The 1980s called

and they want their femdom… no that doesn’t work.

OK, look, I’ve put up some posts before that I know are likely only to appeal to a small group of people, but this one really takes the dog biscuit, if you know what I mean. So please don’t go commenting that you don’t get it: unless you were born in the UK in the 1960s or before, you almost certainly won’t.

It’s about the British magazines of the late 80s and early 90s. Pre-Internet, in effect, even if some geeks were already hunched over thick glass cathode ray tube screens, downloading ‘threads’ from ‘messageboards’ to the sound of an irritating whine from the modem (and occasional whines too from other household members about hogging the phone line). Yes, that long ago. No, I’m not even talking about Cruella and Goddess: before them, there were Vixen and Mistress. This is British femdom pre-history.

Vixen and Mistress featured femdom stories with some fairly high production value photos, at least in the earlier editions, and a reasonable attempt to use those photos to illustrate the stories. Otherwise, femdom magazines available mostly consisted of American stuff with not much story but lots of garish pictures of women dressed in very fetishy clothing brandishing whips – I’m not saying I objected to that, but it never quite did it for me in the same way. In Britain, there was also Madame in a World of Fantasy, with much lower production values and an obsession with the more, shall we say, maternal and matronly end of femdom (Mistress Scarlet’s site and her publications today have a similar vibe and often refer to Madame). And cross-dressing. Nothing wrong with any of that either, but it was Vixen and Mistress which exploded into my just-old-enough-to-buy-them young psyche.

Then, a couple of years later, came Cruella and Goddess, with better quality pictures and excitingly violent stories, then OWK produced a few magazines with simply astonishing photos and articles and then… well, then there was the Internet, wasn’t there, and that was that. Nothing wrong with that either. At least I no longer had to drop into several pubs around Tottenham Court Road, to get my nerve up to walk into Lovejoys or Janus, to hand over cash for magazines that were carefully placed into a plain paper wrapper for me to place inside my bag with trembling hands and somehow resist looking at on the train ride home. We have it easy today. But something was lost, too.

(Sardax has written – and obviously drawn beautifully – about this too).

Maybe that’s just nostalgia on my part. Our earliest porn is always the most exciting, right? Found femdom in the Two Ronnies, the Pink Panther or Space 1999 – I could hardly breathe for excitement when watching those scenes, while today (old, jaded and less potent as I am) I might skip impatiently through some Internet video showing much more. Nonetheless, having thrown out (and destroyed) all of my physical porn collection decades ago, I have long searched for scans of these wonderful old mags online.

And then I found them. Here: I contacted the guy who runs the site, and received PDF scans of all of the Vixens and Mistresses he has, which is most of them, for a very reasonable price. Extraordinarily reasonable, given how much I had longed for them over the years… I would genuinely have paid ten times what he asked (but I didn’t: sorry!). Before you ask I am NOT going to post the PDFs here. You can buy them for yourself by emailing he is very nice and helpful, they’re cheap, they arrive quickly and the scans are excellent quality. Go for it. And he has lots of other stuff too. Not Cruella, alas, presumably because Andy Rogue-Hagen is still going (but hasn’t posted anything lately) and is protecting copyright and quite right too. But, Andy, there’s no point in hoarding copyright without monetising it… I’d pay very good money for scans of Cruella, Goddess and even Victoria, especially the early ones. Come on, mate.

Back to Vixen and Mistress. I won’t copy here any of the content, but I will republish here some of the cover pages, as the seller has made those available and I hope some of you will follow through and buy stuff from him. Again: don’t ask me for the PDFs; you’ll have to buy them from Swish Publications.

So here are the Vixen cover pages:

And Mistress:

So… did the mags live up to my memories? Well, yes and no. ‘No’ because maybe that was an impossibly high bar to meet. We never get to recapture fully that first excitement. But they were still very good – at least the earlier ones. You can just about tell from looking at the cover pages in the two links above: the earlier ones are much classier than the later materials. The same was true of the content: the articles were much the same, but in the later issues there was no real attempt to match the pictures in any way to the words, it all had a sense of being more thrown together. Oh, and I had never noticed as a young lad buying them one at a time how similar many of the stories were: whoever wrote it was obsessed with males committing crimes, then being blackmailed into non-consensual service to a woman, usually in some remote country cottage. Which is indeed a lovely femdom fantasy, but should be one among many rather than (I’d say) about 70% of all the stories. But up to – say – issue 15-20 of each… pure femdom gold, at least for us chaps of a certain age.

The two issues below, for example, and the two ladies featured on the cover of each… I’d remembered them from 30 years before and they are still wonderful.

And they had letters pages. I suspect most of the letters were genuinely sent, even if what they described was obviously almost entirely made up. The letters were addressed to equally fictitious editors, who were supposed to be dominant ladies, whose brief and haughty responses to the letters were in character with their supposed personas. (Cruella did the same thing when it started, by the way, its editor notionally being Victoria – a strikingly dominant-looking lady as seen here – whom Cruella‘s creator has cheerfully admitted was a barmaid in whom he saw femdom potential. And Madame too, some of the letters from which are available on Mistress Scarlet’s site.)

I don’t imagine anyone truly believed in the contents of the letters or in the editors. But it was all part of the fun.

So much part of the fun, in fact, that after reading all of the letters to the editor in the scans that I bought, I found myself hankering for more. So I wrote some. Mine are to the editor of a magazine that I will call Empress, which never existed but if it had would have published from some P. O. Box between the years 1985 and 1992 or so. Its editor (although she prefers ‘editrix’) is Goddess-Lady Lucia, and heaven help any male creatures daring to write in to her august journal who fail to show her the respect due by using her proper title.

So here we go: a selection of letters to Empress magazine, from an alternative universe about thirty-five years ago. Illustrated with artificially aged pictures from various places (some from the defunct Young Goddess site) that seem roughly in keeping with the style.

Empress Vol 2, Issue 3. Letters to The Editrix

Most revered Goddess-Lady Lucia

Please excuse my impertinence in writing to your esteemed publication, but I felt I had to tell you of my awe and express my thanks for deigning to publish such a wonderful magazine. When I see a new edition in the newsagent, my heart always leaps into my mouth. The embarrassment of taking it to the counter is excruciating, but I know that the reward will be worth it, when I get home and take it out of the plain paper bag.

I have a routine, Goddess-Lady Lucia.  The first night I have a new edition of your wonderful magazine at home, I am not permitted to do more than kneel in front of it and kiss the cover.  Kissing the cover of the March 1985 edition, with the gorgeous blonde lady glancing down backward over her shoulder, was a particular thrill, as the respectful kiss I was able to bestow was placed humbly on her magnificent leather-clad rear end. But whatever the subject matter on the cover, I kiss it in homage and do no more that first night.

Then, the second night – what a thrill! – I turn the cover to see the contents page.  So much excitement promised!  I kiss each story title in turn, my head spinning with the thought of what lies in store for me. Occasionally, there is a picture of your stunning self, Goddess-Lady Lucia, and then I must take an extra day to kiss that reverentially before proceeding further.

From then, Goddess-Lady Lucia, the divine goddess Lady Luck takes command.  Each time I need to advance a page, I roll a die and if it comes up three or less, I am denied and must wait.  If it turns out that the next page is the start of a new story, I must roll a six to continue. Sometimes I go almost mad with frustration – stuck on the same page for a week or more.  But I am as strict with myself as no doubt you would be were you towering over my trembling, naked form, and I never break my rule.

Finally, Goddess-Lady Lucia, I reach the letters pages and each time, I am desperate to write you a missive expressing my deepest admiration and gratitude. I have never dared before, but now finally I have done so and I will burn with anticipation while working through the next issue – or the one after or the one after that – to see if my words have been considered adequate to publish and perhaps even (sacrilegious thought!) deemed worthy of a reply from your own fair hand.


Well, you sound like a very tedious little man, ‘acolyte’. I deliberately held back from publishing this or replying for several months and I hope you found the wait thoroughly unpleasant. You are entirely wrong to say you are as strict with yourself as I would be: from now I decree that your criterion for turning a page is to roll a two or less, not your current four or more, lower numbers and a smaller chance both being more appropriate to your lowly condition. Strict enough for you? I’m afraid it will have to be, as I doubt you dare disobey a direct instruction like this. Your letter, although as pointless as no doubt everything else you do in your pathetic life, at least showed the proper respect and you are permitted to write again.  As a special favour, I will permit you to purchase ten copies of the next issue, which you will prove by enclosing ten triangles cut from the bottom-right corner of the back page: I permit you to cut the magazine in this way and I note that that corner will not contain any images or text except the page number.  To maximise the humiliation, I command you to buy the ten copies from ten separate newsagents. G-L L.

Superior Goddess-Lady Lucia

The giggling schoolgirls featured in Caught in the Shower in your July 1985 issue reminded me of an episode from my own schooldays in the early 1960s.  I grew up in a small country town and my route to and from school took me along reed-lined country paths on the outskirts of town, past several small lakes and ponds.  One hot summer day, I was on my way home when – passing the cool water of one of the secluded ponds and wishing to delay starting my homework as long as possible – I decided to take a dip.  I quickly stripped off, leaving my clothes of a wooden platform jutting over the water, and dived in.  On finishing my swim and reluctantly hauling myself out, however, I became aware of a mischievous pair of eyes watching me, and quickly ducked back down to preserve my modesty, as trill of mocking girlish laughter rang out.  It was a girl from school called – well, I suppose she is a respectable married woman now, so I will preserve her anonymity by calling her ‘Gloria’ and during the school day, she would never normally address a word to me. But here she was – grinning in triumph, with my pile of clothes behind her.

Well, of course I threatened to ‘tell on her’, which made her cross and she picked up my shorts and hurled them into a stand of nettles.  “There you are – get them yourself!” she spat.  But of course, I could not run past her with nothing covering my private regions, even if I were to brave the stings on my shivering wet legs – or more sensitive parts!  I begged for my pants but she just laughed again, picked them up carefully holding the seam between the tips of two fingers and hurled those so far into the foliage that I knew they would never be found.

“Do you want some underwear, then?” she asked, mockingly.  I agreed that I did, in a humbler tone, I was beginning to imagine myself traipsing hither and yon among the nettles, chasing up each item in turn.  I cannot have been thinking straight because I somehow seized upon the wild hope that she had a ‘spare’ pair of y-fronts with her, or had some plan to recover mine – but of course it was nothing like that.  Instead, she reached under her skirt and pulled down her own knickers, then held them out to me.  “Come on, then, poof.  Put your knickers on.”

I was mortified, but I saw little alternative, so I reached out for the shameful garment and was just about to reach it when with a flick of her wrist, she tossed it into the water.

I had had enough. I saw red and started to haul myself out of the water – if she was going to see my privates, so be it!  She had chosen for herself and I was not going to pull a pair of soaking wet girl’s knickers over them!  But seeing my intention, she called out as if to someone else “Malcolm showed me his willy, Mum!  He shouldn’t have done that should he?” and for a second time I sank back down, defeated.

Eventually, with red face and a pair of soaking cotton girls’ pants barely covering my modesty, I dashed past her into the foliage where I was able, with a few nettle stings to the legs, to recover my shorts.  Sadly, even after a few minutes’ searching (and many more encounters with the nettles), I never found the underpants. When I came back to the shore of the pond and my clothes were there – although she had tossed them into a muddy puddle, leaving them in a state which got me into trouble when I got home.  As she no doubt intended.

The next day – and for ever after – she reverted to the silent treatment and never spoke to me again.  But I did get a note from her pointing out that she had graciously given me a pair of her knickers, so it was up to me to buy her a new pair: she specified the size. Two weeks pocket money gone in five minutes of utter embarrassment at Marks & Spencers… I was terrified I might run across someone I knew.

At the time I burned with resentment and shame and spent nights plotting over more complicated revenges on my tormentor.  But girls were out of reach – they could always ‘tell’ and would be believed over boys.  So I kept the resentment bottled up.  But oddly, I also felt a powerful thrill, a fascination with the idea of being bullied and mistreated by a female, which has led to… well, Goddess Lady Lucia, as you can see I am an avid reader of your journal. Perhaps that says it all.  I believe I have ‘Gloria’ to thank for that. 

I wonder whether Gloria occasionally thinks of that day, too?

Knickerboy, Bishop’s Stortford

From your pen-name, Knickerboy, it seems a fair bet that Gloria’s actions that day have shaped your life.  I wonder: do you pay professional ‘ladies’ to make you pull on soaking wet items of female underwear?  Do they send you home with the cold water dripping down your thighs, and a face burning red with the shame both of what you had to do and the fact that you secretly enjoyed it? As for ‘Gloria’, on the other hand, she is probably happily married to a proper man and enjoying a healthy, normal sex life. I expect she’s forgotten all about you. G-L L.

Dear Ms Lucia

Your magazine is always wonderful but it was delightful to see some ‘larger’ ladies featured.  I myself believe that some folds and curves only add to the attractiveness of the female form and I deplore the modern cult of the stick-thin so-called ‘supermodel’.  Hoping to see some more lovely ladies of this type – or even more substantial – featured soon!


How dare you!  Do you think that a woman’s weight is to be judged by how attractive it makes her to a member of the inferior sex?  We women have had quite enough of that.  If I had you in my grip, ‘Curvelover’ it would be YOU whose diet and shape would be made to appeal to someone else – specifically, to ME, as I believe that looking starved and miserably hungry ‘only adds to the attractiveness of the male form’.  You would spend a week or two on a starvation diet, I would gag you tightly and eat cream patisseries in front of your mutely pleading face! And (once and for all) I am not to be addressed as ‘Dear’! G-L L.

Respected Editrix

I wonder whether you or your readers might be able to weigh in on a little discussion I have been having with one of my fellow dominant wives? We both like to use both the wooden paddle and the cane on our good-for-nothing, lazy husbands.  However, I prefer to paddle first, creating a hot and sensitive bottom on which to apply the agony of the cane, while my friend Frieda prefers to cane first (leaving distinct cane weals like footprints across newly-fallen snow, as she so poetically puts it), then paddle the resulting mass of weals until she is satisfied the lesson has been learnt.

We decided to try an experiment, to resolve the matter.  Her husband was secured tightly (he is a bit of a wimp) and we applied my method to the left buttock and Frieda’s to the right one.  It took a while, but eventually with twenty slaps of the paddle and six of the best with the cane on each, we were done.  The left buttock appears rather more savagely welted, the right more bruised but both are pleasantly purple.  We shall see how they develop over the next few days.  Each resulted in very gratifying shrieks and sobs, so both methods are obviously highly effective, but it was by no means clear which was better.

We are planning to repeat the experiment on my husband this weekend, once he has had a few days to dread it, but we wondered whether you had any suggestions or views on the matter?

Madame Rita

Dear Madame Rita.  I was inspired by this to try out the paddle and the cane in sequence on a few of my own slaves.  I can particularly recommend not informing the target of how many times the two implements will be swapped in session – let him think he is ‘over the caning’ before coming back after the paddling for another go!  As to which sequence is more effective, I think it is down to individual taste.  As the simple opinion of a lying male cannot be trusted, I suggest two possible tests. First, after you have subjected your husband to the two methods, have him write 300 lines each day, for a week or so, sitting on a hard wooden stool.  If you do not have one high enough to keep his feet off the floor, you can tie them back: it is important that all the weight should be borne by his sore backside. Then observe which side he seems to favour, as he shifts around trying to find the least uncomfortable position.  Alternatively, simply announce that next time he can choose between your and your friend’s approach.  He will be sure to choose the one he finds least agonising.  Then give him the other one of course, in double dose!  Perhaps whichever lady turned out to be wrong should be the one to administer it, to work off any feelings of disappointment she might experience.  My best wishes to both of you.  G-L L.

Sublime and all-powerful Lady Lucia

Do you think it might be possible for some of the stories in your wonderful magazine to feature castration?  This has always been a huge fantasy of mine.


I’d love to, but it’s hard to find the male models for the accompanying photoshoots! In the mean time, why not do the human gene pool a favour by turning your fantasy into reality, creep?  G-L L.

Goddess-Lady Lucia commands you to buy the the next issue of Empress, which will feature:

  • The continuing Trials of Steven, under the watchful eye and vicious lash of Miss Judy!
  • Distance Domination: a ‘phone dominatrix’ shares her secrets.
  • The saga of Miss Taverstock’s crusade against male masturbation in nineteenth-century London continues, with our heroine taking on and triumphing over a leading West End Club for English gentlemen.
  • Slave exercise routines.
  • A new series: Martin’s downfall. A successful businessman takes on a new housekeeper – and soon finds himself the one in domestic service!
  • Readers’ letters and a special message from the Editrix Herself.

So there you have it, for now (there may well be more). Self-indulgent twaddle? Yes, obviously. Only of interest to British femdom-obsessed men in their mid-fifties or above? Perhaps. But since one of them writes the blog, and does so primarily for his own amusement rather than any other reason, that’s all the audience that is needed. Possibly right now, I’m just talking to myself but if there are one or two others of a similar vintage who made it down here and recognise what I have done, I hope you enjoyed it. There may be more. There may not.

To the others: you missed out, back in 1988, but not to worry. There’s still plenty of modern femdom around and I’ll be adding to it, at least twice a week, every week.

Life (of a sort) imitating no sort of art

 Not a proper post today, but continuing in the same theme of actual things that actually happened to the actual me…


So… I had a wonderful session last week with my wonderful beautiful smart creative and witty regular domme.  And one of the wonderful things this wonderful person decided to do was have me kneel before her while she read a poem and occasionally she’d stop and I had to guess the rhyming word and if I didn’t get it right she slapped my face.

And that’s a lot of fun if you’re me.  And the poem she chose was The Raven by Poe.

And I was just thinking as I knelt there, looking happily into her smiling face, that this is quite a strange thing for a sex worker (that is a term she uses and is proud of) to do.  I mean, some sex workers presumably have actual sex, although that’s not an activity I’ve ever tried in session. We all have our limits, after all.  Sitting there, fully clothed, reading poetry and occasionally slapping someone is an odd thing for a sex worker to do.  If you think about it and I was thinking about it, while also frequently trying to guess a rhyme and being slapped when necessary.



And then she got to the line “And is there balm in Gilead” and I suddenly had a profound moment of deja vue (and a good hard slap) as I remembered this:


…which I had previously posted in my almost universally unpopular series of ‘Rule 18‘ posts, in which I put up pictures (usually uncaptioned) of lovely ladies dressed or behaving weirdly, and one is supposed to imagine the poor things gamely trying hard to fulfill some usually unseen client’s ludicrously over-complicated sexual fantasy. 

 I particularly liked the one above… even though I had to caption it.  It’s the expression of vague embarrassment on the blonde lady’s face and the way her colleague declaiming is making such an effort to get it right.  (My wonderful domme did it effortlessly of course).

The original ‘Advice to a novice domme’ post defining a ‘Rule 18’ violation is below:



That’s all for today.  Abnormal service as usual from now on.





Oh all right then, you’ve read this far, you can have one new captioned image.  Advice to a novice domme, obviously.  Which (for the avoidance of doubt) my own wonderful, clever, elegant, creative and perfect domme does not need.





Even a highly professional operation like Contemplating the Divine gets it wrong
sometimes.  As this blog is more than ten years old, I thought it
might be fun to open the vaults and find a few of the captions and images that
ended up on the cutting room floor – when things didn’t go according to plan!

Creating a captioned image involves bringing together lots of different things:
the photo, the characters, the situation, the witty plot twist and, of course,
the grammar to keep Tom Allen at bay.  It’s a difficult balancing act,
requiring great skill to produce a polished finished product, so it’s no surprise
an incompetent little twerp like me never succeeds in that. Even churning out the tired,
derivative and shoddy captioned images that usually adorn these posts, though, there’s
much that can go wrong…  as we shall see. 



But the director didn’t say cut…

Now, our first example today shows how even the most professional performers can get it
wrong. A castration shoot, obviously.  I can’t recall the planned caption,
maybe it was something to do with him asking for all those weights to be removed
as quickly as possible.  Anyway, a professional submissive model down
there, coping manfully (i.e. squealing his little head off) with the weights on his genitals, self-same genitals
feeling the razor-sharp edge of a pair of professional bolt-cutters, wielded by
a beautiful lady from Cruella.  Proper bolt-cutters, mind – beautifully
made so that a smooth and easy pressure on the handles translates through the
power of physics and leverage ito an unstoppable pressure as the blades
remorselessly close… just the thing to give our readers a little thrill, in
the safety of their darkened bedrooms.  

A perfect set-up, you’ll surely agree.  So what went wrong?  Well,
just at the moment this picture was taken, just when the caption was about to be
added to the finished product, a low-flying RAF training flight created a sonic
boom up and down the remote valley where the shoot was taking place, the poor
lady jumped out of her skin and… the rest was history. Or biology perhaps…
rather messy biology too.

It was no one’s fault.  Everyone was as sympathetic as they could be. 
The fighter jet pilot was horrified when she found out, the cameraman did his
best to help, the Cruellan lady was… OK, she wasn’t enormously sympathetic if
I’m being entirely honest, but she did mutter ‘Soz’ as he was taken off in the
ambulance.  The shoot wasn’t a complete write off: I actually managed to
get some rather gruesome captioned images done,
but so far my innate decency and a profound desire not to be arrested have
prevented me posting them.  And don’t worry: the guy is still a guy, you
know? Still very much a man.  Since the Gender Recognition Act was passed,
all he had to do was self-declare as a male and so he is treated as a fully
functional man for all legal purposes.  Almost all, anyway.  So…
just one of those things, I guess.

Thrills and spills

Ah, now this one was my fault, I am afraid. Very much my fault. I
apologised to the lady concerned and still do, on a regular basis. The skirt was
a write-off, the shoot was abandoned…  what can I say? Fortunately, my SO
has since come up with a solution to prevent this happening ever again.

Way around wrong

So… the shoot has gone off perfectly, the images of the lovely ladies and
slug-like men are all saved on the encrypted hidden drive and a caption has been
created.  Nothing left to go wrong, right? Well… you’ve still got to get
the caption onto the right image.  In the two pictures below, someone (with
a name beginning with S) didn’t manage to accomplish even that simple
task.  Two pictures, two captions, Servitor – and you had one job!

Well, this mix-up resulted in not one but two captioned images that fell
well below this blog’s normal standards of coherence and had to be
abandoned.  For which the management can only offer Servitor’s heartfelt

The Snitch, her Teacher, the Maitresse and her Lover

Now, the pair of photos below tell the sorry tale of a failed photoshoot that – for once – was most definitely the fault of the ladies and not the author of this blog.  Everything had been arranged very carefully for a photoshoot with the above title that would have cemented this blog’s place as the number one destination for anyone interested in strict schoolmistress femdom.  The script was elaborate, true, but you might expect that professionals would be able to cope with that.  I won’t go through it in detail, but it involved a schoolgirl whose complaint had led to my being brought in to see the Headmistress, a nymphomaniac lesbian French teacher, a class teacher and of course the Head herself, all involved in a complex sequence of humiliation and discipline that ended with my being forced – forced humiliatingly – to masturbate before them all, kneeling on the floor.  Yum.

What went wrong, you ask?  I might ask ‘what didn’t?’.  The schoolgirl turned out to be more of a lesbian nympho than the lesbian nympho character, they all got ‘interested’ in each other, someone found a very large bottle of gin and they all got quite interested in that and pretty soon everyone (everyone female, that is) was too drunk to be safely in charge of a cane, kit off and fucking like rabbits. 
So: nothing very femdom came of it unless you count my cleaning up the vomit afterwards, it and I seriously considered not paying them the full fee but sadly there are downsides to being a submissive when it comes to financial bargaining with four beautiful women, even when they are badly hung-over.  I present, for the historical record, the two photos that just about manage to reflect the theme of this blog, before the whole thing went sideways.

Hot cross bunny

Now this one was… oh, do you know, even after all these years I can’t really bring myself to talk about this one?  The memories are too painful.  I thought I was ready but… just move on, move on.  She was amazing, though: so professional.

Role reversal
Ah, now as you can tell from the picture, the lovely lady below turned up to the photoshoot having definitely not read the memo about what side of BDSM this blog celebrates!  The photo below is taken just when she, in her Gorean slave position, notices that I too am in a Gorean slave position and as we both think we’re supposed to be following Gorean speech rules, neither can do much about it!

After an hour or two the impasse was broken and we had a lovely talk.  I don’t know many female submissives (I find the whole concept a bit weird to be honest) but she was really nice.  She was very gentle and I could tell she didn’t really like the idea of hurting me, but we got to talking and she had an idea for a kind of ‘worm turns’ scene where I’m a male dom (let’s just skip over that bit: it was less than two minutes in the final photoshoot and I can only say I was no more convincing than you might imagine) and she’s playing the sub and she’s on her knees and just about to take me in her mouth when she suddenly decides to turn the tables, and then we get into nice healthy femdom play.  Just before we were about to start, she suddenly remembered something and asked if instead of being some generic dom being sucked off, could I be ‘Master Paul’ from Luton who wanted to come in her hair.  It seemed oddly specific but she insisted so I gave it a go and – boy!  For a subbie she certainly knew how to inflict pain!  I got one of the most brutal beatings I’ve ever experienced.  So it worked out OK in the end.

There’s a funny post-script actually.  Just two weeks after this photo-shoot, I read about this guy called Paul Evans who was found beaten to death in a lay-by on the Luton by-pass.  He had semen in his hair (his own, goodness only knows how he’d managed it).
Amazing coincidence, huh?  But it’s probably just another one of those things. Most things are.

Decadence: the Ladies

What would this blog have been over its 10 years of existence, without its regular Ladies?  Ridiculous question, as that’s obviously where the main attraction lies.  Let’s pay tribute (no really – get yourself to an ATM and stuff an envelope) to those ‘regulars’ who all unknowingly, unceasingly, uncaringly and without regard to copyright, so often enlighten this otherwise dismal corner of the Internet.  

Some domme, some vanilla – the sole criterion today is frequency of appearance.  So here they are again (and they will all be back).  Most names are hyperlinks.

Mistress Eleise

 Not a particularly interesting caption, I’m afraid, but when the image is perfection itself, who cares?





Mistress Mina

have never met her, but her lovely, wicked smile is so much more fun to
caption than the stereotypical ‘domme grimace’ that she features here a


I have not met her either, obviously.  But I do envy her dog.

Mistress Sidonia





 Do you think we might like another picture of Gal?  I do.



The Ladies of Cruella (who took a flamethrower to my brain as a teenager in the 1990s). 

Link may not work but worth tracking down, as the guy who does ‘modern Cruella’ does seem to be the same as the one who did these all those years ago (he seems to keep re-doing his Internet sites, presumably trying to find ways to monetise this stuff – I hope he succeeds, as he deserves it).  The modern material isn’t bad at all either, but I have very special memories of furtive visits to Soho to summon up the courage to buy magazines featuring these lovelies.

NB: I once saw them on sale on the top shelf of a regular Pakistani newsagent… I could never imagine asking in a context so vanilla.  “Yeah, 20 Silk Cut please mate and erm… have you got a copy of the latest Cruella?  Oh – that’s last month’s isn’t it?  I’ll take the Goddess, then: the one with the guy licking the boot.  Yeah, thanks.  Oh – and I’ll have this Kit Kat too.”

Madame Katerina 

Whose name I have spelled many different ways over the years.  Shhh… nobody tell her, please.   OWK came in just about the end of my teenage formative years.  They published magazines for a couple of years, because they started just before Internet femdom took off.  They had advertised for a year or so in Cruella et al before launching: extraordinary, evocative pictures of concentration camp femdom.  The magazines did not disappoint, when they finally arrived.  Impressively high production values, and a convincing commitment to the fantasy.  I don’t care in the least whether it was ‘real’ in any meaningful way or not, I really don’t.


‘President Hathaway’ series would be rather shorter, without Megyn
Kelly.  I’ve never actually watched her on TV, I doubt I’d like her
politics.  But boy, does she look the part.  In fact, Fox News (now
without her) appears to feature almost nothing but leggy, imperious
blondes which is (for me) essentially its only saving grace.

And although I’m mostly heterosexual (or would be, if anyone ever let me), I’ve got to admit Trudeau does have a very spankable butt…

Nata Lee

lovely Russian model.  A lot of her content out there consists of what I
must regretfully call ‘tit and bum’ shots, which I think rather
unnecessary, given her sweet, extraordinarily pretty face.  But of
course, that’s up to her.

Lady Sophia

domme, whose in-session persona was actually very similar to this. 
Retired now, so no link – sorry, you’re just too late and that’s that.

Divine Mistress Heather

Rodea and Cindi

know, I know… Miami/American Mean Girls is a very commercial site,
nothing at all authentic about it – even some questionable content
recently too.  But unlike almost all the mean girl ‘hey loser’ content
out there, a lot of it is done very well and these two especially are
lovely: their disdainful personas perfectly matching their elegant
beauty.  ‘Goddess Rodea’, incidentally, has moved on to other things and
clearly despises the whole humiliation fetish scene.  Which just makes
it even better, ironically…

Young Goddesses, especially Irina

No link for this one because the guy who used to make them took against the whole business and links to his sites now just lead to complaints about the unprofessionalism of the ladies he had to work with, along with warnings about the perils of excessive masturbation – and not in a good way.

But there are some lovely images of some lovely Russian ladies, doing quite unpleasant things, out there.

Irina is the one on the left, showing off her trademark delightful, amused smile.  She is findable on the Internet as Irina or occasionally as Cofi Milan and she smiles a lot.

The Hunteress


and of course…

Femdom and story-telling

As regular ‘readers’ of this blog will know, I don’t go in
much for discussion of the philosophy and practice of ‘real’ femdom.  This blog doesn’t try to be realistic; it’s
just supposed to be fantasy and fun.

But at the risk of trespassing on Paltego’s turf I do have a question
to the ‘community’ to see what they think and it is this: is femdom porn (or any kind of kinky porn,
perhaps) just more interesting than ‘regular’ porn?

This question has occurred to me for a few
reasons.  One is that we are coming up to
this blog’s ten-year anniversary (more on that in a couple of weeks’ time) and I have been looking back through my own
witterings.  The other is that, for
various reasons, I have been revisiting some magazines that were my first
proper femdom porn – Cruella, Goddess, Vixen and Mistress – and reminding
myself how extraordinarily exciting I found them to be, in my early 20s.  I hung on every word of their stories, could
barely read more than a sentence or two at a time without having to put them down,
swooning with excitement and savouring the anticipation of where the story
would go next.

And that’s the point: femdom porn (the sort I like, anyway) tells
a story.  There’s a lot that can happen
in that story: fear, dread, forgiveness, revenge, cruelty, false hope, humiliation,
trickery etc etc.  I spend a lot of time
trying to think up new ways in which the ladies in my captions and stories can
be cruel, preferably with an unexpected twist, and from time to time I succeed. 
I’ve been doing that for ten years on this blog and I am not finished
yet.  I’m not saying every caption or
story I put up is a new idea – far from it, there are some well-worn themes –
but some are new and I certainly seek out and value novelty.  Mainstream porn
seems to lack that element… fundamentally, it’s about the sex act.  There are various inventive ways in which one
can lead up to the sex act (it doesn’t have to be a plumber coming around to
fix her pipes) and then there are some variations in the sex act itself, to be
sure: different holes, combinations, positions. 
But that does not seem to close the story-telling gap – the femdom porn
I like won’t usually feature any sexual acts at all, it is all ‘story’.  And it should have unexpected twists and
inventions that make the reader think ‘I never thought of that’, if it’s good.

I am raising this question about porn, but it applies to femdom more generally.   Although some of the pro-dommes I have sessioned with allow a ‘happy release’ at the end, not all do and it is certainly not the main focus of the session.  That might be humiliation, control, pain: again, a good domme (and there are so many wonderful ones) constructs a narrative, a story.


porn image.  There’s a lot going on here.  One could write 5-6
different stories about this at least.  Why is he in the cage, how did
she get him in there?  What is going to happen to the collared guy
lying on the floor?  She’s wearing boots: is she going to kick him,
stomp him, make him lick them…?  There’s a cane, on the couch.  What is the significance of the steel box to the
right – is someone else in there already, is one of these two going in
there?  Is the box a ‘next level’ punishment after the cage?  She is looking at us – so are we there?  Are we next?  There is so much here for
the imagination.


Porn of the year - XVIDEOS.COM
mainstream porn (from the first page of a search just with the word ‘porn’). I can see they’re having a lot of fun.  And
again, one could tell stories of what happened before and what might
happen next – but not stories specifically inspired by elements of the
picture.  I can understand that other people find ‘mainstream’ sex as exciting as I find femdom to be, but the porn itself, the fantasy itself just seems a lot less… interesting. 


To make it a bit more personal: my own sexuality is 100%
kinky.  That is, I don’t get excited at
all by thoughts of vanilla sex.  If I watch a
mainstream porn video, I can get a bit into the suggestive looks and flirting in
the initial five minutes, but then the remainder of it – the grinding and
licking and thrusting and so on – does nothing for me.  But I am absolutely obsessed with femdom fantasy, as the ten years of this blog demonstrates.  I know that some others like both mainstream and femdom, so maybe they are better placed to answer the question than I am.

I’m porn-addicted, in fact – I can
spend many hours at a time on the Internet looking for and writing femdom
stuff, I can lie in bed for hours constructing elaborate scenarios and so on…  I won’t provide sweaty details.  But I guess what I am wondering, is: if I did
not have this kink, would I be as interested in ‘normal’ sexual fantasies as I am in femdom fantasies; interested in the same way?  If
only my inclination were that way – if I were magically transformed by some
kind of psychotherapy so that instead of fantasising about being humiliated and
punished by women, I just fantasised about having sex with them?  Would I seek out and construct equally elaborate fantasies?  Could I have put up 5000 captioned images about people having sex, instead of the 5000 or so I have published on my more
twisted and evil themes?  Would I enjoy looking back through them and reminding myself of what I came up with as much as I do?

It doesn’t seem to me that I could or would.  There just doesn’t seem to be enough going on
in ‘normal’ sex.  I certainly feel that if I were ‘normal’ I would have lost something because the vanilla imagination is much more limited, even though there would obviously also be advantages (less need for secrecy, better integration of my sexuality and my personal relationships). But is that actually true, or does that just reflect the limits on my imagination created by my existing sexual orientation?

Freely given

Some years ago, I decided that as a fairly experienced sub, I had something of a duty to use this platform to share my experiences and advice about visiting professional dommes.  After all, it can be nerve-racking for a first-timer, and it’s hardly something you can ask your friends at work about!  Unless your work is as a male maid for a dominatrix, I suppose.  But that’s quite rare. 

Anyway, the reaction was very positive and it – well, I certainly didn’t get any complaints – and I’m older and even wiser now, so here are a few more tips from Servitor: advice to a novice sub.

No, don’t bother to thank me.  Just the thought of some nervous first-timer walking into a ‘femdomme sex dungeon’ and trying one or more of these ideas out is reward enough!

If you liked these, you’ll find more of this sort of thing by clicking this here link, so I suggest you do so.  If you didn’t like these, you won’t want to click that because you’ll find more things you don’t like.  Perfectly simple, even for boys, yeah?

Oh: and watch out for Servitor’s exciting new series: Advice to a novice domme!  Coming soon.  Ish.

Excruciatingly pleasurable

Why bring up painful old memories?  She seems nice… maybe it’s time for a fresh start?
Oddly enough, I never experienced corporal punishment as a child.  My SO says we have to make up for lost time, and she’s probably right.  She usually is.

Why do my dates always end up like this?


Traditional country sports went through a bit of a low patch in the years between the Foxhunting (Prohibition) Act and the Sexual Offences (Remedial and Preventative Measures) Act, but they’re now more popular than ever, even though men aren’t allowed to take part.  As riders, I mean.

Oh dear.  She’s right, you know.  I am a very, very bad person. Fortunately, this very evening I am visiting someone to whom I have given a lot of money to beat me for my sins.  So that’s all right.

Realism in BDSM

Occasionally I get comments from ‘readers’ objecting to a lack of realism in some of my captioned images.  And although, obviously, I like to claim that everything depicted here is true to life, that’s what my Significant Other likes to term ‘a lie’ and I know what happens to little boys who lie, don’t I? Yes I do.


Sorry, where was I?  I started thinking about something else.

Oh yes!  Realism. Right, well I have the perfect excuse because just over there to the right, in the blog-blurb written on the very first day of this blog’s existence (January 2011…oh, I was young, carefree, innocent), I make quite clear that everything here is a total fantasy (I’m not really called ‘Servitor’, I don’t own a computer and I actually can’t speak English, as it happens), so there and yah boo, I win the argument!

However, I recognise that there are those who like their kink a bit more on the realistic side, so in total contradiction to everything I’ve ever said on the subject, here are some captioned images that try to capture aspects of femdom as it’s practised in the real world.

Advice to a novice sissy maid

It’s been ages since we had any posts with Servitor’s tips for novice subs. So long, in fact, that many of you probably have no idea what I’m even talking about, in which case you should educate yourselves by clicking here and also here.  How can you expect to enjoy this blog if you haven’t done all the reading, hmm?

I am of course more experienced at visiting professional dominatrices than ever now.  In fact, I understand there are even forums on the Internet where dommes can share my mobile number and email, to put me on a ‘don’t call’ blacklist.  Ah… they love to play hard to get, the cunning little minxes!  But I have my ways of oozing past their defences.

But it’s not all about my pleasure, and I like to share the wisdom, so here once again are some top tips for a novice submissive. This time, it’s a sissy maid special!  If you’re planning to book a sissy maid session, make sure you read all of these first, OK?  You might even find it helpful to write each out 200 times.  You naughty girl.  Oooh!

That was very British.  I’m sure American and other readers can supply appropriate geographic equivalents of the East End and industrial North, if need be.  Brooklyn, maybe?  ‘Chavvy’ translates more or less to ‘trailer trash’.

Oh – and an extra tip?  If you’re permitted to reach orgasm at
the end of your maid’s session and you make a mess, don’t worry.  She understands that you won’t feel like doing any more cleaning, once
you’re no longer feeling sexy.  She’ll clean it up after you’re

IMPORTANT advice warning!
The information on this blog is of a general nature.
It does not take your specific needs or circumstances into
consideration, so you should look at your own financial position, pain threshold and courage before acting upon any of the advice presented here.  Contemplating the Divine is not responsible for any injury or loss of life and property resulting from any such action.  Sissy maids should always bear in mind that stocks are inherently risky, and that hours spent locked into one can result in severe discomfort.

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