maid – Page 3 – Contemplating the divine

Denagratrix

Thank goodness for modern anaesthetics

Speaking of modern anaesthetics, for those of you into extreme femdom violence, torture and castration, here’s a sweet little move clip I found.

I’m encouraged already, actually.

…and if I do?

You can download an app that’ll translate any length of text into morse code. She discovered that the next day…

The annual performance reviews can be a bit brutal.

Maids of dishonour

Just as long as I don’t have to do the thing with the blow-up flamingo again.

He’s lucky she’s in such a good mood. When she gets cross, things can get quite unpleasant.

The delightful and sweet-natured Mistress Sidonia of the English Mansion, of course. She has a wonderful blog, full of unusual and interesting stuff. I’m sure you knew that already.

The editors get a lot of letters like that. They have to hide them from their own wives, of course.

He came to the Sanctuary hoping to act out his fantasies about brutal rape. Which, in a way, he did.

They look like they have high standards don’t they? Or maybe the surface was just very, very dustry. He’ll be hoovering the bath after this.

Here’s an extra one. Doesn’t feature any actual females, so doesn’t really count (the same principle should apply to elections and board meetings, in my humblest opinion):

Spousework

Very sensible of her to discuss it straight away, so they can sort whatever it is out and get on with their marriage.

I suppose it’s good that she’s finally getting more use out of them. Normally, she puts them on once a month at most and even then she only uses one finger and a thumb of the left glove.

Nothing humiliating there… move on.

Oh, Susan will blame him. She needn’t worry about that. He should, though.

Mind what? Why can’t the ladies featured on this blog just say what they mean? It’s maddening, it really is.

I’m gonna give you some terrible thrills

Like a…

Earth… it’s like a drive-in burger bar for hungry space travellers.

My signalling organ is permanently set to ‘silent mode’.

Not going to work – you need to use an internationally recognised safeword as established by the Geneva Convention. In Esperanto.

I’m sure he’d like to apologise to her and to women in general, for the thoughtless behaviour that got him into his mess. Trouble is, that mouth’s not really built for speaking. Plus, everyone he’s going to meet from now on is likely to be a man.

What do you mean, it’s not science fiction? This is your future.

And when he pulls his frilly nylon panties right up tight

…He feels a dedicated follower of fashion

Oh yes he is (oh yes he is)

But you get bigger tips, so maybe it’s nearly even.

There! Now who can still claim that men can’t take on front-line combat roles?

I’ve heard chlorinated water can be quite good for cuts and bleeding welts, so maybe if you ask nicely she’ll ask them to dip you in the pool when you’re done.

Yet oddly enough, he still gets it wrong. Men and housework… will they ever learn?

Sissy fights always end the same way, at least when wives are around to step in.

Now do you want to dance or do you want to bite?

…nuffin on the telly…

Pet play… of a sort.

Shame the marriage went downhill, after what sounds like such a good start.

There’s nothing she enjoys more than a good, long, hard safeword.

No, it didn’t. But it keeps publishing its blog anyway, out of sheer wilfulness.

Chuck’s never struck me as the sensitive type; but yeah – probably best to ask.

Servility costs nothing

(although finding someone to whom to be servile can run to several hundred pounds an hour, in my experience)

This is something many men still have to learn. Just because a woman chooses to wear something sexy, you can’t assume she’s doing so for your pleasure.

Any fundamentalist religious types who don’t believe in female supremacy might care to meditate on why the Divine Being provided males with testicles in such a handy container, and then wired them stright into the pain centres. Don’t you think She’s given us a bit of a clue, there?

Mis-statement I’d like to forget?

One day he’s going to have to give up the thing that matters most to him. Her.

Yeah, the usual order.

Priorities

He paused. There was
something about the way the crease folded that reminded him…now what was it?

… and then it all came flooding back. His doctoral thesis on optimal protein
folding. How after three years of study
he had had to admit defeat in trying to find a universal enzyme that could take
instruction from injected RNA. Yet this
was it! Yes! If the outer sulphite chain just
folded back – right back, doing a quarter turn around and then running parallel in almost a
mirror image to the main sequence then… well, the possibilities were endless.
Any RNA chain could be processed straight through into an optimally folded protein sequence. Tailored enzymes could repair nucleotides damaged by… well, anything. Even old age could be curable with the right combination of instructions. And of course, it was the breakthrough cancer researchers had been seeking since the 1980s!

Excitedly, he began to imagine how he could put these
insights out there – a post on the Genzyme blog, for instance, to establish
priority as the originator of the idea, then a short paper in Enzyme Research. Of course, he’d need some lab time to demonstrate the technique, but he was sure the biotech labs would be queuing up to –

Then he paused. This
wasn’t getting the ironing done, and She’d said that it all had to be done
before Kurt arrived, so there would be time to do all of his laundry too. And his socks and underpants had to be carefully hand-washed.

Plus, he admittedly mournfully to himself, the last time he
had tried mentioning anything about his doctoral studies, he’d been soundly
paddled for being ‘too clever for his own good’. She didn’t approve of his having ideas above his station. And his station was so low, he’d yet to encounter an idea that was not.

Perhaps it was better just to forget about it. Anyway, it had been almost eight years since
he’d ben allowed to look at a book, or watch TV or access the Internet. Probably cancer had been cured by now. It wasn’t the sort of thing She’d have mentioned to him, after all. They didn’t have conversations about that sort of thing.

It was all a matter of priorities, he told himself. And with his bottom still extremely sore from
the consequences of that spilt milk yesterday, he knew where his priorities
lay.

Switching the iron to ‘steam’ he firmly smoothed away the
complex twisting shape that had appeared by chance before him, leaving just a
neat, straight crease. Not too sharp.

Just the way She liked it.

Taking pains

She does and so, therefore, do I.

But not here. I just slap any old rubbish on a photo and stick it on the blog.

Damn. Why is it always about penis size? Honestly, sometimes it just seems like women are obsessed with it.

Urrgglll – nnnnh!

I’m glad I’m into humiliation. Otherwise, I’d probably find a lot of my encounters with women quite unpleasant.

Well, that went well.

Goodness, sounds like she’s going to get quite cross. That could help, actually.

Back under the saddle

Ah well, summer holidays over and it’s back to the daily grind. Which to be honest can leave you quite sore, especially when you then have to get up and go to work. But who am I to argue?

I hope you enjoyed the archival clear-out over August. But not that you enjoyed it so much you did anything you shouldn’t.

Back to normal. More of the same, but written more recently.