Category: objectification

Denying agency

This is a concept from ethical philiosophy, apparently, that involves treating someone as a child, unable to make decisions for themselves. I must say, it sounds rather nice, but I myself have never specifically been denied agency, because I have never dared ask for it.

On we go.

One of the secrets of a happy marriage: hinted at right there. It’s not that there will never be arguments – obviously all couples have them – just that they be treated as ‘tantrums’.
She allows her boys an average of 10 orgasms a year – so this treatment doesn’t happen very often.
That’s the only downside of castration: it can lead to a loss of important male functions, such as feeling unbearable pain.
Don’t worry: if you’re not enjoying it, just tell her, OK? She likes to know.
Pretentious? Ich?
It can be quite hard to break ingrained habits, so don’t worry if you don’t manage it on your own. Once you’re married, she can help – the two of you are a team from now on, after all.

Little man, you’re crying

 She knows why you’re blue.


Thank goodness (and her) for that.



I’ve always thought it odd that I am both her object and her subject.



When she talks of the ‘place’ that’ll do it, just think of a gleaming, modern medical facility, OK?  Not a dirty garage filled with rusty tools.  It’ll be easier that way.


Thank goodness for the invention of electricity – it’s a great way to save labour, or induce it depending on who’s holding the zapper.





One day your luck might run out.


All under control

 …just as it should be.

 

This image reminds me a bit of my first sexual partner, although the heel is a slightly different shape.

 

 

 

She’s actually never done a humiliation session before – but it turns out she’s a natural.

 

 

Fortunately, he has a very sophisticated palate, so whatever it is – or used to be – I’m sure he’ll be able to work it out.

 

 

 

Mainly, it’s the abuse, to be honest.

 

 

 

Poor dear man.  So very old.  So very dead.  I hope she gets over it quickly, so she can live a full life for him.  He’d have wanted that.

 

 

 

A man’s place

.. is wherever she puts him.

It did promise to love, honour and obey in sickness and in health, after all.  Didn’t it?


Fortunately teachers are allowed to remain standing in class.

Just as long as I don’t have to swap nappies with Petie. I always hate that, don’t you?



I have occasionally paid women for sex, I’ll admit.  The very first time I tried it I was really nervous but she said I was very cute and that she’d actually enjoyed the sex!  So that was pretty cool.  I hope the guy she did it with enjoyed it too – I never met him.
Women are strange.  Why lie around in what is obviously sexually arousing lingerie, when I’m locked up in a spiked cage? Honestly, you’d think they’d have more sense.


What She said



Damn… I’d already bought the ring. Oh well. I suppose the cock could take one more, but they’re going to jingle together when I walk.

You don’t know until you’ve tried it, do you?

Mmpphh mpphhhnnmm mmmphhh nng.

Well, they might not care and she might not care, but I care. Doesn’t that count for anything?  Oh.  OK, then.

Probably just as well that physical responses to stereotypically sexually submissive outfits don’t engender automatic castration. I mean, Tumblr’s business model would collapse, for a start.



PS: dedicated readers of this blog might enjoy this four minute movie.  It’s not, like, explicit femdom or anything but I thought it was rather sweet.  He’s a lucky guy – the husband, I mean. Well, Santa too, I guess.

Every lady shall be exalted

… and every husband and man shall be laid low.

You have to ask if you want the built-in sliding cucky drawer, though.  It costs extra.

Divorce can be painful.

My apologies to all of those submissive men out there who are highly skilled at housework, and don’t just use it as an excuse to flounce around humiliatingly in a little maid’s dress in session.  Sorry – I mean, both those submissive men…
Also quite a lot bigger.  They can still do SPH play, though. She’s kept his original one in a jar.

Biting’s not the worst of it. Bloody Rufus.  No friend of mine.




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.


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