latex – Page 5 – Contemplating the divine

Striking poses

As my SO points out: lots of women enjoy sex with their husbands, she prefers sex without her husband. The difference is only a few letters but it’s a big deal for her, so who am I to argue?

Mmmm … a severe scolding, Mistress?

It’s going to be a special day for her boyfriends too. And their mates.

Of course the OWK had safewords really. In a variety of quite widely-spoken Central European languages, so there was really no excuse for ‘guests’ not knowing how to pronounce them perfectly.

Her kink is not your kink – are you going to make a selfish fuss?

There used to be a big problem with this sort of play in an office environment: which washrooms to use, the ladies’ or the gents’? But more and more workplaces are moving to unisex, thank goodness, which makes (heterosexual) toilet play a lot less likely to cause a stir.

Yeah, she’s a sweetie. By the way – this picture is the last known image of Helmut Kleinwanger, a German businessman who disappeared on a solo hiking holiday in the Czech republic. If anyone has any information about what happened to him, please post it on a femdom porn story blog.

According to Freud, many men suffer from castration anxiety. I quite often do, to be honest, but so far it’s always turned out OK.

This caption was of course inspired by the 1960s film The Pure Hell of St Trinian’s, in which the temporary headmistress Matilda Harker-Packer (replacing the jailed Miss Fritton), played by Irene Handl, states proudly that she is among the very few heads of educational establishments who can produce a certificate actually proving her sanity. And you thought I only watched St Trinian’s movies for the sexy sixth-formers in gymslips!

Just
run around for a bit to try to keep warm. You’ll need the accumulated
body warmth, for when you’re in the pillory, later. Especially during
the snowballing scene and the ice bucket challenge (I know, I know: ice
bucket challenges haven’t been a thing since 2019 but you just try
telling them that…).

He’ll have to learn to write backwards, which will be difficult. Fortunately, they have some very effective teaching methods, for young males.

Why should it matter to us

if they don’t approve?

Why not both?

Thinking about her being clammy makes me clammy…

If you’re finding it difficult to relax, try explaining to her that you’d just rather she got a second opinion from a male dentist before drilling. I’m sure she won’t mind.

Obviously. Although it looks like it’s already got a lot of toppings, so maybe no need?

My SO sometimes forgets why she’s doing things even after starting. The other day, we were about ten minutes into a judicial caning when she paused and confessed shamefacedly that she’d forgotten entirely what I was being beaten for! How we laughed. Later that day she remembered, fortunately, and she took the trouble to sort it out properly.

Losing touch with reality

OK, Mr Jones, so you’re saying that rather than seeing me – a
middle-aged medical professional – you’re seeing a young lady dressed like a
strippagram nurse, wearing red thigh-high boots? And instead of being about to
lie down on my couch for a series of ocular function tests, you’re going to be
tightly strapped down to a hospital bed and masturbated to a series of forced
orgasms?

Goodness.

How about now, if I stand up and move away from the couch –
can you see me now? Dark blue suit,
short grey hair…? What do you see?

Really? Oh dear. Well, I might have looked a little like that
thirty years ago… but only a little. And I don’t think I’ve ever worn a latex dress.

Things are worse than I thought, I’m afraid. This is perhaps the most sustained and
coherent set of hallucinations I’ve ever encountered from someone in your
condition. I’m sorry to have to tell you that without
effective treatment, this is only going to get worse. I’ll be completely honest with you:
you could end up losing touch with reality completely… these hallucinations
would become your world. You’d obviously
have to stay in a care facility… you’d be well fed and perfectly comfortable,
but you’d have no interactions with the real world at all; everything you see
and experience would be translated into these bizarre, fetishistic BDSM
experiences.

Let’s delay the ocular tests for now – I want to tell you
about an experimental treatment we can try.
It hasn’t completed all of its clinical trials yet, but initial
indications are promising so it is available for use, if the patient requests
it. I’m not saying you should or that
you shouldn’t. But unless you want to
spend the rest of your life like this, I think it’s the only option. If it works, these hallucinations will end at
once – for good. That has to be worth a
try, I’d have thought. But it’ll be your
choice.

Tell you what: I’m going to refer you to one of my
colleagues, Dr Stevens. She is the specialist on this and she can give you some
literature about it and answer any questions you might have.

Oh – here she is now, actually. Dr Stevens?

Poor chap. I do hope they can cure him.

Location location location

Some weeks ago, Paltego posted a picture of the lovely Miss Chambers, from a Cruella photoshoot, pictured against a rather bleak post-industrial Northern British landscape. Something like this:

There being little point in debating the unquestionable beauty of Miss Chambers (especially her lovely nose) the comments rather degenerated into an exchange about femdom shoots in bleak, unromantic spots.

Never one to miss an opportunity to do something derivative and run with it until it is no longer remotely funny or sexy, I decided to look through my extensive photo collection, with a view to identifying the bleakest background I could find. After realising that Cruella would win any such contest hands-down, I limited Mr Rogue-Hagen’s entries to give others a chance.

Obviously, interior shots of prison-like or dungeon-like backgrounds don’t count as those are supposed to look like that, and in some cases have probably been quite expensively fitted out to look grim.* Nor do I feature arty and moody black and white shots against ruins – the criterion today is that the lady has to be trying to look alluring against a thoroughly unhelpful background.

All from Europe, as far as I can tell, if you include Russia, which has its share of bleak post-industrial landscapes. In the US, according to my photographic evidence, dommes don’t go out much but on the basis of the few photos I have of them outside, most of the surface area of the USA is covered with swimming pools. I guess there just aren’t any bleak urban or postindustrial landscapes in America, huh? What a nice place it must be.

Let’s start with some classic Cruella. Cow-shed.

Or this – this I think is from the photoshoot ‘Cement Plant Cruelty’ or possibly ‘Enslaved and forced to quarry limestone’.

Lest anyone think I am taking the piss out of Cruella, I… well, I am, obviously, but affectionately I hope. I love Cruella; it was almost the first ‘proper’ femdom material I encountered and my heart used to hit 150 beats per minute when I saw any of these pictures. The material and stories were and are wonderful, and I encourage you to visit Mr Rogue-Hagen’s site, where he has just reposted one of the most viciously delightful stories his magazines ever featured, the tale of the lovely Melody, a girl as sweet as the pears she loves so much.

The Germans can do it too, although their photoshoots often have more stuff in them, as befits an economy specialising in exports of light manufactures. Here’s Planet Femdom, where they like their dommes tall. And then put them in super-high heels, just to make sure. (But it doesn’t seem to exist any more…. am I getting old?)

Not sure of the location, but a bonus point for this next one, for the plastic sheeting providing a temporary roof. I want to know if they put that in specially for the photoshoot: to make it nice.

Further afield, there’s ‘bleak’ and then there’s ‘Russian bleak’…

Still in Russia, I have no particular reason to think this is an unpleasant location, but the lady on the left seems to be huddled in a shawl, wishing the photoshoot to be over so she can go and have a nice hot chocolate and get warm again. And her shoes are falling off, the poor thing. So I just feel for her and the photo gets an honourable mention for that. There’s a naked slave too, but he probably deserves to be cold, the little creep.

PS – I only just noticed they’re sharing the shawl. Did you notice that? See, they’re not so heartless.

Moving slightly further west, Mistress Maya Sin does fabulously creative photo-shoots. She started in Gdansk, which obviously gives her an advantage in this contest as what is Gdansk famous for? Yes, apart from being the place WW2 started? That’s right: the shipyard. So where else is a girl from Gdansk (or a domme from Danzig) to go? Here’s Maya Sin in the birthplace of Solidarnosc. Probably.

This next one could be an easy contender for the prize, in that wily Miss Sin has managed to take the photo inside some giant piece of industrial machinery! But then she ruins the whole thing by not actually being in the shot, which is always a drawback in any photoshoot of a beautiful domme and strictly against the rules of this competition.

Since taking these pictures, Mistress Maya has abandoned all hope of winning this competition, by moving to Paris (stop press: or maybe Dubai?) where she has herself photographed walking around in latex against some of the most elegant scenery in Europe (and managing herself to look more elegant still). So this may be the last Gdansk femdom photoshoot you’ll ever see.

The railway tracks would not in themselves be enough to qualify, but just look at those girders! No, I said look at those – oh, never mind.

More heavy metal. Unlike the Russian ladies earlier, this lovely nymph is in more danger of encountering too much heat than too little. See the way she is carefully not allowing her latex leggings to come into contact with the sunlit metal? That’s professionalism.

OK, now this is not a bleak post-industrial landscape as far as we can see. But it might be a kebab van. I reckon a kebab van qualifies. Especially a kebab van missing wheels and headlights.

The next is not actually a femdom photoshoot, just a grab from the perviest thing ever to appear on a family TV programme at teatime: The worm that turned, in the 1970/80s comedy show The Two Ronnies. My eternal thanks – on behalf of my 12 year-old self – to whatever BBC producer decided there was nothing at all wrong with this, as it was obviously just a lighthearted romp through a future female-supremacist England, featuring gestapo girls clad in military caps, tight latex tops and shorts and boots… oh, and men forced to cross-dress and ordered around or sexually molested by women.** Y’know: for the kids! Certainly for this kid, anyway.

But it features an electricity sub-station, so it’s in.

And finally… I think we have a winner. It’s not anything in particular, it’s just… someone strapped naked to a concrete pole in a rather run-down post industrial town. Who finds that sexy? I do, actually, very – but who else, I mean?

Oh goodness me, I think that’s enough bleak landscapes, don’t you? Shall we just stop all this nonsense and refresh the palate with a lovely picture of the lovely Miss Chambers, against a perfectly normal background? Yes, I think we shall.

Did you enjoy that? I did. In fact, I enjoyed it so much I think I’ll have another.

There. Such a pretty nose. That’s all for today. Off you go now.

* And in others clearly haven’t, as the ‘forbidding grey stone blocks’ of the dungeon wall are obviously cheap cladding or even just wallpaper. Maybe one day I’ll run a ‘least convincing dungeon’ post.

** No really. This isn’t one of those TV comedies where there’s, like, three seconds of a lady in boots snarling at the camera and that’s all the femdom. Week after week, this comedy adventure serial in the middle of one of the country’s most popular prime-time family shows featured the squad of latex lovelies shown there marching around and oppressing males. OK, they were usually outwitted by the male heroes in their frumpy dresses, but this was simply amazing. Still is.

Graceful brutality

Funny how many girls make that mistake.

Sounds like they’ve got some lost time to make up for.

I remember early in our relationship, my SO ordering me to bring her a whip for my impertinence. I told her I didn’t think I had said anything impertinent that deserved a whipping and she laughed and said I just had. It seemed a little unfair to me, but I didn’t want to argue about it and ruin the mood.

I’m afraid it won’t make you taller, though: that’s just one of those myths. I mean, maybe your spine will be longer by an inch or so at most, but since you won’t be able to walk with all the joints in your limbs dislocated, it won’t bring you any real benefits.

Like many Hollywood stars, she keeps her private relationships carefully out of the media’s eye.

Indignity

Ah… furniture privileges. I remember the first time my SO told me I wasn’t allowed on the furniture any more and I cheekily asked if that included the whipping bench. How we laughed… or we would have done if I’d dared say it out loud.

Elbow-length latex gloves should come with a safety warning, in my view. And latex gloves that cover the full length of the arm are just unsafe, no matter what the ‘experts’ might tell us about the length of the lower intestine.

See all the little gold rings on their toes? Aren’t they pretty? They’ve got lots more gold rings, for you to wear, so maybe you’ll look just as pretty too. But they’re not going on your toes, obviously.

If it’ll help, the soaking wet towel she is planning to ram down your throat will taste quite soapy.

You might think that spousal abuse is neither funny nor sexy. My wife disagrees, though: she loves it, so who am I to argue?

Uncivil partnerships

It’s a mere technicality.

A lot of men who are initially reluctant to wear shock collars end up thanking their wives for it, I understand, so there’s really no reason not to give it a go.

There’s nothing worse than calling your domme by the wrong name, is there? Well… Obviously, there is something worse, which is what happens next when you do – but I’m sure you know what I mean.

More and more women carry tasers to ward off unwanted sexual advances. Even a few years back, when I was dating, I’d estimate maybe 40% of them did.

Thank goodness. Finally a chance to put my side of the story!

All under control

…just as it should be.

This image reminds me a bit of my first sexual partner, although the heel is a slightly different shape.

She’s actually never done a humiliation session before – but it turns out she’s a natural.

Fortunately, he has a very sophisticated palate, so whatever it is – or used to be – I’m sure he’ll be able to work it out.

Mainly, it’s the abuse, to be honest.

Poor dear man. So very old. So very dead. I hope she gets over it quickly, so she can live a full life for him. He’d have wanted that.

Scream queens

I never went trick-or-treating as a child – it was just an American thing in those days – but it’s everywhere now. We often get complimented on how much effort we’ve made to make the house look like a spooky haunted house of torture and pain, but really it’s just the outdoor summer toys (which are occasionally used in winter too, when I’ve been particularly bad). Halloween does have the advantage of being the evening on which I can answer the door without having to conceal my chains, I suppose, which is nice.

Nothing terribly spooky about today’s captions, I’m afraid, but I’ve tried to choose some at the darker end of what is already rather a sombre spectrum.

Well, I think that’s disgraceful. She shouldn’t have taken the veil if she doesn’t believe in it. It should be a spiritual calling, not just an excuse for hot latex-clad lesbian sex while torturing naked males. Too many people just do religion for the ritual, to my mind.