There are seventeen more important rules

 …than this one but Rule 18 is the only one that regularly features here.  Reminder: it’s the advice to a novice domme that reads “try to avoid sessions with clients who have really specific fetishes and can’t get off unless it is exactly right.”  But it’s just become an excuse to post pictures of things that might be weird fetishes or would be weird as fetishes.

Yes, I know none of you like this series.  But (a) this is an extra post, so you don’t miss out on the usual Tuesday and Friday deliveries of wank-fodder and (b) I don’t care.

Oh that coy, come-hither look!  And those froggy eyes.

This particular kink is neither sane nor safe.  Makes a nice arty picture, though.

As it happens, the client’s specific fetish in this one was being told to fuck off and make coffee, so it is actually a Rule 18.

What are the rules of this game again? Very different from the sort of hockey I played at school, anyway, which involved a ball, curvey-ended sticks and lots of fantasising about sporty girls with strong thighs charging around the playing field wearing gymslips (sadly in short supply at my boys-only school).  Although in January and February, the playing surface was quite similar to the one in the image above, because our playing fields flooded, then froze.  As did we… made me the man I am today, y’know.

Oh… This Kink Is Definitely Not My Kink.  If it happens to be yours… well, you’re the luckiest person on the Internet today, then, aren’t you?

She looks pretty wascally to me.

She doesn’t want your pathetic, wilting, stale little cup-cake, loser.  She wants the firm, sweet and satisfying cup-cakes those guys have to offer.  Possibly all three of them, at the same time.

Of course she has.  She’s a professional.

Advice to a novice domme: no.  Just no.  Especially not in those heels.


Time for another corrupted song. No, wait – don’t go away, not Gilbert and Sullivan this time!  More Andrews Sisters sort of thing.  It is technically based on this (Bongo bongo bongo!), but readers with a low tolerance for old-fashioned racism might want to stay clear. Consider that a trigger warning.

The rest of today’s post contains no old-fashioned racism or anything upsetting – just good, healthy torture, non-consensual castration and enslavement.  Enjoy.



Castration (clippy clippy clippy)

Every morning, my husband wakes up from his slumbers and sighs
He remembers how it used to be, all stiff with morning wood and he tries
To conjure up the feelings and the urgent sex desires once more
But he’s staying soft forever, cos his testicles are kept in my drawer.

So: clippy, clippy, clippy, time for Hubby’s little snippie, la da la da da-lack.
Looping, looping, looping with the cheese-wire round his drooping little tight ball-sack.
Don’t want no macho, hetero, man’s man hanging out with the boys.
Just a chastened little sissy, in a state of shock and mourning for his toys.

My nurse friends helped me trick him with an X-ray that they faked up one night
(They sound nice!)
So he lay down on the gurney, where they strapped him down and gagged him quite tight.
(Oh, is that so he can’t hurt himself?)
When they raised his legs apart and shaved the hair around his crotch, he caught on
(What did he do, darling?)
And he writhed in pain and terror as his scrotal sac then gonads were gone.

So: clippy, clippy, clippy, time for Hubby’s little snippie, la da la da la-lack.
Looping, looping, looping with the cheese-wire round his drooping little tight ball-sack.
Don’t want no hard-ons, stiffies, boners, gunk squirting out in a mess.
Just a sexless little gelding, in his panties and a cute little dress. 


He brings me up my breakfast and he curtsies without spilling the tray
(How does he do that?)
Then he runs my bath and gets the clothes I’ve told him I’ll be wearing that day
‘Cos he’s meek and well-behaving now he’s not a man, he does as I say
And the hairbrush by my bedside is awaiting if he doesn’t obey.

So: clippy, clippy, clippy, time for Hubby’s little snippie, la da la da la-lack
Looping, looping, looping with the cheese-wire round his drooping little tight ball-sack
Don’t want no half-sized husband, thinking he has rights over me
I get fucked by guys with bigger cocks – and sometimes so does he.

Now, my hubbie’s little dickie’s still attached but it’s as soft as a worm
I can grab and pinch and twist it and I love to watch him whimper and squirm.
But one day I’ll get the scalpel out and slice it off in multiple cuts.
Then the bedside jar awaits and I’ll be adding his sliced pickle to his nuts.

Girls, they say that the world is man’s. But our future’s right in our hands.
Castration? Just come right here.

The beautiful and talented ladies illustrating this little ditty were the Beverly Belles.  Goodness those polkadot dresses… don’t they just make you want to drape yourself across each of their laps in turn and confess your sins?

But what about that Christina Aguilera song, you ask?  You know?  That one?  Oh, it’ll feature here too, don’t worry.  Just need to think me up a few more rubbish lyrics.

But to tide you over until then… people who enjoy looking at modern-day lovely ladies wearing navy uniform and boogying to the accompaniment of the Andrews Sisters might enjoy this. Let’s face it, the Yiddish-language femdom scene is a bit short of content these days.

When things are looking good there’s always complications

 (but the song is actually about a car)


Don’t worry, it’s still quite fresh.



You don’t want Kitten to get cross again.  Kitten has very sharp claws.



Oh well.  Arguably ‘lightening the mood’ isn’t really appropriate at the start of a strict disciplinary session anyway.  Better just get on with it.



She could try telling him it’s kinder this way, but that wouldn’t really be true.


No, not ‘talking it through’.  I mean, she does still intend to talk it all through.  But only after putting her brilliant idea into practice, when he’s in a more receptive mood.

The turning of the seasons

I wish they would turn… all is dark, cold and bleak at this time of year*.  Still, there’s always Turning Points, the increasingly contrived mildly suggestive femdom scenes for which I ran out of good ideas years back, but continue posting out of sheer bloody-mindedness**.














* And at other times of year if you’re one of those chaps who spends his time chained up naked in a cellar.  But very few of those have Internet access, so you’re probably not.

** Experienced ‘tops’ will no doubt recognise this as ‘brattish’ behaviour and will doubtless have ideas on how to deal with it.

Celebrating difference

First in what might be an occasional series.



just on this one above. In case there is anyone out there who is
considering visiting a pro-domme for the first time and takes this image
to reflect the reality that awaits him and is put off as a result…
well, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but are you completely out of your
fucking mind?  Seriously.  Do you really take this blog as a guide to
the reality of femdom?  I mean, it obviously isn’t, right?  Quite apart
from the fact that it says it isn’t, some of the material here
breaks physical laws of the universe let alone the bounds of ‘realism’
or even ‘sanity’.  Get a grip.

Sorry, where was I?  Right, anyway: the first domme you visit will be lovely,
OK?  And she’ll do everything she can to put you at your ease (except
for the ‘good’ nervousness, if you know what I mean) – and she’ll be good at that, because she’s done it before, yeah?  And she knows what she’s doing and – oh just book it and go, you’ll have a wonderful time.

Everyone clear about that?  Good. Moving on.


Which rule?  Rule 18, of course.  Which states – as I’m sure you know – that dommes should “Try to avoid sessions with clients who have really specific fetishes and can’t get off unless it is done exactly right.”

Alas, unlike my own SO’s ninety-seven House Rules, which are quite strictly observed and still more strictly enforced, I encounter* examples of rulebreaking daily for this one.

So… yeah, here are some more.

Notice the thick socks inside the fur boots.  Socks are often a giveaway of a Rule 18 violation in progress.  Not if the socks are smelly from exercise and being used to wipe the face of a humiliation slut, though… that’s just good healthy femdom play.

Orca play.

Actually, this one started when his domme turned up one day and said “I’m afraid my leather jacket is being cleaned – will this do?”  And he never looked back.

It’s not just the use of the domestic flamethrower that makes this a Rule 18 violation… it’s the flying golden penis to the left of the flowers that are being torched and it’s the Shredded Wheat package.  Oh… the Shredded Wheat package.  “Can’t get off unless it is done exactly right.”?  One day, she didn’t have any and used Weetabix instead… nearly lost a client.

Not quite sure whether this one belongs here or in my series on femdom scenes being played out with heavy industrial machinery… but it definitely needed wider circulation.  By the way, those knees: do you think she originally had it installed for a slave who was just a little shorter?

She’s supposed to beat his ‘snake’ with a shillelagh, while commanding it to leave Ireland.  Or something.

OK, this whole video (and, as far as I can tell, much of the careers of the two lovelies featured here) is basically just one long Rule 18 violation.  If you’re into latex-clad pretty ladies cooking and eating men dressed as broccoli in order to get rid of bags under their eyes… well, I guess this is the video you’ve been waiting for your entire life.  If not, you might like it anyway.  I did, actually.  In fact I just watched it again. My eyes hurt… but in a good way.


Oh look, I embedded it.  I particularly like the way they look cross so often.  I love it when pretty women look cross.

* Did you notice the way I managed not to write ‘I come across’ there?  See, I’m dealing with my addictions.

Loving unkindness

There used to be a big problem with this sort of play in an office environment: which washrooms to use, the ladies’ or the gents’?  But more and more workplaces are moving to unisex, thank goodness, which makes (heterosexual) toilet play a lot less likely to cause a stir.




Yeah, she’s a sweetie.  By the way – this picture is the last known image of Helmut Kleinwanger, a German businessman who disappeared on a solo hiking holiday in the Czech republic.  If anyone has any information about what happened to him, please post it on a femdom porn story blog.




According to Freud, many men suffer from castration anxiety.  I quite often do, to be honest, but so far it’s always turned out OK.   


This caption was of course inspired by the 1960s film The Pure Hell of St Trinian’s, in which the temporary headmistress Matilda Harker-Packer (replacing the jailed Miss Fritton), played by Irene Handl, states proudly that she is among the very few heads of educational establishments who can produce a certificate actually  proving her sanity.  And you thought I only watched St Trinian’s movies for the sexy sixth-formers in gymslips!

run around for a bit to try to keep warm.  You’ll need the accumulated
body warmth, for when you’re in the pillory, later.  Especially during
the snowballing scene and the ice bucket challenge (I know, I know: ice
bucket challenges haven’t been a thing since 2019 but you just try
telling them that…).

He’ll have to learn to write backwards, which will be difficult.  Fortunately, they have some very effective teaching methods, for young males.

Keeping it real

Regular ‘readers’ will know how committed this blog is to absolute realism in every aspect of femdom.  I’m the same in session – if I’m going to be dressed up in a little pink maid’s outfit and spanked, I want a coherent and real-world narrative to support it, or it just doesn’t work for me.  Here are some hyper-realistic backstories that you might want to suggest to your domme, if you feel the same way.

If you like this sort of thing, you might want to check out this or this.  If you don’t then you probably shouldn’t, but there are plenty of other things to do on the Internet, like watch people being nasty to one another while seeking to demonstrate their own superior ethical standards, all in 140 characters, on Twitter.  Never really understood the appeal, myself, but it takes all sorts I suppose.

On with this, anyway.

The parts of the dommes so painfully constructing their narrative edifices in this post were played by Lady Sophia Black, Mistress Morrigan Hel, Lady Jessica Wood and Mistress Eleise de Lacy.  Plus some others whose names I don’t know.

Keep smiling through

Fans (there aren’t many) of the Downton Domination series here probably, like me, feel a subtle frisson when contemplating the nannies, chaste husbands and simply frightfully modern lesbians who feature in those tales.  How can we simply enjoy tales of thrashings, chastity and forced homosexuality among this carefree inter-war generation, knowing the global catastrophe that was to overtake them in a few short years?  I don’t know about you, but I for one cannot enjoy a good wank to femdom porn, in the presence of uncertainty about how it relates to the rise of global fascism and the collapse of the false hope of international order founded on the League of Nations.

So today we run the reel of history forward, so to speak, to see the heroism of ordinary women and men – mainly women, obviously – from the darkest days of the Blitz through to the triumph of democracy.

NB: before anyone points it out, yes I realise the same lovely lady appears in several different roles in these images. She is not simultaneously a British secret agent, a headmistress of a rather superior girls’ school and a gallant Frenchwoman risking all to shelter a downed British airman.  She is an actress.

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