humour(?) – Page 8 – Contemplating the divine

Advice to a novice sub

As a well-respected member of the BDSM community, I am often asked questions by novices to the scene. These are usually along the lines of “Why are your captions so fuckin’ lame, loser?”, but just occasionally someone requests my advice. And of course, I am always happy to oblige.

Naturally, all my experiences in the scene have involved paying pro-dommes – it’s not as if anyone’s going to spend much time in my sweaty presence unless they’re well compensated for it! But within this very limited sphere I have, I think, acquired some expertise – I might almost go so far as to say wisdom. And I am very happy now to share some of these insights with you, my loyal readership.

So, without further wittering: some advice to a novice sub. In the form of captions. Obviously.

The ladies featuring so beautifully, and misleadingly, in this post were (from the top):

Divine Mistress Heather
A lovely lady from Schoolmistress Fantasy
Lady Sophia Black
Mistress Eleise de Lacey
Mistress Darla (now retired I understand, but here from The English Mansion)
Miss Jessica Wood (who – you can be quite sure – most definitely wood not!).

Servitor’s handy hints for safe bdsm play #182

This week’s handy hint: safewords! After this picture!

Now, here’s someone who looks like he’s going to need a really good safeword. Let’s see how he gets on, shall we? We’ll check back on him at the end of the blog post.

Here we go with Servitor’s top ten words or phrases that are unsuitable to use as safewords:

10. More please

9. Eyjafjallajökull (unless you’re Icelandic, in which case Vanhankaupunginselkä will do just as well)

8. I hardly felt that.

7. That was great, Mistress. Now I just need a blow job to finish me off! I’ll pay you extra, if it’s a good one.

6. (your bank account details)

(top 5 after the picture)

Listen: whatever safeword you choose, don’t be like this silly old fool and forget what it is, OK? It might seem a bit of a chore to learn it carefully, but really, when you’re screaming the place down and begging for mercy for the last half hour of your session, you’ll wish you’d repeated it to yourself just once or twice more. You know?

5. How can a clam cram in a clean cream can? (but you have to pronounce it right)

4. కష్టం నాకు విప్

3. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a
good fortune must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first
entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the
surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one
or other of their daughters.

2. I think you should stop, you’re not doing it right. My last domme was much better.

…number one after the picture (you’re getting the idea, right?)

Now here’s an interesting situation. Can there be any doubt that the only acceptable safeword for the bottom to choose here is “Ninety, thank You Mistress”?

…and the number one winner, with more than twice as many votes as the next most unsuitable is…

…wait for it…

1. Bitch

There we are. Just another handy hint from Servitor. Annoying the hell out of dommes, so you don’t have to. Testing No. 1 was pretty damn painful I can tell you, but it’s all part of the service.

Let’s see how our young test subject got on, shall we? Did he choose a good safeword?

Oh dear. Better keep checking in with Servitor’s handy hints!

Oh – one last thing! Remember, readers, never – ever – confuse anything you read on Contemplating the Divine with serious bdsm advice. OK? Play safely now!

Forensic examination

Ah, Mr Sandwick. How are you feeling?

Yes, well no bones were broken, fortunately.

It was a nasty crash, though. You had bruises all over.

Now – we’re going to need your help with something. The police need us to put together a full report on the injuries you sustained, so they can determine what happened in the crash. Obviously, your chin got that horrible gash as the dashboard crumpled upwards, and there are bruises around your shoulder, where you jarred against the seatbelt…

…but there’s some quite severe and sustained bruising on your buttocks that we’re trying to understand.

Any thoughts?

No, well I suppose you were losing consciousness at the time. Not really fair to expect you to remember! I just thought, maybe…

Only…it’s odd, because there are two quite distinct patterns of bruising, on your buttocks and upper thighs. The majority of the bruises – and we think these were sustained first – are consistent with some sort of heavy, but soft and flexible object repeatedly impacting your buttocks horizontally. Like – I don’t know. Maybe like a leather or a rubber belt. But probably heavier than a normal belt. Was there anything like that in your car that could have caused your injuries? Maybe a fan belt from the engine, next to the driver’s seat? I mean, it seems unlikely it could whip about repeatedly like that, but…

No? No, well that’s what the police said too. Very hard to understand.

And then there are some really nasty bruises from something long and straight and thin – six of them, almost perfectly evenly spaced across your buttocks, starting on the upper thighs and going up. Those look very sore. I expect you can still feel them when you sit down. Any thoughts how those might have happened? It was probably after the first lot of bruises. Oh – and we’re pretty sure your buttocks were probably stretched taut at the time of the impact. As if you were doubled up… or bent over.

No? Well, it is a mystery, isn’t it? We’ve been discussing it, here on the ward, and none of the doctors or nurses can make head or tail of it. Everyone’s fascinated. Quite the little medical mystery – just like a TV show!

Do try to remember, though, if you can. We’ve been wondering if you might – perhaps – have been doing something before you got in the car, that caused you to sustain these bruises? Some kind of activity that might have involved the kind of repeated impacts that I just described?

No? Can’t think of anything at all? Oh well.

Only the other car’s driver is disputing liability for all of the injuries, you see. So I expect you’ll be asked about it as a witness in the court case. In court. Under oath.

What’s that? Oh good lord, no, you can’t just drop charges now, I’m afraid Mr Sandwick. The insurance companies are involved, and they’ll want to make sure they’ve got to the truth.

Anyway, I need to take some photos. If you could just pop your pyjama trousers down? That’s right. And if you wouldn’t mind – it’s better if you stretch a bit, so it’s easy to see everything. So if you could stand here – that’s right – and then bend over with your bottom up in the air. That’s right. Don’t worry about the pyjama bottoms, down there around your ankles is fine.
Ooops! Silly me – I forgot the camera. You just wait in that position. I won’t be a moment. If anything jogs your memory about what might have happened, you will say, won’t you? Only it’s probably better now, than in court.

How much happiness does a marriage need anyway?

Goodness me, it seems that twenty-one secrets of a happy marriage are still not enough for some of you! Frankly, if your marriages are that unhappy, ladies, have you considered drowning the obnoxious little git? And men – well, you can just drown yourselves, can’t you? Try not to make a mess.

Anyway, for those without access to conveniently uninhabited locations with deep water, here are yet another seven secrets for a happy marriage.

1. If she wants to try something new in the bedroom, try to put up with it without complaining, even if it’s not really your thing.

2. If you unexpectedly find a sex toy in her drawer, just put it back the way you found it and don’t mention it. She’s probably waiting for the right time to introduce it into your lovemaking.

3. If she’s really angry about something you’ve done, she probably won’t mention it immediately. She’ll wait until she thinks the time and place are just right, so the two of you can discuss it properly.

4. Sometimes women won’t directly say what it is they really want to try in your lovemaking… but they’re sending out subliminal signals all the time, if you can only learn to tune into them!

5. Many men dread those long moments of silence, when she’s really annoyed and you’re waiting for her to start talking about it. But don’t. That silence helps. It gives you both the time to think about what’s happened – and what’s going to happen now. And then in a few moments, you can both devote yourselves to trying to make your relationship work better. And that’s something to look forward to. Isn’t it?

6. Too many men rush straight for the flower stall when they know they have an upset wife. Sure, all girls like to receive flowers from time to time, but if it’s a substitute for understanding her anger, don’t expect your two dozen long-stemmed roses to solve the problem. You’ll probably end up making things worse – especially for yourself.

7. Mornings matter. What’s the first thing you do together each day? Think about how you can use it to tell your husband what you think of him, especially after a night of lovemaking.

Story: love among the test tubes

Yes, it’s another Serena and Alice story. Heavy, non-consensual and utterly absurd throughout. If any of those three things bother you, go and be bothered somewhere else.

Science: it’s a girl thing.

“And apparently in chemistry the situation is even worse!” Serena concluded. “Only 23 percent! It’s just ridiculous!”

Her friend Alice nodded silently. The low proportions of women taking science subjects at university had been much in the newspapers, of course, but to a dedicated scientist like Serena – who also had strong views on the question of sexual equality (she was opposed to it) – it was unbearable.

“What do you think the reason is?” Alice asked.

“Well, it’s the fault of men, obviously.” Serena replied, calming down a bit.

“Obviously.” echoed Alice.

The two friends saw eye-to-eye on most things, but about men they were in particularly firm agreement. For Serena’s birthday, Alice had bought her a t-shirt reading “Man-hating lesbian and proud of it”, and sometimes the two went out wearing identical messages. But they weren’t that sort of separatist dykes who wanted to live in an all-female world. No, both Alice and Serena thought that men were all right, in their proper place. And principally, that proper place was as unwilling test subjects for Serena’s scientific experiments. Science, and especially the scholarly exploration of male degradation, humiliation and torture was Serena’s passion*. Alice’s passion was Serena, so she was a little less interested, but she did find it sexy when her lover made them do such funny things. Especially when they screamed, or begged. Or bits came off.

“It’s the male teachers in schools” Serena complained. “They make it much too boring! It’s all blackboards and formulae, and carefully measuring the volume of the precipitate.”

“I used to hate science at school” Alice agreed. “I had this horrible teacher, Mr Greystoke, who just used to drone on and on – we never understood a thing and I think he just didn’t care. I just thought science was boring.”

She caught sight of her friend’s shocked expression.

“Well, I don’t think that now, of course! You make science fun. I love it when you do your experiments. I wish school science could be like that.”

Serena’s face suddenly lit up, in the way it always did when she had had a brilliant idea. The slave males standing patiently against the wall recognised the expression, knew its consequences and flinched in fear.

“What is it?” Alice asked with interest. “Have you thought of a new experiment?”

Serena shook her head slowly, smiling.

“No.” she said. “No, just maybe the beginnings of an idea. Never mind – I’ll think a bit more and tell you about it when it’s ready.”

Alice tried to hide her disappointment, but as usual her friend could tell.

Serna leaned forward, smiling broadly.

“Tell you what” she remarked. “Is that crap science teacher of yours still at the school?”

“No” Alice replied, shaking her head. “He retired last year. I don’t know where he is now.”

“Shame” Serena said. “Would you like to pretend one of these creatures here is him? I’ve got a school cane.”

Boys can do science too! Log onto Serena’s science web site, and follow the link marked test subjects. This man above is a trained scientist. Of course, that’s not necessary for the experiment, but it’s nice to know, don’t you think?

Two months later, Alice was back in her friend’s living room, sipping a gin and tonic and admiring the view, as a young man writhed in agony on the wall in front of her.

The man she’d chosen to play-act her hated science teacher had been old and rather frail, so the ladies had had to go very easy on him. Even so, he had lasted no more than six days, before the kindly fates granted him that blessed release from his agonies for which he had been begging since his first day in captivity. So now, Serena was repeating exactly the same course of treatment, multiplied up, on a young, fitter man (who had once delivered a pizza to their door, 30 seconds later than had been promised, and had been regretting it ever since). This was real science, Alice thought happily – every whiplash perfectly calibrated, and recorded for the edification of future generations. She was so proud to have a proper scientist as her lover.

“Never mind him” Serena commanded, sweeping into the room. “Look what I’ve got.”

She held up a memory stick.

“Oooh!” squealed Alice in excitement. “Did you get the soul-catcher to work?”

This had been on Serena’s ‘to do’ list for ages. Record men’s experiences in perfect detail onto a computer storage device (the technology for recording the more complex sensations and thoughts of the superior sex would not be ready for decades, but computers were finally becoming powerful enough to be as complex as simple life forms like worms, cockroaches and men).

The benefits that such a technology could bring the world were almost infinite. Imagine if you could record a man being tortured to death, over the course of two days for example. Sure, he’s suffered for two days but then what? If you could record the experience – every burn, every shrieking nerve, every cut and bruise and finally fatal injury – then you could replay it, over and over again, inflicting multiples of the same agony on a subject who would survive the experience, only to face it from the very start all over again. Imagine explaining to a slave on the torture table, that not only were you about to do this and then afterwards, when the screaming had abated, you would do that – but that his experience would be recorded and he could scream again for this and shriek in terror at the prospect of that – all at the touch of a replay button.

The soulcatcher, Alice thought, would surely win her lover the Nobel Prize that had always cruelly been denied her (by men she thought, viciously).

“Errr…no” Serena said. “No, I’m still having trouble with that. No, this is a video.”

“Oh” Alice replied, rather deflated. “Good video?”

“It’s a wonderful video!” Serena replied excitedly. “An educational video.”

“Oh” Alice said again. “Educational. How nice.”

“Science education!” Serena said, exasperated. “You remember – we talked about it? About how it’s all so boring and dry. Well now it’s not. I’ve made this!”

“Oh” Alice said, and realised she really ought to say something a bit more intelligent (although to be honest, her friend loved her precisely because she was a little dim by female standards. So does the author, as without Alice’s constant questions, how would anything be explained?).

“So you’ve recorded some of your experiments – to show them what fun it can be?” and she nodded at the man writhing on the wall, who seemed to be about to lose his battle to hold himself up with his arms, with consequences that he knew full well would be horrifically painful.

“No, no” Serena said in irritation. “That’s too advanced. They wouldn’t be able to connect it to what they learn about. No – I’ve recorded a teaching video demonstrating ordinary school science experiments. But my way. Do you want to see?”

“OK” said Alice, doubtfully, and her friend loaded the software onto a laptop, which projected onto a big flat screen TV on the far side of the room, suspended from four tightly-bound slaves.

“What do you want first?” Serena asked happily – pointing at the menu. “Chemistry?”

“S’pose so” Alice replied, moodily. “Mr mind-if-I-bore-you-to-tears Greystoke, eat your heart out.”

“Right then” Serena said, with a smile, as if she had secrets even deeper than usual. “Chemistry it is. Here we go”

And she selected chemistry on the menu, and the video started.

The first scene was a close-up of a naked young man rather uncomfortably squashed up behind a glass screen. But as the camera pulled back, Alice gasped as she realised that the glass was curved, and was in fact the side of an enormous test-tube. The man was curled up in the bottom of it, and did not look too happy about it.

“So” Serena said, in a rather formal voice. “Here we have a material, and we are about to test some of its properties through experiment.”

“Material?” Alice asked, perfectly in character even at this exciting bit of the story, when the author has to type fast.

“The boy” Serena replied absently. “We’re going to investigate its properties.”

“OK” Alice smiled. “So how do we do that?”

“Oh, lots of ways!” her friend laughed. “Let’s start with some chemical reagents. She pressed a button.”

Serena herself now appeared on the screen, wearing a lab coat with safety goggles and carrying a clipboard.

“Acid reagents oxidise materials, and we can learn useful things about the properties of the material on which they act, by analysing the resulting gases” she said, in a sing-song voice, speaking rather woodenly to camera.

She pulled her goggles over her eyes, picked up a bucket marked “HNO3” and carefully climbed a ladder standing next to the giant test tube. While she did this a voice-over prattled on about the properties of acids, while information also scrolled confusingly across the bottom of the screen. The boy, it seemed, knew some basic science, because he was scrabbling frantically at the side of the test tube while this was going on, despairingly clawing at the smooth, high sides.

“and add the reagent to the material under study.” The voiceover concluded, and Serena carefully tipped the bucket of acid into the giant tube.

The two ladies watched in silence.

“Well.” Alice remarked, when all was quiet again and the test tube seemed only to contain a featureless sludge. “That was very educational.”

“Really?” her friend asked eagerly, her face aglow. “What did you learn.”

“Oh” Alice replied (for what was now the fourth time).

“Well, you know. Acid, boys. All that.” She gestured at the screen. “They, erm, well they melt. And it’s such fun as they do it! Oh and they burn at first. Burn and melt. Funny.”

Serena pursed her lips. “Yes. Well there was a bit more than that. But I suppose it’s a start. Now, after this there’s a ten minute section in which we analyse the gases that were emitted when we reacted the acid with the boy and – “

She caught sight of her friend’s face, which had assumed a look of panic.

“ – but we’ll skip that bit for now, and go on to another experiment.” she concluded, weakly, and called the chemistry sub-menu back.

Over the next fifteen minutes, Alice learned all about the chemical properties of young men and how to investigate them.

How they reacted with alkalis
What happened if they were subjected to heat
The effects of removing oxygen, or of adding chlorine
Practical tips, such as how to grind them in a mortar and pestle, and the effects of keeping them under oil.

“Goodness” she said at the end of it all. “I never knew chemistry could be so very interesting. And I always thought they were made of slugs and snails and puppy-dog tails.”

“Yes, that’s just a myth” Serena replied absently, pointing at the latest sticky mess displayed on the screen. “Complex hydrocarbons mostly.”

“But if you fed them only on slugs and snails – “ Alice began, and Serena – desperate to avoid what she thought might be a demonstration of appalling scientific ignorance by her friend – quickly switched to the physics lesson.

Alice found this even more interesting. There were a lot of different kinds of physics, it seemed, and all of it could be demonstrated by experiments with boys.

Some of the sections introduced more than one physical principle at a time. For example, one long segment dealt both with the effects of increasing weight, in a gravitational field, and also the tensile strength of various bits of a boy’s body. Ultimately, gravity always won, and the segment concluded with a delightful little speculation on how much more weight you would need to attach to a boy’s delicate bits to overcome their tensile strength, on the moon.

“In space no one can hear you scream!” Alice giggled, but her friend, deep in thought, just replied absently “Yes, that’s a downside of conducting experiments off-planet, of course.”

Then there was a segment on electricity, with a particular focus on how well it was conducted across boys’ bodies, or bits of boys’ bodies. Alice was actually already fairly familiar with most of this, but it was good to see it done in such a well-structured way, with steadily increasing voltages compared across different distances at which the electrodes were set, complex instruments measuring the current flow that could only be determined approximately from the intensity of the screams.

Then there were more physical experiments: what happens when a boy is accelerated to 70mph and then encounters a fixed object, different heights to which men could be propelled from the baskets of catapults, and an experiment to demonstrate that a heavy pendulum attached to a man’s testicles and set swinging would gradually trace out a circle over 24 hours (time-lapse photography was used here of course, as the boredom of watching the whole thing would be unbearable).

“And that’s how we know the world turns!” Serena said, triumphantly.

“All from a set of well-tugged balls” Alice breathed in wonder. Her friend relaxed, as she could see that her educational materials were truly starting to engage someone she would readily admit to herself was rather a challenging first audience.

Now here’s a real scientist at work. She’s been forcing other test subjects to drink various liquids (yucky stuff, you don’t want to know). So for this test subject, she’s created a control – do you see? See the empty glass? She is giving him nothing to drink at all, but she’s still going through all the same actions. That way, if the boy made to drink donkey piss (for example) lives longer than this man who is given nothing at all to drink, she’s proved donkey piss-drinking is good for males. Scientifically.

Alice’s favourite experiment was actually a classic. Two men, one old and fat, one young and thin, stood on top of a tower, with Serena standing behind them, while the voiceover droned on about Galileo. What happened next amazed her.

“But surely the fat one should have hit the ground first!” she protested. “I mean, he’s heavier.”

“That’s a common misconception” Serena smiled. “But look – you can disprove it yourself by simple experiment” and she nodded at the screen.

“I’ll have to try it”, Alice remarked, thoughtfully. “Maybe we could use the multi-storey car park…Of course, we’d have to make sure somehow that both were pushed off at exactly the same time… and we’d have to decide whether it’s the first bit hitting or when the whole body has gone splat that counts as hitting the ground, so maybe…”

Serena basked in satisfaction. Her friend had not only understood gravity, but she’d learnt the much more important lesson – the scientific method.

“You see “ she murmured lovingly. “It’s not just about learning stuff. It’s about finding out. Never take anything on trust.”

“But I trust that” Alice said, nodding at the screen. “And I trust you” she added, looking adoringly at her friend.

“And that’s wonderful” Serena replied, giving her a little squeeze. “But you see – everything I did there is reproducible, some of them with just ordinary household objects, so anyone can do the experiment at home, or in the classroom.”

“In mixed schools, they’ve even got the boys to try it out on!” Alice agreed.

“And the teachers” Serena said slyly – and pointed to the screen.

Alice looked and gasped with the shock of recognition. There on screen, suspended by his wrists and twisting ineffectually, was her old science teacher, Mr Greystoke. His eyes looked pleadingly into the camera.

“Ooooh” she breathed. “You found him. Clever, clever you. Is this going to be chemistry or physics?”

“Neither”, her friend laughed. “This is part of the biology course. See?”

And when she pressed the button, a door opened above Mr Greystoke’s head, and almost immediately, little dark shapes appeared, their antennae twitching as they sensed the food source ahead of them. Slowly, like a dribble of treacle, a dark tongue of scuttling figures seemed to reach slowly down to Alice’s old teacher, who was screaming hysterically.

“It can take up to 24 hours for them to strip the body completely” Serena remarked. “Shall we watch it on time lapse?”

“Well…” her friend replied slowly. “I’m not in any hurry. And I’m really interested in following this experiment carefully. Shall we just…leave it on… in the background?”

“In the background? While we do what?” smiled Serena back, gazing happily in to her eyes.

“Oh come here, you scientific genius you” Alice chuckled. “I’m teaching this biology lesson.”

And as their lips met in a loving embrace, Alice glanced at the screen on the wall. They’d just reached his eyes, she noticed, and feeling a surge of excitement she urgently reached out for the warmth and joy of her lover’s touch.

THE END

* For more Serena and Alice, see for example this (and the other two parts), or this, or even this for goodness’ sake.

Femdom story: Code-talkers

Just another little tale I tossed off, if you’ll excuse the phrase. Don’t read if you’re offended by silliness.

Code-talkers

“Emily!”, Alison squealed with pleasure. “Why it’s been…well, I don’t know! It must be three years – didn’t we last meet
at Jerry’s wedding?”

Her cousin shook her head, laughing.

“No – I couldn’t make it.
Don’t you remember? Mark had
messed up that business with the plumbing, and we had a flooded cellar. We had to stay at home to get it sorted out –
I emailed you all about it.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Alison replied. “I’ll bet you gave Mark a right good thra – “

–
and she broke off, glancing nervously at the
third member of their party, their aged Great Aunt Maggie, who was sitting
bright-eyed between the two of them, nodding happily.

“I mean – errr – well, you must
have had a few stern, errr, words
with Mark after that one.”

“I certainly did”, Emily nodded,
grimly. “Lots of words – three dozen that first time around, and then another
session a week later when the plumber’s bill arrived.”

“And how’s Mark now?” Emily
enquired casually. “When you last
emailed me, you said he was playing, errr, playing ‘golf’ rather too often and
you were thinking of putting a stop to it.”

Her cousin laughed.

“Oh, he won’t be playing ‘golf’
any more. Well…only when I say
so. I’ve got his ‘clubs’ all locked
away, safe and sound.”

“But you let him play
occasionally?”

“Oh yes. When he’s been good. But no more than once a month or so. Just so he doesn’t get completely out of
practice, you know. I’ve heard that
‘golf balls’ have to be used every month or so, otherwise they can get damaged.”

“Never seen the point of golf
myself!” Great-Aunt Maggie burst in unexpectedly. “Just grown-ups playing marbles if you ask
me. And snooker – that’s just as
bad. Tennis. I used to like watching tennis.”

“That’s nice Mags”, Emily said,
encouragingly. “Did you watch Wimbledon
this year?”

Great-Aunt Maggie looked
puzzled. “I’m not sure, dear.” She
replied. “Was that nice Mr Borg
playing? I’m sure he won something,
didn’t he?”

“Errr…I think that might have
been a year or two earlier, Mags” Emily said, uncertainly and the three sat in
silence for while.

“So how’s David?” Alison
prompted, after a while. “I expect you
still keep his ‘golf clubs’ locked away, mmm?
With spikes, if I remember rightly.”

“Oh no” Emily giggled. “David had the operation – I’m sure I must
have told you about it?”

“Operation, dear?” Great-Aunt
Maggie butted in, apparently pleased to be on her home turf of ailments and
remedies.

“Yes Mags. I took him in last year to have his errr” –
and she caught her cousin’s eye – “to have his ‘tonsils’ taken out.”

“That’s good”, her Great-Aunt
replied. “Much better off without them.”

“Oh yes”, Emily laughed. “He’s a changed man, without any ‘tonsils’
any more.”

“Did you get to watch the
operation?”, Alison asked with interest, as she had been thinking about arranging
for Mark to have his ‘tonsils’ removed too.

“Oh yes” her cousin replied
breathlessly. “It was great! They strapped him dow – I mean, they bandaged
him up tightly, and then they let me watch as they removed each of them in
turn. They even let me do the final
little snip. Gosh, it was so
exciting! I had a – errr – hot flush right there in the operating
theatre!”

“So was Mark under anaesthetic?”
Alison asked, beginning to feel the stirrings of a ‘hot flush’ herself, and
wondering whether Great-Aunt Mags would mind if the two excused themselves and
went upstairs to visit their old bedrooms.

“No – not even a local, not if
you don’t want it” her cousin replied, giggling. “He made quite a fuss, especially just before
the first ‘tonsil’ came off – I mean, ‘out’.”

“And they even let me keep the
tonsils afterwards” she added, casually.
“They’re in a little jar in my bedside drawer.”

“How lovely”, Emily
breathed. “So is David much more obedi –
I mean, is he a bit more co-operative now?”

“Oh yes”, her cousin smiled. “He does anything I want. And the housework’s all done, spic and span
every time. And he also – ”

“Itr was the electric that did
that!” Great-Aunt Maggie broke in.

“You what, Mags?”

“The electric. For housework. Made all the difference. Oh, before that it was impossible to get the
place clean. Cos before that we’d just
had gas, and that wasn’t the same, not at all.
Your Great Uncle Bert liked the gas, but I said, ‘no – we’re moving with
the times, Bert, we’re going electric.”

“That right, Mags?”, smiled
Alison, indulgently.

“Ooooh yes. I’ll tell you, as soon as we got that
electric installed, I said ‘Right Bert, this is how it’s going to be from now
on. This is the future, this is.’ And he
didn’t know the first thing about it! He
said, what’s it do then, Mags? That’s
what he said.”

“Didn’t he know about electricity
then, Mags?”

“Oh no, dear. This was 1938, and he was never very
technical, wasn’t Bert. So I showed
him! I plugged a cable into that socket
– we only had the one socket when we first got the electric put in – and I
attached one wire to the tip of his willy, using a hairclip, and shoved the
other up his arse and switched it on! Oooh,
he found out what it did then! You
should have seen him jumping about screaming ‘Switch it off, Mistress, I’ll be
good Mistress!’ Never had a moment’s
trouble from him after that – housework all done, all my meals served in bed
and a lovely bit of oral every Sunday morning before church. Oh – and when we needed a bit of extra money,
to buy a telly for the coronation, it just took one little dose of the electric
and he was off giving hand jobs to demobbed soldiers for two bob a time, just
to get a bit of extra money in.“

“Oh, it
used to scare the willies out of him, the electric, old Bert! Even worse than
the birch. He used to say ‘Oh please Mistress, give me two dozen with the
birch instead! Anything but the
electric, Mistress!’ ‘Course, I always
gave him double voltage when he tried to argue like that! And I’d sit on his
face while he was taking it, too!
Lovely, that was. Dear me. Happy days.”

She paused in contented
contemplation of times past, as her two great-nieces sat in shocked silence.

“Anyway, speaking of a bit of
oral, dears, I’ve got a lovely 24 year-old strapped to my bed upstairs –
Polish, or Czechyslovenian or one of those places. Doesn’t speak a word of English, but he goes
like a train and he knows what to do with his tongue when you take a flogger to
him. And I’ve got a brand-new strap-on
that’s going to make him squeal a bit too!
So I’ll leave you young people to natter about your golf and tonsils,
and I’ll take myself off for an early night and a good hard fuck. See you in the morning, dears.”

And with that, the ninety-seven year old eased herself up from her chair and slowly hobbled over to where the chairlift was waiting to carry her upstairs, leaving her younger relatives to wonder what else they might have been missing all of these years.

THE END

What do you call a slave all wrapped up in brown paper?

Russell.

What do you call a trannie, with one ankle tied tightly up to ‘her’ genitals?

Eileen.

How many slaves does it take to – oh never mind. In my heart, I know I’m funny.

On with the pictures…I’ve got pages and pages of great material.

Still, no harm done.

I’d forgive her. Wouldn’t you forgive her?

He’s quite a big boy, but now he’ll be able to try small penis humiliation! For a while anyway. Isn’t that great?

I thought we’d try a change from the sexual themed pictures. Just a pretty girl eating a banana. Wholesome fun.

And you can call her Ma’am.

Fiction: Well deserving of the cane

Elizabeth Aldrige, known today as Miss Wackham, put down the piece of paper, sighed and looked up at the ‘boy’ standing before her.

“Well, it’s not really good enough, is it?” she asked, mildly.

“No, Miss” the ‘boy’ replied, looking down in shame. Like most of the ‘boys’ at Miss Flogswell’s Academy, he was in his late forties, greying and balding on top. Also like most of the ‘boys’, he looked quite ridiculous in his school uniform. But not as ridiculous as the ‘girls’, ‘Miss Wackham’ reflected.

“I hope you don’t think I’ll be going easy on you just because it is your first time” she said, sternly, wondering whether in fact she should do exactly that. Did this idiot realise what he’d let himself in for?

“No, Miss Wackham” the ‘boy’ said, earnestly.

“As you know, we at the Flogswell Academy have strict standards for our pupils’ academic attainment, and enforce them on a weekly basis. Enforce them with corporal discipline, boy. Cor-por-al discipline.”

“Yes, Miss Wackham” he replied, breathing rather harder and going red. Elizabeth caught sight of his shorts, bulging right at her eye level and hurriedly looked back down at the report. It was all so complicated, she reflected. She much preferred her regular job in her dungeon. She would talk to the ‘slaves’ beforehand, find their limits, push them occasionally until stopped by a warning safeword and then let them beg to come. Here, the rule was that the school fantasy was maintained at all times: no safewords, no out-of-character behaviour…and strict school rules about appropriate punishment.

Which, if followed to the letter, would probably constitute criminal assault in this case, she thought.

“It’s really very simple” she said, tiredly. “Rote learning, boy, that’s our system.”

“Yes, Miss Wackham” he said.

“The teacher tells you what to learn, you learn it, you repeat it in the test. Is that too complicated for you?”

“I…I found some of the lessons very hard, Miss Wackham”, the ‘boy’ replied, sweating copiously and quite unpleasantly through his shirt. “I didn’t know it would be this difficult.”

“Difficult!” Elizabeth snorted. “Let’s go through and you can tell me how difficult it all was. History! You got a D-. Well that’s just dates and things. How difficult is that? The comment says that you were told to learn the dates of sixteen of the Kings and Queens of England and you knew almost none of them. Didn’t you bother to revise?”

“I got the right years, Miss Wackham”, the unhappy ‘boy’ replied. “I didn’t realise they wanted the month and day, too.”

“Pathetic” snorted Miss Wackham. “And what about this – maths. D! Slow on your times tables! Which ones?”

“The fourteen thousand, three hundred and fourteen times table, Miss Wackham. And the nine elevenths times table.”

Miss Wackham peered at him over her glasses. “Not very good at sums then, boy?”

“No, Miss” he replied.

Thinking of sums, she briefly reflected on the sums she needed to accumulate in order to retire from all this. She’d hoped to have given it all up by now, and moved to that long dreamed-of little cottage in Bournemouth. Maybe open a pet supplies shop. She’d been saving away her hard-won ‘tribute’ for a few years, and had quite a little nest egg put aside. Until the financial crisis had come along, swept up the nest , eggs and all, and smashed everything to little pieces. So here she was – still whacking the bottoms of aging perverts for a living, and likely to be doing so for quite a few years to come.

“What about this, then – modern languages? E-. Dreadful! Was that with Madame Sarka? She says here you didn’t learn any of the poetry she set. Not a single line without a mistake in it!”

“Yes Miss” he said, seeming close to tears. “But I don’t speak any Czech.”

“But you don’t have to know any Czech!” she replied, exasperated. “Madame Sarka set you some poetry to learn, and you learn it. You learn it in Czech, you write it down in Czech in the test. That’s what rote learning’s all about – we don’t care if you understand it or not!”

The ‘boy’ just hung his head in shame.

“Now by comparison, biology isn’t too bad” Miss Wackham said, judiciously. “ B-. But then Miss Hardpalm has given you a black mark for” – she squinted at the report – “Refusal to take part in scientific experiments with the rest of the class. What scientific experiments?”

“She was demonstrating the location of the body’s principal pain receptors, Miss”, he replied with a shudder.

“You do know disruptive behaviour in class merits an automatic use of the cane?” Miss Wackham inquired. He hung his head still further.

“And this last one…home economics. F. F! How could you get an F in home economics? That’s just cookery, isn’t it?”

“Went to the wrong classroom, Miss” he muttered. “One of the ‘girls’ told me it was in classroom 7. Then when I finally got to the right classroom, I – ”

“…got angry and emptied the lasagne she’d been making all over her head.” read Miss Wackham, shaking her head over the report.

“She had to go to matron to be cleaned up, Miss.”

Knowing the ‘girl’ in question, Miss Wackham privately thought that both the treatment in the cookery class, and matron’s likely cleansing techniques were probably the least that ‘she’ deserved. Still, couldn’t have unruly behaviour. Of course, ‘hazing’ new arrivals by getting them in trouble was a tradition. Give them a taste of the cane. The trouble was, this new arrival had already been due for a five-course banquet of the cane before being dropped in it so comprehensively by his cross-dressing classmate.

“So you spent the rest of the lesson in the corner, and got an F for home economics and a black mark – a second black mark – for disruptive behaviour.”

“And I had to clean up the mess over lunch break, Miss” the ‘boy’ added. “Miss Birch said I could eat the uncooked lasagne for my lunch.” He blenched slightly at the memory.

“Well. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a daily report like this.” she said, shaking her head sadly. “The B- in Biology only merits the strap, but all the other grades mean the cane. And each count of disruptive behaviour is twelve strokes. Altogether, it’ll be…let me see. Well, sixteen strokes with the strap, obviously. But then that’ll be – ” she calculated silently for an instant – “ =fifty-eight strokes with the cane.”

“Oh Christ, please no – “ he burst out.

“Plus four for swearing takes us to sixty-two” she said quietly.

“Oh come on – for Chr- , I mean for mercy’s sake. It’s only a game.” Real tears were forming in his eyes.

“It most certainly is not a game.” She replied, primly. Miss ‘Flogswell’ was quite clear that there would be no negotiations or slipping out of character where the subject of discipline was concerned. This was what marked the establishment out, unlike those jolly japes schools in the North of England, where everyone was cheeking teacher all the time and laughing about jolly good whackings. This was hard-core. Very hard core.

Still…she thought about sixty-two strokes. She knew very well what the cane could do, and to do it sixty-two times on the same area of the body was going to cause some serious damage.

“Oh please” he sobbed, the tears coming fast and furiously now. “It’s my very first time. Couldn’t you just go a little bit easy for my very first time? I’ve got to go to work on Monday morning, you know?”

“Well…” Miss Wackham said, slowly, thinking hard. She didn’t really want to flog this new client off the school books. Maybe she could pretend to be using a triple-hard cane or something and only give him twenty… ?

“I’ve got to get in extra early on Monday, actually, while Tokyo is still open.” he added hurriedly, sensing some possible movement.

“Really?” Miss Wackham replied with interest. “What job do you do?”

“I’m in finance” the ‘boy’ replied. “Actually” – looking a little proud – “I manage a hedge fund.”

“Really.” Miss Wackham said again, grimly. She thought of her little nest egg. And of the cottage in Bournemouth. Her hand tightened on the handle of the cane.

“Well, I’m sorry, boy, but I can tolerate no exceptions to the rules. Sixty-two with the cane. On the bare, I think. Then I’ll finish you off with sixteen with the strap. Shorts down and bend over that chair!”

“But I – ”

“NOW boy!”

Femdom story: A normal marriage (part 3 of 3)

The story so far: Christopher, following a sheltered upbringing, has been taught by his wife that sexual intercourse consists of her beating him until she reaches orgasm. After a couple of years of marriage, Janice has started spicing up this vanilla sex life with toys such as canes and bondage gear – because being tied allows him to ‘hold on’ much further, as the pain of the beating builds up. Lately, Janice’s friend Paula has taken to staying over. Silly Christopher worried that they might be having intercourse, but after a night tied tightly in their room, he is reassured that no beatings or other forms of sexual intimacy are going on: just tickling, licking and so on…

Now read on.

Then one Sunday something appalling happened. He was cleaning Paula’s house, as usual, and was standing before her, as she angrily pointed out a spot he had apparently missed on the carpet. Her eyesight- or standards of cleanliness – was more acute than his, and he stood in confusion thinking that the carpet looked pristine.

“Look at it – just there, look closely!” she had insisted furiously, and he had bent down to observe better (and indeed, could then see to his shame, a small patch of dust that had previously escaped his attention. He was about to get up to present his testicles for the inevitable kicking, when he was startled by Paula’s hand raising his skirt, followed by the ‘crack’ of her other palm impacting his upper thigh, in the gap between his stockings and his panties. He froze in shock and the hand descended again, slapping him over and over and driving his face into the carpet where he knelt.

He knew afterwards that he should have protested at the very first stroke. But in confusion (and perhaps lust?) he remained kneeling for the entire thing, only then rising, his face crimson and backing away towards the door. In his confusion and shame he had run from Paula’s house in full maid’s uniform, and as he clattered home in his high heels, he was well aware of the sight he must be, in his disshevelled uniform, with tears pouring down his face. But he didn’t care, and once home (Janice was out) he ran upstairs to the spare room, as he could not bring himself to enter the marital bedroom, his heart pounding and his vision blurred.

How could he? With her best friend? After all she had done for him, introducing him to the sacred mysteries of the rod and the whip, after so gently dealing with his fears about sex, even – especially – after taking the trouble to show him how harmless and innocent her little games with Paula had been? How could he have allowed her best friend to spank him? He was an adulterer, a cheating husband, he told himself in misery and panic. Even if it never happened again, even if his relationship with Paula stayed strictly proper, as Mistress and maid, Paula would always know.

And worse…he would. And so, surely, would Janice. They had never had secrets from one another. They shared everything. Early on, Janice had even explained that many wives kept their monthly period from their husbands, but that because she knew their marriage should be completely open one, she was going to trust and permit him to buy, apply and dispose of her tampons. She wanted them to share every aspect of their lives, and now he had betrayed her. Christopher sat on the edge of the bed in misery.

When Janice came home, there was no point in pretending. Quite apart from his inability to control his emotions, there was the fact that he was home in the middle of the afternoon. Normally, his chores at Paula’s house kept him there well into the evening. In fact, Sunday night was a favourite for a sleepover, so Paula was often already tucked up in bed with his wife, by the time he returned with aching arms and sore knees from the day’s labours.

“Christopher? Darling! Whatever’s the matter?”. She rushed to the bed, and held him in her arms.

And slowly, through sobs and long pauses, Christopher explained to his wife what had happened. At first, she seemed simply confused, but as understanding dawned, her expression hardened and the arms around her sobbing husband seemed to stiffen. When he had finished his explanations, she pushed him away wordlessly and his dress rustled as he squirmed in his place.

“I need to talk to Paula” she said, flatly, and left the room. Christopher took off his dress and wondered what he should do. He did not have to wonder long. Janice came back carrying bondage gear. Clinically and efficiently, she tied him up – his hands behind his back, his knees and ankles securely fastened and a hood with gag over his head. Before tightening the gag, she had paused and said “I need to know, Christopher. Do you still love me?”

“I love you, Janice! I love only you, and always will” he had sobbed, with heartfelt devotion. Then the gag had tightened in place and the hood was placed over his head. From inside the darkness, he heard the door slam behind her. Later, he thought he heard raised voices from downstairs, but he could not be sure as the hood muffled most sounds very effectively.

He lost all track of time, lying there on the bed. He later discovered it had been just over 15 hours, and he had a raging thirst and (to his shame) had wet himself and the bed by the time he was released. Janice removed his hood (but not the gag), and unfastened his hands. She looked down in disgust. “Clean yourself and this up – then I want to talk to you downstairs.”

Christopher was able to remove his bonds and tidy up the mess, then got dressed and went downstairs to face his wife. She was sitting in a chair in the living room, reading a magazine, and glanced up as he approached. “I said I wanted to talk to you, I didn’t say I wanted you to talk” she said. “Go and put that gag back on right now – and take those ridiculous clothes off.”

Four minutes later, naked and gagged, Christopher stood in front of his wife. Had he been able to speak, he would have begged for forgiveness, would have offered anything – anything – for their marriage to be as it was. Instead, he simply had to listen in silence.

It was worse than any beating he had ever experienced. She explained, calmly and without emotion, that he had betrayed her, as had Paula. She described how hurt and insulted she felt, how none of the relations between the three of them could be the same again. And when she had done this, she set out how things were going to work in the future.

Quite clearly, neither he nor Paula could be trusted. She had been allowing him too much personal freedom, and now her trust had been abused, she understood that she could not be so liberal. He would be kept under much closer control in future. As for Paula, she had started their conversation last night determined never to see her again. But Paula had cried and apologized, and Janice had simply decided that she could not lose her best friend and her husband both at the same time. But she needed to keep an eye on Paula, too.

So: this was how it would be in the future. Paula would move in with them. Christopher would give up his job, and would be kept permanently supervised in the house. On occasions when Janice was out, Christopher was to be locked away (a cupboard could be adapted for the purpose, Janice thought, or she might purchase a cage from the bondage catalogue). He would not be permitted clothes or speech, would eat leftovers after the ladies of the house had finished their meal and would do nothing but perform the most menial household tasks.

And so it has been ever since. Christopher lives in a cage, wears a mask and gag all the time and is only allowed out in Janice’s presence – and then on a chain. He eats scraps, liquidized in a blender and sucked up around his ballgag through a thick straw. An electric shock device has been fitted to his testicles, to which both ladies have a control. The device is quite robust, though, and is not usually dislodged by even the most vigorous beating on his testicles.

She sleeps in the master bedroom with the forgiven Paula, unforgiven he sleeps alone in his cage. Occasionally, the two ladies introduce other women or even men to their tickling games, and on these occasions Christopher is kept well out of sight. He cleans up afterwards, and more than once had had to deal with what he now knows to be the ‘milky fluid discharge’ from a stiffened male penis. He shudders at the thought, and prays silent thanks to the loving wife who made sure he never had to experience such a horror. The stiffening in his own penis has long since ceased, something Janice’s nursing friend put down to the now daily applications of the hairbrush to his testicles.

He has not spoken a word since the profession of love for his wife on that day of shame, and perhaps he never will. Yet that is all he needed to say, all that he knows, all that he is.

Do not pity Christopher. He still has a very full sex life, as his buttocks are whipped by his wife (or occasionally – Christopher suspects from inside his hood – by Paula) and his chores fill his days with meaningful work.

Whatever the future may hold for him – and it is unlikely to hold anything very different – he knows that it is because his wife loves him so much that she cares enough to subject him to this lifetime of penitence.

Femdom story: A normal marriage (part 2 of 3)

The story so far: Christopher, following a sheltered upbringing, was inducted into the sweet mysteries of sex by his lovely wife, Janice, on their wedding night. He now knows that sex consists of the woman beating her man until she achieves orgasm. Initially, Christopher’s penis got in the way of their love-making, but the application of a lockable medical device solved that problem. Their love life is therefore entirely normal. But now Janice has started trying to spice it up…

Sounds kind of kinky

On day, Janice suggested introducing bondage into their lovemaking. At first Christopher had protested. He had caught sight of one or two articles about this, and was sure that it went well beyond what normal people got up to in the bedroom.

“You’re such a prude” she had laughed, when he’d objected. “If it wasn’t for my making you try new things, we’d never do anything but the missionary position” (the ‘missionary position’, he’d learnt, was the proper term for their usual lovemaking position: she sitting on the edge of the bed, he draped over her lap having his bottom spanked). So he had consented, and soon found himself tied over a chair as Janice applied one of her ‘love toys’ to his bottom.

They immediately discovered a wonderful effect of bondage – that it could allow them to go further in their love-making than ever before. Previously, as Janice vigorously engaged in sexual intercourse – especially if she was using an implement to do so – Christopher would find himself unable to lie still, or to keep quiet. She was good at holding him in place, especially when he lay in the missionary position across her lap.

But there had been more than a few occasions on which Christopher had began howling and thrashing around under the blows, and although this behaviour did seem to excite Janice to approach her orgasm more quickly, it was not unknown for them to have to terminate the love-making before she had reached an orgasm, as Christopher involuntarily struggled free, or the noise seemed likely to annoy the neighbours.

Janice explained that breaking free like this was called ‘coming too soon’ – when the man reached a pain level under the spanking that he could no longer take, before the woman was fully satisfied. It made Christopher feel deeply ashamed, after all the effort Janice put into beating him, that he could not always hold on long enough for her to reach orgasm.

Bondage supplied the answer. When Christopher was securely fastened over a chair, or simply tied to a bed-post, there was obviously no danger at all of his scrambling away as Janice laid into him with the chosen implement of the day. The shrieking and howling could have become even more of a problem, but fortunately Janice decided, soon after they had started to experiment with bondage, to replace the ropes and cords they had been using with proper equipment. She sent off for a catalogue, and was delighted to find in it a selection of gags to control noise as well as straps to control movement. They tried a few, and soon selected a ball-gag that was able to stifle most of the shrieks.

With this in place, Janice could happily thrash away with whatever instrument she liked, with complete abandon, until fully satisfied. Sometimes she would even leave him secured between bouts of lovemaking, returning to the fray when rested and recovered from her own orgasm, and further applying the loving caresses of her whip (it was around this time that Janice had brought a riding crop into their lovemaking) to his already well-flogged bottom.

The gag allowed nothing to emerge but little moans and shrieks. On a weekend at a country hotel, however, they had become concerned that even this might be too much, as they had no desire whatever to be asked to leave for over-loud love-making. Janice had suggested a wadded-up bit of cloth, and Christopher had immediately produced his handkerchief. Janice, though, had been concerned that this might be too rough for his mouth, and had instead produced her own panties.

Her husband had begged her not to waste her own clothing just to make him comfortable, but his loving wife had insisted and he and soon found himself tied tightly down on the hotel bed, his wife’s balled-up panties firmly secured inside his mouth with a strap, very effectively suppressing the screams that would otherwise have disturbed the other hotel guests. That night had been almost a continuous session of love-making, and although Christopher found he could barely walk for days afterwards, the glow of sexual satisfaction on his wife’s face made it all worthwhile.

Since then, she had on several occasions insisted that he be gagged with her panties again – even though less expensive and personal alternatives existed – for old times’ sake, as she put it. Christopher had once bought a pack of panties so that he could take clean ones in his mouth (he hadn’t wanted to mention anything to his wife, out of embarrassment, but from the very first occasion he had been able to detect a distinct taste of pee, and more recently the stains had been visible and the taste pronounced), but she had laughed and said this would be wasteful and that it was better for her to wear the new ones, and to use old ones that had become stained beyond further use when gagging him for a bout of silent sex.

Christopher helps out at home

Early on, they had fixed upon Fridays as the regular weekly slot for love-making. Christopher often found movement difficult the next day, and after being asked a few times at work why he was wincing, they had agreed on this. Saturday was no day of rest, though. Janice was (as she put it) a proper little homemaker, and as Christopher was out at work most of the week, at the weekend the housework was his responsibility. Feeling relaxed and drained after the agony of the previous night’s orgasms, Janice loved to wake up to breakfast in bed on a Saturday morning, and it was the greatest of pleasures for Christopher – if he had been fully untied from the night before – to scurry downstairs and prepare it for her, before commencing his chores (cleaning the house from top to bottom).

When doing this, he wore a maid’s costume. He had protested when this had been produced, but Janice had patiently explained that the maid’s uniform, being designed to the purpose, was perfectly suited to doing housework. He had asked whether he could not wear overalls instead, but Janice had giggled and drawn him closer, before whispering that she might want quickly to bend him over and make love – perhaps with a paddle or a ruler – while he was engaged in the housework ‘to spice it up’.

Generally, Christopher found on a Saturday that he had had just about all the lovemaking that his poor bottom could stand, but he knew that her sexual drive was stronger than his and so of course he consented to her request. The costume stayed on all day, from the early-morning chores, through serving his wife her mid-morning coffee, right through to the inspection of his work (Janice was quite particular) and maid-service at Saturday dinner. He was taught to curtsey and call her “Mistress’ because, as Janice pointed out, if he was going to act as her maid, it would be such fun to do it properly.

Janice and Paula…

His friend had warned him to watch out for other men after his wife, so sexy and beautiful was she. In truth, Christopher had very little idea how he would react were any man seriously to make eyes at Janice. It put him in a flush of red jealously just to think of it. As it happened, though, the only time he had had any real suspicions had turned out to be a ludicrous misunderstanding – and not with a man, but with another woman! Janice had introduced him to Paula, with whom she had been at boarding school. The two ladies did everything together, and Paula frequently came round for the evening. On an early one of these occasions, she was still there at 11.30, and Janice had suggested that she might like to stay over.

“Ooooh yes – it can be just like a sleepover at school!” Paula had giggled.

“We used to cuddle up to one another in bed after lights-out” Janice explained happily to her husband.

“Just talking and joking, and sometimes tickling each other and so on. It would be lovely, just for old times sake….would you mind terribly sleeping in the spare room tonight, darling?”

And “darling” had done as he was asked, happy that his wife was reacquainting herself with old friends (and thrilled to be married to a lady with such a playful, girlish outlook on life).

Since then, Paula had stayed over more and more frequently. Friday nights were off-limits, of course, but otherwise Christopher found himself in the spare bedroom two or even three nights a week. Despite his best intentions, he found himself becoming jealous, and even felt an awful suspicion forming. Could the two of them be…well, might it be a bit more than girlish hi-jinks and ‘tickling’? They couldn’t be making love in there could they?

Hating himself for it, Christopher took to creeping out of his spare room and listening quietly at the door. This was mostly quite reassuring. He could hear lots of giggling and muffled little shrieks of glee. Nothing that sounded like the regular slapping sound of a hand on a bottom, or any of the other sounds he associated with a loving beating. He took himself back to his room and went to sleep, contentedly.

But over the next few weeks, he could not resist going back more and more frequently. In amongst the laughter, he thought on occasion he could hear Janice making some of the sounds of orgasm, and he could frequently hear Paula making noises that were rather different but…could they be her equivalent?

Of course, he was found out. Paula had opened the door, on her way downstairs to get a drink of water, and had shrieked at the sight of her friend’s husband jumping back in shock. Wordlessly, he had run back to his room, and sat on the bed, quaking in fear. It had not taken long for Janice to appear, the bondage gear in her hands. She had said almost nothing, just quietly instructed him to lie down and proceeded to secure him tightly to the bed, the ball-gag firmly in place. He knew very well that this had nothing to do with love-making, and this was confirmed the next morning when she appeared with a hairbrush in her hand and proceeded to spank him in the one place that they had discovered so early to be completely unrelated to any sexual pleasure – his testicles.

Later that day, when he had recovered, they talked. At first, Christopher could do nothing but apologise profusely, crying for forgiveness, while Janice was coldly furious and kept slapping the hairbrush against her palm meaningfully. But as Christopher confessed his fears, Janice slowly put the implement down and began to listen. She smiled, and stroked his cheek, and soon all of Christopher’s deepest fears and jealousy were pouring out. The conversation ended with him sobbing in her arms, as she patted him gently, murmuring “You silly, silly boy.”

When he had recovered enough to listen, Janice calmly explained how baseless his fears were. She described some of the little games she played with her old school friend – how they tickled each other, and tried to get the other to shriek with surprising little bites and nips. The loving couple talked and talked all morning, and in the end Janice decided that the best thing was for Christopher to see for himself. He begged her not to bother, explained frantically that he believed her, that his fears had been laid completely to rest. But she was implacable, determined that not the slightest hint of suspicion should taint their perfect marriage, and she went off to phone her friend.

Christopher learns the truth

Paula, it seemed, was still furious at the intrusion into her privacy, and it had taken Janice a while to calm her down. She insisted that he pay some penalty for his actions, and although mollified by the account of the hairbrush applied to his testicles, she obviously felt that more was required to reflect the seriousness of the situation. Janice had therefore had to agree that Christopher would receive a monthly dose on the same day for the next six months.

With Paula in a calmer state of mind, at this thought, she had introduced the idea of his observing their night games. This had immediately put Paula right back into a fit of fury, but Janice knew her friend well and was eventually able to talk her round. Finally, it was agreed, as long as Christopher was completely unable to move or speak throughout the entire thing, and as long as Paula herself could supervise a really firm application of the hairbrush to his testicles at the start of the night and again the next morning.

Furthermore, Janice promised that Christopher would clean Paula’s house every Sunday from now on, and that Paula herself would be permitted to apply the hairbrush, or just a firm knee, if anything were unsatisfactory. On this basis, Paula gave her consent.

It took Janice about ten days to obtain some additional items from her bondage catalogue, because she knew how concerned her friend was that the immobilization of her husband should be complete. She also bought an additional maid’s outfit, so that Christopher could be clean and smart on both days of the weekend. During this time, she went to Paula’s house whenever it was a sleepover night and so, of course, on the Sunday, did Christopher.

Paula seemed reluctant to really acknowledge his presence, and gave him his instructions rather impersonally as “The maid will do this”, “The maid will ensure that…” and so on. With the Sundays dedicated to housework as well (and, as they shortly agreed, a trip to Paula’s on the way home from work on Tuesdays and Thursdays, to do the washing-up), Christopher was now spending almost 25 hours a week in domestic service. But it was worth it, for his wife to keep her friendship with Paula, and her love for him, as he told himself.

The night finally came. Janice very carefully secured Christopher to the posts of the great four-poster bed in their room. He was tightly encased in a rubber suit, his mouth firmly gagged with just his eyes visible behind holes in his mask. The rubber suit had a hole for Christopher’s genitals to emerge, making him wonder once again whether other couples incorporated testicle-spanking in their normal lovemaking. It seemed hardly conceivable, the pain was so great. He thanked his lucky stars that his wife’s desires were so normal.

The hairbrush was produced, the penis-tube was lifted neatly to one side and Janice applied the implement vigorously to his dangling testicles, noting with satisfaction that not a squeak could be heard emerging from the tight gag. Then she nodded curtly, and went downstairs to join her friend.

A few hours later, they came up, both obviously a little tipsy and Paula especially so, perhaps Christopher thought, out of shyness at having their girlish games observed. Paula checked his bonds, and also gave him a few firm kicks, perhaps again to check out the effectiveness of the gag, as without it Christopher was not in the slightest doubt that he would scream for mercy. Satisfied, the two women started to remove one another’s clothes, slowly and with little giggles.

At first, Paula especially seemed understandably inhibited. But as she got into it, she perhaps forgot the looming presence of the tied-up man over the end of the bed, and concentrated on playing the tickling games. These were indeed, Christopher thought (with a great sense of guilt over his unfair suspicions) entirely innocent and non-sexual. For a start, Paula was naked in front of him as they bounced on the bed together, and he could see clearly that her white bottom had never felt a firm slap from a hand, let alone anything more directly sexual such as the strap or the cane.

Christopher felt tears welling up in his eyes yet again (he had cried twice already tonight, during his wife’s and Paula’s respective attention to his testicles) as he thought how her tools of lovemaking – excitingly visible hanging on the wall to the left of the bed, were reserved for him and for him alone.

What the two ladies got up to was in no way related to any of the techniques for sexual intercourse to which Janice had introduced him since that first time on the night of their wedding. There was no beating, no one was tied up, indeed there seemed to be no pain involved at all. Christopher settled himself to enjoy the sight of his wife and her friend playing their girlish games.

It was – as she had assured him all along – just tickling. Mostly, they tickled one another between the legs, although they also kissed one another a lot and stroked and tickled each other’s breasts. Later, the tickling took a surprising turn, as first Janice and then Paula wriggled down to place her head between the legs of her partner and tickled their wee-hole orally, mostly by licking with the tongue but occasionally also sucking and even gently biting between pursed lips.

Christopher felt relieved that Janice didn’t want to play such games with him, as it looked distinctly smelly. I’ll never complain about being gagged with stained panties again, he thought. The use of the mouth must have been particularly ticklish, as each lady rapidly found herself hysterical with gasping laughter quite soon after experiencing it. That must have been what I thought was an orgasm, Christopher thought to himself. And indeed, it did sound similar, so he chuckled inwardly at how foolish he had been.

Later in the night, the games took an even stranger turn, as the ladies produced a black rubber object, and proceeded to insert it into one another’s wee holes. Christopher wondered how they could possibly stand the feeling – it must tickle even more than the licking, he thought. But the ladies seemed not to mind too much, although they could barely control their gasping sobs of laughter as it moved smoothly in and out.

The activities ended with Janice kneeling above Paula’s face, in what seemed to be a competition for who could stand the tickling longest. Paula was using her tongue, while Janice was applying some kind of buzzing device between her friend’s legs. Both became almost hysterical with giggles, but eventually Janice seemed to win, as Paula struggled for mercy shrieking “Yes! Yes! Yes!”, and Janice rolled off and allowed her to recover.

After switching the light off, the two friends fell asleep in one another’s arms, and Christopher hung from aching wrists in the darkness, thinking once again how lucky he was to have a wife such as Janice.

To be continued…