Men can learn a lot from women, especially if they are willing to step out of their comfort zones and bend over to learn something new.
Feminine tuition
Category: spanking
Intelligences greater than man’s
It’s a science fiction special.
You want to watch out for those dominatrix sex robots…
Incidentally, in the ‘other’ universe Artemis 9 made a flawless re-entry (female pilots…) but there was an unfortunate misunderstanding when the (tragically male) President greeted the returning heroines. In fairness, everyone agreed that he did have a very slappable face.
Relationships founded on respect
Not mutual respect, obviously. No fun in that.
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| Go on, it’s an opportunity to show off your strength. Girls like that. |
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| An optional 150% service charge will be added to his bill, but of course it’s entirely at her discretion. |
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| I don’t think ‘we’ are going to be doing a lot of talking, except of the begging and pleading variety. Same as usual. |
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| There are penalties for average scores below ‘B’ and rewards for slaves receiving an overall ‘A’, although no one has ever found out what those rewards might be. This guy here is averaging a ‘G’, but then he is very experienced and well-trained so it’s not surprising he’s doing so well. |
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| We were bent over the desk, dreading every stroke, I think, if I remember rightly – and wondering why we can’t just enjoy normal sex, like normal people do. |
True love’s first slap
Yes, it’s Valentine’s Day, a day when humiliation freaks worldwide will rush down to the letterbox in the morning, to revel deliciously in the proof that once again, not a single one of the three billion females in the world has the slightest romantic interest in any of us.
Actually, I did once receive a Valentine card, from this girl I really fancied at school and didn’t have the courage to tell of my feelings for her, but it turned out it she had sent it to the wrong address and it was intended for someone else. Goodness, how everyone laughed and laughed when that little mix-up was revealed in class, after I got down on my knees to confess my long-standing love for her. I hope she wasn’t too humiliated by her error being exposed so publicly, poor thing.
I do have a couple of Valentine-themed captions, as it happens, but not a
full set of five, so I thought I’d… what’s that, readers? You say you don’t
give a flying fuck whether I creatively theme the blog or not? That you
just want to masturbate to images of pretty ladies saying humiliating
or vaguely menacing things, so why don’t I shut the fuck up and get on
with it?
Oh. OK then.
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| You could cavil at the poor quality of the photo, but this is Mistress Ardenne so even a blurry photo is more beautiful than 99.999999999999% of things on the planet. Long retired, I’m sure, so don’t even ask, OK? |
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| Wow. No time for second thoughts – let’s tie the knot! |
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| My SO says the same: apparently it’s ‘easier’ to leave me locked up. Personally, I’ve never had any real difficulties masturbating (except when my penis is locked in a tube, or I’m in tight bondage or agonising pain, that is) so I don’t really see why that should be but I don’t doubt she’s right. For one thing ‘doubting she’s right’ is #255 on the list of forbidden activities, just 243 places below masturbation itself. |
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| Selecting honesty level two would have got you “Oh… it’s all right, I suppose. A bit below average but I’ve seen worse.” |
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| Funny how it still feels just like that very first date you went on together. Some relationships are like that, but it’s very rare. |
Savage elegance
… and elegant savagery too. Both are good.
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| She’s being remarkably patient with you, but patience has its limits you know. |
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| I’m not sure it’s entirely sensible to assign such an important task to someone who is obviously completely unqualified and inexperienced. Those plants need just the right amount of water: too much and they drown, too little and they dry out. |
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| He’ll have plenty of opportunity to think about it, which is just as well, given he is male. |
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| Poor Treasure… I’m sure she is wracked with paroxysms of guilt. Maybe she needs a kiss and a cuddle, hmm? |
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| Girl talk… good thing the guys have got more important things to be getting on with, than sitting around listening to her prattle on. |
Beast
Rather uniquely for me, this is a lesbian BDSM tale. No really: it’s not going to be another one of those where it seems to start off with some kind of femsub vibe but then has a (entirely foreseeable) plot twist in which the tables are turned and a male ends up being punished. There are simply no males in the story to end up in that position. So if scenes of the superior sex being spanked distress you, even when the spanker is another member of the same superior sex, don’t read this.
It’s a schoolgirl scene. Obviously, the two schoolgirl characters have both just passed their eighteenth birthdays, conveniently enough. They should be understood to be at the sort of posh British girls’ boarding school that features in old fashioned British school stories. The girls there are all jolly good sports, of course, but occasionally… just occasionally one of them might do something to offend another and be accused (in a cut-glass British accent) of being ‘an absolute beast!’.
Beast
“Oh I say” Harriet said to her friend admiringly. “You’ve put on your school prefect’s tie! It looks awfully smart on you.”
“Thanks” Angela smiled, fingering the garment around her neck, whose thin yellow stripe superimposed on the normal school colours symbolised her newfound rank. “Miss Gorman put up the list of new school prefects today, so it’s official.” I’ve got this room too, all to myself.
“Well I hope your new importance won’t turn you into one of those stuck-up prigs!” Harriet replied, smiling back. “You’re still Ange to me and we’re still chums, I hope.”
Angela’s expression turned serious. “Well, I hardly think it’s conducive to maintaining good discipline if I let you call me Ange, I’m afraid. ‘Angela’ from now on I think. Or even ‘Williamson’”
She burst out laughing at her friend’s crestfallen face. “I’m joking, silly! Of course I’m Ange!”
“Although… she went on. “In all seriousness, I have now taken a vow to uphold the school rules, you know, Hat. And I do intend to do my best to do that.”
“Of course” her friend replied. “Rah rah and up the jolly old school, what!”
Angela smiled, more thinly this time.
“No. But I do have an obligation to report any rule-breaking I hear about, Hat. If I were to learn that anyone had been… for instance… sneaking out to buy chocolate without a pass and storing it at the back of her locker.”
Harriet’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ of shock.
“You wouldn’t! Would you, Ange? Anyway, I gave some of it to you – just yesterday, for instance. You’d get in trouble too!”
Angela shook her head slowly.
“Nothing in the rules to stop a girl accepting a present from a friend, Hat. I didn’t sneak out, did I? No… I’m afraid…”
“Surely there’s something I can do…” stammered Harriet. “You can, you can have all of the rest of the chocolate, if you – “
“Attempting to bribe a prefect in the performance of her duties” tutted Angela, still slowly shaking her head. “No, Harriet, I’m afraid that won’t do at all. However, I am prepared to resolve this without taking it to any of the teaching staff, as a special favour to you, given our long friendship.”
And she reached over to a table, to where her gym kit lay strewn and picked up a plimsoll* and eyed, it thoughtfully.
Now it was Harriet’s eyes that formed perfect ‘O’s as she stared at her friend gently tapping the thin rubber shoe against the palm of her hand.
“Surely… surely you don’t mean…” she stammered.
“One of the more unpleasant duties my prefectorial responsibilities require of me, I’m afraid.” sighed Angela. “Of course, if you’d rather I took it to Miss Rathbone…”
“No…no” Harriet burst out desperately. “Please don’t tell on me Ange. I’ll let you – “
“I think we will make it ‘Angela’ now, just for this” her friend interrupted. “And it’s not about letting me. Confess your crimes and ask. Politely.”
And she went to sit down on a small armless chair and stared up at the other girl expectantly.
“Ange… ela I, erm, I broke school rules by sneaking out to the shop without a pass, to buy sweets.” Harriet said, in a low, hesitant tone.
“Dear me.” Angela replied. “Whatever shall we do about that, Harriet?”
“I’d like you to punish me, please Angela”, Harriet replied, her face turning crimson with shame. “To… to smack me with that plimsoll.”
And, trembling slightly, she held her left hand out, palm up.
“Don’t be ridiculous, kiddo” Angela said curtly. “You’re going over here”.
And she indicated her lap, where her knees and lower thighs lay bare, beyond the length of her pleated school skirt.
“You’re going to… going to…” Harrier stammered.
“Smack your bottom.” nodded the prefect. “And don’t think you’re keeping your knickers on, either.”
“You want me to take my knickers off?” Harriet replied in horror.
“Or I can do it” shrugged Angela, reaching up.
“No, no, I’ll do it” shrieked her friend, hurriedly hooking her thumbs into the elastic and pushing down.
Before the shapeless blue cotton knickers had reached her ankles, she found herself being pulled across her friend – former’s friend’s – lap.
“Oh you beast, Ange” she said bitterly.
“Now now” Angela replied, briskly folding Harriet’s skirt up across her back. “Less backtalk.”
“Ange, please, I – OWWW! Ow, that hurt, Ange you – OWWW!”
And so it began.
Forty minutes later. Two piles of schoolgirl uniform lie untidily beside the bed. The plimsoll sits abandoned on the equally abandoned chair. The bed, designed for just one person, is clearly full beyond capacity, though, as what seems a single shapeless mass gently moves under the covering blanket. A nearby listener (there are none) would hear soft murmuring.
Beast. Beast!
Oh, you deserved it. Anyway, you asked me to do it.
Only because you said you’d tell on me if I didn’t! My bottom’s going to be sore for a week! Beast.
Didn’t I kiss it better enough, then?
And that’s another thing! I’m not a lesbian, you know!
Really? You gave a very good impression of one. Twice.
I hardly had the choice, did I? It was… it was rape is what it was. I can’t believe you did that, you beastly thing. After we’ve been chums all these years without ever… ever… well, you know. I should tell Miss Rathbone you raped me. Twice.
Oh…well, I suppose if you’re going to do that, you might as well tell her it happened three times. At least… C’mere, kiddo.
Oh! Oh, Ange, you… you b… b… – Oh. Oh, yes, there! Oh Ange!
The next day
“Oh, Harriet! Would you mind taking Angela Williamson this book” Miss Lavery said brightly, as the girls filed out of her class. She held out a book. “She’s in your dorm, isn’t she?”
“Happy to, Miss Lavery” Harriet replied. “But of course she’s got her own room next to the dorm, now. She’s a prefect, you know.”
“Oh yes, of course” the grey-haired teacher replied. “Well done her. How’s she taking to it?”
Oh, erm… all right I suppose, Miss” Harriet replied, her hand fluttering back as if to pat her skirted bottom for reassurance, before being firmly stopped in an effort of the will. “I suppose it’s quite a lot of responsibility… for enforcing the school rules and suchlike. It’s a bit weird, for those of us who are friends with her too.”
“A lot easier than it was when I was at school” Miss Lavery laughed. “You know, back then prefects were allowed to discipline the students directly. With corporal punishment. At least you don’t have that to worry about!”
“Aren’t prefects allowed to discipline the other girls any more then?” Harriet asked, forgetting the customary ‘Miss’ in her confusion. “I thought…”
“Good lord, Harriet, of course not. This isn’t the 1960s you know!”
“No… no of course it isn’t” replied Harriet thoughtfully. Then she brightened up.
“Thanks Miss!” she said cheerfully, and rushed out of the classroom, holding the book.
Later on
“What are you doing in my room? Very serious business entering a prefect’s room without permission, Hat! I hope I don’t have to… to…”
And Angela’s voice trailed off in confusion, as she stared at her friend, who was seated in the chair in the middle of the small room, holding the plimsoll in her right hand and tapping it gently against the palm of her left.
“As serious as violently assaulting a fellow pupil with something like this?” Harriet replied coolly. “And then forcing her into lesbian sex – repeated lesbian sex – all on the pretext of prefectorial powers that were abolished forty years ago? That sounds pretty serious to me… probably would to Miss Rathbone, too.”
Angela stood in silence. Harriet sighed.
“Whatever shall we do about that, Angela? Hmm?”
She did not wait for a reply, instead simply pointing to the other girl’s waist and flicking her finger downwards in an unmistakable gesture of command.
“Oh…” gasped Angela, as with bottom bared and with hot tears of shame welling up in her eyes, she found herself slipping over her friend’s lap. “Oh you beast, I – OWWW!”
And so once again it began. And there, dear reader, we will depart the scene and leave the two chums to it. Whatever ‘it’ might be and whatever other ‘its’ might follow.
Epilogue – ten years later.
Angela is a lawyer in one of the smartest City firms of solicitors; Harriet a journalist writing features for a trendy magazine. They share a flat near Edgware Rd in London and although both lead busy professional lives, they make sure that at least twice a week they return to it in time to spend a full evening together. One or other will cook, usually something quick and simple, and they eat quite hurriedly. Hanging up in the cupboard in their bedroom are two school uniforms: the same school uniforms, into which they both still just about fit . Harriet now finds her blouse rather tight, but Angela says she prefers her like that, so Harriet squeezes herself in.
But the two ties are different, so a choice must be made. One of the ties bears simply their old school colours, while the other displays the striking addition of a thin yellow stripe, betokening higher status. Sometimes, they have already agreed who will wear the prefect’s tie. If one of them, for instance, forgets that it is her turn to take out the rubbish on dustbin day, she might lay the prefect tie out for the other to possess, in a gesture of apology. If neither has any particular reason to accept to wear the ordinary tie, they might discuss over dinner whose turn it is. But they can rarely agree, so it often turns into a sudden rush for the cupboard and to the victor who grabs it first, the prefectorial spoils. Of course, having been the beneficiary of an expensive education, the loser always puts on her less colourful tie without argument… but sometimes, just sometimes, if she feels the tactics by which the other had seized the prefect’s tie were a little… underhand, she might hiss out a resentful “Beast!”
And then it begins.
[THE END]
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* A ‘plimsoll’ is, or was, a British sports shoe: a simple canvas upper over a rubber sole. Like a trainer (or even a ‘sneaker’) but thinner, much less complicated and never, ever fashionable. But they had their uses…
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| Something like this… although these don’t look very clean. I’m sure well brought-up English schoolgirls would never spank one another’s bottoms with a plimsoll that had seen outdoor use. After all, there’s always the hairbrush… |
Charming savagery
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| Of course, it’s not actually a threesome if only two get to come… maybe you’d better explain that to them. |
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| Perhaps you could learn German instead. I hear she offers lessons. |
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| They also serve who only stand and wait. |
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| The next bit might not be entirely consensual and safe, truth be told, but who really cares? |
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| Always a bit tricky when she really does want to discuss it rather than just to ‘discuss it’. Like many subs I prefer to keep my side of the conversation to profuse thanks and occasional bouts of crying, when being spanked, but my preferences rarely if ever enter into it. |
NB, tonight the Servitor household are packing up the whips, canes and portable travel-cage to head off for two weeks of sun, sea, sand and sadism. Long term readers, who were here in the days before The Thing will know what this means…
Maleness, managed
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| Some might say it’s not quite summer yet, so it’s a bit early to be putting him outside for the night, but she says the fresh air’s good for him. |
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| It’s the extras that really define how well a marriage will work. This one looks strong. |
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| Har de har har. Sorry about that. |
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| Always a bit embarrassing to meet an old flame, but she’s making the effort so you should too. |
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| You know, her relationship with Raoul would probably break down completely if you weren’t around. Well done you. |
She looked like something special
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| Perhaps she’ll bring you a treat. |
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| Where there’s a will – and strong pelvic muscles, restraints and plenty of lube – there’s a way. |
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| Some valuable soft skills there, to complement the hard skill set many of the senior staff already have. |
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| If men’s libbers feel oppressed, they’ve got no one to blame but themselves. |
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| Raoul has a gay friend! Sign of the times. Maybe he’s moving on from those ridiculous old-fashioned attitudes. |
Correct me if I’m wrong…
… or if I’m right, for that matter.
Another year, more of the same. Here we go.
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| Three and a half men, then. |
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| Some people have complicated femdom fantasies. Others just have simple femdom realities. |
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| Here – have you heard this one? Why did the blonde in charge of the Sexist Detention Centre press the red button in her office? To give all the inmates a series of agonising electric shocks! OK, you might not think it funny but, believe me, she does. |
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| She’s not really a believer in unisex fashion, you see. |
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| Don’t get her wrong – she’s prepared to accept there’s plenty of room for improvement in the relationship. Just not in anything she does. |
