Newcomers welcome

Newcomers are particularly welcome to this blog, of course, since ‘readers’ unfamiliar with my style may take a while to notice that I basically just re-hash the same old tropes over and over again. But more importantly, I want to help newcomers to the world of femdom to get over any anxieties they might have, especially before that nerve-wracking first contact with a pro-domme to actually try out all those grubby little fantasies in reality.

So, as a service to such newbies, I have in the past posted several items of advice to a novice sub. That series later also included a few respectful items of advice humbly proferred to any to ladies thinking of embarking on the noble dominatrix profession, too.

I hope that by passing on my expertise to a new generation, they can avoid the mistakes I made and instead make entirely new ones.

So, in that spirit, here is more of the same. Re-hashing tired old tropes, like I said.

Hope you enjoyed that. Any prospective subs actually trying the approaches recommended above will not be missed from the human gene pool, so think of it as evolution in action. Not that many of you were likely ever to be allowed to place your nasty, sticky genes anywhere they might actually lead to a new human being forming anyway. The real advice to a novice sub is to visit that domme and the only real mistake Servitor made was leaving that so late.

In other news, those of you paying very close attention to some minor themes on this blog (and I know some of you do that, to my repeated surprise) might like to note that Kitten has gone viral. Bonus Kitten image below in celebration and homage.

She knows best

So do stop arguing, hmm? It’s very tiresome.

My SO has a very simple system for detecting when I’m lying: she assumes I am unless I can prove otherwise and whips me accordingly. Good thing for me everything on this blog is nothing but the honest-to-Goddess, cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-be-whipped truth.

Whereas disturbed sleep patterns can actually have detrimental long-term consequences, so really this is much better all round.
What’s got purple testicles and screams in agony? Give up?

With thanks to a commenter below, I’ll note that the smiling lady is Mistress Mona Rogers, whose pinned Tweet (X?) reports “it is time to announce my retirement”, alas. I wish her well and hope she still has a great deal to smile about.

Your penis would only very marginally add to the total quantity of penis involved anyway, so it’s really not a problem.
Don’t worry, she’s a very different person from her mother, with completely different ideas on how to treat the man in her life. Equally brutal, true, but different .

Unlikely stories

Longtime ‘readers’ will know that this blog takes particular care over the realism of the scenes it depicts. Specifically: nothing here is intended to be even remotely realistic; the blog aims for zero plausibility and I’m proud to say it usually comes pretty close.

Over the years, I’ve presented scenes from a totalitarian female supremacist future, I’ve traced the history of femdom back a few hundred years and I have written sweet lesbian love stories (not in itself unrealistic, but set against a backdrop of thrilling scientific breakthroughs, as well as savage torture scenes usually resulting in the violent death of almost every male character) in the Serena and Alice series.

But I’m confident I have never before put up a post that takes our beloved femdom scene quite as far away from what we normally think of as ‘reality’ than this. Be warned.

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.

Swinging

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.








 

 

Sooo…
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.





Verified by MonsterInsights