Category: humiliation

Hear her roar

 … and hear me squeak.

 

I’m not allowed to look my SO in the eye under any circumstances, so for that (and other) reasons this situation never arises for me.

 

Loving brutal domination… that hits the sweet spot (repeatedly, raising welts and leaving it throbbing and sore).

Hard to understand atheists who say there’s no such thing as a divine being, in a world on which Mistress Eleise walks among us.

 

I wouldn’t mind but it’s seven floors up and the male lift (‘elevator’, Americans but you knew that right?) has been out of action all week.

 

It’s odd how often I find myself begging my SO for mercy, when begging her for brutal and gleeful ferocity would be so much more likely to succeed.

 

 

 

It’s actually quite common for bridegrooms to feel a little nervous and apprehensive before giving up their their body and eternal soul to the control of a callous and evil witch the big day. Looks like she has a potion that will rob you of any means of resistance just the solution. I guess that’s you damned to an eternity of suffering and torment why you’re marrying her, right?

 

 

 

Due deference


Don’t worry: as an experienced keyholder, she’s very well aware of men’s sexual needs and makes sure they’re satisfied – unless there’s an urgent deadline, she’s teleworking or you receive a ‘needs improvement’ on your performance review, or something.  Not their sexual wants, you understand, but definitely their needs.





There’s really no need for males to learn mathematical techniques beyond basic counting and thanking. I often even get that wrong, to be honest.




If its something you’re already good at, then maybe you should try that 10,000 hours technique, you know?  That’s all you need to become really expert.




It’ll be good practice for when he’s released to forage for himself.


Aitor might make a bit of a mess later too, so thank goodness you’re around.


Ladylike behaviour

A caption from the days before teleworking, of course.  These days busy executives can do a full working day and tawse their husbands as often as needed, all without even leaving the house.



Obviously, men are allowed in the toilets to clean them – but that’s a privilege reserved for the best-behaved and longest-serving residents.




If they put that finding together with the body profile they deduced from the outsized maid outfit also found in your house, they just might get a clear picture of what happened.  Science is great, isn’t it?  Just ask Serena and Alice.

Some people who are generally quite dim can turn out to be brilliant at maths.  Just like some of us with quite high IQs can often be fucking useless stupid morons – or as often as I can afford to pay people to tell me I am, anyway.




He must have very good genes.  Shame there’s no question of them being passed on to the next generation.






True love’s first slap

Yes, it’s Valentine’s Day, a day when humiliation freaks worldwide will rush down to the letterbox in the morning, to revel deliciously in the proof that once again, not a single one of the three billion females in the world has the slightest romantic interest in any of us.

Actually, I did once receive a Valentine card, from this girl I really fancied at school and didn’t have the courage to tell of my feelings for her, but it turned out it she had sent it to the wrong address and it was intended for someone else.  Goodness, how everyone laughed and laughed when that little mix-up was revealed in class, after I got down on my knees to confess my long-standing love for her.  I hope she wasn’t too humiliated by her error being exposed so publicly, poor thing.

I do have a couple of Valentine-themed captions, as it happens, but not a
full set of five, so I thought I’d… what’s that, readers?  You say you don’t
give a flying fuck whether I creatively theme the blog or not?  That you
just want to masturbate to images of pretty ladies saying humiliating
or vaguely menacing things, so why don’t I shut the fuck up and get on
with it?

Oh.  OK then.

 

You could cavil at the poor quality of the photo, but this is Mistress Ardenne so even a blurry photo is more beautiful than 99.999999999999% of things on the planet.  Long retired, I’m sure, so don’t even ask, OK?

 

 

Wow. No time for second thoughts – let’s tie the knot!
 
 

My SO says the same: apparently it’s ‘easier’ to leave me locked up.  Personally, I’ve never had any real difficulties masturbating (except when my penis is locked in a tube, or I’m in tight bondage or agonising pain, that is) so I don’t really see why that should be but I don’t doubt she’s right.  For one thing ‘doubting she’s right’ is #255 on the list of forbidden activities, just 243 places below masturbation itself.




Selecting honesty level two would have got you “Oh… it’s all right, I suppose. A bit below average but I’ve seen worse.”




Funny how it still feels just like that very first date you went on together.  Some relationships are like that, but it’s very rare.




Delightfully despotic

Better do as she says.  But with dignity, right?  Always with dignity.

 

 

 

For those of you objecting that getting an erection is a natural reaction to the situation, merely an expression of sexual desire, should realise that exactly the same argument applies to her giving you powerful electric shocks.

She needn’t hurry.  This isn’t going to be over any time soon.  Not ever, actually.

 

 

She’s not saying it’s a hard limit, mind.

 

 

 

Maybe since she broke her side of the bargain, you should ask for all the presents back? It’s only fair.  Admittedly, fairness has never really been big in this relationship.

 

Compulsive behaviour

She has a different – but very effective – approach to ensuring that the tasks you undertake are carried out properly.

 This is of course Cassie Hunter, the Hunteress or (for simplicity): ‘Ma’am’.

 

I think she shouldn’t be so diplomatic – sometimes it’s best to get honest, direct feedback.

 

 

She doesn’t usually accept ‘submissive little weirdo’ clients, but sometimes it’s a pleasant change not to have to pretend to like them.

 

 

 

Of course, even with a genetic explanation it’s still your fault. 

 

Percy looks like he might need to soak for ten minutes or so in the icy water of the pond in the garden, before he’ll be small enough to fit into his winter quarters.


 And this is Lady Annabelle whom I suspect is retired, but if not, she is certainly one of the smiliest dommes around, with a very fine line in teasing and mocking.  If anyone can find a link to a site that’s her own, please feel free to share it.

 

 

 

De-toxifying masculinity

I suspect she’s already got the job on the basis of her proven leadership potential.

 

 

 

At least twelve years… and that’s subject to good behaviour.  Admittedly, almost every single inmate is on his very best behaviour every second of every day, from about day two or three onward…. but nonetheless, somehow very few of them manage to qualify for early release.  I suppose the wardens are just being careful, bless them… protecting the public.

 

 


Not sure permission to kneel was actually formally given, there, was it?  Hmmm.

 

It must be a lot of fun having an underground swimming pool – this rich couple I know had one constructed, and I’m not sure I’ve seen the husband since it was completed.  Apparently he spends all his time down there.


 

 

 

Oh, right.  Well, if Raoul has needs, obviously that’s different.  Sigh.

 

 

When life gives you lemons…

 …strap him down to a table, clip his eyelids open and squeeze the juice into them.

Too unpleasant for you?  Then you definitely will not want to watch this clip of women (as the title indicates) brutally torturing men to death. 

No, seriously, you won’t.  That clip is not some kind of happy S&M consensual game, nor are the terrified victims saved at the last minute from the evil torturers (don’t you hate it when that happens in mainstream movies?).  It is possibly the most unpleasant, brutal mainstream clip I have ever seen.  Very nasty stuff.

I mean, who could possibly enjoy that sort of thing?  You’d have to be a truly sick weirdo to get any kind of sexual pleasure from that. Simply horrible, it is.  Vile.

Mmmm.

Anyway, on we go!

 

Some poor sod’s going to have to clean that up, you know.


 

 

‘Non-lethal’ is how I like my femdom play.

 

 

Yes, let’s hope Ellie doesn’t take it out on them.  She’d got a terrible temper, you know.

 

 

 

The people have spoken… the ones wanking online, anyway, and that’s good enough for her.

 

 

 

 

Thank goodness none of that applies to any of us, eh readers?  Imagine the (fully justified) self-loathing you’d have to feel to get off on something like this.


Nonjudgemental cruelty

Hmmm… nothing springs to mind. Still, as long as the two of you are talking about it, that’s a good start.



There’s also a scheme now to get paid to feed power back into the grid, which might explain why so many dommes these days have started offering treadmill sessions.

 

 

 

All kinds of feelings can be communicated through dance: humiliation, shame, timidity… it’s a very expressive medium.

 

 

He won’t be able to afford to pay for any more domination sessions, poor chap, but maybe he’ll have had his fill of that sort of thing by then.



 


Fortunately it is a mistake that is easy to rectify.  Easy for the person doing the actual rectifying, anyway.

 

 

″‘You are fettered,’ said Scrooge, trembling. ‘Tell me why?’

Bah humbug.  Have some Christmas-themed captions and then that’s done for another year, thank goodness.


Oh well.  Time to pretend socks were the thing you wanted most of all in the world. Don’t you hate it when that happens?  All those little hints. Still, Angie’s right: you always need socks.




Oh dear: looks like the start of one of those Christmas rows. One advantage of the sort of relationship this blog celebrates, though, is that such unpleasantness is usually quickly and painfully resolved without upsetting anyone who matters.


Just give it a try.  She’s got this magnetic clicker thing to unlock it, somewhere. I tried one a few years back and I can honestly say it’s changed my life.




They try to get into the Christmas spirit at the Male Re-education Centres.  The joke they like to play on recently-castrated sex offenders with the ‘pass the parcel’ game is getting a little stale, these days, but at least they’re trying to keep things cheerful and festive, in otherwise grim surroundings.


Mistress Eleise with a cane.  And they say there’s no wonder or magic in the world any more.



Actually, Ian has got a present for you, of a sort. He hasn’t told her because she might try to stop him.  But that’ll just have to be a surprise.



…and an extra one.  Hey, why not – it’s Christmas!

Maybe time to try that 2000 piece jigsaw your aunt gave you – you know, to take your mind off things.