Category: laundry

Angels and beasts

My SO had me on my hands and knees for three hours once, crawling around looking for her contact lens, which is mad, really, since she doesn’t even wear them. Still, it did solve the usual problem I have at those parties of not knowing what to say to anyone.
Rookie error: he should have been expressing gratitude for feeling cold, after all the trouble she went to to make sure he would. Still, I’m sure there will be other opportunities, especially now autumn is here.
She didn’t even bother to check whether you’re already spoken for – rather selfish behaviour if there’s a findomme somewhere depending on your monthly pay cheque for her next handbag.
She does, but the weekly session tribute is quite high, so you need to be doing at least seventy loads of laundry each day before it starts to pay. Fortunately there’s a lot of demand: after all, it’s a lot cheaper than using one of the machines.
There’s lots of stuff they both enjoy, but Lucy has a thing about eye-torture; she’s tried, because she knows how much her girlfriend enjoys it, but she just isn’t into it. If it’s just a quick thing, like a cigarette being stubbed out, she can just put her fingers in her ears, shut her eyes and sing but you can’t keep that up for an hour (two hours, even, if it’s both eyes, one after the other).
He is in fact made to writhe on the ground in agony, sometimes, but that’s a different thing, she’s not doing it to punish him.

I live in a world of fantasy, so keep your reality away from me

More captions departing from this unduly real world we are unfortunate enough to live in.

As the tale is all about seven short-arse males doing hard labour in a mine to provide diamonds for a beautiful princess twice their size, it’s surprising there aren’t more femdom interpretations of Snow White. But there’s this.
They wanted her to get her tits out for the lads, apparently, so once again the moral is don’t wish for it if you don’t want it.
Cometh the hour, cometh the castratrix.
You’re helping raise a new generation of pretty, flitting fairies.
Thank goodness the brave lads of the village have their loyal womenfolk standing right behind them.
Of course, this is merely fantasy – the male actors in Ella Enchanted didn’t really have to wear chastity belts. That only came later in Ms Hathaway’s career, when she was famous enough to insist on some on-set conditions in her studio contracts.

If that’s what she wants

Actually, she doesn’t really need gloves either, since she’s mostly going to be working on kicks and knee-ups today.
She’s just making him uncomfortable before she really gets to work. Putting him at his unease, so to speak.
Mr Wuffles is allowed to rub himself against her leg, too, which doesn’t seem at all fair.
Women are amazing at multitasking, while men barely task at all, unless someone is standing over them with a whip.
Oh, and the word “not” has been deleted from Article 42, about castration, but that’s just tidying-up.
If one of her piggies is going to get into serious financial difficulties, she prefers it not to be for a good reason or any worthwhile cause.

Manservants

A surprising number of men marry women who turn out to be like their mothers. This one didn’t.
Oh well, at least there’s less of all that making sure you turn up neither too early nor one second late, while also not hanging around the area where the dungeon is, so as not to annoy her neighbours. If you know what I mean. He’s just up at 6am and into role straight away, every day.
She can forgive anything except bad coffee. Or messy laundry-folding. And a few other things, now I think of it.
It’s not entirely pointless, as, after he’s gone and is sitting gingerly in a nearby bar feeling the glow, Herrin Anneliese has a 4 pm session, in which she plans to make her slave carry it all back, so that needs setting up.
The limit may be hard but steel is harder. And these ladies are harder still.
And of course his hands would be neatly cuffed behind him, to keep them out of the way.

Fairy tale romances

Yes, more scenes from stories of brave princesses rescuing – or not – helpless knights and suchlike. A ‘happy ending’ every time – without even the need to plead and beg for it.

They get porridge to eat, of course, and it’s always ‘just right’ too, despite being cold and lumpy.
Ah, the first electric shock of married life. I remember mine so well. It’s traditional for the husband then to ask his loving wife ‘How long do I have to wear this, darling?’ to which the correct response is of course a peal of delighted laughter.
You do get a say. Not the decisive say, not even an important one, but a say, anyway. Or a squeak, at least.
It’s not as easy a life as you might imagine – those pegs hurt just as much as they would if they were suspending a ‘normal’ male body, for instance.
The grateful populace of the kingdom later began a tradition of staging a re-enactment every year, to celebrate their beloved King’s heroic deed, although obviously, lacking centaurs, they had to use ordinary horses and stable-lads.
He may have found a comfortable place to live, but he remains vigilent. As he trots obediently at her heel, or chases madly after sticks, Sir Foofles is always alert for possible witches in the vicinity, but so far he has never found any. Perhaps they don’t exist? That would certainly explain it.

Hot and oppressive

No, not the weather. Alas. Just these ladies. Hoorah.

I’m still having problems with the stupid firewall, sorry. But if you have tried to comment and requested access, do come back a day or two later! A couple of times recently I’ve approved access for people who don’t then seem to have used the access and commented. In principle, it should always work after I’ve approved you, at least for the same IP address. You just have to keep trying, as my SO wearily remarked the other day, as she took the cane back down from its hook and gestured for me to bend over the chair.

Oh yes. So I will.
They each consented, of course, on behalf of one another.
She doesn’t really understand what her daughter does but she’s very proud of her. Her son’s something of a disappointment, admittedly – but his big sister has a plan for him.
Mmmm… you shouldn’t really presume, just on the basis of a sub’s clothing and appearance. Although as she’s a woman, I suppose she can do whatever she likes.
Sorry about this. Can’t resist a bit of G&S amongst the D&S.
It’s his own fault, even when it’s not. That’s the basic principle, why complicate matters?

These women’s work

Pray God you can cope

As they say, it’s no humiliation to beg pitifully. Don’t they? I’m sure they say something like that, they say all sorts of things.
Women’s football is so exciting… just look at all those clothes getting sweaty and boots muddy. I’d be queuing up at the changing room door, hoping to be picked.
Very considerate of her, but I doubt the others really mind.
Theyu have all sorts of codewords, to keep the real activity hidden. For example, if a client requests the ‘steam pressing service’ then the victim is placed in a huge steel press and slowly crushed while being blasted with boiling hot steam. OK, maybe that particular codeword is a bit obvious, but they have others too.
Ah, another of those ‘opportunities’. Bizarrely, when I’m placed in that situation, I can rarely think of anything very coherent to say.
People assume the OWK was all torture and savage beatings and long nights shivering in a cold prison cell – and it was, obviously, but with a lot of laughter too.

Castigatrices

If it’s any consolation, it wouldn’t necessarily be about to go any better if you had left her with a choice.
Many ‘funky’ office redesigns just don’t consider the everyday needs of the users.I mean, how’s she supposed to receive oral sex, sitting on that thing, just to take one obvious example?
Try to guess what she’s thinking. Don’t worry: you can have as many goes as you like.
Good thing she’s leaving a note that he doesn’t like ball-busting. The OWK ladies always want to know about such things.
You know… now she comes to mention it…
There’s a thing some of them like to do with the boots, too.

Hell hath no fury like a woman…

…does.

Men don’t really understand stuff like that, unless it’s slapped into them.
It’s a symbolic denial of heterosexuality, you see. And a rather practical and concrete physical one too, of course.
Actually, of course, lady Vikings didn’t usually go raiding. No: they waited at home, standing there tapping their feet and idly stroking their whips as their apologetic husbands returned with more meagre and unsatisfactory booty. There is a reason Vikings were so fierce, you know.
Of course, it doesn’t take the human element out completely – it can’t whip you, for instance.
Thank goodness for that. She must have been quite distraught.
Even if you’re sure it’s not yours (and let’s face it – in your condition, you can be reasonably confident it isn’t, right?) it’s polite to offer to lick it off.