Category: shoes

My sweet lady

…. by George Harrison.  Pirate version, obviously. *   Extra bonus post today!  Me hearties!






It’s odd – when she takes the elderly gentlemen’s blood pressure and heart rate, the readings always come out higher than when one of the male nurses take them.  They use the same equipment so it can’t be anything to do with that… it’s just one of those little mysteries.



It’s a good thing she was there to step in.  Normally, when she’s off sick, L just leaves them a message to find a pair of sneakers and sort themselves out.



If we’re talking about bad influences, personally I happen to think that Karen is a bad influence on her… but no one listens to me.**


Others just think it’s rather fun… kind of a conversation piece.

Sometimes love needs a helping hand.










* Today being ‘International talk like a pirate day‘!  I celebrated this day once before by putting up an entire post of captioned femdom images of lovelies talking like pirates, with a lot of emphasis on being boarded through yer rear porthole, matey etc.  Forgetting of course that individual images get copied, tumblred, shared and generally distributed around the Internet without context.  An Internet that, not unreasonably, reacted by declaring these the worst captioned femdom images ever created.  So I won’t be doing that again… there’s ‘good’ humiliation and then there’s the other kind.  So, just the usual perfectly normal captions today.  Yo ho ho!

** I write captions all the time and select images from my vast archive*** when I put up a post.  Consequently, many of these images were captioned years ago.  For some reason, I frequently settled on ‘Karen’ as the name of an off-screen more vicious friend of whichever divine goddess is speaking.  Anyway, that was before Karen became ‘Karen’ OK?  Let’s hope that particular fad passes and let’s hope most fervently that it never, ever also catches ‘Janice’ in its memetic claws.****

*** No, really.  I have about 1600 unpublished ones right now.  That’s three years’ supply.   Ha!  They said he was running out of captioned images; they said he was running out of ideas…  They were half right.

****Or ‘Raoul’. 




Tread softly, for you tread on my…

…actually, modesty forbids me from saying what she was treading on.  Let’s just say that she crushed my hopes and severely injured my pride.

 
That should take your mind off the pain from the ring she just put on you.
Has she ever considered just walking around the horse shit?  I mean, that would be so much more considerate, right?
Yet another example of a failure properly to consider Rule #18, here.
So much better to resolve these things without having to involve the insurance companies.  Paying and fucking off is actually one of my favourite femdom activities, so it’s even a bit of a turn on too!
Men in this day and age have to realise that there is nothing inherently humiliating about being financially dependent on a woman. The humiliation, if any, is all in the way it is done.






Callous talk




Oh no.  Don’t tell me I married an escape artist.  Again.
Scurry scurry scurry.
Thank goodness it’s nothing personal.
That looks very motivating, doesn’t it?  I think just one of those rods would motivate me, so a whole bunch wrapped together like that… I feel motivated just looking at them.
I wouldn’t mind, but he’s the priest who married us and that just seems wrong.  Still… very nice shoes.

 

Slavish allegiance

Well, I’m… I mean they’re shoes, it’s no big… erm.  Oh all right then.

Her client minds.  But no one cares what he thinks.


Sounds complicated… I’ve forgotten the rules already.  Good thing she’s got a whip.
A lot of men are a bit resistant to having an implant, but I’ve never heard a man who had it complain, so maybe the best thing is just give it a go? 









Jeremy doesn’t complain, either. Obviously a very happy marriage.


Heaven-sent

… and very nice too*




All the ways I could be a better husband?  Wow.  I think I’m going to need two days locked in the stocks, at least.



What a lot of fuss, about a routine operation.  You’d think I was the first person whose tonsils she’d removed.  I… hang on… didn’t I have my tonsils out when I was a teenager? 
Oh, don’t worry: I’ll keep looking. I might cry a little, if that’s OK.

She insists on her tea being just the way she likes it. Also the ironing, bed corners, washing up, bookshelves, underwear drawer, bath, breakfast, ornaments, cushions, carpets, gin & tonic, shoes, lawn, floor tiles, nail polish, ….
The splendidly-named Miss Hunter, on whose wall I would love to end up as a trophy.







Many dommes find the things we submissives do disgusting.  That’s why they so enjoy hitting us.





* but if anyone happens to be able to locate the scene in the British sitcom Game On (rather a lovely ‘situation’: sad male failures share flat with goddess) in which Samantha Janus rushes around putting her make-up on to this song, I’d be most grateful.

Malevolent society

Possibly rather alarming, but don’t worry: she’s a kind and loving person. She has cats, for example.  Cat people are always OK, right?  She has several cats and she loves them dearly.
Fortunately, scurrying is one of the things I do best.



It’s odd, because when I bring up how little I like the idea of giving blow-jobs, she says I shouldn’t rule something out without trying it!  I’m almost tempted to agree with the sexists that women can’t do logic.  But I won’t argue about it.  It’s just very frustrating, though, you know?
Looks like you owe your liberty to her.  I hope you’re grateful.








Poor Diana. Oh well, back to lesbianism I suppose.

Be cruel to thy neighbour

It does, actually.  But it was never very good at it, anyway, so no loss really.
Scurry scurry scurry.

She can track your progress with the little chip thing they insert under your skin. If she can be bothered.

Damn… she’s right.  Eight years I’ve been writing this blog and… oh well.
Thank goodness everyone’s safe.  Everyone who matters, anyway.








I’m just wild about Harry

No, not Archie’s dad.  Her.  I always  have  been.  Rapture!


But no captioned images of the divine Mistress Deborah, I am afraid, as the available ones tend to be fuzzy vid-caps.  Just the usual sort of thing, you know.


But only if you want to, obviously.







The anaestheologist is very skilled in pain management, so there’s no need to worry.
And don’t imagine there’ll be any ankles nakedly on display or anything lewd of that nature!


She’s got some suitable things for you to wear too.
They’re also going to have a little practice the day before, to make sure everything goes smoothly on the big day.  Just on a bit of you that no one will notice.


Feet first


It’s got to turn out my way one of these times…

Hmm… looks like she’s finished all of that bottle of water.
If it were being totally candid, it might suggest that it would occasionally appreciate being whipped just a little less hard, but fortunately it has the sense to keep its moronic opinions to itself.
I don’t see how the marriage can be regarded as consummated unless she has had sex too.  Hmm…  do you suppose that bell-boy is still around?  He seemed nice.
I think he’ll be cleaning her tank again.


Tears before, during and after bedtime

It’s actually quite high in calories, but don’t worry about that because you’re unlikely to be able to keep much of it down.











Thank goodness for that.  I think you can just leave the case in her capable hands.








I dunno – I find shops vary in the degree to which they are kink-friendly. Once I was sent to find some gear for an adult baby session and for some reason the staff in the ‘early years’ shop got all weird about it when I started asking about how strong their leather reins sets were, and whether the cots could be fitted with padlocks. But then on another occasion, I had to buy a hairbrush and the shop assistant in the department store I went to was delighted to help me try every one of them out.  Said it was something she wished she could do to more customers.  So you never know.











Silly boys.  Reinforced seat trousers do little good when they’re around your ankles, anyway.









Male brains don’t multi-task. Mine barely tasks at all, to be honest.  Now then: I was writing a caption..?