Category: story

Croaked

The Frog Prince
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The frog sat still on Princess Maria’s palm, its only
movement an occasional bulging out of its throat, as its big round eyes watched
her.

“A prince?” she said thoughtfully, after a while.  “Prince of where?”
 
 

“Of Lower Lotharingia”, the amphibian croaked.  “A land of prosperous farmers and merchants
waiting to welcome me back with my beautiful queen, if you would do me that homour.  It is blessed with a fine climate, and
limitless wealth from its – “
 
 

“Silver mines” she interrupted.  “Yes, I know all about them.  Daddy lets me sit in on the military
briefings.  We’ve 200,000 men poised on the
borders, and we’ve made a deal with Upper Lotharingia to split the country
between us.  The enemy army’s just a bunch of part-time soldiers – merchants and farmers. They won’t last two days against our armoured divisions.  Then we can enslave the survivors and put them to work in the silver mines.  Daddy thinks we can double
the output! A chain-gang of 30 miners can produce almost 30 ounces of silver a day, if they’re whipped hard enough.”
“So why would I want to marry you?”
 
 

“But… but you could be a beloved queen, and – “ the frog
began.

“Or a despotic empress” she laughed, picking the animal up
by its back foot, where it dangled helplessly for a moment, before being tossed
onto the sun-baked flagstones for the crows.
 
Try clicking on ‘fairy tale’ in that word cloud to the right, if you liked the words, and on ‘heart-stopping beauty’ if you preferred the pictures.

Let down your hair

 


No – don’t try to struggle. 
I tie men up for a living you know! 
I do know how to make sure they can’t get free.  Just wait quietly while the glue sets.

I said quietly! 
There’s really no point in trying to talk.  I can’t understand what you’re saying through
that gag.  And anyway, I don’t care.

You know, I thought I recognised your voice, when you phoned
to make the appointment?  But I couldn’t
place it.  But the very moment you walked
through the door, I remembered of course. 
Billy.  Billy the bully.

I suppose you call yourself ‘William’ now, do you? Maybe
you’re a reformed character too, hmm?  Or
are you just as unpleasant to the people you work with as you were to us at
school?  Hmm?  Especially the women, I expect.  Unless you want something from them – I’ll
bet you’re a real arse-licker to boss, hmm? 
You always were.
 
 

So now here we are. 
Dominatrix and client.  Helen and
William.  God – that year when we had
French together with Madame Kerguelen!  I
was sitting right on front of you.  I
don’t think my head ever stopped hurting that year.  You were such an evil little bastard.  You know I even got detention once for crying
out, when you tugged really hard?  Maybe
I should do that to you too – make you sit alone in a room for a few hours.

But it’s the hair-pulling that I really want you to
try.  You see all that apparatus up
there?  Well, when that glue has set in
your hair, the cords I’ve threaded all the way through it will be meshed firmly
into your hair.  And I’ll attach them to
some of those chains and then we’ll start to have some fun.

“A bit of fun”? 
Wasn’t that how you always described it?

Well, Billy boy, this is a pro-domme dungeon and I really
know how to have fun.  Pull the hair and
make her cry, that was your favourite game, wasn’t it?  Well, here we’ll play it with grown-up
equipment.

I’ll attach the chains to some of those little pullies I’ve
got up there, and I’ll put weights on them. 
And we can slowly pull your hair. 
You see – I’ve got some on the side, as well?  So I can pull parts of your hair in different
directions.  And I think from time to
time I’ll pick one up in my hand and attach a particularly heavy weight – and
then I’ll drop it.  For a good old-fashioned
tug. 
 
Just like old times.
 
 
 

The part of Domina Rapunzel in this tale was played by the original, mysterious, alluring and occasionally terrifying Mistress Eleise de Lacey.

Trustee

Ah, now that’s Servitor.  Nasty perverted little piece of work, but
he’s a trustee now so he’s allowed outside.

You see, we had this competition among
inmates for ideas on how life here could become less pleasant.  And Servitor came up with the daily branding.
Of course, we already knew that the inmates hate the branding iron, more than
anything else.   But you can’t burn them
every day, they wouldn’t last their sentences.

So this clever little weasel came up with
the idea of strapping each inmate down every day.  The guard stands behind the prisoner, and
grabs a red-hot iron, but she also grabs one that’s just slightly warm.  Then another guard rolls two dice. If she
rolls two sixes, he gets the glowing brand, if she rolls anything else he gets
the cold one.  But the movement is just
the same each time, so he won’t know until he feels it.

We do them in rows of 10 or so.  According to this little worm, there’s a 25%
chance of at least one of them being burnt in each row. Every single day, back
they come, for their branding time. 

Quite the clever little worm!  But not a very lucky one are you,
prisoner?  Show Sergeant Woods your arse!

See? Got three already.  He probably goes around all day dreading
it.  They all do.  More than two years of his sentence to go… how many more double sixes, eh Servitor?
Every one of them richly, richly deserved.

The parts of the lovely (but firm!) guards in this short tale were played by Mistress Eleise de Lacey and Miss Woods.  The part of the clever servitor was played with some difficulty by the real, stupid, Servitor.

Making babies together

Hey there!  Morning
tiger!  How ya doing?
You want to ring a doctor? Oh!  Why?  Is something wrong?

Awww… not too personal to tell me, surely honey?
Not gonna tell? OK. Let me guess. The end of your prick has swollen up and it’s
red and sore, right?  And you’re feeling
kinda woozy?

 
Uh huh.  Well, I know
what that is.

What!??  No!  It is NOT a sexually transmitted
disease.  Honey!
No, it’s much more beautiful
than that. We’re going to have a baby! 
Well… I am.  But you’re going to
hatch it.

Remember when we fucked last night, and you felt a sudden
sharp sting at the end of your cock? 
Well, that was me! And it wasn’t a sting, it was an egg-laying
proboscis.  And right now my lovely
little daughter is all curled up inside your cock, ready to grow.

No…no, don’t try to leave, honey.  She wants to be with her Mommy.  And if she senses we’re growing far apart,
she’ll release more of the paralysis toxin. 
The only reason you’re conscious is that I’m here.  She only needs to do that for a few days,
though.  She’s got filaments spreading
along your nerve fibres, and when they reach your brain she can take
control.  You’ll be free to move and
speak and stuff, but she’ll be in charge. 
That way she can keep you safe as she incubates and feeds.  It’s like being carried around wrapped in a cushion
of your favourite food!

Hmm?  Oh, about nine
months, rather like you humans.  She’ll
burrow up into your torso in about a week or so, though, there’s not enough
flesh in your cock to sustain her for more than a few days. She’s got feeding
tendrils that’ll spread throughout your body… muscles, liver, lungs.  She’ll take a little from everywhere, try to
keep you alive as long as possible.  Your brain’s probably going to be last on her menu – it’s kinda yummy but if you eat it up too quick, the host dies too soon.

Anyway, have some of this fruit. You’re probably hungry,
right?  That’s her as well, trying to
fatten you up.  I’ll fix breakfast.  You want some
pancakes?  I can do pancakes, the old-fashioned way.  With maple syrup!

The true Scotch

Although
these days, there are Scottish-sounding brands available everywhere, the true
connoisseur knows that nothing can match the genuine product of the
Highlands.  Lochgelly (some insist on “The Lochgelly”), is a
name known to connoisseurs the world over, with good reason.


The dark
hue, redolent of the rich Scottish peat, the way the upper surface catches the
light… The glorious blend of smells diffusing from the slightly smoky well-cured leather
tinged with a subtle oil, that harmonises perfectly with the inevitable scents of
sweat and fear.
 
And the
taste!  Oh, the taste.  Many have tried to describe it,
none with true success. ‘Like an explosion across all five senses’.  ‘When you first experience it you think this
can has to be the end – an unrepeatable, once in a lifetime experience.  But then it comes again, and again, and
again…’  The sharp sting from the initial
contact with the surface of the skin is soon overwhelmed by a glow of pain that
penetrates deep into the body.  The
aftertaste can still be experienced days later. 
One of our young interns recently spent a day at Lochgelly, tasting one tawse after
another, and was almost incapable of speech by the end of the day. ‘A truly
humbling experience’ he eventually confessed.
 

‘Just
holding a Lochgelly in my hand makes me smile’, declares Miss Evangeline
Porter, of the Porter Reform School for young gentlemen. ‘Whether it’s the start of a full
day’s work with a class of 20 unruly pupils, or just a quiet evening in with my
husband, there’s a moment of silence when I first pick up the Lochgelly. I
like to savour that peaceful moment, taking my time so I can more fully
appreciate the pleasure I know is to come. And I always raise the Lochgelly in
a silent tribute to its makers, before I begin.’


Whether it’s
the classic single-tail cracking across the palms of the hands, a two-tail delivering a quick lesson in obedience or a more modern
three-tail being used to deliver a bruising in conjunction with a whipping bench, a Lochgelly will
always deliver the perfect end to a hard day – or the beginning of a night to
remember! So treat yourself.  There are
some luxuries you can’t afford to be without.

Distance learning


Yes, I
suppose I do like to take it seriously. 
I’m always uncomfortable when I see dommes who are all latex and boots in what’s
supposed to be a school scene, you know? 

Actually,
I’ve got a client who can’t get enough realism. We discovered this online
tuition outfit – puts you in touch with a tutor to take you through a whole
GCSE course, and at the end of it you take the exam and everything. He used to
send essays and tests off to some lady in Macclesfield, and she’d mark
them. 
 
Then we had a system: the strap
for less than 18/20, the cane for less than 14/20. We had a strict rule for how
many strokes, and any additional lines or detention punishment.  You know – so it wouldn’t be me as a Mistress
deciding; it would all be about the schoolwork.
 
And then he’d take the proper exam at the end of it – you can do it online these days.  With more punishment – obviously! – for any grade less than an A.
 
 

So it was all working out fine, he was doing course after course.  Getting so many qualifications!  Languages, sciences, all sorts of
things.  I think he was quite a high-flying lawyer, though, so I don’t suppose a few more GCSEs did him that much good.  Anyway, one day it went a bit
wrong. He’d accidentally included some kind of email to me about his next
session, in one of the packages of essays for her.  So I come down one morning, and there’s this
nicely spoken lady on my doorstep, demanding very politely to know what the
blankety-blank is going on!
 
Of course,
she had the address because we’d used this one for the deliveries. He used to
come here, and I’d open the envelope right there and read out the grades and
any comments in front of him – with all the implements on display.  A bit difficult for me, actually, not to be in
control of a session like that. He might have 19/20 and just be sent into the
bathroom for a hand-job, or he might have 12 or so and need a good caning
followed by lines and detention.  Made it
hard to plan my day.

Well, I couldn’t leave her standing there so I asked her in for tea and at first I wasn’t going to say anything.
Client confidentiality and all that.  But
then I thought – you know, in a way we’ve been involving her in this thing
without her consent. It’s not really fair. So without giving her his real name,
I told her everything. 
 
She went
white!  But she listened to it all in
silence.  Showed her the room with the
whipping bench and the canes and things like that.  She looked pretty shocked, but she was quite
calm.  Calm and quiet.  She’d once given him just 9/20 for a piece of
work – that was the worst grade he’d ever had – and she asked me what he’d got
for that, so I said 36 with the cane and writing seven hundred lines in
detention. But she didn’t say anything… just nodded and reached out, gently
touched one of the canes as if she was thinking about what it must have been
like for him.  She asked a few more
questions, but I think she was just being polite by then.  She wanted to leave, so we quickly finished
our tea and off she went.
 
 

And, as luck
would have it – or bad luck if you like – he was just arriving for a
session.  He turned the corner of the
road just as she was coming up to the end. 
He told me their eyes met.  Of
course, he didn’t know what to think at the time, didn’t know who she was, but
when I got here I told him all about it. And he said that when their eyes met,
he knew that she knew it was him!  Isn’t
that weird! 
 
 

Anyway.  We thought that would be that, so I started
looking around for another online tutor. But then he got a message asking where
his essay on Cromwell’s reforms of the legal system was, as part of his GCSE on British constitutional history, so he wrote one up
quickly, and sent it off.

Came back
covered in red ink.  8/20 for content
minus 4 for lateness.  I’ve never given
anyone such a beating.  He literally
could not sit down for a week – which was a shame, as he had several thousand lines to write. Fortunately, his next essay was a bit better: he’d have got 15 if she hadn’t taken a few points off for messy handwriting.
 
He got a starred A for that subject, when he finally came to take the exam.  Examiner’s report said it was the best script he’d ever seen.  Well, I suppose he is a lawyer.  He hasn’t done quite as well on any since, although it’s rare he doesn’t get at least an A, nowadays.

Funny how
things turn out sometimes, isn’t it?
 
Anyway, can’t stand here talking all afternoon.  So what it’s going to be today?  The cane for masturbation, was it?  Right then, you go and get into your uniform, and I’ll set up in here.

 End
 

Note for foreign chaps: GCSEs are the exams English* pupils take when they’re fifteen or sixteen.  But those of us whose emotional and sexual development is eternally stuck at that age could take more of them at any time, I suppose.

 
Note for everyone: all of these lovely pictures are of Miss Porter, of the English Governess site. I hope she isn’t cross with me for using them like this.  That would be just awful… 
 
*Note for pedants.  Yes ‘English’ not ‘British’.  Well, English and Welsh.  They do it differently in Scotland.  That’s why the story above does not mention tawses.

And – finally – here’s a bonus caption, also voiced by the divine Miss Porter, bearing some rather unsettling news!
 

Legal niceties

 

 

 

Well, I
don’t know which out-of-date law books you’ve been reading, Mr Harris, but as
your attorney I have to inform you that you are labouring under a complete
misapprehension.  There hasn’t been
‘alimony’ for over ten years, now. 
There’s no question of your retaining any money, once you’re no longer
married!  Your joint bank account will be
closed so of course any income you receive will be paid into hers, for a period of time of not less than eight years.

 
What?  Division between the parties?  What are you talking about? In a lesbian marriage sure, there’s a need to split the property. But there’s only one female party in this case, so of course everything goes to her. 
 
No – the
only question for the judge is whether you’ll be sufficiently self-motivated to
continue to work hard under these arrangements, or whether she should be given
possession of you for a period of time to ensure collection.

Hmmm?  Well, yes of course that would be slavery Mr
Harris.  What else did you expect?

 

Now… your
wife’s lawyers are insisting on 25 years slavery with full punitive rights as a
non-negotiable item in the settlement. 
But that’s probably just a tactic. 
If we offer – say – ten years in her service, with whipping rights but
no branding, we’d probably get into a negotiation and with a bit of luck you’ll
be out of chains in, oh, fifteen years at the most, without too much damage.

Hmmm.  Oh dear. 
Except we have Judge Elliott. 
She’s not usually very favourable to men.  How do you feel about offering your wife
castration rights?  That could sway
things quite a bit.  We can try for a
guarantee of anesthetic, if you’re squeamish.
 
My fees, Mr Harris? Oh don’t worry about that.  The question of legal fees won’t even arise until you’ve completed your period of servitude to her.  Then the accumulated sum and interest is converted to a simple annual payment, with a court-appointed overseer given whipping rights to ensure collection.  But my fees will be quite light – don’t worry.  Of course, you’ll have to pay her lawyers too.  But in any case, that’s at least fifteen years away, so I wouldn’t worry about it now.
 
Now… your wife’s likely to want to put you over the witness bench and have you cross-examined.  So the court can determine how badly you’ve behaved to her.  So, let’s make a list of all the ways you have wronged her over the years.  Selfishness, harsh words, betrayal, unkind thoughts about her… that kind of thing.  It’s best to be as honest as possible with me at this stage, as it will all come out in court, anyway.  Opposing counsel can be very persuasive and they can keep you strapped there over the witness bench as long as they like.

 

 
What’s that, Mr Harris?  Have I ever been through a divorce?  What a peculiar question to ask your lawyer.  Yes, I have as a matter of fact.  Twice, actually.  So I suppose I do know a bit about what you’re going through. 
 
Hmmm?  Yes, I suppose my ex-husbands do know all about it too!  I don’t know much about what they thought of it, though.  I don’t really speak to them very often.  And of course, they’re not allowed to speak without my permission or in response to a specific order, so we don’t talk much.
 
No, they’re not here.  I don’t keep them in the office.  The man scrubbing the floor you probably saw on the way in belongs to Julie, my secretary. I handled the case for her, actually.  Believe me – you do not want to end up like him!  We ended up setting a legal precedent there – he’d only been married six months but she got him for twenty-seven years!   Quite a triumph. But I’m on your side in this one – so you’ve really nothing to worry about.  Have you?
 
 
As you might have realised, the part of the helpful divorce lawyer in this tale was played by the glorious Eleise de Lacy.  Yeay! 

New job


So, that’s that!  Last
session.  Hope you enjoyed it.
Hmm?  No – I’m giving
up the business completely, I’m afraid. 
Got another job!
You know about this new programme they have for convicted
rapists?  Hard labour and corporal
punishment  – well, it’s just like the
job, isn’t it?  They even keep them in
chastity belts.
So I saw an ad for prison guards and I thought ‘why
not?’  I didn’t think they’d really want
a pro-domme, but I had an interview and then they gave me a rapist to work on –
you know, show what I could do.  I really
enjoyed it, actually.  Just brought home
to me how much I hate pandering to you lot – dressing up like this, not really
hitting hard, safewords, all that. So I really went for it. 
And they said it was great! Later on, when he had his apology
session with his victim, they said they’d never seen anyone begging for mercy
so frantically.  Didn’t do him any good –
she gave him the maximum additional years. 
Apparently they always do.
 
 

So yeah, I start next Tuesday. No more pro-domme, no more
clients.
Hmm? No, I don’t want to stay in touch. If that’s all right.
It was always just business. You know? 
There are plenty more dommes. You just have to accept that you’re not
seeing me again.
Well yes, I suppose we would see each other again if you rape someone!  But really, you do not want to meet me like
that.  You wouldn’t believe how much more
it hurts when I really mean it.
Oh – and rape is not a joking matter.  Rather a bad note to end on, don’t you think?  But then you always were a bit of a tosser.  Now fuck off.
Yeah, you too. Bye. Stay out of trouble.
 
 

 
The role of the divine Goddess Heather in this story was played by, errr, Divine Goddess Heather, appearing in a Femme Fatale Films photoshoot.
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