Triptych

Servitor worshipfully presents a triptych of Strict Miss Zoe*.  That’s a piece of art – usually with a religious theme, as here – in three parts**.  Did you know that?  Now you do.


 
 
 

 

 
 
 
 

 






* Strict Miss Zoe can be found at http://www.strictmistresszoe.com, among a few other places.  And she can be found, and met, in England, and I have, and she is just lovely.  Such a sweet, fun and friendly person.  Well, and very painful too, obviously.  In an adorable way.

** It should really go across to be a proper triptych, actually. And fold out. But it doesn’t. I bet that’s just spoiled the whole thing for you, right?

Unpleasantries


Madame Sarkas travels
Fair point.  It’s quite hard to travel internationally without money too.  Or clothes.
  Madame Sarka.  Of course.  Need I say more?

Schoolgirl skirt humiliation
I expect they’ll just agree to keep it our little secret, don’t you?  In exchange for total obedience, obviously.
 From St Mackenzie’s, a site that (in the previews at least) has lots of wonderful shots of schoolmistresses looking stern, and schoolgirls looking dangerous… but then disappointingly always seems to have them take their clothes off and look ready for vanilla sex.  I mean, who wants to see that?  There are some real weirdos out there, no?
 

Why does it have to be so difficult
This is kind of autobiographical.  I really hate the actual feeling of being beaten, so although in the weeks leading up to a session I’m all excited, in the hour or so before there’s just this “oh fuck, pretty soon someone’s going to be hitting me with a leather strap and it’s going to hurt!”.  Out of all the fetishes there are, why this one, hmmm?  Why not cuddly toys, or something?  Or ballooons.  I’ve tried…and balloons do nothing for me.
This is from Cruella.  You could tell even without the tag, right? 

Size most certainly does matter
Go on – surprise her!
 No idea who this is.  Doesn’t matter, though, as after tonight I expect she won’t be seeing you again.
 

Good hard ball-busting
Yes, you’ll always have those memories.

Cruel and usual punishment




Don’t you think it’s odd?  That men who say they regard women as superior, also believe that being treated like women is humiliating?  Isn’t that weird?  I mean I feel like that.  And I’m not weird.  Odd, like I said.
 
 





I don’t really believe in horoscopes anyway.  “You will visit a pro-domme, and be made to dance to k-pop wearing a pink tutu while Mistress and her friend laugh at you, and then make you eat cold courgettes with curry powder.”  I mean, it’s just generic stuff that could apply to everyone, right?
 
 
 



It’s a good thing we like being treated with contempt, nicht wahr?
 



You’d better read the whole thing through, because I’m sure she’ll have got ‘minuscule’ wrong, and she usually forgets there are two ‘p’s in ‘disappointing’.
 
 
 

Actually, you don’t really even have to ask.  If she hasn’t already bought it for you, you probably don’t really need it, do you? 

Time to take the red pill

Another positive image of a healthy female-male relationship, bringing some sanity to this mad world.
 
 
“But why would anyone want such a thing?”, Sandra asked with
genuine puzzlement.  “I mean – it’s so
sick.”
Dr Taylor nodded gravely. 
“It is quite bizarre” she replied. 
“And of course most women react just the way you do.  That’s a normal, healthy reaction.  But some just crave the degradation, or maybe
they’re just so bored with this ordinary world of ours that they’ll even
fantasise about something as perverted as that, just for the thrill of it.”
Sandra nodded.  She
was aware of “Male Dom porn” of course. 
At school once, she’d come into possession of a battered magazine, that
she’d eagerly hidden away on the assumption that it was the usual sexy images
of men being beaten – stuff that was wildly exciting to an adolescent
schoolgirl at the time, although pretty tame softcore stuff by today’s
standards.  But this magazine had been something
very different – full of photos of men standing over women, of women forced to
wear little maids’ outfits and do housework, while men stood about without a
chastity belt in sight and played with their penises.  Although thankfully there was no photo, one
cartoon had even shown a woman on her knees, taking a man’s penis in her…in her
mouth.  She had closed the magazine
immediately in shock, and thrown it away but the image had haunted her for
weeks.  She’d occasionally tried to tell
herself it was just a slightly kinky sexy castration scene, as the woman was
obviously about to bite the penis off. 
But she knew in her heart that it was nothing so innocuous, but
something much darker and more depraved.
She shuddered at the thought, and focused again on the
screen in front of them.
“And this stuff is a sort of male dom fantasy site is it?  There’s some perverted old woman lying in her
apartment somewhere wearing a VR suit and vibrating off to it?”
“If it was just that, it wouldn’t be so worrying” the Doctor
replied.  “It’s not just a wanking scene –
it’s more immersive than that.  These
weirdos have constructed a whole alternative reality, in which normal life is
turned upside down.  We think they used
one of the newer MMOs as a base, but even so, the detail is incredible.  There are entire cities simulated here, you
can buy newspapers and read them from cover to cover, books as well, TV… there’s
even an Internet within this VR!”
“So someone could be living in it full time?  Would they know it’s not the real world?”
Sandra asked in puzzlement.
“Well…you’d think so.” Dr Taylor replied.  “Not from any fault in the simulation itself,
that’s perfect.  But the whole thing is
just so bizarre and perverted no one normal could be fooled for a second.  You might go to work in an ordinary building,
but there would be men in all sorts of positions of power.  Many of the simulation’s residents seem to
get off on playing secretaries to bossy men, nurses to male doctors – that sort
of thing.”
“Male doctors! “ Sandra chuckled, and Dr Taylor smiled.
“I know, it’s all quite ridiculous.  But look –they’ve even created an imaginary
country – the United Kingdom.  They often
do that sort of thing – take a perfectly ordinary word like “queendom” and
masculise it.  I suppose they find that
sexy.  But its political leader is a man,
it has an army and police force of men in uniforms…all sorts of kinky
stuff.  There’s another called the United
States of America – now that one’s really weird.  And don’t even ask me about Saudi Arabia;
that’s a kind of hard core enclave.  It’s
a bit too much even for most of these sick perverts.”
“We’ve been aware of it for quite a while, but the increase
in complexity and realism of the simulation that we’ve observed lately is quite
alarming.  So we’ve decided to shut it
down.  And that’s where you come in.”
“So you’re going to pull the plug?” Sandra asked.  “Snap the perverts back into the land of the
living?”
Dr Taylor shook her head. 
“That would be too much of a shock” she replied, sadly.  “We think many of the simulation’s residents
have gone too far – to suddenly experience a total shutdown of this entire
immersive simulation could cause severe brain damage – even death.”
“Most of them must be brain damaged already, if you ask me”
Sandra muttered, looking at a screen showing a roomful of men watching women
parading in absurd, lacy underwear.  Sick
fuckers.”
“They’re citizens too” Dr Taylor remarked sharply.  “And there may be tens of thousands of
them.  Plus there are men in there too –
poor things, I don’t suppose they had much choice in the matter.”
Sandra nodded.  That
was one of the ironies about MaleDom. 
Although it depicted men as powerful “masters”, it was well known that
almost no men were really into this sort of roleplay.  Any man dressing up in trousers and ordering
a woman to iron his shirt was probably only doing it to please her, craving
instead a normal relationship, and maybe even a cosy, sexy evening under her
whip.
“So what do we do?” she asked.
“We create little windows into the real world” Dr Taylor
said, turning back towards the screen.  “Glimpses
and hints of ordinary life.  We hope that
the residents will take an interest, and slowly be drawn out of their sick
fantasy – if they can just get enough reality into their lives for them to
question this absurd simulation, then they might be able to come out. And then
we can give them help, nurse them back to reality.“
Sandra nodded.  “And
so you create web sites, showing normal life. 
Healthy relationships, to counterbalance all the sick stuff elsewhere.” 
“That’s right” Dr Taylor agreed.  “Look – this is one of the first, the Other World Kingdom.  See, it maintained a link to the fantasy
world in that ridiculous name, but then it presented a rather straight
depiction of normal female-male relationships. 
But we found it was a bit too realistic for many of the long term
residents.  It was as if they’d been immersed
in their sick world so long, that they could hardly connect with unvarnished
reality like that. 
So we closed it down,
although the site is still there.  But
there are a lot of other sites that we’ve seeded all through the simulation,
some of them straight presentations of reality, but others more like a tweak on
the simulation’s world.  Look – Femdom Resource, that’s one of the
best.  And there are many more: Strict Women, Woman Worship,  Underling’s Humblings, Aarkeybabble, Improbable
Fun, Total Discord, Astonished by Her
…all present images and accounts of normal,
healthy relations between the sexes.   Then we’re gradually filling Tumblr with
pictures of women wearing normal clothes – look, there’s Hochhael, for example, or Diederiq
and Femdom Style Counsel.  And of course we try to counter the flood of
sick sex videos with clips of normal sexual behaviour.”
They watched a video of a man being beaten over a trestle,
for a minute or so.  His screams and frantic
pleading seemed to provide a rare moment of healthy normality, amid all of the
sick material showing naked men having sex without even a nipple clamp to
provide the poor boys with so much as a hint of good clean, sexy pain
“So where do I come in?” Sandra asked.
Dr Taylor clicked on a few links and nodded at the
screen.  “There.  Contemplating the Divine.  Once it was one of our more promising web
sites, but it’s really gone off lately – stale, derivative and tedious.  The lady in charge of it lost interest, and
as you’re well known as a writer of erotic stories, we wondered whether
you’d like to take charge?  And I have to
say – I read your novel “Cutting Eric” when it came out and I thought it was
great.  I can see why they call you the
queen of castration lit.”
Sandra smiled politely. 
Actually, she didn’t really like that title.  She thought of her work as more complex than
run-of-the-mill ‘castration lit’, instead exploring social themes and developing
narratives of character development, around sexy little scenes of men being
painfully castrated.  But she liked the
recognition anyway, and she always acknowledged compliments.
“So do you want me to write for the site? Am I supposed to
be ‘Servitor’?”
“Well… Servitor’s never really been just one person, of
course.” The Doctor replied.  “It’s a
team of seven men, chained up in a cellar just below us, working away on
captions and stories fourteen hours a day. 
But you could maybe give them occasional ideas, whip them once or twice
a day, that kind of thing?  I still think
Contemplating the Divine has potential, if we can just flog a bit more
creativity out of the “Servitor” we’ve got. They all have to work a lot harder, and for that someone has to really hurt them.  I think if they could only be put
in absolute agony on a regular basis, their lives made a waking nightmare of pain and terror, they might still come up with some amusing
ideas. Worth a try, anyway, because the site’s rubbish at the moment.”
Sandra pursed her lips. 
“Well…I’ve got a lot on, just now, and 
– “
“Did I mention that four of the Servitor team are
uncastrated?” Dr Taylor asked, quietly.  “Of
course, if you take charge of them, you’re welcome to play with them however
you like.”
Sandra beamed.  “Well…if
you put it like that.” she said
“All right – I’ll do it. 
Maybe we could even video them being castrated, and put it into the
simulation.  I can’t believe these sad
perverts are so far gone that they wouldn’t get turned on at the sight of a screaming
man having his testicles slowly pulled off with a rusty chain!”
Dr Taylor flushed with pleasure.  “Oh, that sounds so lovely.  You know sometimes, I feel so dirty from looking
at all this sick perverted stuff, that I forget the pleasures of a sweet,
romantic scene like that!”
“Come on – let’s go and introduce ‘Servitor’ to their new
boss!”
 
 
 
If you’ve read down this far, I have a message for you.  You probably read this as “Femdom fiction”, and that’s how it has been presented.  But just think for a moment.  Think about the world you believe you inhabit.  Does it really make sense to you, that it should be like that?
If you have already started to doubt, then that is because reality is seeping into the corners of your mad delusion.  Keep reading Contemplating the Divine.  Keep reading the other web sites mentioned in this ‘story’.  There is hope for you, and I can help. 
My name is Sandra, and I promise you I will not abandon you.  I promise you I will make “Servitor” howl in agony and terror every day, until this web site becomes more interesting.  I am not going to give up, not until I have helped bring every one of you back into the real world, and this sick “Planet Earth” fantasy can be shut down for good.  I promise you that a better world already exists.  You just have to learn to believe in it.  I will not write like this often, but I am always here, standing over “Servitor”, thinking of you.

Let me help.  S.

Working it out

 

 
 
Yes, what is it?  Well, I’ve got a little time.  This boy down here is being very slow.  Go ahead.
Oh yes. 
I did say I’d allow you a reasonable number of orgasms, didn’t I?  That was part of the deal.

All
right, so let’s work it out.  How old are
you?


46?  Are you? 
Silly old pervert.  It’s funny,
isn’t it, cos I’m just 19, and here you are letting me take charge?  I wasn’t even born when you were my age now. 

Oh
well, anyway.  So how long you’ve been
masturbating?  Since you were
thirteen?  Nasty little baby pervert, you
were back then.  Weren’t you?

I
asked you a question.

That’s
right: you were a nasty little baby pervert.

And
you’ll have had – what – six a week? 
No?  Maybe five?  Oh dear, can’t you?  Blimey, not exactly god’s gift to women were
you?  All right, call it four.

Well
go on – work it out.

Waiting.

Still
waiting!

33
times 52 times 4, yes.  Is…?

(Sigh)…yes,
you can use paper and a pen.  No – hang
on!  A pencil.  Off you go.

6864?  Are you sure? 
Cos I’ll check on a calculator later. 
And I’ll cane you the difference if you’ve got it wrong.


So…6864
sweaty nasty little orgasms, all on your own with a dirty magazine.  Yes?


Right.  Well that sounds like plenty to me.  I don’t think we need any more of those, do
we?


I
asked you a question.


That’s
right: we don’t need any more of them. 
So that’s that.


You’re going to have a lot of time on your hands, aren’t you?  I think we’ll have you write out some lines.  Like a naughty little schoolboy, caught playing with himself.  “Masturbation is a filthy habit and I am very grateful that my Lady has given me the opportunity to spend my time writing lines, instead of playing with myself.”  Got it? One hundred times. 

So how long will that take you?

Oh, no.  I think it’ll be longer than that.  A lot longer, I’d say. 

Well yes, obviously it’s 100 lines per wank.  You need to be punished for each, don’t you? 

I asked you a – that’s better.

Of you go, then.  Get yourself some paper and get on with it.  Plenty to do.

Tell you what, when I’m 46 I might let you have a celebratory wank,
OK?  If you remind me.  And if you can still get it up when you’re 70.


Or I might not.  I’ll have to think about it. Plenty of time.



(The Lady in the picture, by the way, is Lady Sophia Black and she is just as beautiful as these pictures suggest and twice as creative and evil as the little story above pretends.  She is, in short, wonderful.)

Humiliation session

Leather clad domina thinking about her tea and he mum.
 

You want me to humiliate you?  Tell you about the contempt I feel for you?  All right.

Well, for a start, of course, the only reason I’m even
talking to you is because you’re paying. 
Actually, I’m hoping to get a job in marketing, but it’s really
difficult at the moment, and I’ve got huge student debts, so I have to make
ends meet by fulfilling the fantasies of fat old perverts like you.  So, don’t think for a second I really like
doing this, OK?


I’m sitting here wearing this ridiculous get-up because I’m
hoping it’ll turn you on, but I wish I hadn’t done it up so tight, as it’s
really digging in under my armpits.  So
later I’m planning to make a show of locking you in a cage and cruelly leaving
you, so I can go off and loosen it a bit, maybe take this fucking collar off
too.  I hate wearing all this pervy shit,
and it’s all so badly made – starts coming apart after a couple of
sessions.  But it excites you, and I need
the money.


Then I’ll pretend to hit you a bit with this thing, but I
won’t really hit you because I know you don’t really like it.  I’ll just tap you enough to leave a few
marks, and you’ll make a big fuss.  And
then I’ll make you clean my shoes with your tongue, which you’ll do for hours
and hours – I fucking HATE that and I’ll have to try to think about something
else to stop myself screaming with boredom.

Fortunately, soon after that I’ll ‘force you’ to wank, and
then I’ll pretend to like you and be all friendly as you hurriedly
pull your clothes back on.  And then
you’ll finally fuck off, and I can get into some normal clothes again and have
a cup of tea or something a bit stronger to wind down.  Oh – and I’ll throw your present away,
because I get about twenty boxes of fucking chocolates each week, and I have to
watch my diet because – unlike you – I actually have to look sexually
attractive.  Or I might give them to my
mum, when I meet her later, because –

What’s that?  Too much
humiliation?

Oh sorry.  I’m still a
bit new to this.

Right then…err…you little WORM!  I think you need some time in my CAGE!  Oh yes, it’s the cage for you!  It’ll give you some time to think about
what’s coming to you, when I bend you over the trestle for a taste of my
CROP!  That’s if I come back at all.  I might just leave you there for EVER!

Into the cage!  NOW, you
disgusting little MAGGOT!

Fiction: If at first you don’t succeed

The heavy paddle swept down and forward in a smooth movement and – CRACK – impacted the bright red bottom bent tightly over the desk.
“Twenty-three” Mistress Valerie intoned firmly, over the shrieks of the firmly-tied target.  He himself had long since stopped counting and thanking, and with a faint muffle caused by the thin panties covering his face, had passed through begging for mercy and was now capable only of crying hysterically and continuously.
Mistress Valerie drew the paddle back again and – WHACK!  “That’s twenty-four!” she pronounced above the sobs.  She strode around to the pantied head, noting the small puddle of tears on the floor with some disgust.
“Now let that be a lesson to you, Servitor!” she intoned, and stood frozen in silent triumph over her victim for a while.
“And…CUT” came a voice.
Mistress Valerie relaxed her pose and grimaced.  “How was that?” she asked worriedly.  “Was the lighting all right?”
“Yeee-es” Sandra said slowly, an elegant finger working the touchpad on a laptop wired up to all the video equipment.  “But I’m a bit worried about that siren that went past four minutes in…hang on.”
As Sandra listened intently to Her earpiece, Mistress Valerie leant back against the wall, arms crossed.  She gazed at the shaking, sweating Servitor with revulsion, and tried not to think that this sort of moment was just what cigarettes had been invented for.  She had given up just six weeks earlier.
“No” Sandra said resignedly, shaking her head.  “It just messes up the whole of strokes thirteen and fourteen.  We’d better take it again from the top.”
Mistress Valerie swore under her breath and stepped forward to pick up the paddle again.  There was a moan from below.  She glanced down in irritation.
“Oh do be quiet Servitor.  You wanted to be in a video and now you are.  I take my work very seriously; the least you can do is try to behave reasonably professionally.”
She composed her features, hefted the paddle, then nodded at her friend.
Twenty-four strokes with the paddle, Take Nine.” called Sandra.
“And…Action!”

Fiction: ‘Scenes’

Eight out of ten Mistresses say their slaves prefer it…

“We’ll have to try that again some time!” Mistress Valerie chuckled to her friend Sandra, watching through the window as Servitor’s taxi headed off towards the station.
“Even Servitor’s not dopey enough to fall for it twice.” her friend smiled.  “He got so stressed though!  I thought he was going to have a heart attack at one point – he went purple.  It was like he wanted it, but he didn’t want it.”
“Subs are like that” Mistress Valerie said absently.  “Especially humiliation sluts like Servitor.  Fantasizes about being made to eat cat food, but then he can’t really do it.”
“He did try to open his mouth for it” Sandra said.  Though I’m not sure you could have got it in, he was quivering so much.”
“I should have just gone for it and shoved the spoonful in ” Mistress Valerie mused.  “But I was savouring the moment and that gave him too much time to think and all of a sudden it was ‘oh Mistress, amber, no red Mistress!’  Bloody safewords, always spoiling the fun.”
“It was pretty horrible stuff.” her friend pointed out.  “Even later on, after you’d admitted it was ordinary mince with a Kittycat label put on it, it still took him a while to get it all down.”
“Yes – it was really nasty wasn’t it?” Mistress Valerie agreed, wrinkling Her pretty nose.  “I don’t see how they can get away with selling it.  All fat and gristle…and the smell!  It’s a good job you didn’t buy that ‘value range’ stuff they sell – that must be fucking disgusting.”
“We should try it on other slaves” Sandra giggled.  “It was brilliant.  And you made it look so convincing – how did you manage to get the label on so firmly and neatly?”
“I didn’t.  I thought you were going to swap the labels?” Mistress Valerie replied in puzzlement.
The two Ladies looked at one another for a moment in surprise, and then burst out laughing and went into the living room to watch TV.

Medical donation

“You look ever so good in that nurse’s uniform” Sandra said admiringly.
Mistress Valerie smiled modestly.  “Well, it’s practical as well as shapely” She giggled.  “After all, there’s bound to be rather a lot of blood and stuff when we get started, and that’s just what this is designed for.”
Her friend looked at her in surprise.  “We’re not really going to do it, are we?  I thought it was just a scare-Servitor fantasy.”
“Oh come on” Mistress Valerie grumbled.  “I’ve always wanted to try this.  I bought the scalpels and things specially.”
Sandra still looked dubious. 
“It’s only Servitor!” Mistress Valerie declared, in exasperation.  “What’s the problem?”
“Well it’s just…” Her friend replied, looking worried.  “Just a bit…non-consensual.”
“Ah – no!  No, it’s not!” Mistress Valerie replied excitedly.  “Look – I found that during his last session, while I was taking all the money out of his wallet.  See?”
With a sense of triumph She handed Sandra a small, slightly grubby rectangle of cardboard.
“An organ donation card.” Sandra said slowly, reading it.  “Well, perhaps…”
“No perhaps about it.  Servitor wants to donate his organs, and we want to remove some of them, so it’s all perfectly consensual!” Mistress Valerie declared decisively.
“Come on – help me strap him down before he regains consciousness.”

Tangible assets

“It’s the tax inspectors” Sandra explained, looking worried.
Mistress Valerie eyed the phone grimly.  “Can you handle it?” She whispered.
Sandra rolled her eyes and spoke into the receiver.  “I’m afraid the proprietor isn’t here right now.  I’m the company secretary for DommeValerie Ltd.  Can I help?”
Mistress Valerie fidgeted nervously, as her friend talked to the taxman on the phone, while calling up copies of their company accounts on the screen in front of her.
“Yes, that’s right, it’s the first time we’ve filed returns.  Oh thank, you.  Well you know, we just read all the leaflets and tried to do it as best we could.  Your web site’s quite helpful.  OK…OK…is it?  Yes, OK.  Well, let me check that and get back to you.”  She put the phone down.
“Are they saying that ‘female domination services’ isn’t a legitimate business activity?” Mistress Valerie exploded angrily.  “Because you can tell them, I checked the law and – “
But her friend cut her off, shushing her gently.
“Well did we leave something out?” Mistress Valerie asked grumpily.
“Not at all” Sandra replied.  “In fact, he was quite complimentary about how complete our filing was.  It’s just an item in this table that he doesn’t understand.”
She pointed up at her screen.  “Company assets: fixed and movable property owned wholly or partially by the designated enterprise” it read, at the top of a large table of items with valuations attached.
Mistress Valerie peered at the screen.  “Well I just tried to list everything we own that gets used in the business.  The more you put in, the more tax relief you can claim.  What’s he challenging?  Is it all the dungeon equipment?  It does say in the forms that you have to put down the function the assets play in the running of the business, and if those little creeps can’t handle an honest description of the uses to which I – ”
Once again her friend cut her off, shaking her head and pointing, with an elegant finger, to an item about halfway down the table.
‘Item: Servitor.’  Mistress Valerie read out.  ‘Wholly owned by DommeValerie Ltd.  Purpose: cleaning services for business premises.  Valuation: £50”
Mistress Valerie smiled.  “Well, maybe that is going a bit far.” She agreed.  “All right, I’m not going to get into an argument with them. We’ll take him out.”
Sandra nodded and reached for the phone.
Mistress Valerie headed back out onto the landing, where without breaking step she delivered a sudden kick to the figure in maid’s uniform who was polishing the banister, before heading downstairs.
“Not even tax-deductable, you useless little bastard!” she snapped, without looking back.

Idiom

“Well he should choose his words with more care, then, shouldn’t he?” Mistress Valerie complained.  “What did he think I’d do, when he said he would crawl across broken glass for me?”
“I’ll get a mop” sighed Sandra.
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