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.
“I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it.”
A typically uplifting sentence from Mr Dickens there. Actually, I have been developing my own version of his classic tale. Titled ‘A Findomme Carol’, it has a similar story arc but the heroine, Princess Screw-you, isn’t such a soft touch as Dickens’s Scrooge. Like his tale, though, it has a happy ending, celebrating the true meaning of Christmas, which as we all know is ‘getting’.
But for this year, ho ho ho, it’s just a few captions with a rather tenuous and even desperate link to the holiday season. Bah humbug.
…and as it’s Christmas, here’s a bonus image, from the series OWK Ladies remember…
Oui, c’est le jour de la Bastille, la journée nationale en France! Hourra! Vive la domination féminine!
The day the we celebrate the core French values of liberty, equality and fraternity – all three of them contrary to much of the material published in this blog, it’s true, but stirring and inspiring nonethless. As a Brit, resident in France and stubbornly hanging on despite Brexit (stubbornness is in my nature, despite vigorous attempts by highly skilled ladies to break me of the habit permanently), I feel compelled to pay my respects to the glory that is France and the gifts that great nation has brought to the world in the only way I know how: publishing porn.
So, a selection of captioned images with at least some tenuous connection to La Belle France. Mostly published before, so there will be a proper post with five new ones tomorrow. Would I let you down?
And, look, chaps, if you want me publish a similar celebration of the jolly old national day of celebration in Blighty, you’re going to have to wait until they dashed well invent one, aren’t you? I’m not celebrating the bally King’s birthday, official or otherwise. Trafalgar Day… that would work. Celebrate rum, sodomy and the lash… I’m afraid I don’t personally drink rum but two out of three ain’t bad. Perhaps if they ever put Penny in charge, hmm?
Maybe she intended to say it only once, but this is a reprint so she has now said it only once twice.
Like many guys, I walk around fully conscious of the big swinging padlock between my legs.
It’s actually a very environmentally-friendly way of disposing of old shoes.
Oh, all right then. Let’s be daring, for a change.
It must be weird being vanilla – you do a sexy maid scene and hardly any floor actually gets scrubbed. I’m not sure I could cope with that kind of unrealistic fantasy.
OWK’s safety record overall was only middling, but that average conceals an important disparity between male and female injuries, the latter being thankfully rare, the former equally thankfully daily.
In some great literature, the characters form lasting attachments. In snip-lit, it’s usually the opposite.
It’s good that he’s supporting her artistic development – and she his.
Trevor’s the one on the left. You might think, looking at him, that he’s made quite a few ‘noble gestures’ lately, but in fact it’s just that his work shift on the treadmill happened to coincide with Madame Sarka’s turn to be overseer.
Or it might not. It’s really not going to affect things either way, to be honest.
I think it’s horrible when people abuse riding crops by using them on horses.
That’s the way I fell in love, many years and almost as many orgasms ago…
It’s important to fight back against the stereotypes. Wear the t-shirt, use the hashtag, carry the pliers.
Well, it’s more romantic than stealing them from clotheslines.
It’s best not to think about it too much. Thinking generally isn’t a sissy maid’s strong point anyway.
I’ve never really understood knitwear fetishism, although enforced knitting as an alternative to line-writing has its attractions.
Thank goodness for that. Lots of vanilla escorts wouldn’t have been so in tune with your needs, you know, might have just gone ahead and given you a blow job anyway. She’s obviously very special.
Urban foxes maybe? We used to have urban foxes, round where I lived in London. They used to steal so many things: shoes, certainly. They’d even take the panties and bras off the clothes lines of my neighbours… Yeah. Nasty little beasts. Agile too, to leap up high enough to reach the clothes line.
No, no: don’t get up.
Actually, it’s not quite true that she doesn’t care about your feelings. Truth be told, she enjoys the thought of your misery. But she’s too kind to admit it.
That’ll teach her.
It’s a pretty effect, isn’t it? Makes a change from the usual striping.
A few weeks ago, I published ‘Advice to a novice domme‘ in which, among many other wise and practical ideas, I humbly suggested that dommes should not “assign actual housework tasks to ‘sissy maids’ because they’ll fuck them up and might actually damage your stuff. All they want to do is mince around with a feather duster and then get spanked, anyway”.
It occurs to me that several sissy maids might be offended, hurt and humiliated by this suggestion. That’s absolutely fine, of course, no one cares about a few sulky sissies. I’m sure your mistress can wipe that frown off your face, with a few well-aimed slaps from her palm. And for those who have a humiliation kink, perhaps you should even send me some session fees as compensation, hmm sissy?
But if there are still any sissies out there stamping their little feet, balling their fists together and having squeaky tantrums, here is some actual proof (all images certified collected at random from the Internet, so I think we can agree their accuracy is unquestionable) that you’re all completely useless.
Proud to present: cleaning sissies, on the job
A little dishwashing mop, sissy? For that task? Only… I don’t see any dishes there, do you? Oh – and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a mop quite so pristine…. I’d have thought that if you’ve been working hard using it, it would have been a little discoloured by now? That lady behind you looks quite cross, doesn’t she? But then maybe that’s what you’re hoping for.
Good idea sissy. Nothing worse than a dusty TV-cabinet. Let’s fluff that dust up so it settles somewhere else.
Dusting the floor, sissy? OK, well, whatever.
Not a shoe brush. And you’re out of uniform, sissy, you bad girl.
Also not a shoe brush. So not a shoe brush. What is that thing? Also, sissy, the technique seems to involve your domme standing on one (high-heeled) foot, holding her other foot off the ground, while you flick at the shoe with… with that. She’s going to be almost as uncomfortable as you are. Well: until she decides to make you more uncomfortable still, I suppose.
Uh-huh. Might take quite a while to get the whole house done. Still… I expect you’re paying by the hour, so that’s not her problem.
I don’t even want to think about what’s going on here, but I suspect it’s not conducive to really effective cleaning.
That’s right, sissy. Mistress is going to be very pleased with you when she looks out through the sparkly clean, erm… lower half of each of her ground floor windows. Dommes never use the top halves of windows; it’s a well-known fact.
What is it with sissy maids and feather dusters?
So… let me make sure I understand. You’ve got the brush from a dustpan and brush set and you’re placing a few bristles from it against the floor? Right. And this is intended to accomplish what, exactly? I mean in cleaning terms, rather than sexual gratification, obviously.
Oh good: another feather duster. And… what are you planning to clean with that, sissy? The floor? That mat? I don’t think so. Not ‘cleaning’ cleaning.
…and just for avoidance of doubt: if actually instructed to use an inappropriate cleaning implement, then you’d better bend your head down and get on it it, hadn’t you, hmm? That pert little mouth is for scouring and sponging the kitchen floor, not for answering back, girl! And don’t you forget it.
Now: for any sissy maid still offended… Just stop crying, girl, you’re just smudging your make-up and making yourself look even more ridiculous than usual, OK? Don’t worry: no one’s going to take your feather duster away. Or your frillies. Goodness: what a fuss!
Do you think you could ask him to slow down for just a moment while I write the captions under the pictures? No? OK, well, I’ll do my – ouch, that was a deep one! – I’ll do my best.
Sounds like someone’s having a bad day. Who’d have thought being sissy maid to a sadistic perfectionist would be so difficult?
Trick question. You need a lot more and she’s waiting for you to tell her that. It’s a Mars/Venus thing, just go with it.
Her sister rebelled against the whole female supremacy thing. Lives with a guy in Brighton and she lets him have his own pocket money and she even helps out occasionally with the housework. Still, each to their own.
