Category: humiliation

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.



Oblivion is all you crave

Goodness me, I remember adoring (and by ‘adoring’, dear readers, I mean surreptitiously masturbating to) the Robert Palmer video of Addicted to Love from which that title is taken, when it first came out in 1985.  But generally when I trace my 80’s obsessions (= things I masturbated to) they are blurry messes*, much like my brain at the time.  But this has been digitally re-mistressed in HD remarkably well.  Worth a look.

Of course, as everyone likes to note, the models in the video were famously unconvincing as musicians. All of them lost the beat at various points (just look at their legs – no hardship that – around 1.25) and the second from the right never seems to have found it (and plays the guitar by tickling it), while the drummer acts as if her drums asked her not to leave any marks, before the session started.  Wikipedia says that a musician hired to teach them how to do it gave up after about an hour and left, and rumour has it (but I can’t see it) that if you look really closely you can see them mouthing “one-two-three-four… one-two-three-four…” as they do the moves.

But that’s the point!  It’s like my occasional captions featuring wildly ignorant or uninformed ladies acting out school scenes, thrashing their clients for providing what were actually the right answers**.  They can be totally incompetent but they are still infinitely superior goddesses to be worshiped absolutely.  They don’t need to earn that adoration in any way whatsoever.***

That’s my philosophy, anyway.  Maybe not up there with Socrates or Kant but it works for me.

Stop blithering and get on with the captioned images, you say?  Why of course.


Servitor top tip: any conversation featuring the words ‘scrotal clamps’ is bound to be a little uncomfortable.  Just go with it.

I hope the other one doesn’t get jealous.


Why experience a pointless and meaningless death when instead you can devote the – short and agonising – remainder of your life to making someone happy?

I’ve always been lucky that way.  From my very first date, actually.



He’s rather forgettable.  Sometimes that serves him in good stead, as being noticed too much can be painful.




* Oh God, The Dominatrix Sleeps Tonight.  So… about the first 30 seconds of that featured on some BBC music show when I was a teenager… and then stopped! AAAAH! And there was no Internet, dear children, and the only way you could see a music video was if some TV show chose to play it.  And I had never, ever seen any actual porn featuring an actual dominatrix, just that one glimpse (with heart thudding) of Valerie in that Pink Panther and… and… I watched music TV obsessively for years just in the hope that… and it never… oh, it was a different world, dear children, a different world.


** There’s a few of them.  This for instance – way back when! That earned me several comments helpfully pointing out that Sydney is not actually the… oh well.  Second in popularity only to the opposite theme, of dommes taking school sessions way too seriously and trying to impart actual knowledge.

 

*** The goddesses, according to Wikipedia , are “Julie Pankhurst (keyboard), Patty Kelly (guitar), Mak Gilchrist (bass guitar), Julia Bolino (guitar), and Kathy Davies (drums).”


**** As it is nearly Christmas, let’s have a little look at the parody in Love, Actually, too shall we? Yes, we’ll do that. And that is still lower video quality than the re-mistressed Palmer video!  But the goddesses are goddesses and that’s the main thing.

 

***** Yes, I know there’s no asterisk marks beyond three in the main text above.  But sometimes you start something and it’s hard to stop.


****** Readers based in (or prepared to undergo any amount of travel time to) the UK, who find the look of the goddesses in this video exciting, might be advised to approach (very respectfully indeed) a real-life Goddess, namely Serena.  She is extraordinarily wonderful and indeed used to be a model.

Slavish devotion

I don’t mind being ice cream coned in public – let’s face it, guys, we’ve all been there – but I do object to having to wait in the queue to buy her another one, with the cream oozing slowly through my hair and down my face. Especially as I know that second one’s only going into my trousers.  But my SO says it’s better that way.

 


Shoe fetishists have it easy.  So do humiliation freaks like me, actually: I mean, even the very worst, most cringe-making car-crash of a date can turn out to have been the best ever.

 

 

 

I suppose they could go and put the kettle on, then bring him out a nice hot steaming mug. Honestly, dommes can overcomplicate things some time.

These lovely ladies are at the English Mansion and the lady on the right there is Mistress Vixen, who also plays the piano rather sweetly.  ‘Behind the scenes footage of dommes not realising they were being filmed’ is an under-served fetish, possibly because it often ends in the destruction of valuable cameras (and less valuable cameramen).

 

 

It’s more difficult than it looks, you know.

 

 

She’s not easily impressed, to be honest. Especially by males who are inherently very unimpressive.


 

That’s your lot for today, I’m afraid!  You know the drill by now: five CtD captions, twice a week plus an occasional weekend ‘special’.  But fear not, for I bring tidings of discomfort of the most joyful kind: unto us is born a new blog.  Or, to put it less pretentiously, check out The Age of Femocracy by spicegrinder, a long-standing commentator on this blog.  It seems likely to feature brutal oppression, humiliation, pain and other fun stuff like that so do give it a go.

Punitive pleasures

She’s right, of course.

 

 

She puts a lot of effort into giving feedback and making sure the overall messages of the review are clear. So you’ll get a lot out of it. She appreciates obsequious upward feedback too.

I expect Cruella’s employees get plenty of feedback.  As do unpaid employees or random passing gawkers at their photoshoots, I imagine.

 

Another lady with an interest in giving clear feedback. Shame Harold won’t have much chance to learn from it for next time.



I asked my domme once how she managed to switch from non-stop verbal humiliation and contempt to chatting in a friendly way at the end of the session. She just smiled and said she’s a good actress, but she’d probably run out of ideas if it went for more than five minutes or so.  Which I didn’t really understand because we’d had a two hour session but it was time for me to go, so I never got the chance to ask.



Hmm… Looks like you’re not going  to get a chance to impress her with that dazzling wit.  Or anyone.  Oh well, win some lose some.  You did win some, right?  I mean, at some point in your life?


 

 

 

Damned lies and sadistics

 

Guys need to be kept busy, preferably with female oversight, or their attention wanders. There’s no one right way to do it.  It could be anything from meticulous housework for that one special lady, through scrubbing the pavements as part of a community-run cleaning squad all the way to five years of hard labour in a male re-education camp. It’s all good.

 

 

 

If you can’t afford a lovely sound-proofed dungeon and you want to enjoy the screams, just have a word with your neighbours.  Most will be perfectly happy with the noise, as long as you talk to them about it.  And you might even find a common interest!

 The lovely Mistress Mina Thorne, of course, about to show off her CBT skills.  I’d like to link to her web site but I am not at all sure that this is actually her, as I read somewhere she is retired, sin which case I’m afraid your C and B will just have to be T-ed by someone else.  Unless she isn’t retired, in which case they won’t.  I expect someone will know?

 

 

 


So you couldn’t even save up a few weeks’ pocket money?  No wonder she prefers Harold – I mean, apart from all the other reasons, obviously.


My SO was absolutely furious when I came home once with a prescription for painkillers. She said she felt it devalued the hard work she was putting into our marriage. It was very unfeeling of me, and I have to say I did feel very uncomfortable as a result, for a long time afterwards.


 

 

 

In-laws can take some getting used to and there’s no harm in getting out of the occasional evening with a little white lie, especially if you spend that evening learning to be a better husband.


Unrelenting love

Don’t worry: what it lacks in teasing, it makes up in denial.


 

My gender doesn’t so much sit on a spectrum as cower timidly beneath one.

 

 

He’s a bit dim too, to be honest.  Well… thick as two short planks, to be quite brutal about it.  But she doesn’t seem to mind that, oddly.

I think she might have had an idea.



Many women just hate it when important discussions are side-tracked by irrelevant opinions.  My SO has very low tolerance for that sort of thing, which is unfortunate as all my opinions are irrelevant.

Everything she wants, any way she likes, right now

She was beside herself with worry, the poor thing. Nothing to worry about now… for her to worry about, I mean.


It
might add to it, if anything.  But it’s nice when it finishes – or when
the weals heal, a week or so later, depending on the severity.

 

 

 

In the event, she realised of course that she didn’t actually want a slave with a bashed in face and a pulped, deformed nose, snuffling around the whole time.  So both of them ended up having to leave.  Funny how some people just don’t think things through, isn’t it?  Still, no real harm done and I guess she learned something.

 

 

 

Oh dear, that wasn’t a very tactful thing to say.  She’s not an unkind person, you understand; it’s just never occurred to her not to despise you.

 

 

 

If Kitten can’t have nice things, why should you have nice things?

 

 

 

For those of you who might have sleepless nights worrying about Kitten not being as happy as she deserves to be, all the time, I am delighted to share the following picture:

 

Isn’t that lovely?  Doesn’t it make the world a better place?  You can think of it every time you pay off the monthly installments of the loan – ten years, wasn’t it?  Lots of time to think of Kitten’s happy smile.  And she decided to keep the black one, too, for when she’s just not in a red car mood.

Now… Kitten has some ideas for other things she’d like to have.  Get a notebook: you can make a list.

 

 

*** UPDATED***

Kitten saw this and would just like you to know that she has always liked yellow best of all the colours.  

 


Come on now, don’t be mean…


 

 

 

Girlish brutality

Speaking of which, I thought I’d just share with a little thing that happened to me yesterday – in real life, I mean, not ‘Servitor’ life.

So I was leaving Starbucks (in Paris) and there was this young woman coming in, so I held the door open for her and vaguely smiled as she went past, as you do.  And you know, she didn’t acknowledge me?  Not even a nod, just strode through, head held high, ignoring me as if I were merely part of the furniture.

I mean, can you believe some people?

I thought about that all day.  Wonderful!  What bliss it is to be alive, and all that.

Anyway, true story.  Now on with the stuff that isn’t.


Subsequently twice married to a billionaire, this one. Not bad, is it? The same billionaire twice, I mean, not two billionaires.  I don’t suppose he got the hockey stick treatment… but you never know, he might have done.




Don’t forget to include a little gift (or, better, a large one) in your thank-you email, so she’ll know you mean it.




Mistress is cleverer than you.  Do try to remember that, OK sweetie?  I know it’s not easy, remembering stuff.


 

 

He still screams of course – in fact, these days he often starts screaming before they even start, as he knows what’s coming.  But it’s lost that element of surprise, that’s all she’s saying. Time for a bit of a change.




The very idea!  He’s got a lot to learn.