Control the beast

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.

Jolly hockey sticks

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.

Unnecessary evil

It’s just for fun.

Many men in these circumstances make the mistale of starting with an apology – which is insulting and offensive to her, as it’s a way of trying to control her reaction, you know? It’s a Mars/Venus thing. Try just calmly acknowledging the facts of your behaviour, observe her reaction, then after that (or during it, even) apologise as profusely and abjectly as you feel the situation merits.
They choose a different male to participate every day – oh, and two on Saturdays, when there’s a matinee show for kids, of course.
So much simpler that way. There’s enough that’s complicated in this world: shoe buying shouldn’t have to be.
Don’t feel you have to be brave for her. She wouldn’t enjoy it as much if you were.
Despite what you might think from the picture, their order’s habit (clothing) is actually very mainstream. There was just a mix-up at the laundry, some of the clothing got mislaid, so they had to buy a few extra nun costumes, and as luck would have it, the only place still open was the local fetish shop. Obviously, they’ll be taking this up with the owners of the laundry, who might find themselves in need of rather a lot of penance.
Isn’t it sweet, how she’s not just thinking of her own pleasure?

The brutal reality

As the little disclaimer to the left there states, this blog makes no claim whatsoever to realism. Over the years, this has served me quite well as a catch-all excuse, when certain commenters – anonymous or otherwise – point out small inconsistencies, minor plot holes or blatant and wildly implausible attempts to ignore the physical laws of the Universe in one caption or another.

But just for a change (but not for the first time, or the second or even the third), we’re going to be focused on reality in today’s post: the truth about femdom. How it really is. Because that’s reality. Because. That. Happens.

Don’t worry, we’ll be rejoining the unreality-based community in the next post, on Tuesday.

One of my regular dommes agreed instantly, when I asked her for a gentle, slow-paced four-hour boot-worship session, but things got a little difficult when I turned up and she realised I’d hoped she’d be wearing the boots during the whole time.
As long as there’s something soft nearby to break her fall if she topples over, maybe?
Anyway, the bowl doesn’t have to go through the bars, does it, he can just stick his head out and… hmmm… Oh well. Ella can be Kross with me whenever she likes and it’s all good.
Cruella especially has perfected the photographic genre of ‘domme standing in stiletto heels on a hard surface surrounded by muddy countryside – with no clue how she got there or how she’s going to get away.’ It’s a minority interest, obviously.
More a comment on this blog’s approach to images of lesbian joy than the general reality.
Too right. I was watching Penance and Repentance for the Naughty Nympho Nuns yesterday evening and they got the words of the catechism completely wrong -spoiled the whole thing for me.

Alma mater

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.

https://stmackenzies.com/

Submission guidelines

Oh well, at least you have a part to play in the sex game, right?
I don’t want to be unduly pessimistic, but I’m not sure he’s going to do well in this round.
Maybe they’ll get back together properly… never say never, right? Or ‘no Mistress’, for that matter.
Mmm… may-be? A bit.
As long as there’s a net overall gain, I don’t see how anyone could reasonably object.
Coffee? Hypotheticals? I do wish she’d speak clearly. Like her sister, who’s always going on about how plants are much healthier if they’re pruned back. I mean, she doesn’t even have a garden. Is this another Mars/Venus thing?

The bonds of love

It’s easy to wait patiently when you’re chained up. Or at least, it’s not different in any sense that really matters from waiting impatiently. Still… if there’s a biscuit going, I’m not saying no!
Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time for desperately remorseful apologies – they might even let you beg for forgiveness, if they’re in a generous mood.

Cruella, of course – even the Editrix herself (yes she was, who else do you imagine wrote the editorials?), Lady Victoria, on the right there. She inspired Goddess-Lady Lucia, you know.

Arguably, offering a plausible explanation is ‘impertinence’ in and of itself, but I’ve learnt not to argue.
Fortunately, your wife has a very high tolerance for observing pain, so I doubt the safeword will be needed. Still: safe, sane and consensual, right? Any BDSM play should incorporate at least two of those.
Not a good start to a lifetime of married bliss, is it? Still, I expect you’ll improve and she expects that too.
See – and you were worried you wouldn’t be respected in this relationship! They value your expertise in menial drudgery and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Stinging rejoinders

Let her enjoy the moment, can’t you? For as long as it lasts.
I think a nun could be perfect and still not free from sin. Miss Kenworthy here is – quite literally – a perfect example.
Less is more, they say. And it’s better to give than receive, which I’ve certainly found to be true in my marriage.
Even without direct knowledge, obviously she does know in general terms how painful it is. She’s very knowledgable on that sort of thing.
Funny how ‘can’ means ‘must’ sometimes.
A day trip to remember.

The boys were falling like an avalanche

Ya ya baby.

I think she has a choice… maybe she should assert herself more? Take control of her own life (as well as yours, obviously).
Actually, the photo was taken just before this shoot went horribly wrong. She slipped and broke a heel, poor thing. And it wasn’t just a clean break at the base where it joins the sole, either: it splintered at a narrow part of the stem so the pair was a complete write off – one of her favourites too. Oh, and as she slipped, all her weight fell onto the saw for a moment, so there was blood all over that bench and… well, the whole day is not one of her happier memories, let’s just put it like that. She had other pairs of shoes, obviously, but that’s not really the point, is it? They were special.

You know where this wonderful image originated, don’t you? Of course you do.

It’s weird how bulls won’t fold and neatly stack their sex partners’ underwear, like a normal person.
No cup of tea for me? Oh well.
I hope they don’t fall out over the inheritance. Of course, it depends which husband dies first.
Dommes work hard. Mine locked me in a box the other day and gave me an entire 24 hour ignoring session, when I’d only expected three hours, and she didn’t charge me any premium over her usual hourly rates! They’re not as cruel and heartless as the image they mostly like to project, dommes, you know.

Those uncomfortable conversations

Try not to pity her boyfriend too much, abject slave to his desires though he is: he doesn’t know any better, poor soul.
How reassuring.
Don’t worry: she’s not really going to change her name to Mrs Pencildick. As a matter of fact, her husband’s the one who’s going to be legally changing his surname. To hers, obviously, although she is considering making him change his first name officially to Pencildick, or some such, at the same time.
It’s the same algorithm that sends you all those dick enlargement emails. Oh… you thought they were just spam? No, they’re very carefully targetted. Most other guys don’t get them.
When setting up a session with a new domme I usually ask her to treat me with utter contempt and disdain and I have to say, my experience has been that they’re all startlingly good at it. Sometimes I don’t even ask and they still get it right… I guess experienced dommes develop a kind of sixth sense for what their clients are looking for.
He obviously survived to a ripe old age… imagine him keeping the book all those decades, turning the pages occasionally to reminisce over his days under Miss Rathbone’s loving tyranny, only for the book to be sold to a second-hand shop after his death. Still: looks like it’s found an appreciative home.

…and just a little bit of found femdom to finish (do hurry up and finish, won’t you? Your wife will be back soon and you don’t want her to find you like this). More divine Joy. who has done this many, many times before and she totally, totally knows

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