Category: outdoor

Angels and beasts

My SO had me on my hands and knees for three hours once, crawling around looking for her contact lens, which is mad, really, since she doesn’t even wear them. Still, it did solve the usual problem I have at those parties of not knowing what to say to anyone.
Rookie error: he should have been expressing gratitude for feeling cold, after all the trouble she went to to make sure he would. Still, I’m sure there will be other opportunities, especially now autumn is here.
She didn’t even bother to check whether you’re already spoken for – rather selfish behaviour if there’s a findomme somewhere depending on your monthly pay cheque for her next handbag.
She does, but the weekly session tribute is quite high, so you need to be doing at least seventy loads of laundry each day before it starts to pay. Fortunately there’s a lot of demand: after all, it’s a lot cheaper than using one of the machines.
There’s lots of stuff they both enjoy, but Lucy has a thing about eye-torture; she’s tried, because she knows how much her girlfriend enjoys it, but she just isn’t into it. If it’s just a quick thing, like a cigarette being stubbed out, she can just put her fingers in her ears, shut her eyes and sing but you can’t keep that up for an hour (two hours, even, if it’s both eyes, one after the other).
He is in fact made to writhe on the ground in agony, sometimes, but that’s a different thing, she’s not doing it to punish him.

Callous whispers

No household bills, but Dave’s still paying off the instalments on his motorbike. And it’s not like the pay-pig gets to choose, right?
Cometh the hour, cometh the humiliation freak.
Almost sorry but not sorry.
The Government have been giving men a chance to show they can improve without harsh measures. So far, results have been quite disappointing.
Goes with your total lack of personality, I expect. Sorry, but someone had to tell you.
Of course, the only reliable way to decide which OWK Lady is nicest is to experience a whipping from each of them in turn. Fortunately, Nigel’s already been sufficiently outspoken that there’s a rota on the wall of the Ladies’ break room to ensure that’s exactly what he gets over the course of his stay.

Quant à moi, peu dormi, vidé, brimé

C’est le 14 juillet, et nous célébrons les déesses républicaines françaises telles que Marianne et… euh…

Liberté, Egalité, Sororité!

Bon, je pense que ça suffit pour la langue française aujourd’hui.

Captions with a vaguely French connection, anyway.

Paris is famous for its stylish leather goods.
One from my ‘advice to a US sub visiting Europe‘ occasional series, obviously. The caption is deliberately misleading: the French insist on following their own local food customs, so you’ll probably find yourself swallowing butts from unfiltered Gauloises, rather then some mild ‘low tar’ cigarettes.

As the label might indicate to even the most male-brained reader, this is of course the magnificent, elegant and beautiful Ibicella, who can be found, worshipped and, ideally, donated to at the address shown. And here she is being adorable.

You might not learn many words in French, but you’ll be really good on everyday (and every hour, minute and second) politeness.

And do I really need to mention this is Mistress Eleise? Look, I like maple syrup as much as the next slave, but I can tell you: it is not Canada’s greatest export. I’ve tried both.

Her dungeon doesn’t actually have a view of the Tour Eiffel, you understand. It doesn’t have a view of anything.
There are actually plusieurs esclaves, but they are all much the same.
Or maybe they’re just trying to make things more interesting for the ladies.

P.S. Allez les Bleus! Mais aussi les lions anglais…

P.P.S. OK, so the Bleus didn’t really allez. Or not as much as the Spanish went ándale ándale ándale anyway. So to cheer up any depressed frenchmen – or heterosexual males of any sort, I imagine – here’s the lovely Ibicella, being patriotic.

Lap dogs to a slip of a girl

It’s funny: in a few weeks he’ll probably be complaining it’s too hot, staked out there on a lovely summer day with the honey and sweat running off his skin and the ants tickling his face.

 

 
 

 

I tried a self-help book once.  Apparently my feelings of inadequacy aren’t real.  Oh right – so what have I been paying all that tribute for, over the years, then?  Silly book.
Good thing she decided not to wash her hair, as she hates saying no to people.

 

 

A survey of the male employees found 82% of them consider the new dress code unbearably humiliating.  Management are working hard to think of something they can do to respond: 18% of males not feeling constantly mortified is simply unacceptable in a truly inclusive workplace.

 

 

Just don’t leave your used jodhpurs lying around.