Category: ironing and irony

The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing

With that quote from Blaise Pascal (who she?), we introduce another post devoted to that sweetest of feminine characteristics: being impossibly, delightfully unreasonable in relations with the lesser sex.

No woman is so good or so bad, but that at any moment she is capable of the most diabolical as well as of the most divine

I don’t think she should pander to the male gaze like that – why should she have to go to the trouble of snapping her bra every few months just for his pleasure?
He should have read her FAQs more carefully. OK, they don’t specifically mention beards – or anything to do with facial hair, to be honest – but they are quite clear about being ‘annoying’ and I think even beardy-boys can be expected to read between the lines just a little.
Oooh – sissy maid play? But what shall we iron?
As is usually the case when one has to leave a video call early, it took Trevor a minute or two over his official ‘hard stop’ deadline to extricate himself from the call. But she was very understanding about it. Not forgiving – not in the least – but very understanding.
They say the nervous waiting, wondering what it will be like, is the worst part. But that probably just goes to show that ‘they’ have never been fucked hard enough up the arse, as that is definitely the worst part.
Right now, I’m thinking of little else.

Books do furnish a dungeon

Due to the unparalleled reach of this blog (other blogs may – indeed do – reach more people and indeed many of the same people, but none will be exactly parallel), book publishers tend to send me ‘flyers’ for their latest publications. I thought I might as well chuck them onto the blog, as you lot will wank to anything with pretty girls saying vaguely pervy things, and it’s a lot easier than doing anything creative.

Available in all good bookshops, but you might have to go along way to find a bookshop good enough, these days.

Celestial bodies

Good thing she brought a sub. They’re used to them on fashion shoots, of course: no self-respecting model would be seen without an obedient puppy boy on a leash or a sissy maid at a respectful three paces behind, these days.
She prides herself on being the perfect hostess: it’s all about making sure someone makes the effort to prepare everything properly before the guests arrive, apparently.
Humiliation play can be a tricky thing. I once met up with a domme in cafe for public humiliation play and soon found myself being insulted, belittled and eventually slapped by this elegant, blonde lady in high heels and furs. Perfect – until I discovered I’d got the wrong cafe entirely and the domme I’d booked had been waiting impatiently in the one around the corner. Most embarassing.

The lovely Princess Kali, there, trying not to engage in humiliation play.

If all that fails, I understand there’s a briar patch they can throw you into.
I hope someone tells the patient that someone with the right skills and training is looking after his wife. Otherwise he might be feeling anxious for her.
Or those she has set for you.

Stinging rejoinders

Let her enjoy the moment, can’t you? For as long as it lasts.
I think a nun could be perfect and still not free from sin. Miss Kenworthy here is – quite literally – a perfect example.
Less is more, they say. And it’s better to give than receive, which I’ve certainly found to be true in my marriage.
Even without direct knowledge, obviously she does know in general terms how painful it is. She’s very knowledgable on that sort of thing.
Funny how ‘can’ means ‘must’ sometimes.
A day trip to remember.

Whipping Cords Will Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do

Mistress Apple, there, of course and she’s right, they will.





Off to your mystery honeymoon destination.  Exciting!
My SO enjoys watching me write my name.  There’s a whole bunch of forms waiting for me, as soon as I’ve finished this post.  They’re all in Arabic, so I’ve no idea what they say but apparently they’re very important.
Peggy pegs.
People can be so cruel. Especially men.  Bastards.
He can explore his submisive side.  Or not. It really won’t make much of a difference either way.


And I will bare my soul in time

…when I’m kneeling at your feet.


I think we can agree, though, that it’s hardly femdom to expect men to do their share of the ironing. Including – obviously – making up for the backlog of several thousand years when they didn’t.

So we did.  I wonder what we’ll decide today.
Good thing there’s a woman in charge to take those tough decisions.

Sissy didn’t actually understand the book anyway. Men should go out to work, take decsions, look after their own lives? Terrifiying.
It’s a bluff.  I think it’s a bluff.


They can beg and they can plead

…but they can’t see the light.



Are you sitting uncomfortably?  Then she’ll begin.

You’re actually already halfway through the session. Might as well finish off.

Good.  Good.  I expect she’ll be chucking away all those dusty old wine bottles in the cellar and filling up the racks with some nice fresh sparkling wine with cheerful labels, too.

If it’s any consolation to him, after her friend has finished the face-slapping session tomorrow, he will look like a house elf.

As it happens, the second guy from the front is the Financial Director of one of the biggest German pension and insurance conglomerates.  He’s wondering whether he should say something here – but by now he’s probably got more sense.


Lap of honour



She uses a system of rewards and penalties.  Some days, when you’ve done particularly well, you’re rewarded by not being penalised.

I wasn’t a service oriented submissive when I started out, but my SO sent me on an orientation course.
The other things are negotiable.  Just go ahead and negotiate – but you do have to be in position first, OK?



In any marriage, learning when to communicate – and when to stay silent – is as important as learning how.







I find these networking sites can really eat up my time.  I had fifteen ironing assignments on Slavr last week, for example – took me hours to get all that done – and then there were eight notifcations waiting for me on Spankr.  I thought all this technology was supposed to give us all more free time?