Advice to a novice sub – Part 2

Many readers of this blog ask me questions, and not all of them are of the “Why don’t you just fuck off and die, Servitor?” form, either.  I know you regard me as a kind of wise old man of femdom, and after I published a blog post last year with a few choice tips for submissives less experienced than I am in visiting professional dominant ladies, the response was overwhelming and – in a few cases – not entirely contemptuous.

So, mindful of the fact that you don’t know my real name or address, and so you can’t sue me for any consequences, here is another batch of Servitor’s tips for any subs considering a visit to a pro-domme.

Any flavour except vanilla

… or raspberry ripple.  I really hate raspberry ripple.  


Goodness, I hope none of the dommes with whom I  have the honour of serving from time to time read this blog and find out my little secret.  They might force me to eat raspberry ripple ice cream in session.  How awful that would be!

Monthly renewal of chastity
‘We’ are indeed trying.  Fortunately, only one of ‘us’ has to succeed, doesn’t she?




CNFM shopping
You ever had one of those dreams?  When you’re naked, surrounded by a hundred jeering, mocking beautiful women?  And you can’t speak and you can’t seem to run, but then you have to do a little dance for them and… and then you wake up.  And realise it was only a dream?  Always such a fucking disappointment.



Femdom space programme
She’s been working too on a better recovery system.  Crashing into a net is fine but it’s just not very… fetish, you know?  So she’s been working on something involving combining an aircraft carrier’s ‘arrestor hook’ system, with various anal toys.  All top secret just now, I’m afraid, so I don’t know any more details than that.
This is the divine Mistress Ezada Sinn, if you didn’t know that already




Lovely Clara
Lucky George.  Sharp-eyed observers of more than one ‘scene’ might spot a reference here to an earlier post.

Boyfriends, eh? Always spoiling the fun! Why can’t she just do her own beating up? I’d go for that. I’d even pay.




Despised and rejected by women

…whenever I get the chance, but usually I have to pay for the privilege.  Ah well.

Mistress Eleise blonde joke
I like a domme with a sense of humour.  But actually, I’ve always been able to make girls laugh.  I remember my very first date – in school the next day, she and all her friends giggled whenever they saw me.  Just a knack.
 I try to identify and pay hommage to featured pro-dommes here, after downloading, lusting after and defacing their pictures.  But does anyone not know this is Mistress Eleise de Lacey already?  I mean, really?  Come on guys – do try to pay attention.
 
 

Superglue femdom
Dommes: don’t try this at home.  You can chip off the paintwork.  Do it at his place, instead.
 
 
 

More pig-sticking
Good luck, George.



Annabels will
I’ll bet she does.
This lady – Lady Annabelle – doesn’t feature here quite as much as Ms de Lacey.  But she’s very lovely too (and has a wonderful voice) and you can find more pics and video of her here, you lucky little perverts.
 
 
 
Castration fetish
Well, I think it’s disgusting.  Reading a squalid little porno blog like that.  Yuk.


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.

Unnecessary whipping oh dear
Still, no harm done.


What a lovely picture
I’d forgive her.  Wouldn’t you forgive her?


Smaller penis humiliation
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?


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


Submissive by name
And you can call her Ma’am.
Verified by MonsterInsights