Stories and pictures themed around female domination and male subjugation and servitude. Unsuitable for children, for alpha males, for hard-core practitioners with an interest in the politics of bdsm and the mechanics of complicated rope work. Of interest to perverts like me, basically.
It’s a very rewarding relationship. But there can also be penalties.
She hasn’t completely forgiven him you understand. The topic will come up again… but that’s enough for one day.
A bit thoughtless of Suzie, I’d say, leaving her gimp chained up for her friends to look after. She could have got one of those autofeeder things and saved them a lot of trouble. Or just a really big bucket for the food mixture.
Then you can get on with making dinner. They’re going to be hungry, I expect.
Ma’am!
I never know anything. Wouldn’t particularly want to, if I were there… I could just be.
…and an extra one, which I wrote in a particularly worshipful mood.
… although actually that’s not true (like many things on this blog), because obviously in session you can get away with calling her ‘Mistress’. Which was just as well for me, as I’d always assumed it was some variant of ‘El-ee-ssa’. I was granted the extraordinary privilege of visiting Mistress Eleise three or four times about ten years ago and I never did realise I was saying her name wrong in my head until I heard her say it in a video, quite recently. Fortunately, I never committed the unforgiveable sin of mispronouncing her name out loud, to her very feet (oh, those feet…). Not that it got me out of the slappings (and the mocking… oh, that mocking!) I so thoroughly deserved.
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.
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.
Never was, in any sense that ever mattered to anyone, to be honest.
Don’t worry: mere viewing of the photos on the Internet carries a much lighter penalty. If it’s a first offence, you should get away with just a day visit to the re-education centre.
I’m sure there are planty of more experienced readers of this blog who could help Miss Chambers out.
See? There was no reason to worry about telling her. Kitten understands completely and she’ll adapt to the new situation.
This way, Ma’am.
Of course, the good Governess will have to make up for it on a subsequent visit, but there’s no need to think about that now.
It’s all right, he has a desk job so as long as he can basically limp in and his fingers aren’t too bruised to type, it’ll be OK.
Apparently it’s best not to think about it too much. But then, when it happens, it’s hard to think about anything else. Dilemma, really. Where’s all that thoughtlessness that got you into this mess, when you really need it?
I expect the two of them will get a bit jealous, of all five of you down there together.
Don’t worry: she’ll make sure you get what you deserve.
Actually, professional wrestling’s all for show: no one really gets hurt. Of course, as an amateur, that doesn’t apply to you, but it’s nice to know, isn’t it?
I don’t know what she’s talking about; just put this up because I thought the two of them looked pretty.
What an embarassing misunderstanding. Still, no harm done.
Precious looks a little worried. She shouldn’t be – the lady in red, there, likes to talk tough but she never really harms her playmates. She’s more into the psychology of dominating them than pain or other physical activities, you see. Oh: and brutally torturing their husbands too, but then that’s also part of the psychological game, you see?
Much fairer that way, in that there’s less chance of your escaping justice.
It’s funny how ther girls who aren’t really into humiliation play can be so good at it. Some of the dates I went on as a teenager can make me cringe with remembered humiliation in a manner that a specialist to whom I’ve paid hundreds of pounds for the session could only dream of…
You should care about her a lot more than she cares about you. But you probably do anyway, even without realising it.
It’s only about 40 minutes walk, in those high heels. And at her very reasonable tribute rates, that’s only a little more expensive than taking… oh, a helicopter, I suppose?
Don’t worry, they’ve all given their consent: in fact, they renew that consent in a lovely little ceremony every morning, just after the 5am work detail finishes.
Oooh – that’ll be your first discussion as a married couple! I wonder if it will feel different?
In the event, Treasure decided to keep the jar. It’s not that she wants to look at the disgusting thing, but she said she likes to know it’s there, you know? And I suppose it has sentimental value for you, too, so maybe she was thinking of that as well.
I hope the boys appreciate how pretty it is, this time, rather than just ripping it off.
They can be such fun. Yes, we’re back in the wonderful world of St Mackenzies, that great British educational institution that understands the contribution a good carpet-munching, peach-bumping lesbian gangbang – or several – can make to a traditional education.
Any resemblance to the real StMacs is… well, somewhat unsurprising, seeing as that is where I got the pictures.
She knows perfectly well you’re only doing it in the hope she’ll get the leash out and drag you along. Be careful what you wish for, that’s what I say.
Although some ladies playing it don’t seem to understand the ‘or’ concept.
Oh dear. These social events can be such a pain.
When I pay for a lesbian sex show I like it to be much more realistic. The girls are more sensibly-clad and at home in bed with one another and I am nowhere in the vicinity – usually not even in the same city. That’s how real lesbians do it. I’ve heard.
She provides the glove, you can provide the rest. Oh – and the permission, of course, she provided that too. And that’s the most important thing of all.
Oh those sex robots. I bought one of the latest ones that supposedly has ‘artificial intelligence’ that reacts appropriately to the situation, but when I turned it on it opened its eyes, took one look at me and shut down irreparably. I told a friend at work who just laughed and told me I shouldn’t always fall for the very latest technology – if I want a machine in my life I’m better off with an electric toaster. So I tried that and now I have second-degree burns in a very uncomfortable place. Dammit.
Today’s post celebrates the approaching quadricentennial of a great British educational institution: St Mackenzies. Founded in 1625, to provide, in the words of the school charter: “opportunyties for daughtters of gentelfolk to fuckke and cavort in uniformes both sexie and impracticalle”, the school has always prided itself on its insistence on slutty demeanour at all times, its non-stop attention to lesbian sexual hi-jinks and its almost total indifference to any kind of academic success. Despite this determination to prioritise hot girl-on-girl action over scholastic excellence, the school has, over the centuries, exerted a distinctly perverted influence on British politics, culture and life, famous old girls including mistresses of various notable historical figures (including three concurrent mistresses of the same archbishop of Canterbury) as well as distinguished brothel keepers, Page 3 girls and – in one case the school prefers to downplay – a recipient of the Nobel Prize for Physics.
The school’s proud motto: Exue vestimenta tua et habeamus coitum (loosely: ‘get your kit off and let’s fuck’) has inspired its former pupils to create many cultural works celebrating the school’s values, from the seminal sixteenth century Bokke of the two douzone virgines, with manyye instruktive illustrashiones, through the sadly now near-unknown 32-volume Lady Birchingham’s Daughters saga written by the prolific ‘Anonymous’ in the mid nineteenth century, through to the much beloved 1950s school stories featuring ‘Daisy’ (of which Daisy and the Mystery of the Changing Room is perhaps best known). More recently, of course, the school is best known from its photosets and videos in which staff and pupils alike demonstrate the sapphic skills for which the school is justly famed.
Despite the frequent presence of canes, rulers and other implements of chastisement in its classrooms, the school’s reputation for obsession with CP is (regrettably, in the opinion of this blog) ill-deserved, as although many pupils have found themselves stripping to bend over to be disciplined, they usually experience no more than a few taps before the schoolmistress tasked with administering the punishment finds the near naked young lady before her too irrestistible to delay fucking any longer. Indeed, a frantic lesbian sex session is the school’s preferred approach to any disciplinary problem, particularly bullying (which has reared its ugly head on too many occasions, before having that head shoved firmly down between the thighs of a pretty schoolgirl). Just occasionally, girls who have behaved particularly badly are kept behind in detention, sitting bored behind desks in front of an equally-bored supervising teacher, a situation that turns out pretty much as you might expect in a school full of attention-deficient lesbian nymphomanics.
Still taking students of all ages from 18 to 30 or so and proudly bearing its Ofsted ‘Utterly Preposterous’ rating (but having scored a ‘Highly commendable – if a little pervy’ for the school’s approach to LGBT issues), St Mackenzies now totters gingerly on its high heels into its fifth century. Times may change, but there are values that are eternal and for as long as people enjoy watching female teachers and pretty schoolgirls in tight-fitting uniforms shriek, giggle and – inevitably, rapturously, exhaustingly – fuck each other senseless, there will always be a St Macs. For which we can all be grateful.
I won’t give away the plot but when they turn the male over, there are footprints all over his back. Nothing unusual about that, obviously, but these footprints turn out to have been made by three different people, plus another male. Quite the mystery…
(curtsey)
Won‘t she feel a fool when she finally takes that hood off him and sees that she’s got the wrong man! But that won’t be for a very long time yet, almost at the end of what she has planned for ‘Richard’. She’ll be ever so embarassed, the poor thing.
Oddly, I’ve tried ‘it’s not my fault I’m a man’ on my SO and it cuts no ice – as she likes to say, is there anyone else in our relationship to blame for that? And I’m compelled to admit she’s right.
