Category: feet

Nasty and inaccurate prophecies

After a while, though, most wives get a little bored with vanilla apologies and want to spice things up with ever more elaborate contrition scenarios. Still, it’s usually best to humour them, in my worthless opinion.
Remember: serious findommes will always work within a carefully-negotiated framework of consent, so it’s probably more fun to play with the frivolous ones who’ll just drain your finances without a second thought and gleefully leave you penniless and lovesick in the gutter with your life in ruins.
It’s certainly true that it’s less painful for your back than other things she can do – and probably will, when she returns home.
She’s started a collection. It’s good to have a hobby.
You might worry that they’d get into trouble with animal protection groups, but they checked with PETA and all the rest, and apparently they were fine with it, once the whole concept had been properly explained.
He’s often mistaken about things. Just the other day, he told her he really needed an orgasm, but it turned out he didn’t, not really, just as she’d predicted.

Uncomfortable fictions

Just pray she’s using the black rubber end, not the golden shiny ball – now that really hurts.
It can take a while, getting used to inlaws’ family traditions. Just go with it – the important thing is your forthcoming marriage, after all. That’s for life.
That’s why you don’t often see snip-lit set out as a separate category at bookshops, but someone once calculated that over 25% of new fiction sold to women features some kind of removal of male genitalia, so it’s a very important theme.
But her hippocratic oath is secure: she’s not harming him; it’s more in the nature of long-overdue radical treatment to improve matters. Anyway, it’s a debatable point wherther the Oath even applies to males – after all, doctors eliminate bacteria and viruses by the millions and men aren’t much different.
I am actually quite good at maths, and once managed to really irritate a domme who had set up a school scene based on arithmetic tests. Furtunately, it turns out that you can be tawsed and caned almost regardless of aptitude, so the session turned out well.
Anyway, she is a queen, so why not have a chair in which to be one? Honestly, journos get hung up on the silliest things.

And eating it too

A special ‘Pervworld’ post – that’s an occasional series in which I put up captioned images that fall well below the already laughably low bar for plausibility that this blog applies, then try to justify it as being in some way knowing and ironic. See what I did there? It’s like when TV shows get to objectify women, but it’s OK because they’re really just subverting the genre.

And this intro itself is ironically mocking my own ironic use of cheesy fetish tropes to, to… OK maybe I’m over-thinking things. Not a common problem among males like myself, I’ll admit. Hmm? What’s that you say? ‘Shut up and get the fuck on with it, Servitor you annoying little prick’? Sure, happy to.

And a ‘special’. When I saw the site name on these images, I just felt that they had to feature in Pervworld. Get ready to salute the brave girls of the Special Feet Force…

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!

Rigorous relationships

“Because I say so” is actually the best reason of all, I’ve found.
I’ve heard that ‘smelly feet’ is actually one of the flavours in those Harry Potter jelly beans, but you have to eat a lot of raspberry and cherry and other such pointless flavours while looking for one.
She hasn’t even got that right: that helmet’s definitely from the Franco-Prussian War of 1870. Do you think I should tell her?
Don’t worry: there’ll be lots of chances to apologise during and – taking an optimistic view of how it goes – after, too.
Surely you wouldn’t sacrifice your deeply held commitment to the principles of men’s lib, just to get into a relationship with a pretty woman? Because that would be shallow and demeaning.  Wouldn’t it?

Yanking my chain

Don’t you hate it when she does that?


Nah, same old. Just got a new hood that’s all – and some fresh whip-marks.




Models have something of a reputation for aggressive behaviour, which is often quite undeserved, sad to say. 




To be honest, if I had to choose my perversion, there are probably easier options than being submissive.  But fortunately I cannot choose and as a submissive I’d rather not anyway.





Many brides can be a bit on edge during the big day – the whole ‘bridezilla’ thing, you know?  Just humour her… soon you’ll have tied the knot and can settle down to a lifetime of married bliss.






Hmm.  Seems a bit unprofessional, to have mixed up the creams like that.  Probably best not to complain, though.





Delightfully despotic

Better do as she says.  But with dignity, right?  Always with dignity.

 

 

 

For those of you objecting that getting an erection is a natural reaction to the situation, merely an expression of sexual desire, should realise that exactly the same argument applies to her giving you powerful electric shocks.

She needn’t hurry.  This isn’t going to be over any time soon.  Not ever, actually.

 

 

She’s not saying it’s a hard limit, mind.

 

 

 

Maybe since she broke her side of the bargain, you should ask for all the presents back? It’s only fair.  Admittedly, fairness has never really been big in this relationship.

 

Stocking fillers

Always such a rush… I mean, you wait all year for Christmas, then…

 

 

Many submissive men are rather bad at shorthand, which is a shame as most dominant ladiies really enjoy dictating.

 

 

I once jokily asked a domme if she did ‘big penis humiliation’ – and rather to my surprise she said she did, although as it turned out most of the actual work in-session was done by her friend Marcus.

 

 

No, no… don’t make me sniff that stinky stocking, Brer Mistress!

 

 

 

If you’re crying more often than you’re coming you’ve reached next-level sub status. Either that or you’re much too young to be reading this blog.


Superior sex

 She is it, and she also has it.


Perhaps you should discuss her salary expectations soon, as I think right now they are increasing rapidly.


She uses ‘cruelty free’ cosmetic products but I’m afraid that attitude extends only to animals. Non-human animals, I mean.


The system is open to abuse by women seeking to save money on nursing care for their elderly male relatives unfortunately. But a recent inquiry into the prevalence of false accusations of crminal sexism concluded (a) that it was not so very high and (b) that the old bastards probably deserved it anyway. So that’s all right.


Imagine putting her to so much trouble. And he calls himself submissive…


The lady visting OWK in this pastoral scene is Goddess Sophia, whose cages, canes and (most memorably) gloriously swishy rubber dress Servitor has had the honour to experience – and can thoroughly recommend to UK-based subs. She may or may not still be in business and is not the lady of the same name in Portsmouth, who I am sure is equally lovely.

I imagine Douglas knows many things they don’t… lots of secret little thoughts.







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