slave – Page 9 – Contemplating the divine

Abject bliss

Puppywup gonna dieee-wie.

This magnificant lady is of course from Planet Femdom. The unimpressive boys were free gifts with her weekly magazine.

Things always seem so simple after a birching, don’t you agree? Hmm? Yes – thought you would.

Actually, grammatically speaking it is you who are surprised. She is amazed, startled: something like that.

(Incidentally: little tip if you ever session with a pro-domme. Very few of them – perhaps even none – really appreciate grammatical pedantry from their slaves. Just something I’ve learned (or is learnt?) over the years.)

This is the lovely – if rather sarcastic and humiliating – Selena. If you want to worship her, go to worshipselena.com. Simple. Or wickedheartsboutique or somewhere like that, you know? Yes – I’ll bet you do.

I expect the screaming will become rather irritating after a while. Still, they could always turn the TV up.

This picture will be from menareslaves.com, I imagine.

And if it doesn’t get you stiff, she’ll ask Manuel to stick around for a bit, and maybe the three of you could try something else.

(And this – finally – is the lovely but regretably only occasionally dominant Carla Brown.)

Strictly factual

OK, time for a new series. And I hope at least some of you like it, because I’ve done loads of these, and I’ll post more some time…

OWKfacts, that’s they are. Interesting, and little-known (because untrue) facts about the Other World Kingdom, a much missed now defunct femdom facility in the Czech Republic. I might have mentioned the place once or twice before, now I come to think of it…

All pictures, of course, must originally have come from www.owk.cz and were found either there or on tumblr etc.

Enjoy. Or don’t – see if I care.

Very short femdom story: Burial plot

Burial plot

“I expect you find it strange, not having Mark around the
house any more?”, Amelia said, sympathetically.

“Oh yes” replied Karen.
“After nine years of marriage it’s… well, it’s – “

And she broke off, tears welling up in her eyes. Her friend reached forward and laid a hand on
hers.

“You don’t have to tell me.
I went through it with Colin too.
No matter how prepared you are, it feels so odd, with the house empty. But you know, in the long run it’s best. He was in so much pain in the last few years
– and now you can get on with your life.”

“I know” sniffed Karen.
“It was just – seeing him being buried at the weekend. I thought I’d be ready. But it wasn’t easy.”

She had a thought.
“Would you like to see where he’s buried? I visit every day, you know.”

Amelia smiled, understandingly. “Yes. Yes,
I’d like that.”

They went out into the garden, where a freshly dug patch of
earth made it obvious where Mark’s final resting place was to be found.

“There” Karen said.
“That’s his breathing tube, you see.
The blue one. Then the green one
is for feeding and water. I’ve been feeding him every day, you know. Well – except Tuesday. It was raining too hard.”

She looked a little sad.

“That’s OK”, Amelia said encouragingly, squeezing her arm. “I did just the same at first. But then later on you’ll find you don’t want
to take the time any more, and I expect you’ll install a feeding tank. I only have to fill mine once a month now,
and that’s for both of them.”

The two stood still for a moment, looking silently at the
two little tubes sticking out of the ground.
A blade of grass growing near the mouth of the blue one quivered from
time to time, as Mark’s breathing disturbed the air.

“Did he suffer much, in the last few days?” Amelia enquired.

“Oh yes.” Karen said.
“I made sure of that. By the end, he could barely scream any more.”

“Well then” Amelia said, turning to her friend and smiling
reassuringly. “You’ll always have those
memories. Let’s go and have a cup of tea, and you can try out the new boy.”

And with that, the two friends turned and went back into the
house, leaving Mark to rest forever in peace.

Even naughtier words

So, a while ago, I published a post drawing attention to – oh hang on, you want a sexy picture don’t you?

Got one right here…hold on a moment…don’t go off to tumblr yet, ah – here we go!

Ouch. Anyway, I was just saying that occasionally I like to draw attention to the fact that this blog doesn’t just publish pictures but words too. It’s quite a while since I wrote many stories, but in the early days on Contemplating the Divine (it was originally all in ASCII format incidentally; quite a challenge) there were lots. And newer readers of the blog might not realise that.

Of course, they’re easy enough to find using the ‘fiction’ tag in the cloud to the right there, just below the lovely lady with the whip, but I like to be helpful (my name is a clue, there) so here are some links to some more of those early tales.

If at first you don’t succeed. A rather typical “Mistress Valerie and Sandra” story, based on two ladies I used to know (who had different names). Light-hearted, depending for humour and erotic effect on the contrast between the casual nature with which the ladies treat matters that are, for the submissive, of painful urgency. As indeed do most of my captions, actually. Anyway, here’s another, about Daylight saving time.

Serena stories, like this one called Crossed Wires, on the other hand, while also intended to be humorous, are rather heavier. Mistress ‘Valerie’ mistreats her slaves without really noticing. Serena enjoys their agony. She is also surgically trained; quite a good combination. I have just written a new Serena story… 6500 words, so coming in spurts, as it were, fairly soon.

I think this one was intended as a Serena story, but she ended up being called Sabrina. Possibly just an idiotic mistake on my part. Wouldn’t be the first.

In the morning is just a silly little tale, turning on the difference between the sweeping romantic love with which we sub-males invest our relationships and perhaps a more practical, matter-of-fact approach from our (in this case loving) superiors.

This one is a sort-of school story, but like many of my captions, it’s intended to lift the curtain a little on professional domme relationships. It’s heavily inspired by a story called Dame School in the wonderful collection by Louise Malatesta: The Queen of the Grove. If you take your kink very seriously, you won’t like this sort of thing. But for me, it actually adds to the humiliation that the school scene is not real. As I explain to pro-dommes gracious (and unlucky) enough to receive me – I don’t want them actually to pretend that I’m a naughty boy. I’m a middle-aged pervert being treated like a naughty boy… and they are very welcome to express their contempt and amusement at that.

This one, about a femdom programme taking control of the computer, actually seems to get a lot of hits. Maybe it’s the title? People search for femdom story, and get this? Good.

I do quite a lot of this sort of thing – little pastiches of fairy tales and so on. A bit like captions really.

Finally, I’d completely forgotten it but I wrote a huge, three part tale early on in this blog’s history, about a guy who is living a very heavy femdom relationship, but doesn’t realise it (oh, you’ll just have to read it to see what I mean). Bizarrely, I remember thinking at the time, this was a nice little idea that could be dealt with in a paragraph or two. A Normal Marriage Part 1, followed by Part 2, and then concluded with the excitingly-named Part 3.

Right. If you’ve read down this far, I reckon you deserve another picture of a lovely, don’t you?

Sticks and stones will break my bones

and they have done on occasion when she got a bit carried away.

But words can never hurt me. I sometimes beg my Significant Other to think up humiliating nicknames and insults for me, but she always says she can’t think of anything more degrading she could call me than my real name. It’s odd, because she’s very creative in other areas of BDSM.

Best just to go with it. If you really find it’s not what you were looking for, you can always try asking for your money back at the end.

I wonder which one it was. I guess we’ll never know. Still, he’ll have been properly whipped, and if another three got whipped as well, I’m sure it won’t have done them any lasting harm.

No, not down here. Up there.

Interestingly, there’s a scale for measuring self-esteem, and it’s only since she started this programme that the theoretical prediction that it could go negative has been demonstrated in reality.