forced labour – Contemplating the divine

A long time in politics

A week is a long time in politics, they say, which makes it a lot like predicament bondage.

I should apologise for any medical problems induced by the high prevalance of heart-stopping beauty in this post. But I won’t, because anyone collapsing in front of his screen, trousers around his ankles, probably deserved it, nasty little pervert.

These days with such a fragmented media landscape it’s very hard to determine what’s true and what isn’t. Quick pro-tip: if it’s on this blog, it probably isn’t. So don’t worry about that female supremacist conspiracy, OK? Just a femdomination sex fantasy thing, nothing to see.

There were several defining moments of her campaign, many of which went viral and some of which became among the highest-ever viewed clips on femdom porn sites, oddly enough. Still, all publicity is good publicity, right? It’s like spanking, in that respect.

Yada yada slavery, yada yada shock collars. That’s the tired old politics… time to move on, surely? And if those men’s rights activists can’t understand that for themselves maybe they just need a little help to see the bigger picture? Shouldn’t the government step in – or stride, in high-heeled boots – to provide that? Hey – I’m just asking questions here.

The First Gentleman should be a role model for all boys, so it’s important to check his behaviour whenever he falls short of that high standard – and her higher ones. So, really, it’s her duty. The interns… OK, that’s just a stress relief thing.

She won’t say branding’s painless because it isn’t. See how refreshing it is when political leaders don’t, like, lie all the time?

It isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do

You will, of course, have recognised the title from the divine Jane’s Sense and Sensibility and thus have girded your loins (or had someone else firmly gird them for you) for another chapter of this blog’s longest running theme: period femdom. Like period drama you see, only…

What? No, not that kind of ‘period’. Pervert.

Anyway, here come the hot chicks in empire-line dresses, bustles, cropped bodices and suchlike.

They needn’t worry. The spirit of Chrstian mercy burns fiercely in their Aunt’s breast and she would greatly prefer to see the lad thrashed – several times, ideally – and retained in her service.

In the last county fair, the whippiness and suppleness of the birches produced on her estate received high praise.

As Marx tells us, social relations will be revolutionised by technological and economic developments. Yes, industrialisation may regrettably make slavery obsolete, but it will bring in new possibilities too. Electric cattle prods, for instance: unknown in pre-industrial society but today it is hard to imagine married life without them.

I have made a careful study of the good Baron’s oeuvre and may yet publish a scholarly monograph on it. Sadly, some of the pages in my only copy of his greatest work have become stuck together, so publication will have to wait.

To Sally’s disappointment, he describes nothing of the lives of the women of this exotic tribe and how they manage, left to their own devices without men. She takes a keen interest in that kind of thing. Perhaps when or if he writes another letter, she’ll learn more.

Don’t imagine that in saying ‘I’m sure you received worse thrashings in school’, she is merely speculating. She takes a keen interest in boys’ education and is on the board of governors of three local charity schools, so she is very well acquainted with the topic.

Whips and whims

If love is there, honouring and obeying should come naturally. And if they don’t, I’m sure she can find an alternative means to encourage them.

He has… but here’s only so much misbehaviour you can get up to, muzzled and on a leash.

Don’t worry: she won’t whip you any more than necessary.

My SO finds it very upsetting when our cat catches a mouse and plays with it so cruelly. As she says, there’s a 50% chance the poor little thing is female.

It’s a future-proofed profession, because although technology obviously could automate the basic function of shit-carrying, it could never provide the same satisfaction forcing a male to do that provides to the onlooker.

Abject pleasure

Any prisoner being mistreated has the right to protest about it, too. As much as he likes.

Shame really… if the two of you were gay, you could save a lot of money by doing this voluntarily instead and not paying her to force you.

The lovely Goddess Snow, who makes the most wonderful tease videos in which she induces uncontrollable erections by… well, by existing really.

It’s complicated. To be honest, I don’t quite understand it myself. But she assures me there is a very good reason and I don’t like to argue.

I do occasionally wonder – especially when bent over and quivering in fear while being caned – what life would have been like if I’d had a different sexual fetish. Plushies for instance. That must be really easy.

I’m told I have a very punchable face. I can confirm that.

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.

Never say never again

Please? Please don’t say that. I’ll be good, I promise. I –

Its ridiculous really. If she wants a curvy cock, what does she think this is, neatly tucked away in the tube around my scrotum? Women, eh?

He’ll be thanking her particularly fulsomely.*

Maybe I could have sex in the fields? When the weather’s a bit warmer, obviously.

I wonder what the question was… Honestly, who writes these things? Why be so obscure?

And new things about bears. I’ve heard they shit in the… anyway, I’m sure you’ll have a very interesting time.

* ‘Fulsome’ is a word often mis-used to mean ‘complete’ or ‘enthusiastic’ when in fact it means ‘excessively flattering or insincerely earnest’. I once emailed a domme I was visiting, expresing my ‘fulsome’ thanks for my treatment in our last session, to be greeted next time by a Mistress holding a dictionary and a cane.