slavery – Contemplating the divine

Let her take you on a little trip

It’s another science fiction special. What… you prefer the world of today?

Anyway, it being a science fiction special, you get seven. In both senses.

Obviously, some things have moved on. Shock-collars can draw unlimited power without being plugged in, for instance, so there’s no danger of them running low, and testicular reconstructive surgery has greatly extended males’ ball-busting capabilities. But the eternal truths remain, that’s why they’re called that.

I think society needs exactly that. Urgently.

He also enjoys dressing up as a maintenance bot and mincing around scrubbing out the CO₂ filters.

I appreciate it can be hard sometimes for men to get women to take them seriously, but that’s because we’re ridiculous.

One advantage is that a real human is obviously vastly more creative than a sex robot. Emma has lots of interesting ideas.

Don’t worry: they have plastic sacks that they can bag the males in, when they find them, and those can be sealed to keep the smell in. I expect they’ll make sure there’s plenty of air, and if not… well, they’re not exactly short of males, they’re really just chasing down the renegades out of principle.

You might think that only holographic entities like the Doctor can have their programming adjusted, but that’s not true: just ask any domme.

It takes one woman twenty years to make a man of her son—and another woman twenty minutes to make a fool of him.

Leaving plenty of time for any other things she has planned in the remainder of the session.

Male brains are often fixated upon numbers: how many weeks, how many months… getting on for a year. Whereas women are much more interested in feelings: I’m sure she’d love to hear how unbearably frustrating he’s finding it, but he’s just stuck in Mars-mode.

That’s OK, I’m *really* good at fucking off.

If you’re still unsure how much to pledge, the suggested donation is ‘all of it, idiot!’.

She’s right, you know. It might be best to remember that at all times, from now on.

Oh… it’s just possible some popcorn will fall on the floor during the show, maybe even get squished under her boots. You’re OK dealing with that too, right?

Obviously, the complexities of female supremacist theory are beyond most men, but there are simplified versions aimed at a male readership, such as *Female Supremacy for Idiots*, or, for those finding even that a stretch, *Female Supremacy for Complete Fucking Morons*. Or there are short residential courses that explain everything very clearly.

Now here’s some excellent news: Red Rump is back!

Oh, and also this is rather lovely and has long free trailers. I recommend watching Camille doing her thing, very wonderfully. Très chic!

Quant à moi, peu dormi, vidé, brimé

C’est le 14 juillet, et nous célébrons les déesses républicaines françaises telles que Marianne et… euh…

Liberté, Egalité, Sororité!

Bon, je pense que ça suffit pour la langue française aujourd’hui.

Captions with a vaguely French connection, anyway.

Paris is famous for its stylish leather goods.

One from my ‘advice to a US sub visiting Europe‘ occasional series, obviously. The caption is deliberately misleading: the French insist on following their own local food customs, so you’ll probably find yourself swallowing butts from unfiltered Gauloises, rather then some mild ‘low tar’ cigarettes.

As the label might indicate to even the most male-brained reader, this is of course the magnificent, elegant and beautiful Ibicella, who can be found, worshipped and, ideally, donated to at the address shown. And here she is being adorable.

You might not learn many words in French, but you’ll be *really* good on everyday (and every hour, minute and second) politeness.

And do I really need to mention this is Mistress Eleise? Look, I like maple syrup as much as the next slave, but I can tell you: it is not Canada’s greatest export. I’ve tried both.

Her dungeon doesn’t actually have a view of the Tour Eiffel, you understand. It doesn’t have a view of anything.

There are actually plusieurs esclaves, but they are all much the same.

Or maybe they’re just trying to make things more interesting for the ladies.

P.S. Allez les Bleus! Mais aussi les lions anglais…

P.P.S. OK, so the Bleus didn’t really allez. Or not as much as the Spanish went ándale ándale ándale anyway. So to cheer up any depressed frenchmen – or heterosexual males of any sort, I imagine – here’s the lovely Ibicella, being patriotic.

Shut, shut your mouth

‘cos she’s not listening anyhow.

Isn’t that just the way of it? You’ve met a girl, you think you’re getting on but then all of a sudden the conversation has to end so you can run screaming in terror from a pack of baying hounds, and end up being flayed alive. Story of my life.

It’s important to understand sarcasm when visiting a domme. But never try practising it. “Yeah, I ‘really’ want you to twist my scrotum around, then hang me by it from a hook. That would be ‘so great’, Mistress, ‘thanks'”.

Poor Kitten… she’s had to be so patient. It’s frustrating for her that you never seem to have any money except on payday. Can’t you do something about that?

The thing men’s libbers never really seem to address, is that they’re free to do whatever they want, as long as a woman approves. Honestly, they’re crying over nothing, when there’s so much more they could be crying about.

Or the ground before her feet… probably safer.

Hollywood actresses often get quite embarassed at how many unsolicited slaves they end up owning – they often give them to charities who can force them to work for good causes, I understand.

Supreme authority

Honestly, the sense of entitlement of some men! One little problem and he runs – well, hobbles – straight to her. He doesn’t stop for a moment to think that maybe it’s not the chain that’s the problem, but his attitude.

These absurd DEI initiatives have gone way too far. Boys are actually happier in menial jobs making tea and cleaning shoes. There’ve been, like, studies and stuff.

Certainly always gets – and holds – my attention.

So easily done. Always such a shock when you look up and realise! But this lad’s going to be OK: home safe and sound and the promise of a good hard whipping to help him be more careful next time. He was lucky… there are some cruel ladies out there.

If it was enjoyable they wouldn’t call it ‘hard’ labour, now, would they? Boys can be so stupid. But Barbara knows some educational techniques that work even on males.

Compulsive order

Topping from the bottom again? You’d think he’d have learnt by now. Well… I’m sure she doesn’t want to hurt him any more than is strictly necessary, but there do have to be consequences for that kind of defiance.

I know it’s an established trope that women get annoyed when men come too quickly, but back when I was still dating, I found they didn’t mind at all. Most never even realised it had happened, actually.

It’s a horrible feeling when you realise you’ve locked yourself out. Not one that’s happened to me for years, I’m happy to say, as my SO much prefers the approach of keeping me locked in.

Actually, later she and her friends came up with many more humiliating marks, but they’re young and just getting started in the ways of womanhood, bless ’em.

In the event they wouldn’t bend the rules: they were OK taking him, but they insisted on the full six months quarantine. Which posed a dilemma: on the one hand, she was only going to be there for the two-week holiday, so that seemed a bit excessive, but on the other he *was* being *very* irritating.

Their relationship was much deeper and more meaningful than one based on knowing who the fuck he was, or noticing anything he did. But doesn’t Babs look fabulous in black? Even if he accomplished nothing else in life – and as far as she knows, he didn’t – except giving her an opportunity to wear it after his death, that’s a meaningful life well-lived, right?

If that’s what she wants

Actually, she doesn’t really need gloves either, since she’s mostly going to be working on kicks and knee-ups today.

She’s just making him uncomfortable before she really gets to work. Putting him at his unease, so to speak.

Mr Wuffles is allowed to rub himself against her leg, too, which doesn’t seem at all fair.

Women are amazing at multitasking, while men barely task at all, unless someone is standing over them with a whip.

Oh, and the word “not” has been deleted from Article 42, about castration, but that’s just tidying-up.

If one of her piggies is going to get into serious financial difficulties, she prefers it not to be for a good reason or any worthwhile cause.

Dream girls

The sort where you wake up in a cold sweat with your heart thumping.

Well, if it’s pitiful enough it should, shouldn’t it? That’s what ‘pitiful’ means. Perhaps you could mansplain that to her – it can only help.

I don’t think they’d be in much doubt anyway, but best to make sure.

They pride themselves on delivering the product unharmed. It’s not just for ethical reasons: several of their clients specifically say they want to receive it entirely free of bruises, cuts or burn marks and with all bodily parts still attached. And they are *very* client-focused.

I tried a sperm donation centre once but they didn’t even have a key – so what was I supposed to do? Fortunately, the nurses there saw the funny side.

You don’t want to eat the stripy yellow and red ones, by the way. OK, obviously you probably don’t actually *want* to eat any of them at all, but that’s not my point.

I’d much rather give her a coffee than my opinion.

Embracing inferiority

It’s such a relief to stop pretending.

Between the chores, privileges and of course those ‘little kindnesses’ she so likes you to show her, the day can get quite busy.

Whe nshe got there, she realised that of course they *weren*‘t there – she’d put them in the cellar. She was dreadfully embarrassed, poor thing.

Oh, I hope she’s not going to chat for long. I get so socially awkward in these situations.

Thank goodness. If there’s one thing every men’s group needs, it’s a woman’s guidance. Otherwise the conversation can go in all sorts of unproductive directions. Men can achieve so much when they are all working to a common purpose – imposed by a woman, obviously. Just see how much a chain gang can get done, for instance, given the proper motivation not to slack off.

At least four of them played suspiciously badly… almost as if they wanted to be, to be… no, that’s ridiculous.

Sonme of us want that even less than others. But we’re not the decisive half of ‘us’.

You may only see it once, but that will be enough

Friday the 13th, it is. I’m not superstitious, of course. I believe that rational (and therefore female) thought can explain any apparent mystery. And there’s no such thing as bad luck, not really, except as the working of chance. Like the coin my SO tosses every month (to avoid stressing me out, she tosses it in private and tells me the result): it’s got an equal chance of heads or tails so it’s perfectly understandable that it should have come up tails eleven times in a row – it’s just a one in two thousand chance, that’s all. Which is extraordinarily unlucky, true, but then, as she often points out, I’m extraordinarily lucky to be married to her, so it more than evens out.

Anyway, thought we’d go for a slightly macabre theme today, in contrast to the usual romantic fluff.