Sweet surrender

Actually, I find it works rather badly and her boots need extensive cleaning afterwards. Luckily.

 

 


Pro-domination is such a difficult business – I am frequently in awe at the skill and grace with which dommes carry off the ‘pretending not to despise me’ bit post-session.

 

 

 

Should be a Rule 18 but I’ve been overdoing those posts lately.

 

 I suspect her client would enjoy these illustrations by that genius Sardax, the beauty of which is enhanced by the gracious presence of the lovely, wonderful Alice Malice of London.

 

 

 

Worth a try.  You might even enjoy it but let’s hope not.


That’s going to cause some funny looks in the office – after all, ‘Bring your gimp to work day’ isn’t for another three months.


 

Savage beauty

 

Don’t worry: it might sound a bit alarming, but they don’t cost much extra – and it’s basically an honour system anyway, she doesn’t make a list of pre-existing marks like a car hire place.


 

 

The specific clause in the law that she’s charged with actually refers to ‘sexual services’ and not only is there never any sex, but the ‘service’ is all the other way.  So she should be OK.

 

 

 

 

That would be sweet.  Imagine still doing it in fifty years’ time: creaking slowly down to the floor and shakily awaiting the awakening of your angel.




It’s true: you know, they once had to chip out some guy who’d been concreted in almost ten years ago – and he was still alive.  His wife hadn’t changed her mind (in fact, she was onto her third husband by then) but the building was due to be demolished so she paid to have him moved.  Was he grateful to her for saving his life, though?  Honestly, the fuss he made when the concrete began to pour!  He’d obviously learned nothing from all those years he had for reflection – no wonder the marriage hadn’t worked out.



Specially not when we’re all stwapped down and tewwified.

 

Your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul


It’s easy to tell when someone’s smiling, even behind a medical mask.

 

 

 

Original sins, so to speak.  Ho de ho.

 

 

 

Now here’s a lady with an original approach to BDSM. It might seem surprising that a bee-keeping outfit can actually be more scary than the traditional leather uniforms, but believe me: once you’ve experienced that kind of play, you’ll agree that it is.




She got accustomed to having her own way when they were all encouraged to stay in character on-set and she’s never really readjusted to the real world.  Probably best to humour her.  Her  entourage do: that’s why they got you.


 

 

Like many guys I vividly remember the very first time I totally failed to have sex with a girl.  She was rather sweet about it, actually, which in retrospect is a shame, as if she’d humiliated and mocked me, I might have got excited and been able to rise to the situation.  Oh well… it was very special, anyway.

 

May not deal in doubt or pity

 

 

I’ve managed to give up quite a few little vices over the years – turns out, you don’t really need willpower, or rather you can rely on someone else’s.

 

 

 

My SO likes to speak hypothetically, for example when describing ever more elaborate situations in which she might allow me an orgasm.

 

 

 

 

The evangelicals will be relieved to discover that the OWK ladies are, for the most part, not actually observant Catholics. Although they do believe in the concepts of original sin, penance and purgatory.


 


It’s like any job, except that no domme has ever been known to assert that the customer is always right.




Mmmm… No, no.




 

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Rulebreakers

Which rule?  Rule 18, of course.  Which states – as I’m sure you know – that dommes should “Try to avoid sessions with clients who have really specific fetishes and can’t get off unless it is done exactly right.”

Alas, unlike my own SO’s ninety-seven House Rules, which are quite strictly observed and still more strictly enforced, I encounter* examples of rulebreaking daily for this one.

So… yeah, here are some more.


Notice the thick socks inside the fur boots.  Socks are often a giveaway of a Rule 18 violation in progress.  Not if the socks are smelly from exercise and being used to wipe the face of a humiliation slut, though… that’s just good healthy femdom play.



Orca play.




Actually, this one started when his domme turned up one day and said “I’m afraid my leather jacket is being cleaned – will this do?”  And he never looked back.



It’s not just the use of the domestic flamethrower that makes this a Rule 18 violation… it’s the flying golden penis to the left of the flowers that are being torched and it’s the Shredded Wheat package.  Oh… the Shredded Wheat package.  “Can’t get off unless it is done exactly right.”?  One day, she didn’t have any and used Weetabix instead… nearly lost a client.




Not quite sure whether this one belongs here or in my series on femdom scenes being played out with heavy industrial machinery… but it definitely needed wider circulation.  By the way, those knees: do you think she originally had it installed for a slave who was just a little shorter?
 



She’s supposed to beat his ‘snake’ with a shillelagh, while commanding it to leave Ireland.  Or something.




OK, this whole video (and, as far as I can tell, much of the careers of the two lovelies featured here) is basically just one long Rule 18 violation.  If you’re into latex-clad pretty ladies cooking and eating men dressed as broccoli in order to get rid of bags under their eyes… well, I guess this is the video you’ve been waiting for your entire life.  If not, you might like it anyway.  I did, actually.  In fact I just watched it again. My eyes hurt… but in a good way.

 

Oh look, I embedded it.  I particularly like the way they look cross so often.  I love it when pretty women look cross.




* Did you notice the way I managed not to write ‘I come across’ there?  See, I’m dealing with my addictions.

It’s the pleasure and the pain

 Nice video, shame about the song.

 

 

What – I can’t even make a suggestion?  No?  Oh, OK then.

 

 

 

And very nicely bruised too, if I may say so, thank you, Ma’am.

 

 

 

Goodness, how unpleasant it would be to be paddled by her.  I expect you regret now not thinking this through, right?

 

 

 

Unpardonable, because at OWK the males get plenty to eat.  Not all of it technically ‘food’ the way that word is usually defined, but they certainly ingest a lot of things through their mouths – and other orifices too.

 

 

Maybe she’d respect you more if you stood up for yourself?  Can’t hurt to try.  Although she’s not one to change her mind easily… and neither, if I’m being honest, is her mother.  Maybe better to cower, after all.  Fetch the whip, anyway: best not to keep her waiting.

 

 

Since you’ve read down this far, you’re probably desperate an avid follower of femdom, so maybe you already know this, but the Cruella site has some lovely stuff up right now.  The ‘Cruella’s World’ page has a lot of photos and some photostories.  Some of the stories are from the old Cruella magazine, back in the 90s, including two of my favourites (because they are delightfully vicious) from back then: Rise & Fall of Men’s Lib and Thumbs Up.  Others are more modern… I even wrote one of them, under a pseudonym (a different pseudonym, I mean, cos ‘Servitor’ is not my real name, remarkably enough).  Anyway.  Get on over there, it’s wonderful.  Even some rare photos of Miss Chambers and her lovely, lovely nose.

Impertinent features


The clever bit of the trick isn’t how she stubs the cigarette out, it’s how she has persuaded you to accept it – and even pay for the privilege.

The lovely Miss Zoe, who once gave me an unforgettable cuddle after a particularly hard spanking.

 

 

Gal wouldn’t need to lasso me to make me tell her the truth.  But she’s very welcome to do so anyway.

 

 

 

They say it gets easier after a year or two, so just keep going.

 

Ah, I’d forgotten that I’d done this one, when discussing precisely this situation on Paltego’s blog.

 

 

 

Women will only be truly free when every male is enslaved.  It’s sad that it has to be that way but… oh, hang on, it’s not sad at all, is it?

 

Strict unethical standards


Sometimes, for brief periods when I am asleep or locked away in a cupboard.

 

 

 

 

God save the Queen.  And her subjects, who might need some divine intervention, in the decades of her reign.

 

What sort of fish?  Sustainably-sourced, I hope.

 

 

 

I did know at one point.  Maybe I forgot… it’s all such a long time ago.

 

 

 

Sometimes I wish English retained the distinction between familiar and formal modes of address.  I could try asking my domme to call me ‘thou’ but it just wouldn’t be the same.*

 This is the very lovely and French Ibicella.  She speaks English but, really, why would you want her to?

 

 

* Occasionally people ask me what my pronouns are.  To my embarrassment, I am forced to admit that I am not allowed any.

Sexually implicit

 

She must have read my mind.

 

 

 

 

Someone once said that marriage is a negotiation – but I find that turns out mostly to be pleading too.


 

 

 

It’s not a protest song.  She’s just fine with things as they are.

 

 

 

 

You’re probably wondering what sort of tiles Chloe and she are looking for.  I’ll make sure to ask, if I see her, OK?

 

 


…and the session will be held in an under-heated prefab with a leaky roof.

Location location location

Some weeks ago, Paltego posted a picture of the lovely Miss Chambers, from a Cruella photoshoot, pictured against a rather bleak post-industrial Northern British landscape.  Something like this:

 

 

 

There being little point in debating the unquestionable beauty of Miss Chambers (especially her lovely nose) the comments rather degenerated into an exchange about femdom shoots in bleak, unromantic spots.

Never one to miss an opportunity to do something derivative and run with it until it is no longer remotely funny or sexy, I decided to look through my extensive photo collection, with a view to identifying the bleakest background I could find.  After realising that Cruella would win any such contest hands-down, I limited Mr Rogue-Hagen’s entries to give others a chance.  

Obviously, interior shots of prison-like or dungeon-like backgrounds don’t count as those are supposed to look like that, and in some cases have probably been quite expensively fitted out to look grim.*  Nor do I feature arty and moody black and white shots against ruins – the criterion today is that the lady has to be trying to look alluring against a thoroughly unhelpful background.

All from Europe, as far as I can tell, if you include Russia, which has its share of bleak post-industrial landscapes.  In the US, according to my photographic evidence, dommes don’t go out much but on the basis of the few photos I have of them outside, most of the surface area of the USA is covered with swimming pools.  I guess there just aren’t any bleak urban or postindustrial landscapes in America, huh?  What a nice place it must be.


Let’s start with some classic Cruella.  Cow-shed.


Or this – this I think is from the photoshoot ‘Cement Plant Cruelty’ or possibly ‘Enslaved and forced to quarry limestone’.

Lest anyone think I am taking the piss out of Cruella, I… well, I am, obviously, but affectionately I hope.  I love Cruella; it was almost the first ‘proper’ femdom material I encountered and my heart used to hit 150 beats per minute when I saw any of these pictures.  The material and stories were and are wonderful, and I encourage you to visit Mr Rogue-Hagen’s site, where he has just reposted one of the most viciously delightful stories his magazines ever featured, the tale of the lovely Melody, a girl as sweet as the pears she loves so much.


The Germans can do it too, although their photoshoots often have more stuff in them, as befits an economy specialising in exports of light manufactures. Here’s Planet Femdom, where they like their dommes tall.  And then put them in super-high heels, just to make sure. (But it doesn’t seem to exist any more…. am I getting old?)


Not sure of the location, but a bonus point for this next one, for the plastic sheeting providing a temporary roof.  I want to know if they put that in specially for the photoshoot: to make it nice.




Further afield, there’s ‘bleak’ and then there’s ‘Russian bleak’…



Still in Russia, I have no particular reason to think this is an unpleasant location, but the lady on the left seems to be huddled in a shawl, wishing the photoshoot to be over so she can go and have a nice hot chocolate and get warm again.  And her shoes are falling off, the poor thing.  So I just feel for her and the photo gets an honourable mention for that.  There’s a naked slave too, but he probably deserves to be cold, the little creep.

PS – I only just noticed they’re sharing the shawl.  Did you notice that?  See, they’re not so heartless.


Moving slightly further west, Mistress Maya Sin does fabulously creative photo-shoots.  She started in Gdansk, which obviously gives her an advantage in this contest as what is Gdansk famous for?  Yes, apart from being the place WW2 started?  That’s right: the shipyard.  So where else is a girl from Gdansk (or a domme from Danzig) to go?  Here’s Maya Sin in the birthplace of Solidarnosc.  Probably.


This next one could be an easy contender for the prize, in that wily Miss Sin has managed to take the photo inside some giant piece of industrial machinery!  But then she ruins the whole thing by not actually being in the shot, which is always a drawback in any photoshoot of a beautiful domme and strictly against the rules of this competition.

Since taking these pictures, Mistress Maya has abandoned all hope of winning this competition, by moving to Paris (stop press: or maybe Dubai?) where she has herself photographed walking around in latex against some of the most elegant scenery in Europe (and managing herself to look more elegant still).  So this may be the last Gdansk femdom photoshoot you’ll ever see.

 

 

The railway tracks would not in themselves be enough to qualify, but just look at those girders!  No, I said look at those – oh, never mind.

 

 

 

 

 

More heavy metal.  Unlike the Russian ladies earlier, this lovely nymph is in more danger of encountering too much heat than too little.  See the way she is carefully not allowing her latex leggings to come into contact with the sunlit metal?  That’s professionalism.

 



OK, now this is not a bleak post-industrial landscape as far as we can see.  But it might be a kebab van.  I reckon a kebab van qualifies.  Especially a kebab van missing wheels and headlights.


The next is not actually a femdom photoshoot, just a grab from the perviest thing ever to appear on a family TV programme at teatime: The worm that turned, in the 1970/80s comedy show The Two Ronnies.  My eternal thanks – on behalf of my 12 year-old self – to whatever BBC producer decided there was nothing at all wrong with this, as it was obviously just a lighthearted romp through a future female-supremacist England, featuring gestapo girls clad in military caps, tight latex tops and shorts and boots… oh, and men forced to cross-dress and ordered around or sexually molested by women.**  Y’know: for the kids!  Certainly for this kid, anyway.

But it features an electricity sub-station, so it’s in.


And finally… I think we have a winner.  It’s not anything in particular, it’s just… someone strapped naked to a concrete pole in a rather run-down post industrial town.  Who finds that sexy?  I do, actually, very – but who else, I mean?



Oh goodness me, I think that’s enough bleak landscapes, don’t you?  Shall we just stop all this nonsense and refresh the palate with a lovely picture of the lovely Miss Chambers, against a perfectly normal background?  Yes, I think we shall.




Did you enjoy that?  I did.  In fact, I enjoyed it so much I think I’ll have another.


There.  Such a pretty nose. That’s all for today.  Off you go now.





* And in others clearly haven’t, as the ‘forbidding grey stone blocks’ of the dungeon wall are obviously cheap cladding or even just wallpaper.  Maybe one day I’ll run a ‘least convincing dungeon’ post.

** No really. This isn’t one of those TV comedies where there’s, like, three seconds of a lady in boots snarling at the camera and that’s all the femdom.  Week after week, this comedy adventure serial in the middle of one of the country’s most popular prime-time family shows featured the squad of latex lovelies shown there marching around and oppressing males.  OK, they were usually outwitted by the male heroes in their frumpy dresses, but this was simply amazing.  Still is.

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