You’ll always find me in the kitchen at parties

Happy relationships are all about boundaries.  Many newly-married men get a bit silly about not being able to lead the batchelor life any more, but are you really any ‘less free’ just because from now on you can’t do or say anything your wife disapproves of?  It’s just a different way of life, that’s all.








Rubbing up against a tree?  Sounds a bit kinky.








She seems nice.








Yes, let’s.








What a lovely film that was.  Especially the bath scene…


Once upon a time…

She decided on “Whiney” in the end. It seemed appropriate.







My SO can do that.  Just a few swishes of her magic wand and the housework begins – all without her lifting a finger.











Ribbit












Actually, that’s not true.  There was a woodman – still is, actually, somewhere.  I expect she’s got her reasons for keeping him hidden.











Some day her Prince will come.  You’ll be in the cucky cupboard when he does, obviously.

…and they all… well, almost all of them, the ones that mattered anyway… lived happily ever after.

You know I work all day to get you money to buy you things

… and it’s worth it.

They still holiday in the same place, and go down to the lake to the pier and occasionally she pushes him in for old times’ sake.  It’s not always at the same time of year but it still has the same magic.  Last February the ice was so thick it didn’t break when he fell on it – so much for global warming, huh?


Some men find it annoying and restrictive having to wear a shock collar, but really – it’s ten minutes sitting plugged in by the wall most days… maybe 15 minutes at most after a lot of use?  Then you’re fully charged and can get on with your life in whatever way takes her fancy.  It just takes a little planning that’s all.

Many men get excited at the thought of watching passionate lesbian sex, but believe me after a few years you kinda start to feel a bit jealous?  Silly, I know…

 

Apparently
she’s having the schoolroom fitted out already.  If she’s not even
pregnant yet, I have to say that seems a little premature.




As I’ve always said: there’s no job a woman can do that a man can’t do too.  Just more slowly, not as well and with someone of a superior gender in charge to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.  Which, admittedly, doesn’t work too well when flying a plane.  But Billy can have his dreams – then he’ll grow up, meet a nice girl who’ll sweep him off his feet and he’ll settle down as a happy househusband, I expect.

Missives

Dear Miss Cavendish
As instructed, I am writing to express my deepest gratitude for the beating you were kind enough to bestow on me last Saturday.  As you know, for some time now I have been experiencing feelings of rebellion at our ‘little arrangement’ and petulance at the constraints you so wisely impose on me.
The caning I received at your hands opened my eyes to the ingratitude of this attitude on my part, compelling me to re-examine my behaviour and see it for what it is: the result of my undisciplined childhood, that you are now taking such effective measures to remedy.  I have been lucky indeed to have made your acquaintance, even so late in life.  Had it not been for a chance encounter, I might never have experienced the cane across my backside.  It is hard to recall how it was not to know the pain of being thrashed with your cane, now that it looms so large in my life: constantly present in my thoughts as I try to follow your precepts in all that I do.
I hope that you were not disturbed by my snivelling and pleading during the administration of this most necessary exercise.  I further hope, more wholeheartedly than I can express in this short missive, that such floggings will not be necessary in the future.  However, should the need arise, I am confident your strong right arm
will once again provide the correction I require and will undoubtedly richly deserve.
If (unlike my previous effort) this thank-you letter meets with your approval, I very much hope that I will be allowed the educative experience of copying it out a further 99 times.  It has, as you will observe, met and indeed exceeded the required length of 300 words and I believe there are no spelling mistakes this time.
Your obedient and thankful pupil
Martin
 ———————————————————————————————-
Dear Sarah
You will perhaps not recall meby name, but if I mention a disastrous dinner at the St George Hotel in 2011, followed by a particularly cringeworthy experience back at your apartment, perhaps the occasion we met will be called to mind.
In the years after our catastrophic ‘date’ I have had the good fortune to meet a woman who knows exactly how perverts like me should be treated.  On our wedding night, I made an attempt to be ‘a man’ and – you will be unsurprised to hear from your own experience – failed utterly.  That was the last time I attempted sexual intercourse with a woman, as my wife decided that such activities should stop then and there.  The next morning – the first of our married life – she purchased a steel tube and you will no doubt be relieved to hear that my penis has penetrated nothing else since that date.  I will spare you the gory details, but some minor piercings have now ensured that no lock or key is required to keep the device in place, so the women of this world are finally safe.
After six years of tolerating me, my wife finally decided to divorce me and marry one of her many lovers, so naturally a divorce settlement needed to be drawn up, which brings me finally to my purpose in getting in touch again, after all these years.  My wife – soon to be ex-wife – does not need my earnings, because the man she will be marrying is far richer than I, as well as being more manly, witty and attractive.
However, it has been some years since I had any real financial independence, so new arrangements must be made to ensure I have no spare funds to abuse.  My wife has therefore decided that I should write to all the women with whom I ever attempted sexual relations of any kind: firstly, to apologise and secondly to offer some financial compensation.  There are, luckily, not many.  Apart from my wife herself, I have attempted penetrative sex with just three women, and achieved a sexual climax in the vicinity of a further five, one of whom is unknown to me as she was merely a fellow-traveller on the bus one day.  The former – including yourself – are each to be offered 20% of my post-tax income in perpetuity, the latter 5%.  The 5% owed to the untraceable lady will be donated instead to a charity supporting female participation in politics.
Rest assured that no further contact with me (even by correspondence) will be required on your part, should you choose to take up the offer.  My wife has appointed a firm of (women) solicitors who will make all the arrangements and will themselves receive a further 5%.  As my wife has pointed out, I am lucky indeed not to have experienced more sexual encounters, or I would not retain even the 10% of my post-tax income that I will keep under this arrangement.  Fortunately, my needs are very modest. 
If, however, you would regard even receiving a monthly transfer from me as being too unpleasant a reminder of my physical existence, then I would be most grateful if you could nominate a charity to receive your 20% (or, if you prefer, specify that the sum be burnt by me in cash each month, under the solicitors’ supervision).
Please rest assured as well that I have passed this letter to the solicitors to address and send. I do not know your address.  Furthermore, the solicitors can monitor my location using a chip implated under my skin and the geographical range of my movements is  very tightly restricted. 
Finally, whatever your decision regarding restitution, please allow me to extend my deepest, deepest apologies for my sexual advances towards you that night, and for the pathetic performance when I attempted to follow through on them.  I hope that you have gone on to experience a rich and satisfying sex life, as I now appreciate very well that most other men are vastly more proficient in these matters, as well of course as being more personally attractive. I hope you can at least take some comfort from the misery that I have experienced in being forced to write this letter, and at the prospect I face so deservedly, of a life of desperate poverty and toil without respite.
I am so very sorry.
Yours sincerely
Alan Harcourt (né Raeburn)
 ———————————————————————————————-
To the pretty nurses at St Bathory hospital
Dear nurses.  I hope you are all very well.  If you are not, maybe a hospital is the best  place to be!  Because if you get sick in hospital, you will get better quickly.
My Mummy, who is not really my Mummy but I call her Mummy, has told me to write a thank-you note now I am back from hospital, so here it is.  You were all very kind and nice to me after my operation, and the food was lovely and I liked the way the bed went up and down when the buttons were pressed.
Mummy tells me I was very grumpy before the operation but I don’t remember that.  She said those straps on the bed were to hold my arms and legs still and stop me  running away because I was so cross because I didn’t want the operation.  She said I made a big fuss and shouted about what an important and rich man I was, and how you couldn’t do this to me.  Fortunately, there were no other patients on my ward, but she says I was very rude to you nurses and called you rude names and said lots of rude words.  When I asked her what words she laughed and would not tell me, so they must have been very bad.
Mummy says that the reason I was so cross was there was something wrong with my brain.  There was too much ego and IQ in there.  I asked her what those things are and she laughed again and said it doesn’t matter, the important thing is that I have a lot less of both of them now, because the doctors took out some bits of my brain.
I knew I must have done something naughty, because you all spanked me before I left hospital.  Nurses are strong, probably because you lift heavy things all day.  Mummy spanks hard but you spank harder.  The nurse with the brown skin spanked me hardest of all.  Mummy says that’s because I said racist things to her before the operation and I don’t know what that means but I hope it has been spanked out of me and I am forgiven.
I hope the nurse with blonde hair reads this.  I liked her very much but I want to say sorry for how my willy got all stiff whenever she tried to help me do a wee-wee.  Sorry.  I don’t know why it did that, but it does it whenever I think of her.  Mummy says I might need another operation to sort that out, so perhaps I will see you all in hospital again!
Mummy says my name is Sir James Edmonton but that seems like too much name, so I am just Jimmy now.
Love from Jimmy, age 57
xxxx (and xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx to the nurse with blonde hair!)

Good manners never hurt anyone

Bad manners, on the other hand, can you leave you sore for days.


See what I mean about good manners? He’s approaching the conversation in a polite, respectful way.  I am sure she’ll give him a fair hearing and explain the reasons for her decision, in return.

Now this looks like an example of someone going all sulky and silly about things. She offered him a choice.  She didn’t have to but she did.  If he won’t respond graciously to that then… well, there will be consequences, let’s just say that and leave it there.
She’s very keen on good manners.  Impossible girl.
See how fair they’re being?  They’re going to calmly debate it and they’ll only keep on whipping him if it’s what the majority wants to do. I hope he’ll accept the decision graciously, even if it’s not what he wanted. Not that it affects anything, whether he accepts it or not, but it’s more polite.



My SO went to the Caribbean. – Jamaica?-  No, of course not. I don’t get to tell her what to do – I’m her slave.


Historical behaviour

Mmmm… So, acting on numerous readers’ requests I fired up the old time portal to try to grab a few more glimpses from our future.  But regular ‘readers’ of this blog will know that my time machine is about as effective and reliable as everything else I possess and this time it seems to have veered off into the past.  The dial flicked between the 1930s and the nineteenth century, before breaking off and rolling into a corner of the cellar where my chain isn’t long enough to reach, so I’m afraid I have no idea when these originated.


I have a feeling this has happened before, though.  Long, long ago….



Simply divine, darling

These things happen.  So do canings.

Pnk’s nice.  It’s a bit showy but manhide isn’t cheap, so why not flaunt it?

You have to hold the toungue very still while you do it, basically.  And of course, you can’t really use a gag, so you have to not mind screaming.  Fortunately, she doesn’t.

Works for me.

It’s not the actual intercourse, it’s the cuddle afterwards, I find.






If it isn’t hurting…

…then you’re wasting your money.

 

Actually, I think she just wants to see you get beaten up.

 

The rule is that only the lower brown stripe can still be visible, before the traffic stick treatment can be considered complete.
 
 
It’s good that she’s so broadminded.  I’ll get me coat…
 

 

It’s what your right arm’s for.


It’s amazing the things they can do with CGI special effects these days.  They can actually make it look as if flesh is being burnt off with a red-hot brand, you know.  But her method’s better.

Plugged in



Boy?  You can come in here now.  I’m just about done.

Right, so as you can see I’ve been setting a few things up on your computer.  One of my other pupils is an IT expert.  Andy – such a clever boy!  He’s built a few tools under my instruction, and I’ve just installed them. See?  It runs in the background there: MyGoverness.

Now, give me your left hand.  Let me just put this on your wrist… hold still while it clicks shut – there!  Now, this just looks like an ordinary leather bracelet, but you see at the side here where it folds back?  Open that up.  That’s right.  Now that’s a USB key, and if you pull it you’ll see you have about three feet of cable too.

Let’s check the length.  Just plug it into the nearest USB port on your computer.  Hmm.  That’s a bit tight.  Can you move the PC just a bit to the left, so it’s closer to where you sit?  That’s right.  Now plug it in.  There – that’s fine, isn’t it?  You’re sitting comfortably at the PC and you can type with both hands but you’re plugged in, too.

Now you see how the icon has changed?  That’s because it knows you’re plugged in.  And it’s noted the time, and I’ll be able to see what time you plugged in too.  Now, the reason it’s yellow is that you’re on a voluntary session just now.  So you can unplug again – that’s right, just pull the USB key out – and you see, it’s turned back to green.  That’s OK.

But – plug in again, will you? – if I just set a compulsory session… hang on, I can do it with an app on my phone.  Here we are… George, that’s you… set compulsory…immediate…no end time – there.  You see?  The icon is red now, because you’re on a compulsory session.

Try unplugging.

See?  “Unauthorised exit” it says – and it’s flashing the whole screen and making that alarm noise to warn you.  And of course that’s all recorded and I can see that you unplugged without permission.  Those alarms are so that if you plug back in within ten seconds, it just records a minor infraction.  You know what you get for a minor infraction, don’t you George?  That’s right – it’s not pleasant, but it’s bearable.  But if it’s more than ten seconds it records a major infraction – and then of course it’ll be the cane.

No, no set number of strokes.  But obviously, there would be more the longer the unauthorised absence.



Let me just cancel that.  Plug back in first, will you?  That’s right.  And I’ll make a note to delete the major infraction it’s just recorded – see, there’s a message on my phone stating that George unplugged without authorisation for a period of 40 seconds.  And I press on that, it’ll call your dedicated mobile, so I can check what’s going on, and book you in for a caning.

Now then, compulsory sessions can be of fixed length or they can continue until tasks have been completed.  Let me show you some of the things we can do, shall I?

(Oh, he’s such a clever boy, Andy, he really is.  He’s been on this system for almost two years now, and of course since his job actually involves sitting in front of a computer, at home, I can keep him plugged in most of the time).

Now.  This is ‘detention’.  It’s the simplest programme of all.  You see – your computer’s completely unresponsive.  So you just sit here for as long as I’ve specified, and the clock there tells you how long you have to wait.  And if I just specify the no-hands option – like…so!  Now you can see the clock’s ticking upwards?  Quite fast?  Well, that’s because it’s adding time.  To start it counting down again, you have to press the q and the page down keys at the same time.  See – they’re on opposite sides of the keyboard so you have to use both hands. That’s right.  You see now it’s counting down again?  So if this were real, you’d stay like that for another hour and twenty minutes, before it releases you.

Oh – George?  Don’t try to stick the keys down with anything.  It never really works and I do make snap inspections you know.

And then there’s another option that specifies five keys on each side being pressed.  So you have to hold your hands perfectly still in a fixed position, until your detention is over.

 



OK, I’ll cancel that.

Hmmm?  Well no, of course you can’t.  If the cable to your wristband is broken, then it won’t register you.  It’s quite strong, though.  I suppose it could break by accident. You’d just have to make an appointment to see me and we’d discuss it.  If you have a good explanation, then I might not be too hard on you.

Right – now of course there’s a line-writing module.

Oh don’t groan, George!  Of course there’s a line-writing module.  All my boys have to write lines.  You knew that when you signed up to have a governess, didn’t you? 

Yes, of course you did.

Anyway, that works pretty much like the line-writing programmes you’ve probably seen on the Internet – Fond of Writing, writeforme and so on.  You see the line up there, you type it in a little box and if you make an error you have to write it again, and it adds an extra to your target.  Pretty straightforward.

In some ways, I prefer making boys write lines by hand.  I’ll still have you doing that as well – that’s generally what I have in mind when I set you a detention without fixing your hands on the keyboard.  But it’s so much easier this way – all quite automatic, you see.  And I can have a line of any length at all.  No – no limit.  At first Andy had it set at 255 characters, but when I said that wasn’t enough he converted it into an unlimited field.  I copied and pasted an entire chapter of the Guide to the Correction of Young Gentlemen, once.  Of course, it’s almost impossible to type that much without making at least one mistake!  When I looked the next day, I realised the boy I’d set it to had been going for over 18 hours, and he had 76 extras!  So of course I just let him finish the one he was on and that was that.  I’m not that strict!

I like setting lines in foreign languages too.  Turkish, Estonian… that kind of thing.  You have to concentrate a bit harder.  I could even just set a random sequence of letters and characters, but I do like the thought that the boy is actually learning something as he types it again and again.

Anyway, it can set on compulsory or voluntary mode while you’re writing your lines.  So it might keep you at it until you finished, or you might just have a target number of lines to complete by a set date.  One of my boys said in his application form that he needed a governess’s guidance to stop him procrastinating; so I set him 5000 lines every month but left it completely up to him when to do them.  The first few months, he left it awfully late and had to work through the night as he got close to the deadline, but now he’s learnt to settle down into a steady routine.  Isn’t that nice?



So that’s line-writing… what else can I show you?

That little light?  Yes, your camera’s on, you see.  I can check up on any of the boys who are plugged in.  And it stays on for a couple of minutes after they unplug – I love watching them frantically trying to plug back in within the ten seconds deadline if they pull it out accidentally.

Hmmm?  No, there’s no connection to your chastity belt.  Andy had some ideas about that, but it sounded very complicated and I didn’t really see the point.  After all, every boy comes to see me in person at least once every two weeks, so even the most frequent masturbation schedule can be supervised in person.

Oh – but that reminds me.  Here’s a task that you’re going to become very familiar with over the next few months!  This is called ‘mens sana‘.  Do you recognise the quote?

That’s right: mens sana in corpore sano.  Meaning?

Well, what’s the point of ‘knowing’ it if you don’t know what it means? 

I see.  Forgotten.  Well – it’s a good thing you’ve got a governess, then, isn’t it?

Mens sana in corpore sano means ‘a clean mind in a healthy body’.  And it’s what I aim to instil in you.  Because at the moment, you have a filthy mind in a disgustingly perverted and unhealthy little body, don’t you?

And why’s that?  Because you’ve spent so much time sitting right here, masturbating in front of all the pornography you have on this computer, that’s why!

Oh don’t be ridiculous, George, of course I found it!  I told you Andy was clever, didn’t I?  Do you think I wouldn’t have software that can find hidden images and movies?

Look – there it all is.  Filthy, filthy pictures and movies showing all sorts of things you’re not going to be allowed any more.  So – we’re going to clean it all up!

See – I’m setting a task called ‘clean up computer’…and requiring, let’s see, 100 a week.  Now – you see it’s opened a directory full of your pornography?  You can see the files there – in fact, this is the only way you can access this directory now.  Just double click on any of them – a picture, say.

There it is.  It’s all quite greyed out and blurry, so you can’t see much of it.  Not enough to get excited.  But we can see enough to know what it is, can’t we?  Poor girl – she must be awfully cold in that bra, especially without any panties.  Anyway – move your mouse over it.

That’s right.  You see how it’s changed to a scrubbing brush? So press both mouse buttons down and start scrubbing back and forth.  That’s right…back and forth, back and forth.  And you see how the picture is gradually disappearing where you scrub?  It takes about ten passes over any pixel to scrub it completely clean.  And once you’ve done it for the whole picture – that’s right, keep going.  Scrub it all away…  Once it’s done it for the whole picture, it deletes the file and records one filthy picture cleaned up. 

It works on videos too.  How about that one?  “Melissa sucks cock”  That sounds like the sort of thing we want to clean up.  It takes a frame every minute as a photo, and you have to clean all of them.  So let’s see… goodness, Melissa sucks a cock for a long time, doesn’t she?  Well, you’d better get started.  It will credit you with eleven cleaned-up pictures for this, so it’s all quite fair.

Each one takes about three minutes if you’re scrubbing vigorously, so 100 a week is just over three hours or so.  And you’ll continue that every week until they’re all gone.

How many have you got, anyway?  Goodness!  However did you find time to look at them all?  Well, you’re going to be doing this for a few years, by the looks of it, then, aren’t you?  And some of those look like quite long videos.



Anyway. you carry on scrubbing away poor Melissa’s unpleasant experience, and I’ll go downstairs and have a cup of tea.  I’ll set you a compulsory six hour session – to give you a tour of all the different features, and then when you wake up tomorrow you should plug in to see your weekly schedule – I can set it up tonight.  All my boys need to be plugged in at 6am every day, just to check for new instructions.

No, I can let myself out.  You gave me a spare key, remember?  So I can come and go as I please.  Unlike you.

The part of The Governess in this technological tale was played by the stern but beautiful Miss Jessica Wood. She’s based in Hertfordshire, which I think might be the first positive thing I’ve ever heard about the place.
 
PS – if you like writing lines for imaginary dommes (and, curiously enough, I do) try this line writing site.

It’s not just Irene


“Well Holmes!” I expostulated as soon as we were ensconced
in the first class compartment, waiting for the train to depart.  “You certainly surprised us all this
time!  I was quite convinced the
Governess was the culprit”

Holmes nodded wearily. 
“A natural mistake to make” he replied, and opened a newspaper as if to
close the conversation.


“I mean, damn it all Holmes” I went on, determined not to
allow him to avoid explanations.  “Her
glove was found at the scene of the crime, the rope used in the hanging came
from her sash window, we found the bloodied knife in her room and on top of
everything, Sir Horace had recently changed his will leaving everything to her.”


Holmes put his paper down with some visible
irritation.  He seemed to be physically
discomforted, in addition to his usual irascibility.


“Indeed Watson.  But
as you know, I had a very long talk with the, erm, formidable Miss Huntingdon
in her schoolroom, and she explained everything to me very clearly.  Very clearly indeed.  I cannot breach her confidence to explain
why, but there is no question of her guilt. 
She was most persuasive.”


And he fell silent as if recalling a vivid memory, then shook his head and shifted nervously in his seat – and instantly, it seems, regretted it, as he
winced in some pain.


“This railway company is a disgrace.” he remarked.  “Singularly uncomfortable seats.”


“We could swap” I offered.  “Mine is well upholstered.”  But he refused with a curter shake
of his head.


“So…”  I mused.  “Suicide, after all.  But Holmes, how ever did Sir Horace hang
himself and stab himself several times, after
tying his own hands behind his back?  And
did you ever solve the mystery of the strange marks across his buttocks?”


“The English aristocrat is a remarkably creative animal,
Watson” Holmes remarked.  “Damn this seat”
– and he got up, wincing all the way.



“If you’ll excuse me, Watson” he remarked, I think I might
after all not accompany you all the way to London.  I cannot abandon Miss Huntingdon, at this
difficult time.  To lose her employer and
gain control of a household and vast fortune all in one week like that… the
poor woman will need a man’s guidance.  I
shall return to Castle Charingbourne.

And he left the compartment, leaving me to brood with my
thoughts.  One day, I decided, I would
make him tell the whole story, even if it had to be sealed for posterity to
learn its secrets at some later date. 
But a thought struck me, just as the train began to pull out of the
station, and I lowered the window and called out to the retreating Holmes, who
was standing pensively – but perhaps rather stiffly – on the platform.

“But dash it all, Holmes! 
Sir Horace was an unmarried man! 
Why employ a governess, if you have no children?”



But he did not – or would not – hear me or look in my direction, gazing instead almost longingly up the hill in the direction
of the great house, with the faintest smile playing across his lips.