Outer space now belongs to…

Anne!  And it’s got some stupid title but anyway it’s the Anne in space film!

Here are some publicity photos, and a sneak preview of the dialogue – well, monologue – from one of the best scenes.


Houston?  Crewmember
Brand here for Janus 9.   We have an
emergency. Oxygen levels are now at 43% nominal and dropping fast.  I am in my suit and my status is green, but
Commander Cooper and Crewman Benlow are out of their suits. Please advise, over.

Negative, Houston. 
The Commander and Crewman cannot en-suit at this time, because they were
engaged in sexual congress and the Commander cannot disengage.  Over.

Yeah – it’s kind of a forced bi thing I was making them
do.  We’ve had a bit of a femdom scene
going on up here, and I thought it would be funny to make the Commander fuck the Crewman up the ass.  They begged me not to, but I’m in charge in here.  Over.
What?  Well sure it’s relevant to the emergency, dickbrain!  Ahem, sorry, the Commander’s sexual organ appears to be
unusually engorged, Houston, probably due to the sudden drop in capsule pressure.  Consequently he cannot disengage from the
Crewman.  Over.


Houston, do you copy?  Oxygen at 31%.  Rate of depressurisation constant.  Over.

Negative, Houston, the Commander is unable to join this conversation.  It’s just on my suit channel.  I’m not broadcasting it through the cabin, Houston, because they’d be really embarrassed and they might hyperventilate.   Right now they’re breathing fast and shallow, like we did in training for emergency depressurisation.
Request permission to detach
the Commander’s penis from the rest of his body and thus enable both
crewmembers to suit up. Over.
 
 

Houston, do you copy?  Over.


Houston, awaiting response.


Over.


Glad you’re back, Houston.  You went kind of quiet there.  You want me to say again? 
Sure.  Can I castrate the
Commander?  He really doesn’t want me to
but I think it’s the only way.  I’ve got
a scalpel right here.  Oxygen now at 23%
nominal. 
Over.



Say again, Houston? 
Turn the oxygen back up?  No, I
don’t know how to do that.  I’ve heard
it’s kind of complicated.  Over.

Negative, Houston.  I
can’t see a dial that looks like that.  
I could look for one, but it would take a long time. But I’ve got the
scalpel.  Right here.  Please advise, over.
 
 

Oxygen levels now at 19% nominal, Houston.


Your call.

Resistance is futile

Utterly futile.

I love the way a recent article in the Guardian about science fiction on British TV just *happened* to use an image from this episode featuring whip-wielding dominatrices to exemplify the series Space 1999.
 

 

That’s only fair, because you’re not in fact safe.
The awesome Jean Bardot.

 

Aww… look at that little pout.  Isn’t she sweet when she’s cross?  Better do what the little woman says, hmmm?  Just to humour her, you know.  You can assert yourself later, I expect.
 
 

 

If you want a picture of the future, imagine a sweaty trainer stamping on a human face — forever*.
 
 

 

I do.
 
Mistress Francesca Harding, prepared it would seem to help with life-long learning experiences.





*Test time!  What is the slightly garbled literary reference?  Hmm?  Anyone?  You!  You at the back – hands out of your pockets, boy! – what’s the answer?

Cashless society

A silly little tale.  But could it happen in reality?  You decide.

Sometimes Dennis wished he’d been born a hundred years
before.  ‘I mean, what was wrong with
just using money anyway?’ he asked himself furiously, as the line in front of
him to the check-out slowly shortened. 
Or cheques, he thought.  I could
really be good with cheques.  Just sign
your name – done.

The man in front of him reached the checkout desk.  He wasn’t buying much – just a couple of
pairs of socks.  Dennis, in contrast, was
laden down with clothes of all descriptions. He tried to buy as much as he
could each time.

“That’s £8.25, thank you sir.” he heard the shop assistant
say.  “If you’d like to just place your
penis into the scanner for ID verification.”

Dennis surreptitiously glanced past the man’s broad back, to
see a large pink object being deposited in the half-cylinder on the counter,
with an audible thwack.  After a few
seconds, there was a quiet ‘beep’ and the penis was put back inside the man’s trousers and he zipped up.  A small green light was winking on the device
on the counter, with two red lights beside it. 
Two red lights! Dennis stared with horror.  The WR-20s only had one red light.  This must be one of the new VC8000
models!  He’d only come to this shop
because he was confident it still used WR-20s. 
At least those usually worked after the third or fourth try.

He considered running, but it was too late.  The man in front had taken his socks and
gone, and the sales assistant was smiling vacantly at him.

“All these is it?  Do
you have a storecard with us at all?”

Dennis shook his head sullenly as he wondered why sales
assistants all had that strange way of speaking. 
Why put emphasis on the ‘have’? 
And what on earth is ‘at all’ supposed to mean in that context?

But he couldn’t distract his mind for long from his
impending fate, and soon enough the assistant was saying “That’ll be £458.75
altogether, please.  If you’d like to
just place your penis into the scanner for ID verification.”

Taking a deep breath, Dennis opened his flies and pushed
himself as hard as he could against the edge of the counter.  His penis, looking smaller and more
shrivelled even than usual, just managed to cover the first inch or so of the
VC8000’s black length. Nothing happened.

“Just be a moment” the shop assistant said, apparently to
the air beside her.  “Sometimes it’s a
bit temperamental.”  They waited a bit
longer.

Eventually, she seemed to snap out of her shop assistant
trance and notice that something wasn’t right. 
She pressed an elegantly manicured finger to a button on the side of the
VC8000.  Three red lights flashed angrily
in response.

“I’ve never seen it do that before.” she said,
uncertainly.  “Maybe we could try another
– “

“My penis is too small to activate the scanner”, Dennis
said, very fast and low.  “Please – it’s
OK, you can take a manual ID verification instead.  You’ve done it before.”

“Eh?” the assistant replied. 
“Shall we try another scanner?”

Dennis swore inside. 
“No” he said through gritted teeth. 
“My penis is too small to activate the scanner.  It won’t work in any of them.”

“Oh.” the assistant said, looking a bit worried.  She turned to the lady next to her and spoke
in a singsong conversational voice: “Gentleman says his penis is too small to
activate the scanner, Mrs Dawes.”

The older lady looked dismissive.  “Oh no – just shove it a bit further up.  They’re very good these days.”

“Could you shove it a bit further up for me?” the assistant
asked brightly, and Dennis made a show of pressing his groin even more firmly
against the edge of the counter.  Christ,
his balls hurt.  The base of his penis
moved perhaps two millimetres further onto the counter.  The skin wrinkled ever so slightly, the tip
moved not at all.

Now several of the sales staff were involved, standing
around and staring at the problem. Dennis didn’t dare turn around to see how
many customers were in the queue behind him, but he could hear some shuffling
feet and the occasional ‘tsk!’.

One of the ladies looked up and called right across the shop
“MISS MARKHAM!  GENTLEMAN’S PENIS IS TOO
SMALL TO ACTIVATE THE SCANNER!”  Dennis
felt as if he would die.

A tall blonde lady, dressed all in black strode over.  Dennis estimated her age as mid-thirties and her attitude as lethal.  She fixed him with a
cool stare.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

“Well, Miss Markham, the gentleman…” began one of the
younger assistants.

“I asked the gentleman here!” Miss Markham snapped, giving
her a murderous look. “Well?” she asked, raising one eyebrow.

 

“My er,…” Dennis began, staring shamefacedly down.  He looked up and into the most piercing blue
eyes he had ever seen.  She was holding a
pen, which she started to tap steadily against her clipboard.  Her lips pursed.

“Small penis problem, is it?”

“Erm, yes.  You see I
-“

“You have a penis that is too small to function properly,
that is all I need to see” Miss Markham snapped back.  Several of the sales staff tittered.

“But if you can’t verify your identity, I’m afraid we’ll
have to deal with you as a criminal” Miss Markham went on, the merest hint of a
smile on her ruby lips.  I’ll have to
take you off to our holding room and investigate the matter thoroughly.”  One perfectly lacquered fingernail pushed
firmly against the clip holding the papers to her clipboard, forcing it all the
way down and then letting it snap back with savage force.
 

“Unless of course, you can produce an adequately sized penis
right here and now” she went on. 
“Adequate for ID verification purposes that is. I hardly think that it
would ever be suitable for anything else.”

She leaned forward to whisper in Dennis’s ear.

“And I see you’re wearing a wedding ring.  Please pass on my condolences to your
wife.  You might want to let her know
that our ladies department has a line of very discrete vibrators.  They come in lots of different sizes… all a
lot bigger than that.”
(Yes, I know this scene has nothing to do with the story.  But isn’t she wonderful?)
 

“The gentleman was saying as how he could manually – “
Dennis’s original assistant ventured, but Miss Markham just held her gaze to
his in silence.

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary” she murmured.

They looked down. 
Dennis’s penis was no longer resting on the VC8000.  On the contrary, it seemed to have become
self-supporting, waving uncertainly an inch or so above the scanner.  It had also become at least an inch longer.

Miss Markham smiled and lowered her clipboard, concealing
the awful sight and firmly pressing Dennis’s cock down onto the black plastic
surface.  He gasped with shock and
pleasure.

There was a quiet beep and a light turned green.

Epilogue

Dennis’s wife, Mary came home to a room full of bags and
boxes.  “Oh darling!” she gasped.  “Whatever have you been buying?”

“Anything I like!” Dennis replied, proudly.  “Well, as long as it’s available at De
Lacey’s – but they sell everything under one roof, so why would that matter?”

“Oh darling!”, Mary remarked again (as ladies on this blog
are inclined to do).  “But, erm… what
about paying for them?  You know – your
little problem?”

“Not a problem any more!” Dennis beamed.  He had a sudden thought “Oh – and I got you
this.”

He handed her a gift-wrapped package and stood back.

“For me?” she asked. 
“Oh you shouldn’t have”.  And
quickly she unwrapped the ribbon and paper to reveal a long cardboard box.  She gently eased off the lid, to expose a
long, plastic object nestling on crepe paper inside.

“Oh darling” she said, running her finger lightly along its
length, gently stroking the ribbing, resting the tip on the buttons at the base.  “My
sweet, silly darling.”

“Did you think I didn’t have one already?”
 
 
 

In this absurd story, the part of Miss Markham was played by the fabulous Mistress Eleise de Lacey.  When I started writing the story, she wasn’t involved but she just arrived halfway through, and took over.

However, no resemblance of the characters to any person living or dead is intended.  Except the character of Dennis, who is very precisely based upon Servitor in all significant, and several insignificant, respects.

Any flavour except vanilla

… or raspberry ripple.  I really hate raspberry ripple.  


Goodness, I hope none of the dommes with whom I  have the honour of serving from time to time read this blog and find out my little secret.  They might force me to eat raspberry ripple ice cream in session.  How awful that would be!

Monthly renewal of chastity
‘We’ are indeed trying.  Fortunately, only one of ‘us’ has to succeed, doesn’t she?




CNFM shopping
You ever had one of those dreams?  When you’re naked, surrounded by a hundred jeering, mocking beautiful women?  And you can’t speak and you can’t seem to run, but then you have to do a little dance for them and… and then you wake up.  And realise it was only a dream?  Always such a fucking disappointment.



Femdom space programme
She’s been working too on a better recovery system.  Crashing into a net is fine but it’s just not very… fetish, you know?  So she’s been working on something involving combining an aircraft carrier’s ‘arrestor hook’ system, with various anal toys.  All top secret just now, I’m afraid, so I don’t know any more details than that.
This is the divine Mistress Ezada Sinn, if you didn’t know that already




Lovely Clara
Lucky George.  Sharp-eyed observers of more than one ‘scene’ might spot a reference here to an earlier post.

Boyfriends, eh? Always spoiling the fun! Why can’t she just do her own beating up? I’d go for that. I’d even pay.




Hot flushes

I’m feeling them more and more often.

Female led relationship
Best not to rush into these discussions.  Give everyone a chance to calm down, to reflect on what was said and maybe even come to regret it?
 
 

Pink whips are cute!
With dignity. Always with dignity.
 
 

Glad we cleared that up.  I hate ambiguity.  Fortunately, so does she.



He’ll apologise, too.



Don’t know.  Don’t care.

Locked in abasement

It’s where you’ll usually find me.  If you can be bothered to look.

Chastity femdom picture that kind of thing
She feels your pain.  But not quite as much as you do.
 
 

Caning femdom picture that kind of thing
It’s supposed to look like that.  But then – you’re supposed to be caned, too.
 

We love Jerry Ryan
Let’s hope it’s not a third six.  It can happen, though.  I once rolled a huge pile of dice and almost all of them came up six.  I can’t remember exactly how many, but it was at least seven of nine.
 
 

Madame Sarka breaks a new slave
You wouldn’t think dommes would be so indecisive, would you?

At least one of these magnificent ladies is the awesome* Madame Sarka, formerly of the OWK and now of herself.  If any ‘readers’ can help identify the other lady, I will be grateful.
 
 




Badly stoned femdom
One art critic described her work as ‘a joyful celebration of life, movement and freedom’, which is rather ironic, when you think about it.



 
 
 
 
* When I use the word ‘awesome’ it should be understood in its original sense, meaning ‘inspiring awe’, rather than it’s modern sense (pronounced ‘ossom’) meaning ‘quite good’.

The future’s bright – just not for you

More captioned images of female domination, of course.

Space 1999 amazons
As I’ve mentioned before: Space 1999 Devil Planet episode.  See it, if you haven’t already.
 


Disciplinary verbals femdom
Actually, most humiliatrices are kind and gently supportive, out of session.  Just not with useless losers like you.  Asshole.

The remarkable Lexi Sindel.

 

 

Financial and physical domination
Still, on the bright side it should make sticking to her weight loss targets easier.
(The lovely Lady Heather, of course)
 


I think any really lasting relationship should be based on fear, don’t you?
 
 

Oh dear.  You know, in these circumstances, the gentlemanly thing to do is just let her leave.  And don’t even think of asking for your money back.

Fiction: Take me to your Mistress

An extremely silly science fiction story, for those who like that sort of thing.

“Where’s Servitor?” Mistress Valerie asked.
Sandra looked up from the picnic table where she was heating water for some tea.  “I sent him over the ridge to the stream to wash up the dishes” she replied, nodding towards a rise in the ground just beyond the field where they had eaten lunch.
Just as she spoke, there was an eerie wail and a whoosh, and the far side of the ridge lit up with a blue flash, accompanied by green beams of light stabbing up into the sky.
Mistress Valerie looked worried.  “That sounds like an unusually severe fuck-up even by Servitor’s standards” She said.  “I’d better go and take a look.”  She took a riding crop, in case Servitor needed some help getting on with his work, and set off towards the disturbance.
As she scrambled over the top of the ridge, an extraordinary sight met her eyes.  Instead of seeing Servitor diligently scrubbing plates and forks in the little brook at the bottom, she saw what could only be described as a flying saucer.  Green, about 20 metres across and pulsing with energy, it had a ramp extended down to the ground.  Near the bottom of this ramp lay Servitor, stark naked (as he had been before, to be fair) and writhing helplessly (which on this occasion he had not been, at least not yet).
Standing over him was the strangest sight of all – a grey humanoid creature, with a huge bulbous head from which tentacles emerged curling over and down from its mouth.  It had two pairs of dark, intelligent, human-looking eyes above a gill-like arrangement on its cheeks.  It was looking down at Servitor, and prodding him with its tail.
Mistress Valerie strode down towards it.  “Oi!  Leave that alone – it’s mine.” she ordered, riding crop at the ready.
The creature looked up at the new arrival and made a strange whiffling noise.  “Ah, another puny human creature!”  it boomed.  “Have you come to challenge me, earthling?  You cannot harm me, a telepathic immortal of superior intellect and power of which you cannot conceive!  Surrender now.”
“I don’t think so” Mistress Valerie replied, casually.  “Now I told you – that’s mine and I want you to leave it alone.”  She flexed the riding crop menacingly.
The creature whiffled its laugh again.  “My technology is so far beyond your silly little stick-weapon as to be beyond your comprehension, earthling!” it declared contemptuously.  “See how I inflict agony on this ally of yours with just the power of my mind!”
And its forehead wrinkled, light enveloped the struggling Servitor and he instantly flung his limbs out in all directions, threw back his head and screamed in agony.  The creature watched approvingly for a few seconds, then nodded and the light faded to nothing, leaving Servitor to collapse in a shuddering heap.
“Yeah – but he loves it really.” Mistress Valerie said calmly, gazing down at the sobbing form.  “I’ve seen it before – hamming it up.  He gets all turned on thinking about it afterwards.”
“Does he?” the alien replied, uncertainly, suddenly no longer quite so confident.  It looked down at Servitor carefully.  “So he does.  How very unusual.  Are there many like him on your planet?”
“Oh, not that many.” Mistress Valerie smiled.  “But enough to pay the mortgage, you know?”
The creature looked confused.  Then it seemed to rally itself, and straightened up decisively. “Still – “ it boomed, louder than ever “ – the time has come, earthling, for you and all your kind to surrender to the power of – “
“Did you say ‘telepathic’?” Mistress Valerie inquired, casually.
The alien looked back at Her.  “Errr…yes, telepathic.” it said.
“You can look into people’s minds and read their thoughts?” Mistress Valerie prompted.
“I can” it said proudly, drawing itself up a little higher.
Mistress Valerie took a step forward, almost touching the frontal fronds of the strange creature.  She fixed its eyes with a level stare.  Look into mine!”, She whispered.
The creature stared back into her amber eyes, its forehead wrinkled and its own eyes assumed a slightly faraway look.  It seemed a little puzzled at first, then a look of pure terror swept across its face.  Its eyes snapped back to reality, and met Mistress Valerie’s cool stare again for half a second more.  Then with a high-pitched whimper of fear and a flurry of tentacles, it disappeared up into the spaceship, which lurched off the ground with a whine of engines, and hurled itself into the sky with indecent haste.
Mistress Valerie gazed up at the fast-disappearing dot.  “I think I just saved the world” she mused.  “They should put up a statue to me.”
She looked down to the ground, where Servitor was burbling something grovelly about always wanting to put up a statue to her, and was also trying to kiss her boot.  She moved away with distaste and kicked him gently in the face.
“Come on Servitor – can’t just laze around there all day.” She announced.  “Get on with your work, or you’ll be getting a taste of my crop.”
And she cracked it down across his naked flesh, just for emphasis.  She looked with approval at the angry red welt that instantly appeared.
“Silly little stick-weapon indeed!” She snorted.  “Some creatures just don’t appreciate good old-fashioned craftsmanship.”
And as Servitor limped slowly back towards the washing up, she set off back up the ridge to see if the tea was ready.
My apologies for the way the picture does not in any way match the story, except being a dominant woman in a SF setting.  But I just had to include it…fondly remembering when as a teenager, I was delightfully surprised when the divine Rachel Welch transformed an episode (actually two episodes) of Mork and Mindy into…a formative experience for this young pervert.
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