Stories and pictures themed around female domination and male subjugation and servitude. Unsuitable for children, for alpha males, for hard-core practitioners with an interest in the politics of bdsm and the mechanics of complicated rope work. Of interest to perverts like me, basically.
 |
| Thank goodness for that. Generally, this blog disapproves of the use of painkillers on men – just seems wrong and counterproductive, somehow – but this could be an exception. |
 |
| It’s for her book club. They’re meeting here this week, I think – you still OK to serve the snacks? |
 |
| Just goes to show it’s not all about the money. |
 |
| Oooh… romantic evening ahead! |
 |
| Angghwagh Mughwough! |
…actually, modesty forbids me from saying what she was treading on. Let’s just say that she crushed my hopes and severely injured my pride.
 |
| That should take your mind off the pain from the ring she just put on you. |
 |
| Has she ever considered just walking around the horse shit? I mean, that would be so much more considerate, right? |
 |
| Yet another example of a failure properly to consider Rule #18, here. |
 |
| So much better to resolve these things without having to involve the insurance companies. Paying and fucking off is actually one of my favourite femdom activities, so it’s even a bit of a turn on too! |
 |
| Men in this day and age have to realise that there is nothing inherently humiliating about being financially dependent on a woman. The humiliation, if any, is all in the way it is done. |
“Well?” she demanded. “Get on with your chores” and she watched them scurry from the room, stammering their apologies.
“Sorry about the smell. Been on my feet all day”, Cinderella
explained.
“It’s, erm… it’s no problem at all.” gasped the
Prince. “You know, Lord Chamberlain, I think we don’t even
need to try the slipper.
This is obviously the right pair of… pair of feet.” and he moved closer,
his face hovering just above the damp, stockinged foot.
“Oh yes. Yes: these are the feet.”
“Are you sure, your Majesty?” the Chamberlain
replied. “They look a little on the
large side to -”
“Well then the slipper must have shrunk!”
snapped the prince, not taking his eyes from the foot he held so gently.
“Shrunk, Sire?” the Chamberlain replied, one eyebrow
raised. “The glass
slipper?”
The Prince turned on him in fury.
“How dare you question your Prince!
Arrest this man! I shall decide
what to do with him later.”
“Perhaps a few years in the salt mines?” Cinderella suggested. “With hard labour? I’ve heard that can be quite
effective.”
The Prince looked up into her blue eyes in shock. “That’s quite a harsh, erm… well, for a man in
his age and condition…
I think…” he tailed off, noting a distinct pout coming over the lovely features
above him.
“Quite right, my dear, of course.” he continued. “As you wish.”
Her restored smile seemed
to light up the room. “And we won’t be needing
that silly thing” she added, indicating the glass slipper with an elegant
finger. The finger pointed towards a spot on the
floor, where the Prince placed it.
Stand back”, she instructed. And down
came Cinderella’s other, still-booted, foot shattering the slipper into ten
thousand iridescent shards.
“Oh dear” she smiled. “So now I suppose whoever’s foot fits into that gets to be Queen?”, and the Prince raised the boot he was holding in shaking hands towards her gracefully-pointed toes.
And it was a perfect fit.
This is a British – mainly Scottish – custom, which might not be understood by readers from the rest of the world. It refers to the first foot-worship session of the new year (or, in the rougher parts of Glasgow, the first ball-busting session of the new year).
It is considered a great sign of good luck to first-foot a domme, having previously negotiated her complicated booking form and waited for several days wondering whether or not it would be appropriate to send a respectful reminder. If granted an audience, and having sent the deposit at least a week before and a text confirming, on the day, the first-footer arrives precisely two minutes before the time of the appointment bringing gifts – sometimes Champagne, gifts of expensive lingerie or other stuff that she has identified on her wishlist (but not anything else) – and also, most crucially, an unsealed envelope stuffed with cash.
Traditionally, the first-footer is greeted warmly by the domme, while stuttering in embarassment, and proceeds to a session in which she makes sure he gets at least some, but not all, of the rather random stuff he wrote about in his email or on her booking form. Foot massaging will take place in the last half hour or so, and she pretends he’s actually surprisingly good at it. Then the session is brought to a close, in perfect time to finish on the dot, even though she did not look once at a clock. He gets dressed again, offers to help clean up and is politely declined, and makes stilted conversation for a bit, wondering why on earth he was so nervous when he arrived. He then heads off into the night, thinking it a bit weird to be walking among vanilla people with his sore bottom, feeling edgy and decadent, and wondering what they would say if they knew.
So… yeah, OK, it’s not all that different from a regular foot-worship session, to be honest. Unless I forgot to mention the haggis?
Anyway, new year same old… oh, I’ve even done that joke before. Ninth year of the blog! Bloody hell. Don’t any of us have anything better to do?
 |
| Kinksters might occasionally be surprised by how ready vanilla folks might be to indulge them in their fetish. I think it’s fair to say, for example, that every girl I’ve ever had a date with has totally been into the idea of chastity play and orgasm denial. In fact, I don’t recall any of them permitting me any sort of sexual activity whatsoever. Guess there’s more kink out there than we assume, huh? |
 |
| She doesn’t get a lot of repeat business. That’s why she has to charge so much. |
 |
| It’s important to understand that it’s not gay to give another man a foot massage. Or a blow job. |
 |
| Wag wag wag wag wag… |
 |
| You can do anything but don’t come on her brown suede boots. |
 |
| Actually, the idea that men can’t multi-task is a complete myth. Men who think they can’t just need to meet a woman with the right attitude. It’s just laziness. |
 |
| Don’t worry… they don’t tug hard. She does, but that’ll be the scrotal clip, not the nipple… so not so bad. |
 |
| Life as a conversation piece. |
 |
| Oh well. It’s better than coming back down to ‘discuss’ it while they’re still here. I hate that. |
 |
| Decisions, decisions. Thank goodness I never have to make any. |
 |
| It’s got to turn out my way one of these times… |
 |
|
| Hmm… looks like she’s finished all of that bottle of water. |
 |
| If it were being totally candid, it might suggest that it would occasionally appreciate being whipped just a little less hard, but fortunately it has the sense to keep its moronic opinions to itself. |
 |
| I don’t see how the marriage can be regarded as consummated unless she has had sex too. Hmm… do you suppose that bell-boy is still around? He seemed nice. |
 |
| I think he’ll be cleaning her tank again. |
 |
| It’s actually quite high in calories, but don’t worry about that because you’re unlikely to be able to keep much of it down. |
 |
| Thank goodness for that. I think you can just leave the case in her capable hands. |
 |
| I dunno – I find shops vary in the degree to which they are kink-friendly. Once I was sent to find some gear for an adult baby session and for some reason the staff in the ‘early years’ shop got all weird about it when I started asking about how strong their leather reins sets were, and whether the cots could be fitted with padlocks. But then on another occasion, I had to buy a hairbrush and the shop assistant in the department store I went to was delighted to help me try every one of them out. Said it was something she wished she could do to more customers. So you never know. |
 |
| Silly boys. Reinforced seat trousers do little good when they’re around your ankles, anyway. |
 |
| Male brains don’t multi-task. Mine barely tasks at all, to be honest. Now then: I was writing a caption..? |
 |
| But don’t forget your manners: introduce her to your workmates too, as otherwise they’ll feel awkward. |
 |
| Don’t worry, she’ll give you something later to wash away the nasty taste. |
 |
| Better than those guys who accidentally press the button when the camera’s pointing downward and take pictures of their dicks. |
 |
| Never liked blindfolds or hoods… this is why. |
 |
| Not too big, not too small. |
 |
| Well, what am I supposed to do with the other 38 seconds, then? |
 |
| Thank goodness she’s looking out for me. |
 |
| Don’t try to argue or plead your way out of it – it’s one of those Mars/Venus things, you know? She’s got some emotional issues that need to be worked out and until Gerald arrives, you’re the only one she can turn to. |
 |
| In the femdom community, athlete’s foot is considered an STD. |
 |
| You’ll notice she hasn’t put the surfboard on the fire yet. Another Mars/Venus moment, yeah? Any ideas why ? Hmm? No? Sigh…because she’s waiting to see if you’ll do it yourself without being specifically asked, you unfeeling brute. Obviously, this relationship is going to need a lot of work. |
 |
| He doesn’t look very brave. |
 |
| Actually, men in relationships always hate it when their partners throw out their stuff. I remember the day my SO sent all my clothes to the charity shop. I cried for days at the time but She told me I’d thank Her for it eventually, and so of course I did. |
 |
| Hmm. I wonder if I should ask him to pay some of the cost… this wasn’t cheap and he got all the fun. |
 |
| He’s lucky. I have to fill a whole page with silver or gold stars to earn any kind of reward. |
 |
| Yes, best to keep it vanilla at first. And then you can move on to more adventurous play when you get to know each other a little better. |
