Category: pain

Animate objects

…who are also subjects.

Ooo… ‘the wrong sort of pain’. Never pleasant. My SO says the way to handle it is to accept there are no wrong sorts of pain, and I can’t argue with that.
Notice how she said ‘please’? See, you can be treated like dirt and still receive a modicum of respect. She says ‘Thank you, darling’ occasionally too, although that usually means ‘Shut up.’, particularly when said in public.
Actually, sleep scientists say that an early bedtime can be extremely beneficial for health. Oh yes, and I read somewhere as well that spanking scientists say… now where was that article?
It’s actually only marginally less comfortable than an economy seat on most airlines and arguably (if you’re of the sex permitted to argue) more so on Ryanair.
It’s odd, but when you’ve been locked in chastity for a month, it’s hard for a woman to do anything that isn’t breath-takingly erotic. Including refusing to unlock you, ironically enough.

Embarassing observations

The untruths hurt, sometimes.

Wise submissive husbands will keep a notebook, recording name, orgasm frequency, cock size and any remarks their wives made the next morning. Cuckoldry doesn’t have to be something merely done to you, you see – you can help her with it.
She can wait – as can he, actually, although he might feel right now as if he can’t.
If you get really good at the ‘guess the voltage’ game, a career as a circuit tester awaits.
If it goes into the mouth and down the throat, then it’s edible, right? And she always makes sure that it does.
You’ve already taken the most important vows, anyway.

Suitable for a princess

Just another one of those captions that became so long it wasn’t really a caption any more so I’m calling it a story.

Your princess?  Really, am I?  Aww… that’s nice.

Maybe you’d like to hear your princess tell you a story, hmm?  Don’t worry: you can keep doing that. Right between the toes: there’s a good boy.

Once upon the time, there was a beautiful princess who lived in far-off Milton Keynes. She was so beautiful and so talented that men from far and wide fell in love with her.  Princes, knights, rich merchant bankers… even footslaves so ugly she had to make them wear latex masks, who loved to lick her sweaty toes. They all fell in love with her, but she really didn’t give a flying fuck, as long as they paid her and gave her presents on special occasions. 

Like her birthday: that was the specialest occasion of all.  The princess hated it if any of her ungrateful and moronic worshippers forgot her birthday.  No – don’t stop doing the foot thing, slave.  I’ve got something else planned in a moment, but you can keep doing that for now.

So, at the end of one birthday the princess made a little list of all the slaves who hadn’t fucking bothered to give her a present – who couldn’t even extend her the basic courtesy of an email or something.  You know: to take, like, one minute out of their day to wish a happy birthday to the lady they claim is the light of their sad little fucked-up lives. And she decided that the next time each of those nasty little ingrates sessioned with her, she’d give them a really hard pain session, that went way beyond their ‘limits’. Like, for example, her pathetic little footslave who was ‘really not into pain, Mistress’: she decided she was going to clamp his nipples and bollocks with tight, tight clamps and attach heavy weights to them, then whip him raw. Maybe finish off with some electric shocks or ball-busting. Or both.

Of course, the princess realized, it would have to be consensual.  But the self-centred bastards who’d forgotten her birthday would be given a choice: consent to the pain session the selfish little sods so richly deserved, or never see Mistress and her beautiful feet ever, ever, ever again. Either way, she thought, next birthday she’d have presents from all her slaves: any who didn’t consent would be living sad lonely lives without her and the remaining ones would be too fucking terrified to forget a second time, after the sheer hell she planned to deal out to them.

Now… I want you to help me write the end of the story, slave. Not the very end, that’s “And the princess lived happily ever after.”  It’s the bit just before that.  What do you think is going to happen?

No, you can stop licking my foot now – maybe that was for the last time, isn’t it exciting? – and I’ll go and get the bondage cross ready, while you have a think.

The part of the princess in this tale was played by the very lovely and delightful Tiffany Naylor, who does indeed hold court in the magical land of Milton Keynes*, where I once encountered her and very lovely and very delightful she was. Naturally, none of the actions of the fictional dominatrix depicted here should be attributed to the real Tiffany Naylor, although I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets cross if her regulars forget her birthday**, as that’s perfectly normal (and normally perfect) dominatrix behaviour.

* For Americans or other foreigners unfamiliar with this place, Milton Keynes is one of the most historic towns in England. You can easily spend several days there, just strolling around the medieval streets, drinking in the scenic beauty of the old town and swapping stories with its charming inhabitants. Wisely, the local authorities have avoided the excess tourism that has damaged the charm of some other historic English locations, like Stratford on Avon, by ensuring there is little to be found on the Internet about the rich history and architecture of this unspoilt gem, but those in the know regard it as being on the must-see list for any visitor seeking to explore England’s historic treasures.

** 3rd of August!

Hear her roar

 … and hear me squeak.


I’m not allowed to look my SO in the eye under any circumstances, so for that (and other) reasons this situation never arises for me.


Loving brutal domination… that hits the sweet spot (repeatedly, raising welts and leaving it throbbing and sore).

Hard to understand atheists who say there’s no such thing as a divine being, in a world on which Mistress Eleise walks among us.


I wouldn’t mind but it’s seven floors up and the male lift (‘elevator’, Americans but you knew that right?) has been out of action all week.


It’s odd how often I find myself begging my SO for mercy, when begging her for brutal and gleeful ferocity would be so much more likely to succeed.




It’s actually quite common for bridegrooms to feel a little nervous and apprehensive before giving up their their body and eternal soul to the control of a callous and evil witch the big day. Looks like she has a potion that will rob you of any means of resistance just the solution. I guess that’s you damned to an eternity of suffering and torment why you’re marrying her, right?




Ideas above my station

 

Scurry scurry scurry…



In practice a lot of the psychological elements flow fairly naturally from the pain and from the dread of it,


Coding’s a valuable skill in today’s economy but getting the coffee that helps keep the coding girls focused is vital too.  Not as well paid – obviously, as a traditional male occupation – but there’s more to life than money and the satisfaction of a menial job done adequately cannot really be priced.  Plus, a really good coffee boy might have a shot at a tampon boy position, should one become available.  Better than sitting in front of a computer staring at boring old code, amirite?





So brave she bought a weekly pass enabling her to see any show she pleases.  But watching Mark will be special for her, obviously.






This picture in welts was just chance but some dommes take pride in their artistic skill with the whip.  My SO likes to do Mondrians on me, for instance.  I don’t mind the lines, it’s the areas of uniform flat colour that really sting.

A happy Cruella shoot, of course, with all three participants enjoying the balmy British summer.


She’s so fine, there’s no tellin’ where the money went

Another totally forgettable song from that pointless 80s guy, having his career saved by the goddesses in his videos.  Is it just me, or does the goddess annoyingly hidden by his left shoulder (reminder for male readers: his left is our right) at about 3.30 look like she’s thinking about something else?  And the goddess on the second row far left (our left, boys… not that difficult) just looks embarrassed throughout.


Oddly enough, if you really understood her plan, you wouldn’t be worried about the animal in the middle there, but about the teddy bear to the right. I don’t want to spoil the surprise – just consent, and you’ll find out soon enough.


There’s also ‘lucky dip’, where he gets to spin a wheel marked with the numbers one to five at the start of each week.  But – shhhh! – if his patroness wants that spin to result in a particular outcome… well, that’s doable, if you know what I mean.



Some people are like that – they’ll just drop everything if someone else asks.  She can actually be quite assertive, so don’t assume this is typical.  She’s no doormat.  He is, but that’s more a literal description than a judgement of his character.


Ungrateful little sod.  You’d think he’d be pleased to get out and stretch his… his… well, whatever part or parts of his anatomy are about to be stretched, I suppose.


Try to be worthy of the honour.



Damned lies and sadistics

 

Guys need to be kept busy, preferably with female oversight, or their attention wanders. There’s no one right way to do it.  It could be anything from meticulous housework for that one special lady, through scrubbing the pavements as part of a community-run cleaning squad all the way to five years of hard labour in a male re-education camp. It’s all good.

 

 

 

If you can’t afford a lovely sound-proofed dungeon and you want to enjoy the screams, just have a word with your neighbours.  Most will be perfectly happy with the noise, as long as you talk to them about it.  And you might even find a common interest!

 The lovely Mistress Mina Thorne, of course, about to show off her CBT skills.  I’d like to link to her web site but I am not at all sure that this is actually her, as I read somewhere she is retired, sin which case I’m afraid your C and B will just have to be T-ed by someone else.  Unless she isn’t retired, in which case they won’t.  I expect someone will know?

 

 

 


So you couldn’t even save up a few weeks’ pocket money?  No wonder she prefers Harold – I mean, apart from all the other reasons, obviously.


My SO was absolutely furious when I came home once with a prescription for painkillers. She said she felt it devalued the hard work she was putting into our marriage. It was very unfeeling of me, and I have to say I did feel very uncomfortable as a result, for a long time afterwards.


 

 

 

In-laws can take some getting used to and there’s no harm in getting out of the occasional evening with a little white lie, especially if you spend that evening learning to be a better husband.


Punishing workloads

…but these ladies always manage to deliver.


It’s a win-win for her, which is just as well because she really hates losing.



Don’t worry about whether you’ll be able to satisfy her. That’s one of the nice things about being a pain toy: she does all the work and you just have to go with the flow.  Let Joy be unconfined.



Necessary suffering, obviously, is something she can fully support.


This is, of course, Miss Chambers, possessor of the finest, most elegant nose in femdom, and to be found (nostalgically) on the Cruella web site.

My own SO, I am glad to say, does not approve of whipping for minor, trivial faults.  I have yet to discover a fault she considers to be minor and trivial, but when I do I am sure that will come as a great relief.




Hmm…  Think think think.  I expect she’ll remember eventually, as long as she’s not distracted by something more important.




Womanly vices

Sure she can.  Lucy doesn’t mind a few bruises on her toys – if anything, it can make them even more sensitive.


 

She finds it pretty annoying working for a male CEO, actually, which is why it’s so important that she can talk through her day and work off some of those frustrations when she gets home.

 

 

A bit more lube, maybe?

 

It’s as if your pain receptors are directly linked to the pleasure centres of her brain.  It’s great when a couple just ‘clicks’ like that.




He didn’t have the nerve to ask whether she allows her clients ‘happy endings’ but she does – specifically, she unties them and lets them limp away.


 

Stunning and entrancing

 La la la la lah la la la-lala…

Maybe they’ll show you what’s in the trunk.  Although being British, I find the word ‘boot’ comes more naturally to mind when contemplating this scene.

 

 

I find my body works much better when I’m being obedient.  Less bruised, for one thing.

 

 

Wonderful to watch a creative mind at work.  In the end she just called it Unfinished Composition #1 and decided to treat the whole series as a work in progress.  They say that a work of art is perfect not when it is complete, but when there is nothing left to take away and that’s certainly her philosophy.

 

She’s right of course – what’s a few moments of pleasure from an unhealthy treat, compared to hours shuffling as fast as the ankle chains will allow, on the combined treadmill and electric shock device?  She doesn’t want to have to increase your daily stint on that, if she can possibly help it, does she?

Oh dear.  Let’s hope the bank hotline doesn’t keep you waiting for long.



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