Lowly thoughts

Ah yes.
It’s no one’s fault but your own, you know. Well… I expect they’ll blame 216 for it, too.
Many brides get nervous, before their wedding nights, especially when, like her, they’re not very experienced with men. But really it’s the groom who should be scared.
More howly for a start.
They have an office policy on sexual discrimination and harassment: it’s quite detailed.
Just wait it out… are you master in your own house or not? Anyway, she’ll probably do the ‘half”…’a quarter’ thing.

Trunign ponts

Whatever…

Number 42 in the series, apparently! How many roads must a man walk down before he reaches a turning point, eh? OK, one, I suppose, as if he was on a second road he would presumably already have passed a turning point. OK, so not a good analogy, but you see what I’m trying to say here, right? Erm… anyway, I’ll just get on with the not-quite-femdom captions, now.

Just do as you’re told

I mean, how hard can that be?

Don’t worry: you won’t have to say much. Counting and thanking for the most part, maybe a few hundred words of apology and gratitude at the end.
Don’t you always feel uncomfortable, on the outskirts of a conversation like this? I do.
Of course it’s fair. Every ten weeks (subject to good behaviour, obvs)? That sounds like a non-stop sex party, as far as I’m concerned.
I’m told that the trick to buying a car in America (yes, it’s American – see, they put the steering wheel on the wrong side? Oh – and that blue jacket too…), is to negotiate on price and hold out for a good bargain. Just be aware, though, that that same tactic is absolutely catastrophic when approaching a findomme.
Thank goodness the only face we can see is the lovely one of Princess Kali.

Still lovely, still here.

In fairness, Sissy usually gets to go to bed a lot earlier than Mistress, too.

Wicked, flagitious, tyrannical acts

If you’re worried about whether you’ll be able to please her sexually – don’t be. You have plenty of pain receptors and a full set of vocal chords, and that’s all you’ll need.
Obviously, I visit sex workers, although I have to confess I’ve never really understood why the ladies I visit call themselves by that title.
Looks to me like they’re considering him quite seriously already. I think he’s got a good chance of getting through to the next stage: in-depth assessment.
She’s just looking for the right man. I’m sure when she does find him, she’ll keep him.
I expect he’ll be taking those opportunities; it would be so ungrateful not to.

There’s nothing here that is real

..but I think we’ve long ago established that, no? Anyway, it’s just yet more 1980s pop, this time from Mistress Tracy (Tracy). Distressingly SFW, like so much in life.

She’s very embarassed, poor thing – but even the most experienced professionals can have an off day.
Fortunately, the experience is very memorable.
He’s hoping eventually she’ll come round. Women find that kind of persistence very romantic.
There’s a part of me that does…
I don’t want anyone reading this to think I believe boys shouldn’t study science and stuff like that. They’ll be no good at it, but it can be enlightening for their female classmates to watch them being beaten as they fail repeatedly.
If you feel like arguing, maybe it’s time to start practising some of those all-important speech protocols, hmm?

Suitable for a princess

Just another one of those captions that became so long it wasn’t really a caption any more so I’m calling it a story.

Your princess?  Really, am I?  Aww… that’s nice.

Maybe you’d like to hear your princess tell you a story, hmm?  Don’t worry: you can keep doing that. Right between the toes: there’s a good boy.

Once upon the time, there was a beautiful princess who lived in far-off Milton Keynes. She was so beautiful and so talented that men from far and wide fell in love with her.  Princes, knights, rich merchant bankers… even footslaves so ugly she had to make them wear latex masks, who loved to lick her sweaty toes. They all fell in love with her, but she really didn’t give a flying fuck, as long as they paid her and gave her presents on special occasions. 

Like her birthday: that was the specialest occasion of all.  The princess hated it if any of her ungrateful and moronic worshippers forgot her birthday.  No – don’t stop doing the foot thing, slave.  I’ve got something else planned in a moment, but you can keep doing that for now.

So, at the end of one birthday the princess made a little list of all the slaves who hadn’t fucking bothered to give her a present – who couldn’t even extend her the basic courtesy of an email or something.  You know: to take, like, one minute out of their day to wish a happy birthday to the lady they claim is the light of their sad little fucked-up lives. And she decided that the next time each of those nasty little ingrates sessioned with her, she’d give them a really hard pain session, that went way beyond their ‘limits’. Like, for example, her pathetic little footslave who was ‘really not into pain, Mistress’: she decided she was going to clamp his nipples and bollocks with tight, tight clamps and attach heavy weights to them, then whip him raw. Maybe finish off with some electric shocks or ball-busting. Or both.

Of course, the princess realized, it would have to be consensual.  But the self-centred bastards who’d forgotten her birthday would be given a choice: consent to the pain session the selfish little sods so richly deserved, or never see Mistress and her beautiful feet ever, ever, ever again. Either way, she thought, next birthday she’d have presents from all her slaves: any who didn’t consent would be living sad lonely lives without her and the remaining ones would be too fucking terrified to forget a second time, after the sheer hell she planned to deal out to them.

Now… I want you to help me write the end of the story, slave. Not the very end, that’s “And the princess lived happily ever after.”  It’s the bit just before that.  What do you think is going to happen?

No, you can stop licking my foot now – maybe that was for the last time, isn’t it exciting? – and I’ll go and get the bondage cross ready, while you have a think.

The part of the princess in this tale was played by the very lovely and delightful Tiffany Naylor, who does indeed hold court in the magical land of Milton Keynes*, where I once encountered her and very lovely and very delightful she was. Naturally, none of the actions of the fictional dominatrix depicted here should be attributed to the real Tiffany Naylor, although I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets cross if her regulars forget her birthday**, as that’s perfectly normal (and normally perfect) dominatrix behaviour.

* For Americans or other foreigners unfamiliar with this place, Milton Keynes is one of the most historic towns in England. You can easily spend several days there, just strolling around the medieval streets, drinking in the scenic beauty of the old town and swapping stories with its charming inhabitants. Wisely, the local authorities have avoided the excess tourism that has damaged the charm of some other historic English locations, like Stratford on Avon, by ensuring there is little to be found on the Internet about the rich history and architecture of this unspoilt gem, but those in the know regard it as being on the must-see list for any visitor seeking to explore England’s historic treasures.

** 3rd of August!

Whipping posts

Also, she finds the whole idea of ‘going easy’ a bit uncomfortable.  Dommes have their hard limits too, you know.
And there’s so much space for them too.
An EU delegation once visited to check that the OWK itself conformed to the relevant safety standards. I understand the ladies achieved a perfect score, in not conforming to a single one, but it is hard to say for sure as neither the report nor the delegation were ever released.
As my SO likes to point out: she is being merciful.  A fact for which I am truly grateful.
Dommes can be a bit highly-strung. It’s probably the uncomfortable clothing.

 This is the magnificently magnificent Gigi Allens.  Who also makes vanilla porn movies – which is a sad waste of a powerful talent, but at least shows us what we are all missing and always shall.

Hear her roar

 … and hear me squeak.


I’m not allowed to look my SO in the eye under any circumstances, so for that (and other) reasons this situation never arises for me.


Loving brutal domination… that hits the sweet spot (repeatedly, raising welts and leaving it throbbing and sore).

Hard to understand atheists who say there’s no such thing as a divine being, in a world on which Mistress Eleise walks among us.


I wouldn’t mind but it’s seven floors up and the male lift (‘elevator’, Americans but you knew that right?) has been out of action all week.


It’s odd how often I find myself begging my SO for mercy, when begging her for brutal and gleeful ferocity would be so much more likely to succeed.




It’s actually quite common for bridegrooms to feel a little nervous and apprehensive before giving up their their body and eternal soul to the control of a callous and evil witch the big day. Looks like she has a potion that will rob you of any means of resistance just the solution. I guess that’s you damned to an eternity of suffering and torment why you’re marrying her, right?




Imperial, mysterious

 …and in amorous array.

Lots of men get a bit nervous on their wedding days, but some have more cause for it than others.



But she is wearing everyday clothes, isn’t she?




Very weird.


Men are often not good at prioritising.  She can help with that.




Actually, Julie’s not keen on putting things out of their misery.  Neither of them are.



Sweet surrender

 

It’s basically harmless: it’s just in a cage to keep it from getting into trouble, that’s all.

 

 

 

Life-long learning.  Apparently we’ll all be doing that in the future, which sounds very exciting.

 

 

 

No, nothing.

 

 

 

 

Happiest day of your life they say.  OK, that’s not always true but it does seem certain there will be a great many days after this one that are thoroughly unhappy, so it’s quite an accurate description.


Oh well.  She tried.  Now she’ll try something else.


 

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