Category: Jane Austen

Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?

More anachronous anecdotes.

It’s natural that with a young Queen, a few things should change to reflect her deeply-held whims. I suppose the system’s not enormously democratic, but when you look around at some of the leaders we elect, is that really so bad? Of course we need to get rid of all that nonsense about male succession.
They might need to comfort each other later, in private. Ladies on this blog often do, after suffering the ordeal of having to observe a male receiving a well-deserved thrashing.
The trouble is, how to know when to speak? In my experience, ladies’ killing rages can last a while and it’s not always obvious from their demeanour.
You might think that a lowly governess would be quite unprepared for a role in which she needs to command the respect of local society but in this – as in many things, dear reader, as you are almost certainly male – you’d be wrong.
The peak of civilisation.
He went to a school with a ‘modern’ approach to discipline, so it’s good he’s marrying a wife with a very different outlook on life.

French letter

Just a quick extra – as usual a caption became absurdly long and is thus a ‘story’.

My dearest Bertie, beloved husband.

Words cannot express how delighted I was to receive your letter from your prison camp, with its reassurances of your good health. When you fell beneath the ice during the Winter campaign, your comrades assured me that survival was impossible and the Army Lists recorded your gallant death in battle.  A most touching eulogy was read out by the junior minister for War himself in Parliament. I received many warm expressions of sympathy, as of course, no person in this Kingdom was more assailed by this perceived loss than I, your grieving wife.  Several of the officers of your regiment have taken it upon themselves to comfort me personally station themselves around the house, so I shall feel myself protected, although with the beastly French still on the other side of the Channel, I truly feel I have nothing to fear. Indeed, several Naval officers, also in the vicinity, have assured me

Beloved, this brings me to the part of this letter that I most regret to have to write. I fear I have not passed on to the Government your entreaties that a peace be signed with that Corsican fiend Napoleon. You did not marry a coward, my love, and I fervently hope that I did not do so either. As your loving wife, my thoughts are with you, but as an Englishwoman, they are with my country. Indeed, your account of the indignities and tortures to which his foul soldiers are subjecting you merely strengthens my resolve. Things must be simply dreadful to have caused you so to lose your senses as to pen such a defeatist missive and I can only hope that sharing your experiences with me can help you endure. In this respect, it might be helpful if in your next letter, you supply more details and explanation of terms such as ‘buggering’ so that as your soul-companion I can more fully share in your suffering. I have sought to inform myself about the general concept – the gallant naval officers stationed in the vicinity seem familiar with the principle of the thing and have even but as your wife I should know all of the details. Do not spare my feelings, but tell all.

Should a just peace ever be signed – which I fear, my true beloved, must be many years off – and should I ever encounter any of the uncouth French officers who have so mistreated you, they will know the fury of a wronged Englishwoman! To think that the mouth that I so long to kiss has been soiled by being abused so by a man – if such a word applies to these filthy Frenchies! You must be brave and endure, my darling. And perhaps the next time you are required to “service” that Dupont fellow with his enormous… talent (you neglected to supply the precise dimensions, my beloved, do, please), perhaps you will summon your courage and bite. Bite hard. For me.

I must also record that I was a little disturbed, by your suggestion, my beloved, that when we are finally reunited in a World at peace, that I might myself… I shall not write the words. I do not blame you, beloved, but you must have lost your mind should you imagine that I would ever – ever – undertake such a revolting act.  I have very sharp teeth, my beloved, and I too can bite, if need be. But I am sure that once you are back with us, your mind will return to its more English ways of thinking and eschew such perversities.

However, should you happen to have become accustomed to some of the other practices you say you experience nightly, Doctor Thomson assures me that even a weak woman can perform them, with an appendage he has constructed could construct for me. The naval officers inform me that

Be brave, my beloved. Be a man even as the Frenchies treat you as a woman and remember that even ‘a weak and feeble woman’ can be a patriot and a soldier. Hold your head high as you suck, lick and swallow and endure the ‘buggerings’ as best you can but never forget you are British! I myself feel nothing but a steely resolve to carry on, taking all degradations this dreadful war might impose upon me with a smile on my lips and a firm resolve that we shall one day make France squeal for mercy ourselves, when a column of fine British soldiers thrusts itself into Paris!

To victory, no matter what the cost!

Vanessa

PS: – In answer to your linguistic enquiries, the word ‘chienne’ you keep hearing is the French for a female dog, or bitch. I so despise that nation, I earnestly wish I had never learnt the language, but I suppose those many years with Madame Pelton were not wholly wasted! ‘Avales’ means swallow and is in the familiar singular form, indicating a lack of respect. Had they manners, they would be ordering you with “avalez”!. And analogously with lécher, to lick. The word ‘entonnoir’, with which they threatened you, should your entreaties for peace not succeed, is less familiar to me but I am informed that it may mean a kind of funnel, such as might be used to channel liquid into a narrow opening. If you could supply more precise details of the context in which this ‘entonnoir’ will be used, I would find that most enlightening. With details, my love. ‘Maitre’ does indeed mean ‘Master’ as you rightly surmised and ‘bottes’ are boots. I am glad to learn you are taking advantage of your stay to expand your knowledge, even if under such trying circumstances! V

It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness

‘Readers of this blog, being erudite types, often to be found in exclusive salons discussing the role of foreshadowing in literature with other members of the intelligentsia (when they’re not sitting in front of their computers, trousers around their ankles, wanking to porn, obviously) will instantly have recognised the quote as one of Tolstoy’s and will thus, with sinking heart but a dreadful sense of inevitability, have discerned that today’s is another of those boring historical posts in which ladies rarely show their tits or dress up in exciting latex outfits.

Never mind, there’ll be a ‘normal’ post on Tuesday. In the meantime, try to get excited about finely-turned ankles and flirtatious badinage… or just go and whack off to whatever you can find on ImageFap, I don’t care.

Ah… the rigid grip of social convention.

Serves him right for being such a forward young man, I suppose.

Justice will be seen to be done; possibly with rather a lot of accompanying giggling and girlish shrieks.
I wonder how long he invited her to stay for? And I wonder how long she will stay? It might depend on Mrs Truscott, I suppose. It won’t depend on him.
They all only want what’s best for the young lad. He doesn’t, not really. But that’s why he needs a governess, a wardship committee and – ultimately – a wife.
They look shocked… I hope they can come up with something to take their minds off this horrible sight.
She was up late, the poor tired thing, supervising the whipping of all seven stable boys. She works so hard – but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women.

More glimpses from a bygone, more civilised age.

Except obviously you won’t be buggered afterwards. Not with a real penis, anyway.
Of course, she won’t continue her career as a governess after marriage. That would be quite against the spirit of the times, which held that even professional women, once married, should focus all of their efforts on their husbands.
War is hell. So’s her strap-on, actually.
Striking at the root of the problem, so to speak.
Even young ladies of fashion had to develop practical skills in those days. The lady behind looks singularly uninterested, though… dreaming of marriage to a billionaire, perhaps.
He loves – and loves a lass above his station, by the look of him.

The sobs and tears of joy…

“… he had not foreseen rose with such force within him that his whole body shook and for a long time prevented him from speaking. Falling on his knees by her bed. He held his wife’s hand to his lips and kissed it, and her hand responded to his kisses with weak movement of her finger.”*

More femdom from a less gentle but more genteel age. I know this series won’t appeal to a lot of the male readers of this blog, as there isn’t a lot of female flesh on display and the captions have a lot of words, some of them quite long and difficult.** And if I cared what they think, I suppose I would do something about that.

Cousin Kitty looks forward all year to her visits.

Reader, she married him twice.
I’ve often sessioned with dommes who start sentences with “Perhaps…” like this lady, when what they’re suggesting might happen always does happen. So I do wonder if they understand the meaning of the word. Next time I hear it in session, I might try explaining this is a word to be used in a conditional sentence expressing a remote prospect, so we should understand it to imply that what she’s suggesting is unlikely to occur. I’ll let you know how that goes.
Ah… the tale of Wanda and Severin. A classic romance – my SO fell in love with that book.
She dislikes indelicate subjects. She dislikes insubordinate subjects too, of course, and she’s the Queen, so there are consequences.
It isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do.***

* Not Austen, Tolstoy. But fortunately, I have a tag for that already.

** Pro-tip: try moving your lips quietly when you read. Women won’t mind if they see you doing it; they all know we males are morons. Counting on your fingers can help when there are hard maths sums to solve, too.

*** That one is Austen.

Since you’re all the way down here, reading the footnotes, you’ve obviously got nothing better to do with your time (still locked up, are we? awww, never mind…) so here’s a trivia question for you: what links caption 2 and caption 5 – and also (unintentionally on my part) the text but not the image in caption 6? Hmm?

Imperial leather

More captions from a bygone age. Several bygone ages. But all featuring enchanting unfairness from the fairer sex.

One does.
Curiously, as a result of these two ladies taking their roles slightly further than he had anticipated, the ‘genleman’ in question was late for a meeting of the British Cabinet at which a fateful decision was taken that, had he been able to attend, he would have counselled against and thus avoided the siege of Khartoum and all the unpleasantness that stemmed therefrom. But Luce and Eliza got paid and that’s the important thing.
Forgive her Father, but not just yet if you don’t mind.
Albert, of course, died tragically young – an outcome for which the young queen was in no way responsible. So please don’t ask her how he actually died, she prefers not to think of the night in question. Nor was it in any way connected to the form of penile implant that was subsequently named after her late consort. Historians are quite clear on that and to suggest otherwise is technically treason, even today. Interestingly, the practice of ‘queening’ may well have been named after Victoria, although the suggestion to rename it ‘queen-empressing’ after 1877 never really caught on.
I think Kitty might need to comfort her quite soon, as she seems quite affected by the sight, the poor delicate thing.
Not compensations every time, but certainly compensations.

It isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do

You will, of course, have recognised the title from the divine Jane’s Sense and Sensibility and thus have girded your loins (or had someone else firmly gird them for you) for another chapter of this blog’s longest running theme: period femdom. Like period drama you see, only…

What? No, not that kind of ‘period’. Pervert.

Anyway, here come the hot chicks in empire-line dresses, bustles, cropped bodices and suchlike.

They needn’t worry. The spirit of Chrstian mercy burns fiercely in their Aunt’s breast and she would greatly prefer to see the lad thrashed – several times, ideally – and retained in her service.
In the last county fair, the whippiness and suppleness of the birches produced on her estate received high praise.
As Marx tells us, social relations will be revolutionised by technological and economic developments. Yes, industrialisation may regrettably make slavery obsolete, but it will bring in new possibilities too. Electric cattle prods, for instance: unknown in pre-industrial society but today it is hard to imagine married life without them.
I have made a careful study of the good Baron’s oeuvre and may yet publish a scholarly monograph on it. Sadly, some of the pages in my only copy of his greatest work have become stuck together, so publication will have to wait.
To Sally’s disappointment, he describes nothing of the lives of the women of this exotic tribe and how they manage, left to their own devices without men. She takes a keen interest in that kind of thing. Perhaps when or if he writes another letter, she’ll learn more.
Don’t imagine that in saying ‘I’m sure you received worse thrashings in school’, she is merely speculating. She takes a keen interest in boys’ education and is on the board of governors of three local charity schools, so she is very well acquainted with the topic.

Historical females

Once again, it’s time to look back on the more elegant femdom of times past. One of this blog’s earliest and least-popular series, continued here out of sheer stubbornness and an almost total lack of self-awareness: Jane Austen femdom. With a few anachronistic wobbles of a hundred years or so in either direction from the divine Jane’s own period.

Even in the prudish Victorian era*, brides-to-be were often passed practical guides to the secrets of married life, by their mothers or other older women. The good Baron’s was one of the most popular.
You’d think he’d be better at recognising birch by now. Oh well.
I do think the husband of the more experienced lady depicted here was most unlucky, after having spent years at one of the most selective boarding schools, to emerge without a taste either for being buggered or viciously flogged. He found adjustment to married life very trying, poor fellow.
Justice must be done, seen to be done and then later recalled in the Queen’s bedchamber.
The depressing thing is, he always remained hopeless at Latin grammar, despite the strenous efforts of a succession of governesses over many years.
As it turned out, the quality of her mercy came to be much appreciated by her subjects, not least because it was so rarely exercised. It’s good to be the Queen.

* Yes, I know Jane Austen was pre-Victorian. Do pay attention: as the paragraph at the start noted, the actual time period featured here varies. All posts set before 1910 or so** are labelled as ‘Jane Austen‘ (indeed, many are introduced as featuring ‘Hot chicks in empire-line dresses’ even when the hot chicks featured are in fact attired in the fashion of an entirely different era).

** Posts after 1910 (and before about 1960) being labelled ‘Downton Domination‘. But you knew that, right?

Screaming historically

…with apologies for the unusually awful pun in the title, even by the standards of this blog, we happily present more femdom captions from a time before those words even existed.  But there are some timeless verities and female superiority is one such.







Hmm… maybe Karen Gillan was wrong.








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