Stories and pictures themed around female domination and male subjugation and servitude. Unsuitable for children, for alpha males, for hard-core practitioners with an interest in the politics of bdsm and the mechanics of complicated rope work. Of interest to perverts like me, basically.
Once again, it’s time to look back on the more elegant femdom of times past. One of this blog’s earliest and least-popular series, continued here out of sheer stubbornness and an almost total lack of self-awareness: Jane Austen femdom. With a few anachronistic wobbles of a hundred years or so in either direction from the divine Jane’s own period.
Even in the prudish Victorian era*, brides-to-be were often passed practical guides to the secrets of married life, by their mothers or other older women. The good Baron’s was one of the most popular.
You’d think he’d be better at recognising birch by now. Oh well.
I do think the husband of the more experienced lady depicted here was most unlucky, after having spent years at one of the most selective boarding schools, to emerge without a taste either for being buggered or viciously flogged. He found adjustment to married life very trying, poor fellow.
Justice must be done, seen to be done and then later recalled in the Queen’s bedchamber.
The depressing thing is, he always remained hopeless at Latin grammar, despite the strenous efforts of a succession of governesses over many years.
As it turned out, the quality of her mercy came to be much appreciated by her subjects, not least because it was so rarely exercised. It’s good to be the Queen.
* Yes, I know Jane Austen was pre-Victorian. Do pay attention: as the paragraph at the start noted, the actual time period featured here varies. All posts set before 1910 or so** are labelled as ‘Jane Austen‘ (indeed, many are introduced as featuring ‘Hot chicks in empire-line dresses’ even when the hot chicks featured are in fact attired in the fashion of an entirely different era).
** Posts after 1910 (and before about 1960) being labelled ‘Downton Domination‘. But you knew that, right?
Especially if it limits her ability to spend your own money how she likes.
Consequences again – and quite right too. How could you have been so thoughtless, you monster?
Don’t worry, I hear they’re developing a kind of slow-release capsule so you won’t need a new dose every day.
Some might question why such a wise, benevolent and just ruler even needs ‘palace dungeons’ – and a few people did, near the start of her reign, but they seem to have gone away now.
They operate a walk-in, crawl-out service.
What a relief it must be to her, to hear his voice – and she must be especially pleased he phoned her first, not the police. That shows real trust and devotion.
Sometimes, for brief periods when I am asleep or locked away in a cupboard.
God save the Queen. And her subjects, who might need some divine intervention, in the decades of her reign.
What sort of fish? Sustainably-sourced, I hope.
I did know at one point. Maybe I forgot… it’s all such a long time ago.
Sometimes I wish English retained the distinction between familiar and formal modes of address. I could try asking my domme to call me ‘thou’ but it just wouldn’t be the same.*
This is the very lovely and French Ibicella. She speaks English but, really, why would you want her to?
* Occasionally people ask me what my pronouns are. To my embarrassment, I am forced to admit that I am not allowed any.
