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.
Well, unless you’re in, I dunno, Svalbard or somewhere… New Zealand, maybe. But here in the UK it’s a hot, hot bank holiday (that’s a holiday in which everyone in the country dons a bowler hat and we all play at being bankers – it’s heaps of fun), so I thought a little ex tempore, al fresco and pudendo pessimus post, featuring sunny days, might be in order.
Male readers: if you are in the UK, bear in mind that temperatures are expected to reach 34 C, so if you’re not fully employed in vigorously fanning or bringing iced drinks to members of the superior sex, do make sure you’re wrapped up snugly with a padded latex hood and locked away in some stifling, airless box full of mosquitoes so you have a thoroughly miserable time, you worthless excuse for a human being.
‘Long enough’, I hope.
Rest assured: you’ll get your chance to express your opinions, too. Desperate pleading and heartfelt gratitude foremost among them.
Important learning point here. Being a kindhearted soul, she deliberately kept quiet, when he spilled her drink a little while setting it down, just so the poor chap wouldn’t have to suffer a further flogging. And then the idiot did it again, later in the afternoon! Spare the rod – or the bullwhip – as she ruefully admitted to herself, watching him writhe and shriek in agony, while waiting for a turn with the whip herself.
Dogging is another British custom. It mostly takes place in summer, like this, but if you’re a sub visiting London, ask if your Mistress can organise a dogging session for you and I expect she’d be happy to, at any time of year, as long as she can wrap up warm. It’s a good way to meet lots of locals, if you’re travelling, albeit rather briefly and not necessarily seeing their faces.
Last day of the holidays! I expect my So will be visiting the beach one last time, going back to that special restaurant and having one last all-night fivesome with whichever four local lads most took her fancy. Then back home to normality, and a devoted Servitor, waiting patiently – and quite hungrily – for the familiar tread of those heels on the steps down into the cellar.
I mean, obviously I’m not expecting that unchaining me will be the first thing she does when she arrives home. There’s so many things to sort out… and of course there’s the cat to collect from the cattery. But I’m sure it won’t be more than a day… perhaps two… before I am once again dragged blinking into the light and strapped over the whipping bench to catch up on a week and a half’s-worth of missed marital bliss. It’s nice to get away but there’s no place like home, you know?
Hmm? Oh, no no: we’re still doing the holiday special thing. I just thought you might appreciate a bit of a break from the relentless beach babe theme, that’s all.
What’s that? You like looking at pictures of beautiful women in bikinis? Oh… well, OK then. That’ll be back tomorrow. Today we’re doing this.
Reminder. Servitor chained up while the important people are on holiday, three images a day, not monitoring the blog as I’m too busy fending off the rats who want my slops. Goodness, isn’t summertime exhausting?
