Stories and pictures themed around female domination and male subjugation and servitude. Unsuitable for children, for alpha males, for hard-core practitioners with an interest in the politics of bdsm and the mechanics of complicated rope work. Of interest to perverts like me, basically.
My SO says I’m a sore loser and I indeed, I usually am.
She’ll forget, so why shouldn’t he?
She’s shortly to embark on an exciting project to test the effect of repeated applications on saliva on shoe-leather, just as soon as she secures the funding.
I’ve been declared mentally incapable – physically too, come to think of it – by many women, but never formally.
She seems very relaxed about the thought of all that jerking-off. I suppose it made her and Patty a lot of money… but it’s not as if they deliberately encourage it, is it? Oh look, here’s a short clip from the second movie. Just put it on repeat if it’s not quite long enough for you.
Go on – she finally allowed your longstanding request to go around dressed only in a little lacy bra and panties, so what have you got to complain about?
If you’re a maledom, I really encourage to try out a proper, heavy femdom session some time. Who knows, you might like it – although I hope you won’t.
Hard thinking can be difficult at times… what was the question again?
Trust is important in a relationship but obedience is more important still, especially if you’re wearing a shock collar.
Obviously, as I’ve put up a caption about putting a plastic bag over someone’s head, it’s important to emphasise: please don’t try this at home. That’s not safe. Do it somewhere far from home, where there’s nothing that might reveal your identity or connect you to the victim – oh, and always wear gloves to avoid leaving anything for the police forensic analysis.
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.
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.
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.
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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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.
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.
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.
