Implausible truth can serve one better than plausible fiction

Attentive ‘readers’ will recognise the magnificent Mistress Eleise, of course. Her web site, alas, seems not to have been updated since 2019, so this might be as close as you’re ever going to get.

The presence of Lady Sophia Black, on the right there, brings to two the number of extraordinarily beautiful and creative dommes who are now retired, in today’s post. If you missed out on both Mistress Eleise and Lady Sophia then… well, I’m afraid you face a lifetime of sadness and regret. Sorry and all that, but there it is… you can at least be happy for me that I managed to meet them both. Several times. Does that help? Anyway, fortunately, Lady Lola, on the left, appears still to be active and I’m sure will give you a ballet lesson to remember, if you ask very very nicely.

Yes, Madam Prime Minister

A sequel to this.

To: tjl@mmc.gov.fem
From: lhh@pmo.gov.fem
Subject: Re: New publication: Your Government – Working for Women

 Security classification: confidential election nomales

Hi Tilly

Thanks for the draft of the comprehensive Policy Evaluation. It’s a great document: what a fantastic record of policy achievement (no false modesty here at Number 10!). It’s amazing what can be achieved without men around to screw things up.

The PM will love it. One of her pet hates is ‘department-itis’, when each Minister implies she’s the only one really promoting women-oriented policies. From the Minister of Education banging on about the re-introduction of caning in boys’ schools (btw, do you think maybe she’s a leeeetle too obsessive about schoolboys being caned…? I mean…😬), via the Minister of Employment’s ‘Re-training and Skill Development’ centres for unemployed males (to be honest, I didn’t know we had that many quarries in this country), to the Minister of Defence claiming credit for the successes of the rebels in Saudi Arabia (sure, our weapons help but to hear her speak, it’s almost as if she were there with those brave girls in the desert, you know? But we all love her and she did look simply stunning driving that tank.) Anyway, great to see all our initiatives related to crushing the patriarchy (sorry: ‘Women’s liberation’ !!) all in one document.

Just a few suggestions.

1. The section on Science and Technology? I’ll admit I haven’t been keeping a close eye on this policy area, but I’m a bit worried if the account here of what goes on in the new Research Centres is accurate. The Medical Interventions for Rape Prevention study for instance. OK, so I understand that the scientific method requires a control group and randomised treatments but… we’re castrating hundreds of men at random? I mean, I’m not opposed as such… just didn’t know. And it could be off-putting to moderate voters, so… might want to tone down that section a bit? More emphasis on what happened to the test subjects who were rapists, rather than those who weren’t (and never will be, now 😊)

2. Same section. The publication record from the new University Departments of Female Superiority is very impressive – I had no idea! Looks like we’re leading the world in demonstrating that males are stupid, lazy and annoying. Which – obviously – we all knew, but it’s nice to see that peer reviewed studies support it with statistically-significant findings. Maybe some kind of table summarising the scientific evidence on just how fucking useless males are? Just the highlights, obviously as there are far too many ways to list them all in a publication like this.

3. Same section, quick point: in the section on medical research, the programme’s called ‘Nurturing Amenable Natures through Neurological Implants’ (NANNI – cute, huh?), not ‘brain clamps’ – that was just an internal, informal name for it and the PM thinks it might send the wrong signals.

4. Employment statistics – brilliant. Overall employment up, female managerial positions increased by a factor of five, Board representation of women now at 95% (why not 100? Are we keeping a few places for subs, to make it look like men have a say? Seems a bit last-year, no?). All at the same time as male employment has jumped to 100% and stayed there! Although I do wonder whether we can actually export all that stuff they’re quarrying out in the places-we-dont-call-labour-camps. What do they dig out anyway? I mean, rocks, obviously but any particular kind? Do you know? Does anyone?

5. Civil Rights. Very important section. Just the other day, the Leader of the Opposition was claiming that it’s illegal for her to speak out against our policies. Which is so offensive – she’s female, so she can say what she likes, this isn’t North Fucking Korea! If her right to free speech is so restricted, how come she’s on TV all the time banging on about oppressive mistreatment of men? (OK, the PM is also often on TV talking about the oppressive mistreatment of men, but in a positive way, obviously). Anyway, maybe add a few words about how free speech for women is actually being protected by our policies – e.g. the ‘Don’t you Dare Interrupt Her!’ campaign?

6. Photos of males. Again, can we tweak the balance – maybe a few more pictures of men looking a bit happier? There are some of those already: the husband doing the laundry on page 8, the young guy making coffee in a business meeting on page 13 – oh, and definitely the young couple out for a walk with their dog on page 5! I love the way the photographer has caught the exact same expression and pose for the young male and the dog! I mean, the guy’s not actually on a leash but it subconsciously suggests… well, anyway: it’s brilliant. More like that. Not to say there should be no pictures of sexists looking thoroughly miserable too, of course: obviously, we need to appeal to our young activists who want to see the bastards suffering! But I counted 17 pictures of men looking unhappy, 11 of which had them actually in pain or chains/cages etc and maybe that’s a bit much for the more ‘middle-of-the-road’ femsuprem voter, bless her kindly heart, you know?

Fantastic work, anyway! Your Policy Evaluation will be a great springboard for the next election. The PM wants to make sure everyone understands how our Party has benefitted all women: sure we are going to crush the ‘Equality Party’ but she’s worried some of the radical fem-suprem parties might be taking the youth vote. The opinion pollsters tell us that those parties’ extremist image doesn’t play well with the ordinary voter: all whips and chains and cattle-prods, you know? (I’m all in favour of those things but best kept in the bedroom, I say 😉). Still, the PM wants some messaging to voters that they can rely on us to continue ratcheting up the oppression of males, so they don’t turn to some jack-booted young firebrand (did you see the pictures of Janice Alicesdaughter speaking at that RadFem rally – in those boots and leather cape? It may not be good political imagery but it was fucking hot! I think we lost 10% of the lesbian vote that day).

So the ladies who spin have come up with a mock campaign: ‘There’s a reason for that’. Killer stats on stuff that works better now we’re in charge: where the word ‘reason’ is supposed to imply sensible moderation instead of the whippy-chainy thing. A few examples below – don’t worry about the exact look, this is an off-the-whiteboard tiger teaming brain dump. Any thoughts?

And finally, on a matter of policy substance (crazy, I know, but we do occasionally think about things other than image and social media), we’re kicking around some policy proposals for the next election. Thoughts?

– Introduce mixed sixth forms at boys’ schools. Sounds like a step backwards, right? But hear me out, as they say. We’d allow older girls to transfer in to the sixth form at every male school. Why? In an old-fashioned word: fagging. That’s nothing to do with gay male sex (well, only indirectly), it means giving school prefects disciplinary rights over other pupils. Which was abolished years ago, because of its potential for sadistic abuse but obviously it’s a completely different ballgame if girls are the only ones in charge. We quietly carried out a pilot study and the girls’ response was amazingly enthusiastic. I feel so proud of this young generation… they’ll do so much, with their new-found freedoms. Anyway, looks like an effective programme but the PM’s worried about the optics? I mean, does it sound too, well, pervy? It is an initiative of the Minister of Education, after all – see comments above re her ‘interest’ in school punishments 🫤! I mean, she actually wanted the girls to wear gym-slips, can you believe that? And possibly the boys too…

– Streamline the transfer of responsibility for males. So, right now, if a woman wants to become the Responsible Female for a male, she has to register her interest and then the Office of Responsibility needs to approve and process the transfer – either from another RF or a State facility. It seems like a lot of fuss. Why not simply let RFs come to a private arrangement? Of course, if there’s a lot of interest from RFs in a male for some reason, it would be reasonable to expect a financial consideration in return. Responsibility rights could even be auctioned in public… perhaps several males could be displayed, made to show off their talents, and women willing to take on the burden of looking after them could bid for them. Seems quite novel, but I’m assured there are historical parallels.

– Remove voting rights for men. Too soon?

Oh and do you have any suggestions for how to counter this RadFem shock-collar proposal? Focus groups suggest it’s got almost 30% approval among women, as much as 55% for younger voters. We thought about saying it’s a waste of electricity, but apparently even if the entire male population of the country were all shocked at the same time, writhing in the ground for a full hour (lovely image!), it would add less than 1% to overall energy demand. Who knew that overthrowing the patriarchy was such an environmentally-friendly thing? Of course we could just steal the idea 🤭🤭

It would be nice to see a printed, glossy version, by the way. Could you print a few up and send them across? Maybe that new intern could bring them over – you know, the blond lad you sent last time. With the blue eyes. You wouldn’t need him back immediately, right?

kiss kiss

Lindy

Special Political Advisor to the Prime Minister

Rt. Hon. Linda Harcourt, GCMG

Prime Minister’s Office

10 Dworkin St, Whitehall, SW 1

The 1980s called back

Cast your minds back, British readers over a certain age, to a time when dominatrices advertised on little cards in phone boxes rather than OnlyFans, when femdom images were to be found only on furtive trips to specialised shops in Soho and when those same images came wrapped not in endless entreaties to subscribe to one or other specialised service but in plain paper bags, usually a pastel shade rather than brown, for some reason.

Yes, I am talking about last July, 2023, when this blog featured a post called ‘The 1980s called‘, devoted in part to rhapsodising about the magazines of Servitor’s mis-spent youth and in part to a rip-off of homage to those magazines, in the form of a ‘letters’ section written in his mis-spent late adulthood.

I warned you then this might become a series and so it has. OK, I recognise that the number of this blog’s readers who ever came across such magazines can probably be counted on the fingers of the one hand that is not presently in your trousers. But I don’t care: this blog has never sought the easy route of popularity, and it has been consistently successful in avoiding it.

So, let me first feature a couple more covers from the real thing, the Vixen and Mistress magazines.

So, so lovely…

These are from the web page of the helpful guy at Swish Publications. He’s scanned them all and is happy to sell them to you for a remarkably modest price (fewer £s than the originals cost way back then) so why you are still here reading my shabby imitation I have no idea. And I must also mention in a kind of Wayne’s World ‘we’re not worthy’ manner that the creator of the slightly later generation of femdom mag that was Cruella and Goddess is still going strong too, at https://cruella.com. Go on, Andy, Mr Rogue-Hagen, scan the old stuff and sell them as pdf mags… you won’t regret it. And we’d love to see ‘Victoria’ and co again.

Right…

As before, the below are entirely made-up letters to an entirely made-up magazine called Empress, together with some modern photos made to look a bit like a 1980s magazine scan. Why? Oh, who knows. But with the world in such a terrible state, I guess we all just have to do what we can.

Empress Vol 3, Issue 2. Letters to The Editrix

Most sublime Goddess-Lady Lucia

The article entitled A dog’s life for Steven in the June 1986 edition of your wonderful magazine reminded me of something your readers might enjoy hearing about. My wife is firmly in charge in our marriage: in all important respects I am no more than her slave. I long since learnt that any failures on my part – let alone attempts at asserting my independence – will be met with swift and painful corrective measures.

Just over a year ago, my wife came back from the shops with a small package. It turned out she had been to the pet shop and bought what I understand is called a ‘shock collar’ for dogs. It looked like a regular thin leather dog collar, with a kind of plastic box attached to it, from the inside edge of which protruded two rounded metal studs. It came without batteries (why don’t manufacturers simply include them?), so I was sent out to the newsagent – it took one of those little 9 volt rectangular ones, and I bought one and a spare.

With battery installed, it was fastened around my neck and my wife fiddled a bit with the remote control that came with it and suddenly I had a horrible feeling that made me gasp. It’s hard to describe, Goddess-Lady Lucia, even though I have since experienced it hundreds of times. It is not a hot, searing kind of pain on the skin of the neck… in an odd way it’s not really pain at all, it’s a kind of wrench right inside one’s body. As I said, it’s not exactly pain but the sense that someone has reached inside your chest and tugged at everything inside there at the same time is deeply unpleasant. Of course, I begged and whined to be released – and she did take it off, but this turned out just to be to drill an extra hole through the leather collar, to fit a small padlock. And on it went again.

I now wear it whenever I am in the house, and quite often outside. I have never particularly liked roll-neck pullovers but now I have several of them because they are just what is needed to cover it up. We don’t play at my being her dog, you understand – it is just another way or punishing me for my faults and reminding me of my place whenever she deems that necessary. I am responsible for ensuring that it always has a working battery and that there is always a spare battery in the house.

As I am not a dog, of course, I can touch it with my fingers. So I soon realised that a small piece of paper, slid carefully down between my neck and the prongs, could insulate me from any shocks. I tried that once – just once. I jumped and squawked, whenever I saw her pressing the button, but of course sooner or later she gave it a press when I was not looking. The paper was found, the husband was caned mercilessly, every one of the shocks I had so deceitfully avoided (or her estimation of that total) were applied in triplicate and believe me I have never dared repeat the attempt.

I now give generously whenever I pass one of those collection boxes for the RSPCA. I have never been much of a dog lover, but I can definitely say they have my full sympathy!

In collared submission

Mrs Henshaw’s husband.

Well, Mrs Henshaw sounds like a lady after my own heart! I strongly disapprove of these devices being used to hurt our four-legged friends, so I hope that every one of the vile devices is bought up by wives to put to the excellent use you describe. There is, after all, no Society (Royal or other) for the prevention of cruelty to husbands and nor should there be! G-L L.

Most Superior Goddess-Lady Lucia

Your publication is simply wonderful, easily the best of its kind on the market. I particularly like the school-themed stories, as my own fantasies typically involve my sitting with head bowed at a plain wooden school desk, often frantically scribbling punishment lines, while a stern lady teacher taps her cane thoughtfully against her palm, planning the next phase of my detention.

Goddess-Lady Lucia, you are so beautiful and commanding and wise. I would love to spend my evenings in pointless drudgery, writing punishment lines at your command. If I could write lines in your honour, Goddess-Lady Lucia, what should I write and how many would you require me to do?

Yours in scholastic supplication

Dayboy

How ridiculous you men all are! Fine – why not? Take an edition of Empress, roll two dice to pick a page, then close your eyes and point at a sentence. If it’s less than fifteen words, close your eyes and point again until you find one. Then write it out for me, oh… shall we say a million times? Don’t write again until that’s done. If you manage to finish before you die, you can send the completed library-full to the address for letters – or better yet, don’t. If you die first, just make sure your will makes clear I do NOT want to see the stupid things. G-L L.

Most Superior Goddess-Lady Lucia

I have been an avid reader of your wonderful magazine since the first issue, having always fantasised about being under the command of a beatiful young lady like yourself. Recently, I got married to a sweet but very inexperienced girl and after a few weeks I plucked up the courage to ask her for a spanking. She looked shocked and confused and said she wanted to talk to her Mum about it.

Although embarassed she’d be talking to her Mum (a lady I’d always suspected did not approve of me – any more than I did of her), it was perhaps not that unreasonable, as she was so inexperienced in matters sexual. I was just relieved she hadn’t immediately said no, or laughed or something like that.  But a few days later, I came home and she announced she was ready to give it a go. Delighted, I took off my trousers but then to my horror she shouted ‘Mum!’ and my mother-in-law came into the room, put me firmly across her ample lap and whalloped the bejasus out of me! My God, she had a firm hand – and a bloody strong right arm, too. When she finally let me up, my face was red and wet with tears and my buttocks were black and blue – I could hardly walk! Needless to say, my cock had shrivelled to almost nothing, it was the most unsexy experience of my life.

I thought maybe that would be that, she’d leave and I could talk to my lovely young wife and explain that this was not what I had in mind. But the old harridan had come to stay with us! The next day, after a night on the couch, I found myself alone with my wife and tried to speak about it but… ‘Mum!’. And you can guess what happened then.

Since then, they have found my stash of Empress magazines and I fear that has given them ideas. I do the housework in a little apron, I clean shoes with my tongue and handwash underwear – some very large and horribly stained underwear too – and they have bought a cane. All of my fantasies have come true – and I hate every moment. But the worst horror was to be threatened with ‘facesitting’ after my ‘Mother Superior’ read the story titled Lydia’s living cushion in one of the recent issues. I don’t think I’d survive – she must weigh 200 lbs at least!

Please, please Goddess-Lady Lucia, help me. You understand this is a sex fetish. Can you help me explain to my lovely young wife and her evil old cow of a mother that I just want an occasional sexy spanking, not to be the slave of some brutal old tyrant?  I was thinking maybe an article about how to balance sex fantasies with reality?  Obviously, please don’t print this letter.

Yours in supplication

Desperate Dan

Ha ha ha!  My favourite letter of the month… oh I hope it is true.  And if the lady you describe as an ‘evil old cow’ is reading this then I hope she both takes note of how you described her and also reads carefully through the story titled ‘The queue for the Ladies”, because I think the scenario described there is another that you would probably enjoy less in reality than in fantasy. But I’ve tried it and it’s perfectly practical: all she’ll need is a plastic funnel and a suitably contemptuous attitude. Ladies of a certain age often need to pee quite frequently, so having someone ready (if not truly willing) wherever she is, at a moment’s notice, would be a great comfort. Try eating asparagus first too, my dear, to give him an even more revolting time!  G-L. L.

Dear Goddess-Lady Lucia

I have noticed that many of the stories in your magazine feature lesbians. The beautiful girls who seem to indulge in this practice are often accompanied by pasty-fleshed, unattractive middle-aged males. Do you think perhaps they might take more of an interest in men if they had more impressive specimens to play with? I myself am fit, young and particularly well-endowed and I would be happy to teach any of these girls about the joys of being on the business end of a real man’s tool.

Rifleman James

I assume this is a joke. You certainly are, small-bore Jimmy. I myself am bisexual as although I prefer to date women (the conversation, sex, hygiene and manners are all infinitely better), I do love the male penis. I have a special box full of small braided whips, clamps, spiked wheels and rough sandpaper and will happily spend an hour or two playing with a firmly secured fine male appendage, to get into the mood before sinking into the arms of my blonde beloved later. Your own penis sounds so lovely, I think I would probably want to keep it. In a box by the bed. Now go and wank off to a different magazine, as this one is obviously too difficult for you to understand. G-L L.

Esteemed Lady Lucia

I so admire the ladies in the stories in this magazine. I myself was ‘introduced’ to female domination as fantasy play by the man who become my husband and then, soon after our wedding, it was my turn to introduce him to what a real disciplinary relationship can be like. This came as quite a shock for him… I think he had expected me to prance around in leather and occasionally gently tap his bottom with the end of a riding whip, the silly thing. Needless to say, as soon as I had grasped the basic concept and with the help of lesser magazines than yours, I decided that a cane was my preferred instrument. Although ‘bondage’ hadn’t featured in his fantasies, I also soon discovered that a good caning could only be administered if his wrists and ankles were secured. And the combination of a firmly secured man and a cane wielded with determination and entirely without mercy has provided me with a thoroughly satisfactory domestic arrangement ever since.

He said the funniest thing the other day, while strapped down over an armchair in our sitting room, awaiting the second dozen of a twenty-four stroke caning. Amidst all the tears and pleading, he blurted out “You don’t know how much it hurts!”. And of course, he’s entirely right. I have never allowed anyone to hit me with a vicious implement like that and I never will. Why on earth would I? In this world, there are those who cane and there are those who are caned – and I have no doubt which side of that divide I prefer to be on! It is truly better to give than receive, as my dear mother used to say. Don’t you agree, Lady Lucia?

A generous wife

No doubt you make sure that your husband appreciates the gifts you so generously bestow on him. As for the great divide, I quite agree about which side it is best to be on. I know there are some females who prefer the submissive role, but I have never felt the slightest desire to experiment with that! Unlike you, though, I have tried out the cane – I once asked a dear lady friend to give me just one stroke on the thigh, just to see what it was like. Bloody murder it was – and I am sure she did not lay it on hard. It almost made me sympathise the next time I had to dish out a proper caning to one of my slaves. Almost, but not quite. My own mother used to say ‘Life’s not fair’ and it has been a delight for me, discovering just how unfair it can be made to be. G-L. L.

To Our Lady Lucia of the Boots

Oh, Mistress Lucia, what a delight to see so many pictures of you in lace-up boots in the March edition of your perfect magazine. I found myself consumed with jealousy at the sight of your two office slaves, permitted to lick the divine leather after their well-deserved thrashings.

My fantasy is to be nothing but a boot cleaner. Chained in a steel compartment, I wait for a passing lady to deposit a pair in the chute leading down to my box. I get to work, first carefully unlacing them, then licking all the mud off, before commencing the brushing and polishing and relacing the boots. A suitably dirty pair will take anything up to 12 hours. I place the cleaned boots on my back and lean forward into a floor-level pillory that automatically snaps into place. This displays a sign outside my box that the boots are ready and some time later that day or the day after, the front of the box will be lifted up, the lady customer will pick up and inspect her boots, award me a rating out of ten and administer any additional strokes of the handy crop she deems appropriate. Every few days the overseers come around and thrash us, at a rate of ten strokes for each rating short of a perfect ten we have received for each pair of boots serviced.

Goddess-Lady Lucia I know of course that my fantasy is unrealisable but while there are booted and demanding Ladies like yourself out there, the dream remains alive.

Bootcleaner #23

Well, #23, your fantasy, while ridiculous, is amusing enough and shows a proper appreciation of your place in this world. Licking boots, however, is a privilege not a valuable service: the tongue applied to a truly muddy boot will merely smear the mess around and excessive saliva does the leather no good. I insist instead on vigorous brushwork – but I do make the slave eat up the pile of dirt left on the newspaper when it is done. The boots you saw being licked are a special pair I wear when a slave deserves the reward of using his tongue – and I make sure he knows full well that the leather is impregnated with the saliva of many males before him. Yet still they beg for the privilege – what absurd and easily-enslaved creatures you all are! G-L. L.

Goddess-Lady Lucia is presently overseeing the production of the next issue of Empress, which will feature:

  • The continuing Trials of Steven: released from the Training Centre back into Ms Judy’s care, Steven learns that he is now just one of a stable of slaves who must compete for her favour!
  • Re-educating the chauvinist. Malcolm mocks a women’s lib demonstration and is taught the error of his ways.
  • Office Politics Part 2: the typists’ revolt continues.
  • Return of the Gymslip Gumshoes. Our schoolgirl detectives are back, this time investigating a series of underwear thefts.
  • Nursing a Grudge: with his legs and arms in plaster, Ian can do nothing when the ward nurses decide to give him a series of enemas.
  • .And of course Empress Editorial, Readers’ Letters and the ‘winners’ of Goddess-Lady Lucia’s Stupidest Slave Haircut competition.

Male creatures are instructed to ensure they have sufficient funds to buy it, then give the rest of their money anonymously to a woman.

 

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.




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