domme – Page 3 – Contemplating the divine

Fedmom capyions

Just for all those of you too excited at the thought of all these pictures of dominant ladies to type into Google correctly.

One of the most common search terms for people finding this blog is “Contemplating the devine”. No. Just no. Write it out correctly 500 times, and then go and see Miss Hardcastle, boy!

On we go.

Where else could you be?

Clue: the right answer is “Yes” or, better, “Yes, Mistress”. Don’t worry – you can always borrow the money if you haven’t got it!

Men say the oddest things sometimes. That’s why sensible wives don’t let them speak without permission.

The safeword is your credit card number.

You have laugh really, eh? All those bitter tears of loss… Over someone else’s balls. Funny. Isn’t it?

By the way, I shall be on holiday for about the next two and a half weeks. The blog will continue to update itself twice a week via the magic of ‘scheduler’ *. But if I don’t respond to your comment for a few weeks, it’s not because I am rude, or too lazy to do so**, it’s just because I’m not really here. But I’d like you to keep commenting anyway…

*actually, to tell the truth most of the captions and stories these days are produced using an AI script anyway, which is why they are so repetitive and formulaic. The real ‘Servitor’ died of shame about six months ago. Nobody cared.

** unless of course you are a representative of the ruling gender, in which case my failure to reply is a sign of laziness and rudeness, and I hope you’ll be taking appropriate disciplinary measures to deal with this disgracefully impertinent behaviour.

Dealing with feelings of sexual inadequacy

Here are some ladies who know exactly how to do that.

I find it quite hard to find condoms in my size, actually. I used to think it was because I was so unusually small, but actually a kindly pharmacist once explained to me that there are quite a lot of men this small – it’s just that they never get to have any sex, so there’s not much of a market for condom makers. That made me feel a lot better.

Actually, that sort of failure rarely happens to me. I usually find I can make women laugh, one way or another.

I wouldn’t recommend a visit to the Young Goddess site these days, unless you’re really into self-loathing, as the guy who ran it got religion and decided that all of this is sinful. Which of course, it is. Still…I guess that means he’s relinquished copyright on everything?

Sorry. Too embarassing a memory to talk about. Move on please, move on.

That Raoul. I’m sure he’s cheating on her. Last time, I bought eight condoms and when I came round the next day to clean up, I only found six that he’d used. Men can be such beasts…I don’t know what she sees in him.

She had to have the last one put down. He was just too yappy. It wasn’t an easy decision, though, and she made the mistake of looking back and catching his eye when she left him at the vet for the last time. A tear or two was shed that night, I can tell you, as she thought of him alone in his cage at the vet’s waiting for the lethal injection the next morning. But she’s sure it was for the best.

Quite a combination, there, Mistress T of Vancouver to the left, Goddess Lexi Sindel to the right, and Mistress Mina Thorne in the middle. [With thanks to commenters for one identification]

Blessed art thou amongst women

We’re all blessed to be amongst women, don’t you think? Usually, I have to pay for the privilege, but even so..

You know, that reminds me of a funny story. The first time I visited a domme in France, she asked if I
wanted to be “blessé”. So of
course I said “Oui, Maîtresse!” and I knelt down and waited for
divine benediction.

But, would you believe it, in French “blessé”
means wounded!

Goodness, how I laughed at my mistake afterwards, when the
bones in my jaw had been re-set.

Funny old world, isn’t it? And apparently in Estonian, the phrase “blow job” means “penectomy”. Strange but true. Could be all sorts of scope for amusing misunderstandings there, I imagine.

On we go.

Well… it’s not as if the chair’s that comfortable anyway. Me on the ring, her sitting on the chair…we’ll see who cracks first.

Anyone not realising that this is the divine Eleise de Lacy, or that Femme Fatale Films are absolutely superb… well, anyone like that probably isn’t reading this blog, actually.

I don’t normally credit Tumblrs, but this is from the “fuckyeahstewardesses” tumblr, which once you’re past the slightly, mmmm, crude name is actually rather tasteful and lovely. Unlike the red glove treatment, which isn’t either of those things.

Nothing to see here, let’s move on.

She’s going to be her own, er… ex-step-mother! How cool is that?

Planet Femdom. If statuesque German ladies are your thing (and even more so, if you’d like to be their thing), it’s the place you want to go right after this.

Ah yes. Hers isn’t quite as frilly. And, to be fair, it doesn’t say “punishment dress” on it either. Or have the little lacy cuffs at the back for wrists. And she can take it off herself. Still, nice to be a matching couple.

The future’s bright – just not for you

More captioned images of female domination, of course.

As I’ve mentioned before: Space 1999 Devil Planet episode. See it, if you haven’t already.

Actually, most humiliatrices are kind and gently supportive, out of session. Just not with useless losers like you. Asshole.

The remarkable Lexi Sindel.

Still, on the bright side it should make sticking to her weight loss targets easier.

(The lovely Lady Heather, of course)

I think any really lasting relationship should be based on fear, don’t you?

Oh dear. You know, in these circumstances, the gentlemanly thing to do is just let her leave. And don’t even think of asking for your money back.

Divine retribution

Do not seek to question it.

It’s funny how you sometimes feel let down after a birthday, don’t you think? As if there should have been more to it, somehow? Oh well – there’s always next year. In you go.

Yes, let’s get it sorted.

Still am, I’m afraid to say. Ow!

And she’s used to getting what she wants.

Easy to confuse the two. Wouldn’t it be awful, though, if you visited a beautiful young professional lady for an intensive CBT session, then found yourself spending the next two hours putting positive feelings into practice?

But I would walk 500 miles

And I will walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles
To fall down at your door

da da dah tah, da da dah tah, da da dah tah, da da dah tah, da da dum dum tiddly um dum tiddly um

da da – oh, sorry. Just singing with my headphones on. But the lyric is kind of on-topic. And so are these:

Even a cricket bat can be a penis whip. You just have to try.

Wow. Sounds that like a pretty happy marriage to me.

Bleak and depressing captioned images of female domination. You only get it here. Hi! I’m servitor.

Do you think he knew? I think he knew.

Too small to satisfy anyone…

It’s a big enough umbrella, but it’s always me that ends up getting wet

I loved that line, and the image it conveys, when I first heard it as a teenager.

Y at-il un lecteur de ce blog qui sait où je peux trouver un donjon (ou “SM-Studio” ou quelque chose de similaire) à louer pour quelques heures, Paris ou ses environs? S’il vous plaît écrivez dans la section des commentaires si vous en connaissez un. Un grand merci (et je m’excuse pour ce que j’écris le français si mal!).

Back to English. More pictures of incompetently captioned perfection follow.

Not quite dry…

Don’t worry. She’s promised to keep really quiet, when she reaches orgasm.

Awww, c’mon. Don’t be a meanie.

And there you were thinking that Karen hates you! It just goes to show…

They say laughter is the best aphrodisiac. Believe me, it isn’t true.

A sore loser

That’s me.

When I’ve been lucky enough to atone at the feet of my Significant Other, that is. Which hasn’t been for a while. But today’s the day I pollute Her inbox with an email humbly requesting a visit in mid-February. Lucky servitor, always a loser and soon to be sore.

This is the thirteenth picture in a twenty picture photo set. The ones from seventeen up are a bit icky, to be honest.

The life of a film star. It’s not all glamour, you know. And they want the caning reshot from yesterday too.

There’s nothing to be embarassed about. She’s already told most of the people who are going to be there all about your little ‘thing’ that you like to get off to, after all.

Just look into those eyes, fall in love and obey.

You do have the right to remain silent, but that’s rather unlikely to happen, isn’t it?

Delightful power

Two or three days at least.

Oddly enough, a few nights later his life took a turn very significantly for the worse. Just goes to show that you should be thankful for what you have – for example, he’s not screaming silently in agony into a thick gag.

She’s perfect, so why shouldn’t she expect his work to be?

That joke copyright Emo Philips.
I loved the first snowfall of the year. My heart would leap when I saw the soft white flakes covering the ground, and I’d jump up and I’d run to the front door, and shout “Remember the deal! Let me in now!”.

Women eh? Obsessed with penis size. My Significant Other seems to bring the subject up every single day. And I just don’t think it’s appropriate, on a crowded commuter train.

Please, sorry and thank you

Oh please, oh please, no more, I can’t, I just can’t…I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry, and I –

[AGONY]

Thank you, Sarah! Thank you for beating me!

Oh no, oh please, please Sarah, for pity’s sake don’t, I…

[etc]

Three little words. But so important, don’t you think?

Fortunately, some important brain functions remain completely unharmed – the pain receptors, for example.

No imagination. You’d think she’d get bored with it after the thirtieth blow, the thirtieth desperate shriek, the thirtieth angry weal of brutalised flesh. But no…

She looks so unhappy! Dommes shouldn’t be unhappy. Still, they can always ensure they’re not the unhappiest person in the room.

Wow. You could be getting a multiple orgasm here – more than once in one year, that is.

It’s a perfect match. He likes eating food, but he’s no good at cookery. He likes to look smart but he hates ironing. He gets quite moody, and sometimes you need a good kicking. Made for each other.

Later she bought the movie, but it was all a bit disappointing. He was just one of quite a few actors in it. There is one scene when you catch a glimpse of his face, screaming in terror, but it’s only for a second or so, then a boot gets in the way and the screaming abruptly stops. Later on, there’s a longer shot of something being scraped into a waste disposal unit, and she thought that was probably him, but it was very hard to be sure.