Helplessly devoted

She might at some point make you consent to what’s going on, just to ease her conscience.
If after you’ve discussed them there are still things the two of you disagree on, well, you can always just discuss them again, can’t you?
Could be the start of something beautiful. A turning point, so to speak.
I once cancelled a session with a domme at short notice but she ignored me and went ahead anyway. Quite right too.
Sometimes guys think going 24/7 means they can’t ask for things any more, and that’s just such a misunderstanding. I’m always asking my SO for stuff – food or water, mostly – and usually she doesn’t mind at all.
Sometimes, the ferals watch her being oiled up by one of her domesticated males and just walk into the cages of their own accord.

Happy ever after?

No, not a fairy tale post. Just a post themed around that eternal topic of uncertainty when visiting a new domme: the happy ending, if any.

Actually, my very first domme – and I saw no other for about my first three years – never allowed them at all. Then the very next lady I visited pulled on a latex glove about fifteen minutes before the end of the session and surprised me mightily. My current regular domme seems to decide it’s going to happen about… oh, one time in four or so? So it’s a nice surprise if it happens but I have learnt not to count on it. Up to her, entirely and that’s how it should be.

Anyway, happy endings. We subs usually don’t deserve them but then the same is true of the very existence of the dommes we are privileged to visit, isn’t it?

…and of course the all-time classic

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!

The other was me and I’m a boy

Never quite sure what The Who were complaining about in that song. Looks to me like an idyllic childhood.

You can earn free hair grips and stuff when you spend money too – pretty cool, huh?

She tries so hard… but usually fails.
That’s a bit unfair.  I once told my SO that I could do any job a woman can do, so she arranged an internshp at a brothel, giving blow-jobs to oil rig workers on shore leave. To be honest, I wasn’t quite as good at it as the girls but I had plenty of clients once they priced me at a 95% discount.
Yeah, how about it Dave?  Equal pay for equal work.  Stand up for yourself and be a man, for once.  Or ‘you go, girl!’.  Whatever.

Our pillory’s my special place.  I can spend hours at a time in there, not really doing anything in particular, you know?

Women beat their men

Animals watch beyond the fire.

Don’t worry, they’re quite uncomfortable for her too, so this part of the session shouldn’t last more than 45 minutes or so.

I’d scream for Keira, nightly if she wanted me to.

Well, I hope it’s still summer, if we’re going to play outside again.

They have lots of good ideas for taking all the hard work out of BDSM too – or at least, making someone else do it.

Must be nice not to have to worry about limits and all that nonsense.

Women seem wicked when you’re unwanted

…and isn’t that great?  Warning: safe for work video after the link.

But what if he never gets to like it?  Hmm.  Not sure she’s thought this one through.


Don’t even ask what the chicken mask is for. A magician never gives up her secrets.


Well, he wasn’t treated exactly like that, obviously.  Dommes tend to keep their places heated quite well, for one thing, in my experience.
It’s actually much harder playing ‘guess the object that’s been shoved up the slave’s anus’ in a single-domme session.  Because then you have to do the guessing and ‘hmmm… it’s definitely something that really hurts’ doesn’t narrow it down much.
Perhaps he should discuss it with his wife.  Or perhaps she should, directly.


Mistress of arts

Women, eh? You can’t just straight-out discuss something, she has to set up the whole situation just right to ‘discuss it’. Oh well.  Better humour her.

That’s a very wide hole. Still, maybe there are some guys who need that.  Not jealous…

Phew.  That could have gone quite badly.  Remember the time you bought that fur coat in the wrong shade of silver?
I wonder if in the years to come, he’ll regret not having signed more forms?  After all, it’s not going to be easy to sign anything, when she’s done with him.
 This of course is the sweet and kindly Mistress Jo, of Cruella and British Institution fame.  She’s just a softie really.
That’s something we’ve seen a lot of this year – this contemptuous attitude to ‘experts’.  She could easily double the efficiency of the plant by not sitting on it, for example, but you just try telling her that…


Ah… reminds me of my collaring ceremony.  It happened right here, actually, not three feet away from where I am crouching right now.
I’m very aware of sexism in the workplace, being one of the more inferior members of the inferior gender.
I don’t understand men who send women pictures of their penises.  I mean, it’s just asking for trouble.  Like waving a raw steak in front of a hungry leopard.
On the plus side, his steel tube is a lot bigger than mine or yours.
You say “Yes, please”.

Begging her pardon

I’m ready for a fuck, too.  Have been for several years, now.  Oh well.

If they win this one, they’ll be up against the winners of the boys school competition, in the final.  I think they’ll probably give the boys quite a hard time, don’t you?

Aww… sweet.
 This is from the excellent Men are Slaves site, which in addition to the pay site identified on the photo, has a remarkably generous tumblr with free samples.

You only live once, I say.

She could try asking him after the session.

Not just the Pink Panther scene

Before we start, here’s a bit of found femdom that I haven’t seen anywhere else. You remember Valerie Leon, the lady from the Pink Panther movie (yes you do, it was probably one of your formative sexual experiences, right?  Pervert.)
That’s not the found femdom, everyone knows about that.  (Oh yes you do! Stop lying.).  
Anyway, an advertising agency in the 1970s obviously thought that the male submissive market was an underexploited market for aftershave so… thisAnd this. Maybe others, I don’t know.
I imagine it was rather effective.  Thinking about the typical British aftershave from the 70s and 80s, I think it’s a fair bet that if you splashed it on liberally before visiting a domme, she’d give you a pretty memorable session.  Possibly using a bullwhip from the maximum distance.
Thought you’d like to know.  

On we go…
Oh no, not again.  Honestly, it’s like that story’s following me around.

Well, at least two of them like pain a lot. If he really insists, perhaps they could hold a vote.

Yes, you don’t want to cause ofence to religious people.  This blog certanly never does that, except perhaps to the poor evangelical guy who had a Christian blog of the same name… sorry about that, mate.

I hate it when the legs get caught between my teeth.  Don’t you hate that?

hmm?  wha?

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