Because she says so

Always the best reason.




Femdom sms
I think there’s now an app you can get that makes the whole process a lot simpler.

One of the girls
Aren’t you lucky?
 

Femdom canining in prospect
I read in a self-esteem book once, that you should write out a list of all the things about yourself you despise.  I got on quite well at first, but after a few months it started to get quite unwieldy.  So I started this blog instead.  And it’s been great – I haven’t been troubled by self-esteem since.
 


Gagged slave addiction
Looks safe enough.  Hope he gets something liquid to drink at some point, though.
 




Hmmm.  I wonder what they’re going to do with those bunches of flowers?



Enthralled

enthrall (v.)


also enthral “to hold in mental or moral bondage,” 1570s, from en- (1) “make, put in” + thrall. Literal sense is from 1610s.

 
Kinky etymology.  You only get it here.  Don’t you?
 
Femdom mistress choice
I think she should allow them more food, don’t you?
 
 

More mathematical domination
Math is hard.  So’s she.
 


Dance for your mistress
She likes the way all those clamps jingle together when you sway.
 
 

Mistress owes her slave
Anyway, you’re still young.  Plenty of time to have that orgasm.
 


At the feet of Liz
She’ll probably just choose ‘both’ again – same as usual.  Women – never can make their minds up, can they?  Bless ’em.
 

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.

Free to choose
Where else could you be?
 
 

Venus in furs
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!
 
 

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

Femdom endless caning
The safeword is your credit card number.


 
Another castration caption
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.

Femdom story: Code-talkers

Just another little tale I tossed off, if you’ll excuse the phrase.  Don’t read if you’re offended by silliness.

Code-talkers

“Emily!”, Alison squealed with pleasure.  “Why it’s been…well, I don’t know!  It must be three years – didn’t we last meet
at Jerry’s wedding?”

Her cousin shook her head, laughing.

“No – I couldn’t make it. 
Don’t you remember?  Mark had
messed up that business with the plumbing, and we had a flooded cellar.  We had to stay at home to get it sorted out –
I emailed you all about it.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Alison replied.  “I’ll bet you gave Mark a right good thra – “

         
and she broke off, glancing nervously at the
third member of their party, their aged Great Aunt Maggie, who was sitting
bright-eyed between the two of them, nodding happily.

“I mean – errr – well, you must
have had a few stern, errr, words
with Mark after that one.”

“I certainly did”, Emily nodded,
grimly.  “Lots of words – three dozen that first time around, and then another
session a week later when the plumber’s bill arrived.”

“And how’s Mark now?” Emily
enquired casually.  “When you last
emailed me, you said he was playing, errr, playing ‘golf’ rather too often and
you were thinking of putting a stop to it.”

Her cousin laughed.

“Oh, he won’t be playing ‘golf’
any more.  Well…only when I say
so.  I’ve got his ‘clubs’ all locked
away, safe and sound.”

“But you let him play
occasionally?”

“Oh yes.  When he’s been good.  But no more than once a month or so.  Just so he doesn’t get completely out of
practice, you know.  I’ve heard that
‘golf balls’ have to be used every month or so, otherwise they can get damaged.”

“Never seen the point of golf
myself!” Great-Aunt Maggie burst in unexpectedly.  “Just grown-ups playing marbles if you ask
me.  And snooker – that’s just as
bad.  Tennis.  I used to like watching tennis.”

“That’s nice Mags”, Emily said,
encouragingly.  “Did you watch Wimbledon
this year?”

Great-Aunt Maggie looked
puzzled.  “I’m not sure, dear.” She
replied.  “Was that nice Mr Borg
playing?  I’m sure he won something,
didn’t he?”

“Errr…I think that might have
been a year or two earlier, Mags” Emily said, uncertainly and the three sat in
silence for while.

“So how’s David?” Alison
prompted, after a while.  “I expect you
still keep his ‘golf clubs’ locked away, mmm? 
With spikes, if I remember rightly.”

“Oh no” Emily giggled.  “David had the operation – I’m sure I must
have told you about it?”

“Operation, dear?” Great-Aunt
Maggie butted in, apparently pleased to be on her home turf of ailments and
remedies.

“Yes Mags.  I took him in last year to have his errr” –
and she caught her cousin’s eye – “to have his ‘tonsils’ taken out.”

“That’s good”, her Great-Aunt
replied.  “Much better off without them.”

“Oh yes”, Emily laughed.  “He’s a changed man, without any ‘tonsils’
any more.”

“Did you get to watch the
operation?”, Alison asked with interest, as she had been thinking about arranging
for Mark to have his ‘tonsils’ removed too.

“Oh yes” her cousin replied
breathlessly.  “It was great!  They strapped him dow – I mean, they bandaged
him up tightly, and then they let me watch as they removed each of them in
turn.  They even let me do the final
little snip.  Gosh, it was so
exciting!  I had a – errr – hot flush right there in the operating
theatre!”

“So was Mark under anaesthetic?”
Alison asked, beginning to feel the stirrings of a ‘hot flush’ herself, and
wondering whether Great-Aunt Mags would mind if the two excused themselves and
went upstairs to visit their old bedrooms.

“No – not even a local, not if
you don’t want it” her cousin replied, giggling.  “He made quite a fuss, especially just before
the first ‘tonsil’ came off – I mean, ‘out’.”

“And they even let me keep the
tonsils afterwards” she added, casually. 
“They’re in a little jar in my bedside drawer.”

“How lovely”, Emily
breathed.  “So is David much more obedi –
I mean, is he a bit more co-operative now?”

“Oh yes”, her cousin smiled.  “He does anything I want.  And the housework’s all done, spic and span
every time. And he also – ”

“Itr was the electric that did
that!” Great-Aunt Maggie broke in.

“You what, Mags?”

“The electric.  For housework.  Made all the difference.  Oh, before that it was impossible to get the
place clean.  Cos before that we’d just
had gas, and that wasn’t the same, not at all. 
Your Great Uncle Bert liked the gas, but I said, ‘no – we’re moving with
the times, Bert, we’re going electric.”

“That right, Mags?”, smiled
Alison, indulgently.

“Ooooh yes.  I’ll tell you, as soon as we got that
electric installed, I said ‘Right Bert, this is how it’s going to be from now
on.  This is the future, this is.’ And he
didn’t know the first thing about it!  He
said, what’s it do then, Mags?  That’s
what he said.”

“Didn’t he know about electricity
then, Mags?”

“Oh no, dear.  This was 1938, and he was never very
technical, wasn’t Bert.  So I showed
him!  I plugged a cable into that socket
– we only had the one socket when we first got the electric put in – and I
attached one wire to the tip of his willy, using a hairclip, and shoved the
other up his arse and switched it on!  Oooh,
he found out what it did then!  You
should have seen him jumping about screaming ‘Switch it off, Mistress, I’ll be
good Mistress!’  Never had a moment’s
trouble from him after that – housework all done, all my meals served in bed
and a lovely bit of oral every Sunday morning before church.  Oh – and when we needed a bit of extra money,
to buy a telly for the coronation, it just took one little dose of the electric
and he was off giving hand jobs to demobbed soldiers for two bob a time, just
to get a bit of extra money in.
Oh, it
used to scare the willies out of him, the electric, old Bert! Even worse than
the birch.  He used to say ‘Oh please Mistress, give me two dozen with the
birch instead!  Anything but the
electric, Mistress!’  ‘Course, I always
gave him double voltage when he tried to argue like that! And I’d sit on his
face while he was taking it, too! 
Lovely, that was.  Dear me.  Happy
days.”
She paused in contented
contemplation of times past, as her two great-nieces sat in shocked silence.

“Anyway, speaking of a bit of
oral, dears, I’ve got a lovely 24 year-old strapped to my bed upstairs –
Polish, or Czechyslovenian or one of those places.  Doesn’t speak a word of English, but he goes
like a train and he knows what to do with his tongue when you take a flogger to
him. 
And I’ve got a brand-new strap-on
that’s going to make him squeal a bit too! 
So I’ll leave you young people to natter about your golf and tonsils,
and I’ll take myself off for an early night and a good hard fuck.  See you in the morning, dears.”
And with that, the ninety-seven year old eased herself up from her chair and slowly hobbled over to where the chairlift was waiting to carry her upstairs, leaving her younger relatives to wonder what else they might have been missing all of these years.
 
THE END

Abuseful

It’s what I aspire to be.  But I expect I’ll always remain completely abuseless.  So it goes.

Lesbian sadistic lust oh my
Actually, it’s quite common for female orgasms to be accompanied by loud screams.  That’s what I always find when She leaves my gag off, anyway.


Ah…Madame Sarka.  Bestrides the world of femdom like…herself.  Doubles the traffic to my site when she’s featured here.  Welcome, welcome.


Zapped into obedience
It’s what electricity was invented for.


Schoolgirl sadism - there's a lot of it about
After all, it’s nearly time for end of term reports.  The maths teacher got a particularly poor grade last time, so he’ll certainly be keen to have improved.


Just a little memento
You won’t forget her, either.

Evil leather-clad dominatrices

You know, I enjoyed typing that title so much, that I thought I had to have a post just about it.  But marriage creeps in here too, as I guess it always will.

She likes them bruised
Hmmm… Sounds like you’ll shortly be sexually compatible!


Forced drinking
It’s not the worst thing you’ve ever tasted is it?  Oh, is it?  OK, well something has to be.  Anyway, you don’t want to keep her waiting.  No really…you don’t.


Shocking truth about femdom
Phew!  Lucky escape there.


Time to die
Possibly even less than three or four years – she can be quite moody, after all.


Marriage is an institution
I think that’s rather sweet.  Just because the marriage is over, doesn’t mean a couple should stay apart for ever.  I expect he thinks about her all the time.

The importance of terror in a healthy relationship

Often undervalued, don’t you think?  It’s the chill of fear striking deep into my stomach, as I watch the minute hand creep closer to the appointed hour, the hesitancy with which I approach the door and the tremble in my hand as I reach out for the doorbell that – for me – makes it more than just another way of getting bruises.


Ahem.


Next!








Domina takes all the money
Don’t be fooled by that severe exterior.  She’s actually a very kind person.  Why did you know, she gives 20% of all your money to animal charities?




Domme schoolgirl becomes domme grownup
Of course, she’ll need training.  The Headmistress reckons that Mr Jones, the maths teacher, might be available to assist.


Zapped slave
Apparently, the new one has voice recognition.  You have to train it to recognise your voice, though.  So you say “Clean the floor.” If it doesn’t do it – press the red button to zap its balls.  Then repeat the command.  It’s quite uncanny how accurate and responsive it can become.





Raoul's back
That Raoul has always had a wicked sense of humour. Remember that time he told her you’d called her a bitch? 




Superior wisdom
What a lucky man you are that someone so attractive takes the trouble to despise you.

Respectfully Hers

The divine Ms Hathaway about to administer a spanking
Personally, I’d argue a little longer.  Not a lot longer, my poor bottom couldn’t stand it.  But maybe just a little longer…


Schoolmistress dominatrix teaches trigonomnetry and respect
Plus, he now has a GCSE (that’s a British school qualification) in Albanian


Cattle prod humour
She just loves that cattle prod.  Best anniversary present ever.


Spanked to sense
Mars and Venus, revisited.
Sometimes she goes by different names, and dyes her hair.  So watch out.


Femdom story: The unkindest power-cut of all

Mistress Persephone was playing with Her slave in Her dungeon, and had just attached the electric clips to his nipples.

“Here we go slave“, She said cheerfully.  “This should make you think again before dropping any of my ash onto the floor.”  And with that, She turned the dial up to eight and pressed the red button.

The slave shrieked, and jerked hard against his restraints, just as expected.  What was unexpected was the way the cry died away almost as soon as it had started, and all the lights went off at the same time, leaving Mistress Persephone and slave in the dark.

After a moment, Her friend Lucy knocked at the door, holding a torch.

“It’s out all over the house”, She said.

The two ladies went over to the window, opened the blinds and gazed out.

“Well, the lights everywhere else seem to be on”, remarked Mistress Persephone.  “Seems to be just us.  Let’s go and have a look at the electrics”.  Lucy led the way with the torch, as the two Ladies left the dungeon to go downstairs.

“We’ll soon sort this out – don’t go away”, Mistress Persephone called distractedly over Her shoulder, to the slave standing in the darkness, strapped firmly to the dungeon cross.

In the utility room, the two Ladies could see that the main circuit-breaker was down in the off position.

“Look – you just need to flick the master switch back up” said Lucy and pushed it up.  The lights came on again and there was a brief shriek from upstairs, then once more the room was plunged into darkness.

“Hmmm.  It’s turned itself off again.  We’ll have to try each of the circuits individually”  She flicked each of the smaller switches to off, and then turned the master switch back on.

Then Her finger ran along the line of smaller switches, from left to right, flicking each up in turn. 

“Ah – we have light.” She said with satisfaction, as the fourth switch stayed up.  “Not upstairs yet”, Mistress Persephone replied, glancing out of the door and up the stairs.

“No, these over here are the upstairs circuits”, said Lucy, and started to flick each of them up in turn.

When She reached the third switch to the right, there was once again a shriek from upstairs, and the switch immediately snapped back down again.

“Won’t stay up.” She said, trying again – with the same result: a howl of pain cut short as the circuit breaker firmly snapped back down.

“Let me try”, said Mistress Persephone, pushing the switch hard with an elegant finger.  “Aieee!!” – came the sound from upstairs – but it wouldn’t stay in position for Her either.

“Silly thing”, She said in irritation, flicking it up (“Argh!!!“) and down, up (“Arrghhh – oh please!“) and down, up (“Oooohh!“) and down, up (“Aiiiiee!”)…  She could keep the power on by holding the switch up with Her finger (“Aaaagh nono, please!!”), but then it would always switch itself off again the moment Her finger left it.

“Reminds me of that slave who calls himself ‘servitor’”, She remarked.  “He can’t keep it up without my help either.”.  She pushed the switch up again (“AiEEE!”) and held it in place thoughtfully, as the shrieks faded away into sobbing.

”Be careful, you’ll damage it!” said Lucy.

“Oh don’t worry, they always make that sort of noise.”, Mistress Persephone replied.  “Doesn’t seem to do them any lasting harm.”

“No, no – I meant the circuit breaker.”, explained Lucy.

“I suppose you’re right”, Mistress Persephone sighed, and left the switch alone.  “I expect it’s the electric box I’d just started to play with.  Let me just go and check.”

She went upstairs, back into the dungeon.  The slave on the wall was hanging by his wrists, breathing heavily, with his eyes closed, but he opened them in terror as his Mistress entered the room. She went straight over and flicked the switch on the box (the slave flinched, before realising with relief that it was to the off position).

“Try it now!”, She called downstairs.

“Yes, it’s OK now” came the reply.  “Do you want to try switching the box back on?”

“Oh no, please no!” gibbered the slave, but Mistress Persephone reached down and switched back on again.

“Aaaaah!” came from the cross and “No, gone off again!” from downstairs.  Mistress Persephone sighed, and switched the box off again.

“Please, Mistress”, gasped the slave, “Please don’t, can you not…”

“Oh do be quiet!”, Mistress Persephone replied in irritation, picking up a ball gag from the shelf.  “Can’t you see I’m too busy to play just now?  We just have to sort this out, then I’ll come back and see about you.”

She gagged the slave tightly.  “That’s better.  Could hardly hear myself think for all that racket.”

Back downstairs, the two Ladies tried to remember whether they know anyone who might be able to fix the box.  “Well, there’s footslave dave“, Lucy reflected.  “I think he’s some kind of electrician.”

She went off, and reappeared with the phone to Her ear two minutes later.

“Says he can be here on Thursday morning, some time between ten and two.”

“Give me the phone”, Mistress Persephone replied.  “dave?  If you’re not round here, with your tools and a bright helpful smile on your face within one hour, you’re spending the weekend chained to the wall with clamps on your nipples, weights on your balls and a red hot chillie up your bum.  It’s now…4.43, so the deadline is 5.43.” and She hung up.

“It’s so hard to get decent customer service these days”, She reflected.

“Oh well, he’s not going to be here in time for what’s his face up there, is he?  We’ll just have to do something else.  And I was just getting into that.  How annoying.”

She went back upstairs, and looked at the sweaty slave strapped to the wall, whose staring eyes met hers with mute pleading.  She looked down, at Her favourite electric box.  “No more electricity today slave”, She said regretfully, and the slave’s breathing slowed noticeably and his head gently rocked forward in relief.  “That box is definitely broken.”

“In fact”, Mistress Persephone said, brightening up a bit.  “Come to think of it, it only broke when I attached it to your nasty little nipples, didn’t it slave?” The man nodded, doubtfully.  “So what does that mean?”

Unsurprisingly, no answer emerged from the ball gag.  “It means, slave, it means that you broke my favourite toy.  Didn’t you?” And ignoring the frantic shaking of Her slave’s head, Mistress Persephone moved over to Her toybox, happily musing.

“And I think there should be some consequences to that…shouldn‘t there?”
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