose

… for the cameras and the girls (trigger warning: no femdom, big hair, old-fashioned music from when Servitor was young, if such a thing can be imagined).

Always a tricky situation, but she knew exactly how to handle it to prevent embarassment. Women are better at reading social situations like that. Now… what kind of wine goes with spunk?
I’d be their catwalk.
She’s considering a suggestion from some productivity consultants that could eliminate that particular problem. The jerking-off, I mean, not the periods. That would be weird.
She doesn’t have any questions for you, either. It’s that kind of relationship, where you take the other person just as they are. She’s violent and sadistic and you’re… well: restrained and vulnerable. What’s to discuss?
Especially the ‘holding’ bit.
Like a threesome! Five, if you count the socks.

Femaleficient

A mirror ought to do it.
Don’t worry, she doesn’t object to having your own taste in music, she just won’t allow you to play any of it.
Obviously. Fortunately they have an excellent pain management programme.
Seems a little unfair, as he was paying Supreme Mistress Katharine three times the usual rate already. The lady doing the talking only does vanilla tricks, not femdom, just in case you were thinking of visiting. Says she just doesn’t have the femdom skills, which on the face of it appears to me not to be true, but who am I to argue either with her assertions or her maths?
Don’t let on you’ve never actually done this before. This could be the beginning of a beautiful holiday friendship – or perhaps a rather disgusting but highly practical one, anyway.

To err is male

 … to chastise, divine.

 

Well… at least until it stops stretching, obviously. Otherwise why go to all that trouble?

 

 

 

She’s smiling but she’s crying inside.  Don’t make this harder for her.

 


Thank goodness (and her) for that.


My SO generally prefers me to be silent – except when I’m strapped down onto the whipping bench, when she usually removes my gag. It’s her opportunity to hear how how I’m feeling.




Lots of older men seek to relive their youth, with attractive young women.  Looks like Timmy has hit the jackpot.






Implacable taste

Let’s hope this little misunderstanding is sorted out quickly.  Fortunately, it looks like she’s on the case.

 

 

She’ll rearrange you till you’re sane.  Or not.

 

 

 

 

Why are consequences never nice consequences?  I once asked my SO that, but she just laughed and hit me in the face. 

 

 

 

He’s actually called Trent but thank goodness he’s around, anyway – one less thing to worry about on the big day.






Just a fantasy, obviously.  She is far too professional for any such an on-screen slip-up in real life.  The guy on the right seems like rather a forward young man, don’t you think?

Dressed to oppress

 

Pookie’s thoughts are mostly elsewhere, to be honest.  Which is just as well, as her questions are rhetorical.

 

 

You could try telling her that even Leicester is a tropical paradise when lit up by her divine radiance…?

 

 

 

The first time’s very special, isn’t it?

 

 

 

He had an imaginary friend as a kid.  She used to beat the crap out of him too – maybe that’s where he gets it from.

 

 

 

 

 

He has some pretty intense CP fantasies… I hope they’ve got the stomach and the stamina for it.

 

 

Just realised I actually did two captions of this lovely image of the lovely lady (Maya Sinn!) and Pookie (most probably someone with a name unlike ‘Pookie’, but you never know) so you might as well have both.

 

 

 

Getting through it

 


How you doing there?  You OK? Breathe.  No, really, come on: normal breaths. You need not to hyperventilate.   And just relax on the bench there, let yourself go limp in the restraints. You’ve been pulling away at those straps almost since the start – bruised yourself almost as much as the whip did, I should think!  Well… not really. But you’ll certainly have bruises around those wrists after all that writhing around.

Wow… you lost it a few times during that
session, didn’t you?  I’m glad I had soundproofing
installed last summer – you were shrieking and begging so hard, someone would
have called the police on us, I reckon.

So! 
So… No-safeword
session – pretty brave!  Any
regrets?  I reckon you had quite a few,
at times there, didn’t you? But you must be getting an amazing endorphin rush,
now, right? I can only imagine…. I don’t think I could ever take that much pain.  But I hope it’s worth it for you.

You know, obviously I take consent
really seriously but this sort of no-holds-barred, no mercy, no-safeword
session has to be my favourite style of play. 
I’ve got very few clients who’ve ever dared but … to take someone to
their limit… and then just carry on. 
It’s an incredible rush: nothing like it.  I mean, there’s a lot of stuff written in BDSM porn about ‘breaking’ slaves but until you’ve had someone desperately stuggling against the straps like that, begging hysterically, promising you anything, anything at all to make the pain stop… and I just keep whipping, criss-crossing the welts, enjoying the way the screams and gasps cut off each frantic babbled plea to stop…  

Nothing like it.  Nothing in the world. It’s not sexual, for me, I’ll admit – it’s more like the greatest rollercoaster ride ever, you know?  I enjoy inflicting the pain, I enjoy the power even if I don’t get off on it, sexually.  It’s actually better than sex: I’ll say that. Yeah: better than sex.

Do you know what my favourite bit
is? See: I like to start talking to them as if the session’s over.  About how they feel, as if they’ve got
nothing more to worry about.  When in
fact I’m less than halfway through. It’s a bit cruel, I suppose.  But then, I’m a very cruel person, I suppose.  And as they’re all strapped down, with no safeword
there’s nothing they can do about it anyway. 
Except moan in fear, when they realise, obviously.

Yeah… just like that moan
there.  Dawning terror.  That’s the best rush of all.

Don’t worry her pretty little head about it

Because she really doesn’t care.  Just suffer in silence, unless she prefers you to suffer noisily.



In case any readers are thinking of trying this, removal of male sexual organs should only ever be carried out under the supervision of a trained medical professional, OK?  The shooting club from where the photo was taken always has a qualified paramedic on standby. So they can enjoy their sport, without any serious health risks.

Mmm….  You wanted a cruel and sexy findomme, right?

Anna’s always too soft on them. Look at all that puppy fat he’s put on too!  Soon sort that out.

It’s funny how many men say they want their wives to take charge but as soon as they get thrown out naked and without a penny, start whining about how that wasn’t what they wanted.
The girls at my school used to play skipping games. In fact, my first proper beating was with a skipping rope doubled over and soaked in water. Happy days. 


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