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.
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.
The purest feeling a woman can have for a man is the desire to hurt him.
Oh dear, I hope he hasn’t lost all feeling in them. That would ruin her plans for the evening.
Poor thing, she’s obviously been fretting. I’m sure it’ll all go perfectly, then tonight you can help relieve her stress in her favourite way.
That sounds scary. Thank goodness you’ve got a few hours outside in the snow, first.
They used to use waterballoons, then one of the girls had the brilliant idea of filling the balloons with other liquids and… well, it just developed from there, really.
If only people were more thoughtful… I think about Annie all the time.
Oh dear. I think the discussion about whether you need to be microchipped is finally over.
She wears things that turn you on… dresses, shoes, that kind of thing. So: time to slip into something less comfortable for her.
Actually everything was OK, because it turns out Treasure’s a bit kinky too. Well… maybe kinky’s not quite the right word. It’s more that she had deep-seated issues of rage towards the male sex to work through, but the result is much the same in practice.
She has developed a technique for dealing with panic attacks… usually she just goes off and has a cup of tea.
The lovely Maîtresse Blanche, there, who applies her treatments in a pretty little town near Fontainebleu outside Paris. I have been in that position, presumably in that very chair, and I was coping… OK with it all, until she discovered I was ticklish. But she coped very well with my not coping.
If you’re lucky she might let you have a longer ankle chain. But I wouldn’t bet on it.
You’re actually better off out there, away from the hot rocks and the tongs. Take my word for it – how anyone could claim saunas are relaxing is beyond me.
I suppose some might say she should use her powers for good. But there’s a lot of giantess / stomp fetishists out there and many of the videos are woefully unconvincing, so she is bringing delight to their sad lives – and earning a good living doing it, so really where’s the harm?
That describes me to a t. It might be the ‘Exploit me’ tattoo on my forehead, I suppose.
Obviously he knows the game… I mean, it’s not as if he could exactly be jealous of you, right? But he knows what she likes too and although he doesn’t share her sadistic impulses, he’ll do it for her and even pretend for her to be angry enough to want to break your bones and beat you unconscious. Rather sweet, that he’s so attentive to her needs – alphas aren’t always heartless brutes, you know.
Irina looks at least mildly amused. I suppose. Anyway, I’m sure it was worth it.
You could try running… Actually, not a bad idea as the Outdoor Freestyle is the event they most need to work on.
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.
Just to cite one possibility, at random, among so many.
The Honourable Dogbreath-Twattington takes his role very seriously and never reaches a decision without careful thought about the possible consequences of getting it wrong.
Some prefer candles and soft music but they’ve discovered through much experimentation that this is what works for them.
He’ll thank her for it eventually, you’ll see.
Oh, I hate playing the ‘guess what I stepped in’ game. Surprisingly enough, for instance, beetles and slugs taste very similar, despite actually coming from entirely separate phylla of the animal kingdom.
Oooh kerosene play! Quite edgy if you currently have quite a lot of body hair, I understand.
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.
