A few bad men

Let’s hope she learns from this little conundrum.  An espresso machine prepared and ready to go just within button-pressing reach of a pilloried hand and she can have her aching, tearful, regretful husband and a freshly brewed cup, both at the same time. 




Most of the choices I face are no-brainers, which all the women who have ever known me would probably agree is just as well.

Princess Kali, there – lovely and an accomplished author too.



She could even theme your confession with the outfit by putting the lasso of truth around you. That would be a nice, gentle start to what is about to happen.


 

Let’s hope the greeting ritual she chooses is number 17.  I’m particularly good at that one.

 


 

Come on… you’ve got this.  Two pawns down is nothing – you started with ten of them, right?  Something like that.  Try moving one of the little horsey ones.

More in indifference than in anger

Actually, female spiders eat their mates in only a minority of spider species and you’re in luck – the one that bit her is not from one of them.  So I’m not even sure why she’s doing this, actually, but I’m sure if you point that fact out she’ll let you go.

 


Actually, the company medical plan does cover males but only for a few, specified surgical procedures.

 

 

 

Just go with it, see where it takes you.  She’s not going to rush anything, plenty of time.

 

You might develop a foot fetish, eventually.  And if you can develop a fetish for doing chores too you should have a very enjoyable marriage.  Oh – and findom, too.  Yeah, you definitely want to try to get into findom because there’s going to be a lot of that.
 
 
 

Irony… it’s like rain on your wedding day – which actually isn’t all that ironic, it’s just bloody uncomfortable, take it from me, especially when you’re chained up naked outside the church waiting for the bride.


 

Womanly vices

Sure she can.  Lucy doesn’t mind a few bruises on her toys – if anything, it can make them even more sensitive.


 

She finds it pretty annoying working for a male CEO, actually, which is why it’s so important that she can talk through her day and work off some of those frustrations when she gets home.

 

 

A bit more lube, maybe?

 

It’s as if your pain receptors are directly linked to the pleasure centres of her brain.  It’s great when a couple just ‘clicks’ like that.




He didn’t have the nerve to ask whether she allows her clients ‘happy endings’ but she does – specifically, she unties them and lets them limp away.


 

Dumb hearts get broken

 

I just hate feeling useless…

 

 

 

Actually, the little hole can be opened up wider.  But not for food.

 

 

Pookles is beginning to wonder whether he should put his foot down in this relationship. Or just throw himself on the floor and scream uncontrollably.

 

Don’t try to understand women’s sexuality.  It’s more complex and subtle than the male variety.

 

 

Maybe she’ll let you kiss her feet afterwards, before dragging yourself from her presence.

 

 

And a little bit of found femdom for you. This is the webcomic Fluffy Bunny, which seems to be quite old but I had not encountered before.  Mostly it’s a bit too cute for my tastes, but I did like this one:


 

 

 

 

Painfully accurate

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!



Tread softly, for you tread on my…

…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.






Shattered ever after


“My other daughter, Cinderella”, the merchant
gabbled, bowing low to the Prince and his party. A
haughty young blonde strode into the room, sat down in the armchair and
crossed her booted legs.  She stared with contempt at her father and step-sisters, huddled together against the back wall.  

“Well?” she demanded.  “Get on with your chores” and she watched them scurry from the room, stammering their apologies.


The Prince sank to his knees before her.  “May I?” he murmured, reaching out with a
trembling hand.  She
nodded curtly and the Prince slowly
unzipped her boot with his right hand, cradling the heel in his left. A moist,
warm miasma emerged as the loosened boot was gently lifted free.

“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.

First footing

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.










The angel at my side…

…. she gives me good advice.

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.

Feet first


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.


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