





Except that today you’re not (unless your Mistress is putting you up for auction, obviously). Instead, it’s another collection of advertising-themed images.
Contemplating the Divine takes no responsibility for any painful, humiliating or soul-destroying consequences arising from attempting to use the products advertised here. Although any funny and embarassing stories are welcome, obviously.
No resemblance to advertising campaigns for actual products, especially soft drinks made by huge multinationals with well-staffed legal departments, is intended. C’mon, guys, can’t you take a joke? No? Oh well…
… and a bonus image. A different theme to the ones above, but I don’t have six like this, so might as well put it up here:
…and an extra one, which I wrote in a particularly worshipful mood.
… although actually that’s not true (like many things on this blog), because obviously in session you can get away with calling her ‘Mistress’. Which was just as well for me, as I’d always assumed it was some variant of ‘El-ee-ssa’. I was granted the extraordinary privilege of visiting Mistress Eleise three or four times about ten years ago and I never did realise I was saying her name wrong in my head until I heard her say it in a video, quite recently. Fortunately, I never committed the unforgiveable sin of mispronouncing her name out loud, to her very feet (oh, those feet…). Not that it got me out of the slappings (and the mocking… oh, that mocking!) I so thoroughly deserved.
Tamara Kenworthy there… oh, Tamara Kenworthy.
Who is also the lovely Samantha Alexander, here being delightful and non-dominational in a video introduced by (formerly Strict Miss) Zoe Page. So regrettably vanilla, although so captivating in appearance and voice and the line “We’re not in Chesterfield any more” gets extra points for Britishness. Does anyone know if the other lady, Charlotte Elizabeth, is also a domme? She looks kinda dommey.
But fortunately correcting them is in the power of woman.
A silly little thing (I know I am but what are you? Oh no, hang on…). Anyway, just a poem, not worth taking up a whole posting slot, so up it goes as an extra.
“I don’t know how you cope”
Said the gimp to the simp
“With her constant demands for more cash.
Don’t you long when you meet her, to kiss shoes to greet her
Or serve as a tray for her ash?”
“It’s my kink and that’s that.”
Said the simp to the gimp
“But your lifestyle is hardly ideal.
Caged or chained all alone, with no life of your own
Till you’re summoned to crawl at her heel.”
“I’m her pet and I’m proud!”
Said the gimp to the simp
And he showed off his monogrammed collar.
“You’re just moneyslave 9; when you’re typing online
All she sees is the sign of the dollar.”
“At least I can type”
Said the simp to the gimp
Showing fingers splayed out, with a grin.
“I can move my hands freely and stand on my feet – see?
My meals don’t come out of a tin.”
“Right!” – started the gimp
But his voice was soon stopped
By a ball gag, inserted at speed.
“Your mouth’s not to bicker, you boot and floor-licker!”
And the gimp was dragged off on a lead.
“Well that finished fast”
The simp chortled in glee
Then with shock he caught sight of his phone.
“Too slow to reply – that’s three times now, so bye!”
And he sat there, all sad and alone.