Category: heart-stopping beauty

I live in a world of fantasy, so keep your reality away from me

More captions departing from this unduly real world we are unfortunate enough to live in.

As the tale is all about seven short-arse males doing hard labour in a mine to provide diamonds for a beautiful princess twice their size, it’s surprising there aren’t more femdom interpretations of Snow White. But there’s this.
They wanted her to get her tits out for the lads, apparently, so once again the moral is don’t wish for it if you don’t want it.
Cometh the hour, cometh the castratrix.
You’re helping raise a new generation of pretty, flitting fairies.
Thank goodness the brave lads of the village have their loyal womenfolk standing right behind them.
Of course, this is merely fantasy – the male actors in Ella Enchanted didn’t really have to wear chastity belts. That only came later in Ms Hathaway’s career, when she was famous enough to insist on some on-set conditions in her studio contracts.

Quant à moi, peu dormi, vidé, brimé

C’est le 14 juillet, et nous célébrons les déesses républicaines françaises telles que Marianne et… euh…

Liberté, Egalité, Sororité!

Bon, je pense que ça suffit pour la langue française aujourd’hui.

Captions with a vaguely French connection, anyway.

Paris is famous for its stylish leather goods.
One from my ‘advice to a US sub visiting Europe‘ occasional series, obviously. The caption is deliberately misleading: the French insist on following their own local food customs, so you’ll probably find yourself swallowing butts from unfiltered Gauloises, rather then some mild ‘low tar’ cigarettes.

As the label might indicate to even the most male-brained reader, this is of course the magnificent, elegant and beautiful Ibicella, who can be found, worshipped and, ideally, donated to at the address shown. And here she is being adorable.

You might not learn many words in French, but you’ll be really good on everyday (and every hour, minute and second) politeness.

And do I really need to mention this is Mistress Eleise? Look, I like maple syrup as much as the next slave, but I can tell you: it is not Canada’s greatest export. I’ve tried both.

Her dungeon doesn’t actually have a view of the Tour Eiffel, you understand. It doesn’t have a view of anything.
There are actually plusieurs esclaves, but they are all much the same.
Or maybe they’re just trying to make things more interesting for the ladies.

P.S. Allez les Bleus! Mais aussi les lions anglais…

P.P.S. OK, so the Bleus didn’t really allez. Or not as much as the Spanish went ándale ándale ándale anyway. So to cheer up any depressed frenchmen – or heterosexual males of any sort, I imagine – here’s the lovely Ibicella, being patriotic.

Hold me, squeeze me

Just a little extra, because it’s not really a proper post with captions or anything. But some people think this blog exaggerates the degree to which women in the so-called ‘real world’ enjoy inflicting pain and humiliation on males. But, as is so often the case, ‘some people’ are wrong. One thing I’ve noticed in recent years is that more and more women are making the internationally-recognised ball-crushing gesture, in which the hands come together and simultaneously squeeze and separate the testicles in the scrotum. A clearer display of fierce female empowerment, it would be hard to imagine, and it’s everywhere. Once you see it, you can’t stop seeing it or wincing.

A few examples.

Never forget you’re not going to have a choice…

…and of course…

UPDATE! A few entirely made-up people I’ve discussed this with have suggested that this self-evidently female supremacist gesture is actually a heart shape. A heart shape. Right. Here’s the goddess of the gesture herself… let’s watch the development, shall we?

[Sarcasm alert] Yeah, right… I think we can all agree that Ms Swift is making a lovey dovey little heart gesture, there, hmm? You just keep thinking that, boy. After all, women just like romance and flowers and kittens and stuff… I’m sure everything’s going to be just fine.

Crystal clarity

A Contemplating the Divine post on a Wednesday? But why? Just read on and you’ll find out.

Crystal? Sure. Crystal is the fifteenth anniversary gift, as set down by the companies that make anniversary gifts keepers of this ancient tradition, because it “highlights the beauty of the journey you have shared”.

What shared journey you ask? Why, today is this blog’s Annieversary, of course. Fifteen years. Not since the start of the blog – that squalid little event was commemorated back in January. No: it has been fifteen years to the day since the first caption to a truly divine image filled this otherwise dank and fetid blog with its pure light.

Any more irritating questions, moron? No? Oh, thank goodness for that. It was getting very tiresome.

In grovelling thanks for the privilege of existing on the same planet as Her, while secure in the knowledge that the divine Annie is blissfully ignorant of the existence of all this nonsense, we celebrate with ten old and five new*… Ann-ie-mages? No. Err… photo-Haths? Maybe not. Fifteen images featuring Herself, anyway, which should be enough to stop any hearts out there that are still feebly working.

* No, I’m not going to tell you which are new and which old. You’ll just have to see if the feeling when you jerk off to them is familiar or not, you nasty little pervert, you.

Every man with a vote was considered a foe to woman suffrage

So take away his vote and things should go just swimmingly. It’s a politics special.

And look, what can I say… I realise not every male pines for a future in which male ‘freedoms’ are abolished and men’s ‘rights’ and ‘dignity’ are crushed under a merciless steel-toed boot of righteous female fury. I get that, truly I do. Whippings, enforced chastity for those permitted to keep their genitals, electric shock collars… it’s not an easy life for males in the female supremacist utopia, I’ll admit. But can you look at how the world is run today – just look at a random headline, almost any day, quite frankly – and tell me, hand on your heart, that it wouldn’t be better like that? Hmm? Really?

Beware the beast Man, for he is the Devil’s pawn

It’s another science fiction post! Yes, you’re right, there have been many lately. But the future’s big, y’know? As are these posts, as there are always Seven captions, in tribute.

Her weapons were her crystal eyes

Making every man mad.*

She’s right (obviously): pleading and crying in the hope of mercy is a complete waste of time.
There are some sick people out there… even reading this blog. It’s a creepy thought.
Even Mr Snuggly Bear was new once and remembers how hard that can be. But now he’s one of her favourites, so there’s always hope.
Don’t worry: it all turned out OK. The clinic were very understanding about it and managed to squeeze an extra op into their schedule.
Don’t worry, you’ll still be useful whatever position you end up in. A box is a box and she’s got a lovely tablecloth to go on top.
Just let her take the lead. And keep it.

* Fun fact! A later replacement member of Bananarama was openly into kink. Mistress Sidonia (Servitor kneels, forehead to the floor) has the story. The three goddesses in the video I linked above weren’t, so they probably just did their queening, pegging and mocking behind closed doors.

PS – Just to note again, if anyone missed my note on Tuesday’s post: that all updates to this site for 6 – 13 May, including all comments, alas, were lost following a computer glitch. You might think – I certainly thought – that this must have been my fault, because of technical incompetence and I should be punished. You’re not entirely wrong (even if you are male) as I am technically incompetent and should be punished, but this one was due to my hosting service, as I’ve just discovered now they’ve sent an apologetic email about the (system-wide) crash. I hope the males responsible are dealt with appropriately. Nonetheless, I apologise to people whose comments were lost.

Manservants

A surprising number of men marry women who turn out to be like their mothers. This one didn’t.
Oh well, at least there’s less of all that making sure you turn up neither too early nor one second late, while also not hanging around the area where the dungeon is, so as not to annoy her neighbours. If you know what I mean. He’s just up at 6am and into role straight away, every day.
She can forgive anything except bad coffee. Or messy laundry-folding. And a few other things, now I think of it.
It’s not entirely pointless, as, after he’s gone and is sitting gingerly in a nearby bar feeling the glow, Herrin Anneliese has a 4 pm session, in which she plans to make her slave carry it all back, so that needs setting up.
The limit may be hard but steel is harder. And these ladies are harder still.
And of course his hands would be neatly cuffed behind him, to keep them out of the way.

No woman is so good or so bad, but that at any moment she is capable of the most diabolical as well as of the most divine

I don’t think she should pander to the male gaze like that – why should she have to go to the trouble of snapping her bra every few months just for his pleasure?
He should have read her FAQs more carefully. OK, they don’t specifically mention beards – or anything to do with facial hair, to be honest – but they are quite clear about being ‘annoying’ and I think even beardy-boys can be expected to read between the lines just a little.
Oooh – sissy maid play? But what shall we iron?
As is usually the case when one has to leave a video call early, it took Trevor a minute or two over his official ‘hard stop’ deadline to extricate himself from the call. But she was very understanding about it. Not forgiving – not in the least – but very understanding.
They say the nervous waiting, wondering what it will be like, is the worst part. But that probably just goes to show that ‘they’ have never been fucked hard enough up the arse, as that is definitely the worst part.
Right now, I’m thinking of little else.