Fiction: Boundaries

[There’s a general disclaimer to the right over there about the factual accuracy of this blog (zero), but just for the avoidance of doubt – and because I would never, ever want to put someone off taking that step of contacting a pro-domme for the first time – let me just emphasise that this is a work of total fiction, and utter nonsense.  OK?  OK then.]

 





My new project?  Yes, sure.  I can talk about that.  Yes, it’s actually quite exciting.  In a way, what I’m trying to do here is push
the bounds of femdom – or rather push beyond the bounds that have traditionally
defined it, if you see what I mean.
So much of femdom is clichéd and stereotypical, don’t you think? Especially in the pro-domme space.  So
I’ve always tried to experiment, but until recently it was always still basically within those same
bounds.  But what I’ve been trying lately
with some of my more experienced clients is more… holistic, in a way.  Kind of edgy and experimental, but there’s a
thrill to it too.
An example? Sure. 
Erm… well, suppose I’ve got a client who’s into humiliation. He likes to
prance around in a maid’s costume and I’ll order him about and I’ll find fault
with everything he does and punish him, then send him home happy, OK?  And that’s fine – it’s a fun way to
play.  But what do you do when you’ve
played that same session a hundred times? 
Well – what about all of the time when he’s not in session?  How about playing the same game – very same game – there?   
So, I
got him to start telling me more about his life and his work and all of that,
and one day I took a stroll around the hard drive of his laptop while he was
tied down upstairs.  And I started
looking through this Powerpoint show he’d made on his computer for an important
client meeting the next day –



 – well, yes, it is a true story, actually.  
Anyway, I expect you’re thinking I’m going to say I put in
pictures of him in his maid’s outfit or whatever, to humiliate him in public?
And I was thinking of that, but then I thought – well, that’s really just
another femdom cliché, isn’t it?  Let’s
try something different!  So I just
fucked around with it a bit: putting in spelling mistakes, changing some of the
calculations so they didn’t add up.  Put
in the name of a different company, to make it look like he’d recycled a
presentation for someone else.  That kind
of thing.
So the next session I asked him all about it and he just
poured out this tale of humiliation and shame! 
He’d lost the contract and his boss had spent the whole afternoon
shouting at him in front of the whole office. 
I got a fit of the giggles to be honest, but he was quite upset.  So I pointed out that he’d been thoroughly
humiliated – at my hands – and wasn’t that something to be grateful for?
Hmm?  Was he
grateful?  Well, no.  Not at first. Actually he stormed off.  But when he got back in touch wheedling to
see me again, I made it a condition that this was something I was going to be
working into the play from now on, so if he wanted ever to see me again, he had
to accept it.
Yeah, sure, he still comes for sessions.  Not as often as he used to. He’s been sacked
from a couple of jobs now, so his income’s a lot less than it was. Plus, my
fees have gone up so it’s a lot less affordable all round.  But he still sessions when he can.
Anyway, that was the start. 
I do still play games in session. 
I’ll dress in leather and I’ll spank and I’ll dress the clients in
humiliating clothing and all the rest of it. 
But I insist on more commitment than that too.  So – yes, I can spank your bottom.  But I’m also going to insist that before our
next session you break your arm.  Yes,
you can clean out my toilet.  But you’re
also going to be getting an evening job cleaning public urinals. Yes, you can
have a bondage session.  But you can also
spend your summer holiday chained up in your back yard, eating raw
potatoes.  Yes, I can stomp on your
fingers. But I’m also going to run your foot over, in my car.  That kind of vibe.
Is he wearing a mask because he’s playing a role? Or because his face is marked with cigarette burns?  And if so – isn’t that just another role, really?

It can get pretty edgy. Like, last year I finally tried out
something I’ve wanted to do for a long time and got a client sent to
prison.  I helped him beat this other
client of mine with a baseball bat, and then he got arrested and sentenced to six
months.  If you can get into the right
headspace for it, that would be quite a trip, right?
Hmm? Is he what?
Oh, is he in the right headspace? I don’t know.  He’s only done four months, so far.  I’ll find out when he books his first session
after being released, I suppose.  When he
comes out I’m thinking of setting up a revenge beating – you know, reversing
the roles?  But don’t print that: it’s
going to be a surprise for both of them.
This is not a prison scene. There are no beautiful blonde warders spanking your bottom in prison – but there are people who might put glass into your food.  Are you ready for that?
Do they enjoy it? 
Hmm.  You know, I’m not sure
that’s really the right question. Sure, you can visit a pro-domme and get
slapped around and spat on, and that’s going to be fun, yeah?  But is it enough?  Really? Is it creative, is it radical, are
you pushing the bounds?  I sometimes
think life is nothing more than the experiences we have and the goal is to have
as many experiences and as varied an experiential journey as possible.  And if you’ve – say – find yourself naked
and alone in the back streets of Johannesburg without a wallet or a passport…
well, maybe you won’t ‘enjoy it’ as such.  In fact, you’ll probably hate every moment. 
But you’ll certainly have something to remember, won’t you?
Hmm?  Yeah, exactly
that. I’ve done it twice actually.  And I’ve tried it
in Caracas too, but that didn’t work out so well.
No, I don’t want to talk about that. It was a bit upsetting. I
shouldn’t have said anything.  Move on.
So you’d eat the ash from my cigarette in session… but would you lick out the public ashtray at the entrance to your office building?  You don’t know?  Then maybe we should find out.


Where can I take this next? OK – now that is a good question.  But I’m not going to give too much
away!  As you can imagine, surprise for
the clients is a big part of this whole scene. 
Plus I haven’t worked out all of the details, to be quite honest.  But one idea I’m really excited about is taking medical scene femdom
out there into the real world.  I’ve been
reading up on some medical web sites – and I’ll admit I’ve had a little help
from a client with medical qualifications too! –  and I think I’ve got a few ideas.  I’ve started a couple of things with one or two clients
already, by spiking their drinks, but they won’t have noticed anything yet, as it takes the symptoms a
while to emerge.  Actually, one of them
called me today to delay his next session, because he thought he had some kind
of cold coming on, but actually that’s the more serious symptoms just beginning to
manifest themselves.  He’ll notice soon that it’s not just a cold.  Anyway, we’ll
see.  They’re both going to experience a
lot of pain and some quite significant permanent damage to several major
organs, so… it’ll be quite intense.

And I’ve a few more things planned too, in the medical
area.  Like – lots of people with
incurable diseases think to themselves ‘why me?’, you know?  So how’s that going to feel if you know the
reason why you’ve got just six months to live, or whatever, hmm?  If you know who did that to you?  And how are they going to serve me, how are
they going to relate to me in those last few months?  
I don’t think it’ll be easy for either of us.
Brutal?  Yeah… yeah I  can’t argue with that.  It’s brutal.  But life’s brutal too, isn’t it? I mean, we can kid ourselves that everything’s fine, but with all the suffering that’s going on in the world, don’t we have a duty to be exploring where femdom fits into all of that?  I think my art – and yes it is an art – should mirror reality in all its horror.  You see pictures of those awful boats full of refugees, sinking in the Mediterranean and what do you do? You switch channels, you look away, maybe you give a donation on the way into your comfortable office the next day.  But me, I see a former foot-slave of mine called Simon, who took what he thought was going to be a holiday trip to Tunisia with me, and whose body was washed up onto a remote beach on Malta last month.  So don’t talk to me about brutality.  I’ve been there.

Sorry. That got a bit heavy.  But… this is my life, you know?  It’s what I live every day and it’s important that I keep on going, pushing the boundaries, seeing where I can take this thing I’ve dedicated my life to.
What’s that?  Yeah,
I’m still accepting new slaves.  I’m
quite choosy and I’m very particular about who I see.  But if any of your readers would like to meet
me in session they can go to the web site and respectfully – respectfully –
fill out the form.  Don’t worry about all
of the stuff I’ve been talking about here. 
We’ll just play within the usual femdom boundaries until… well, until I’ve
decided you’re ready to move on.  Some
never are. And if you are lucky enough to be taken there… then you’ll be a part
of my life journey, won’t you?  And I
think any true submissive would be happy with that.

[Once again, this is a work of total fiction.  Mistress Eleise, whose pictures grace and magically improve this depraved little tale, is the most professional, careful and thoughtful mistress imaginable.  She is very choosy indeed about her slaves – that bit is actually true – but if you are granted the privilege of meeting her, you won’t regret it.]

So a domme, her gimp and her money pig walk into a bar…




Yeah, I wanna report a 
missing sub.

You know – submissive? 
Like a slave?

Well of course consensual. 
Actually he begged.

OK, so he went missing this morning.  We kind of left him in the forest and then we
couldn’t find him, so – 

Yeah, sure we looked. Five minutes at least.  Maybe longer.

You need a description?  Right.

OK, so he’s about fifty years old, naked, shackled at hands
and ankles, with his cock locked in a spiked tube.  Er… recently lost a lot of weight, so his
skin kinda hangs off him in wrinkles, his back and ass are covered in whip
marks, he has cigarette burns all over his thighs and his mouth is forced wide open
with a serrated spreader gag, with a tongue clamp attached.  But he can
make a few sounds, and he answers to the name of 
– 

What?  Did you say
‘Lucky’?  Why would he answer to the name
‘Lucky’?
Well, why would you think I was going to say that? That’s not his name.  I was gonna tell you his name.

An old joke?  Is it? Oh, OK.  I guess.  I don’t
really get jokes, actually.  Never
had much of a sense of humour.  Just ask anyone… especially my subs.  
Yeah, no problem.  Answers
to the name of ‘Useless Fucktard’ anyway.

Sure.  OK, I’ll give
you my number and let me know if you find him, OK?  No, I don’t want regular updates. If you find
him, great, but if you don’t it’s no big deal.

OK, thanks.  Bye!

The photo that makes this otherwise pointless story, errr, pointful, is of course from American Mean Girls (they seem to have expanded out from Miami).  As I’ve said before, the ‘bratty’ teenage humiliatrix thing usually doesn’t do it for me, but maybe that’s because it’s normally done very badly.  I think this site is really very good indeed and it definitely does do it for me, so I recommend a visit.

Final edits




So, Mr Poole, we’re all really excited here about your
novel.  It’s going to be huge –
absolutely huge.  It just… well, it just
speaks to that kind of nameless angst we all have, you know?  Draws you in from the very first page.
Brilliant.
Anyway, hope you won’t take this amiss, but it’s my job to
make a few suggestions about style, here and there?  Just – you know – in a first novel it’s often
hard to judge just what the reader will find in something you wrote.
I mean, I have very little to suggest on this one,
obviously. I don’t want to interfere with your distinctive voice.  But there were a few passages where I felt you
could convey your meaning a bit, well, a bit more succinctly…
Like what? Oh, well… erm… when Peter first sees Julie, at
the concert.  I mean, it’s brilliant,
obviously, that scene.  It’s like you’ve
taken a photograph of Julie as he sees her and you’re just playing it into the
reader’s mind a few lines at a time from the very top… her hair, her necklace, her top, her skirt… and then her
shoes.  Yeah.
Actually it’s the
shoes.  I just thought… you know, you’ve
done from the top of her head to her ankles in about a page, so then three
pages just on the shoes… It just seems…
Yeah!  A bit
much!  Exactly.  Just a little too long!  And then again, on their third date, when she
comes back to his apartment.  When she takes off her shoes, the way you’ve written it, it’s erm… the reader’s attention might wander a
bit after the first page or so, that’s all.
Oh – yes, and much later on, during the Raquel episode, where Julie’s furious with him and she
goes running, really pushing herself hard? 
And she gets back to her place and she’s run herself so hard that she’s
sweated stains right through her trainers? 
I mean, that is such a brilliant image! 
Of her rage, you know, just expressing itself but then emerging in kind of a tawdry way.  But, you know, once the
point’s been made, once the image is there, you could move on rather faster.  I mean, at the end of that section I felt
like I knew every millimetre of her sweaty trainers!  Every stitch, every shade of every sweat stain… Like my face had been pressed right up
against them for pages and pages… not a very pleasant image!  I mean, really.  Is it?
Ahem.
Moving on… anyway, there’s one more thing we have to talk about. Quite embarrassing!  Yeah – that’s right: I’m afraid it’s
the sex scene! Sorry… just doing my job. 
Look – don’t worry about it, OK? 
I mean everybody finds it hard to write a really convincing sex scene.
I just thought… the change of mood was really weird and I didn’t quite get why
you did it.  I mean, it was so heavy
and moody and then suddenly it’s more like farce as if you’re playing it for laughs, and –
What do I mean?
Oh.  Well… take this
bit. “Slowly drawing her hand back from his unbuckled belt, Julie gasped in
silent awe as four inches of manhood rose to sway proudly in front of her.  ‘Be gentle’ she whispered, wanting the full
experience of this behemoth, yet at the same time dreading – “ anyway, you get
the point?  I mean why play it for
laughs?
Isn’t it? Oh. I thought it was funny. 
Erm… no, I don’t think I know why.  I just thought it was, erm… funny.  Doesn’t matter.
Anyway!  Later, she’s … well, she’s getting…the full four
inches, right, and she starts giggling a bit, then laughs out loud, just at the
point when he… when he climaxes.  That’s
fine, obviously.  But then later they’re
talking in bed and they both say what a great orgasm they’ve had and – I didn’t
really get that bit.  I mean, she didn’t
have an orgasm, did she? She just laughed at him.
What do you mean, that was the orgasm?
Oh.  Oh, right.
So later, when Peter has a fling with Raquel and he unzips
his pants and she just laughs straight off the moment she sees his… his full
four inches, that’s – ?
Right.  OK.  I misunderstood that. On the first reading.
Fine.
So!  You might just
want to take those thoughts and just, you know… maybe a few short
rewrites.  Actually, if you could get it
from the 90,000 words it is now down to less than eighty that would be really
good.  It’s a better size for the
booksellers. Losing 10,000 words sounds like a lot, but actually I reckon you
could get that just from trimming the bits about ladies’ shoes. Maybe more.
Brilliant!  So –
what’s next?  Amanda told me that you
mentioned you’re already working on a second novel. That’s really
exciting!  Good for the marketing too,
actually.  Got a title you can share with
us?
“Sales incentives?” 
Oooh!  What’s that about?  Yeah? 
Life and loves of the owner of a high street shop, eh? Falling for one
after another of his lady customers, I expect, if he’s anything like
Peter!  Sounds great!
So what does he sell? What sort of shop is it?  Oh hang on – on second thoughts, don’t tell
me.  Let me see if I can guess.

Changing shifts







Oh hi George, that you?
Hmm? No, I wouldn’t say she’s in a particularly bad mood
today.  This is my own fault really –
stacked the towels in the wrong order again. 
You know how it is. Eighty minutes, eight strokes, then another eighty
minutes.  Could be worse.  I had quite a light shift, actually.  A few with the strap and a couple of sesssions of kneeling punishment.  Quite a relief after last time, I can tell you.
Nothing much to report. 
There’s some of her friend Julie’s laundry in, to be ready for
5.30.  And she wanted me to do the
kitchen, so the bathroom’s still to do, OK?
Oh by the way, we’re a bit short on washing up liquid, so
try and go easy on it, will you?  My
shift starts at 6am tomorrow, so I won’t have a chance to buy any more until
Thursday.  Wouldn’t want to earn any more
demerit points, not this close to the end of the month. And you know how she is about the washing up, especially when she’s having a party.
Oh – hasn’t she said?  Yes, this Saturday.  I expect she’ll tell you today, because we’re both going to be on duty, I think.  Trevor’s going to be setting up, then you and
I are doing maid service and clean up.  House inspection 9am Sunday, then we get the rest of the day off if it’s all satisfactory.  With two of us working overnight that should be all right.  It’s the Saturday evening I’m worried about, to tell the truth.  I
heard her mention that that vicious little cow Marianne’s going to be
there.  You remember?  The one who made us all dance with those
weights attached at New Year.  So we
might be in for rather a rough time, I’m afraid. Glad it’s not just going to be
me.
Ermm… listen, old boy. 
You couldn’t do me a favour and straighten my stocking tops could
you?  You’d be saving me four strokes at
least.  No need for her to know, eh?
Oh come on, George. 
I’d do the same for you, you know I would.
OK, well I understand. 
You’re probably right. She does always seem to find these things out,
doesn’t she? We’ll just forget I said anything.
You, ermm… you won’t tell her I asked you, will you? I mean, I know we’re supposed to tell her about any rule infractions, but… you know.  Honour among maids and all that.  Hmm?
George?
George, are you still there?

Post-production




The most successful Cruella video? Oh, gotta be Drowning in
piss
.  Seen it have you?  Yeah, just about everyone has.  It’s funny, ‘cos it actually all came about
by accident.  The sub was supposed to
have this little tube between his cheek and his jaw, so he could keep breathing
even when we shoved piss-sodden panties into his mouth and blocked his nostrils
up with used tampons.  But the silly
fucker had put in in the wrong way round so it didn’t work.
It took him quite a while to die, though.  I mean, what you see there as we take the
panties out of his mouth and ‘refresh’ them, then shove em back in while he’s
still gasping in air – that’s all real. 
We thought he was just acting of course – and it was odd ‘cos he’s
always been fucking hopeless as an actor before.  We didn’t realise until his fourth pantie-change,
about half an hour in, when there was a tea break, and we left him gagged up… with the camera on, so
we could get some footage of him writhing around. Then when we came back –
well… you know. 
We were a bit worried, but the police came round and when
they saw the contract he’d signed, and we showed them the little tube and how
the little fucker could perfectly well have put it in the right well round and
he’d still be alive, the fucking moron, well they said it was just an
industrial accident.
And we were going to destroy the tape (this was before
digital, see) but then Caroline said “Well, why not release it?  We could make some money and some good could
come of all of this.”  So we put it on
the market, and of course it was one of the very few absolutely legal snuff
movies out there, so it started selling better than anything else we’d got.

And actually, it was when his ex-wife sued for a share of the
profits that we really hit the big time, ‘cos it was in all the papers. For a
while there, it was outselling all our other titles put together.  She was a nasty old cow, she was.  Kept trying to get us to settle, but we had
these really good lawyers (they were subs, so we didn’t have to pay them) and
the judge took our side.  Knew perfectly
well what would happen to him at his next session if he didn’t, didn’t he?  Anyway, the video sold out and we had all our
copying machines working 24/7 producing more of them.  Made a killing.  You know, he’s dying for about – oh 32
minutes or so? – on-screen. From when we first shoved the panties in to when
the coroner reckoned he’d become brain-dead. Well, one of my slaves who’s an
accountant worked out that he earned us £1650 for every second he was dying.  Got myself a fur coat – and a sports car.
A bit sad? I don’t see why, to be perfectly honest. 
I mean, he was much more valuable dying in agony like that than
continuing to live his sad little life. 
Gave a lot of people a lot of pleasure.  And his wife didn’t like him at all – she just wanted some money,
grasping old cow.  And there’s lots of
subs around, aren’t there?  I mean,
I know it sounds a bit dismissive, but really, there are.  You can’t get upset about losing
just one of them like that.  Wouldn’t
normally notice, even.  But he got
famous, even got noticed by quite a few dominant women, didn’t he?  They dream of that, don’t they? 

Subs.  We remember him – can’t say that about many subs.

Hmm? Oh… it’s err… do you know I’ve forgotten?
‘Trevor’, ‘Terry’ maybe.  Some sort of
sub name like that.  ‘Robin’.  That kind of thing, anyway.  Maybe ‘Michael’.



Does it matter?




The part of the callous dominatrix in this heartwarming tale was played (in about 1983, I think) by the lovely Linda Leigh, who is probably not at all like this in real life, but really nice and kind. Although I hope she isn’t.

Extra service




Hello, Business Answers?  Natalie speaking. How can I help?
No, this isn’t actually the Chesham AB Nursery.  We’re a business answering service.  The person you’re trying to contact… errr
‘Nanny Stern’?  She’s busy so she’s
switched all calls to us.  But I have a
menu here I can take you through to try to process your call, if that’s any
help at all?
An appointment? 
Sure.  Tuesday week… not looking
good.  Maybe Thursday?  Thursday. 
4 – 6 pm OK for you?
Fine… now I need to take some details for the booking.  Do you have a customer code?  Got it.  Right – there you are.  Mr Franks,
yes?
So…last time, you had… let’s see.  Bedwetting, smacked bottom and nappy
humiliation?  That OK for you this time
too?
Fine.  Well that’s all
booked for you.  Thursday week, 4pm.
Now, Mr Franks, as you’re on the line, I wonder if I could
talk to you about insurance on behalf of one of our other clients?  You see, these days many people don’t
properly provide for – 
Mr Franks?  I’m sorry,
I don’t think I heard that, I – 
Mr Franks?
Mr Franks?
Well, that was a bit rude.
Insurance…let’s see, we’ll call that ‘unsure’.
And back with Chesham AB Nursery, let’s see what we can do
about that rude word shall we Mr Foulmouth Franks? … Hmm… 
‘mouthsoaping’. Perfect.  Oooh: caning too!  Well, why not?  How many?… oh I
don’t know. Why’s it all in sixes? 
12.  No, let’s have 24.
And we’ll schedule a follow-up call about the insurance for
the day after.
Done.
Hello, Business Answers?  Natalie speaking. How can I help?

Customer services


Yeah, this is FDproducts. What the fuck do you want?
What?  No, of course
we’re not going to exchange it. If it ripped when you tried to put it on, it’s
your own fault, isn’t it, you fucking moron? You were probably putting it on
wrong.

No, I do not want to hear how you put it on, you little
pervert.  My day’s going quite badly enough
without having to listen to a graphic description of some sweaty old balding guy trying to squeeze
himself into a latex French maid outfit.

What?  Consumer
rights? What fucking consumer rights?

Look, let’s get something straight, right?  You’re a submissive male, correct?
Right.  And what am I?  That’s right. I’m a woman.  And women are…

‘Goddesses’, yeah, OK. 
I was thinking of ‘the superior sex’ but that’ll do.  So does a sub talk to a goddess like that?

No he fucking does not – quite right.  So you can start speaking more respectfully,
you little shit.

Well yes, as a matter of fact I do think you should
apologise.  Down on your fucking knees!

And to show how sorry you are, I think we’ll have a
financial penalty.  Let’s see – what’s
the most expensive item on our web site… mahogany whipping bench with attachments.
Right – you’re buying three of those. 
Then maybe you can spend any money you have left paying someone to strap
you over one of them and beat the crap out of you.

Yes, we do take Amex.  But you have to ask very, very politely.

Reminiscence




Really? Oh my god! 
That must have been, like, so embarrassing!  Hey – you know, the same thing happened to my
brother?  When he was 15?  Mom walked in just when he was…
well, actually you know, just when he was finishing if you know what I mean!  And he couldn’t stop so it happened right
there in front of her!
Yeah. He was pretty embarassed about that!
 
Mom was kinda strict too. Especially about that kind of stuff.  She paddled him so hard he could
hardly sit down for days.  Made him read out the bits of the bible about the ‘sin of Onan’ while she did it.
Yeah?  Your mom
paddled you too?  What, with a big wooden
paddle?  Ooooh – that must have hurt.
So when did all this happen?
About 25 minutes ago?
Oh.
Erm…
Right.
I just…I
dunno, thought maybe it was when you were a teenager or something… and, erm…
Hey!  You know, what I just suddenly remembered?  I can’t go tonight! I promised my friend Becky I’d
help her with her hair.  I am so sorry!
What?  ‘Where does
Becky live’?  Oh… well, hey, where do you
live?
OK.  It’s right the
other direction from there.

I hope you liked that.  I just wanted to warn regular readers that the next posting, due on Friday, is going to be a bit of a change of theme for this blog, as it will feature female submission.  Obviously, that’s not something that everyone who reads Contemplating the Divine will be into, so I just wanted to warn you as I don’t want to offend anyone.  Maybe it’s a mid-life crisis, maybe it’s something else, but it’s just a theme I feel I want to explore at this stage in my sexual journey and I’ve tried my hand a few captioned images.  Anyway, if you’re broadminded enough, come along and see what you think!
Servitor

Can you imagine?




Hmm?  This?
Oh – well, I’m a bit embarrassed you caught me reading
it, actually.  It’s the autobiography of
a professional ‘dominatrix’.  You
know?  One of those tarts that dresses up
in leather and smacks men’s bottoms. Can you imagine?
Janice lent it to me. 
I thought it wouldn’t be my thing – well, it isn’t really – but I can’t
put it down. It’s amazing some of the things she gets up to.
Sad too, actually. 
She says one of her oldest clients is married, but he’d never plucked up
the courage to tell his wife what he wanted. 
And it’s weird because she sounds like a real harridan!  Apparently, one time he turned up for a
‘session’ and he wanted to cancel the thing she’d planned, because this wife
had just been screaming at him after he’d wrapped the car around a tree.  And he felt the need to be properly punished
or something.  Should have just asked his wife to take the cane to him – she sounds like the sort of woman who’d enjoy it.  Do you remember how cross I was that time you
crashed the car! You’re lucky I didn’t have a cane handy, now I come to think
of it! I’d have given you what for.
And he wants to spend his time serving her as her ‘slave husband’
but of course he can’t say that either, so he just does odd bits of housework
and fetches and carries for her and things – serving his mistress in his head
you see. (Oh thanks, love – just put it there on the coaster. Sweetener not sugar, right?  Great.)

 

It’s amazing, the freaky stuff that’s out there, isn’t
it?  People leading these sad, secret
hidden lives, and you’d never know.   He must have wasted a fortune on this “Lady Nightshade”. Maybe it’s best if his wife never does find out!  She’d probably be furious – wouldn’t you? I would.  She charges hundreds each time!  All that money, just for a sore bottom once in a while. 
You
know, her ‘dungeon’ is in Ealing? Near the tube station.  I mean, she calls it a dungeon but it’s a walk-up apartment really.  Just like any other house.  You probably walk right past it every month,
when you go and visit your osteopath.  
Can you imagine?

For her



Weirdest client?  Oh,
I dunno. I mean, they’re all weird, aren’t they?

There was one once though – quite a regular.  And I had a party for my regular subs and
they got to arguing about which one adored me most – silly old fuckers, like I
care as long as they keep paying! 
Anyway, they decided to settle it with a breath-holding contest.   And when it was this guy’s turn, he took out
a roll of duct tape and wrapped his mouth up, popped a clamp onto his nose and
then slipped a pair of handcuffs on behind his back! 

Well, as you can imagine, after a minute or so, he was writhing around and all purple in the face, and I was just
about to look around for something to cut the tape when one of the other slaves
said “Should
n’t you cut him loose, Mistress?”. 
Well, of course you can’t stand for that sort of impertinence, so I gave
him a good slap and I settled back in my chair and said “He’ll breathe again
when I decide, slave, not before.”  All haughty-like, you
know.  You have to be like that, as a domme.  They like it.

And I gave it a bit longer and then I graciously instructed
them to cut his gag off.  And they faffed
about and panicked like slaves will. And then it was all too late!

Hmm? Oh no. Not dead. 
Severe brain damage, though.  It’s
the oxygen, apparently.

Shame really.  So
maybe he was the weirdest…. Oh, but hang on, there was other guy that had this
thing about asparagus!   And you know how
asparagus makes your wee smell? So one time – oh this is really funny, even
funnier than the other thing! – one time, right, this guy brought a big bunch
of asparagus with him and… 
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