Cashless society

A silly little tale.  But could it happen in reality?  You decide.

Sometimes Dennis wished he’d been born a hundred years
before.  ‘I mean, what was wrong with
just using money anyway?’ he asked himself furiously, as the line in front of
him to the check-out slowly shortened. 
Or cheques, he thought.  I could
really be good with cheques.  Just sign
your name – done.

The man in front of him reached the checkout desk.  He wasn’t buying much – just a couple of
pairs of socks.  Dennis, in contrast, was
laden down with clothes of all descriptions. He tried to buy as much as he
could each time.

“That’s £8.25, thank you sir.” he heard the shop assistant
say.  “If you’d like to just place your
penis into the scanner for ID verification.”

Dennis surreptitiously glanced past the man’s broad back, to
see a large pink object being deposited in the half-cylinder on the counter,
with an audible thwack.  After a few
seconds, there was a quiet ‘beep’ and the penis was put back inside the man’s trousers and he zipped up.  A small green light was winking on the device
on the counter, with two red lights beside it. 
Two red lights! Dennis stared with horror.  The WR-20s only had one red light.  This must be one of the new VC8000
models!  He’d only come to this shop
because he was confident it still used WR-20s. 
At least those usually worked after the third or fourth try.

He considered running, but it was too late.  The man in front had taken his socks and
gone, and the sales assistant was smiling vacantly at him.

“All these is it?  Do
you have a storecard with us at all?”

Dennis shook his head sullenly as he wondered why sales
assistants all had that strange way of speaking. 
Why put emphasis on the ‘have’? 
And what on earth is ‘at all’ supposed to mean in that context?

But he couldn’t distract his mind for long from his
impending fate, and soon enough the assistant was saying “That’ll be £458.75
altogether, please.  If you’d like to
just place your penis into the scanner for ID verification.”

Taking a deep breath, Dennis opened his flies and pushed
himself as hard as he could against the edge of the counter.  His penis, looking smaller and more
shrivelled even than usual, just managed to cover the first inch or so of the
VC8000’s black length. Nothing happened.

“Just be a moment” the shop assistant said, apparently to
the air beside her.  “Sometimes it’s a
bit temperamental.”  They waited a bit
longer.

Eventually, she seemed to snap out of her shop assistant
trance and notice that something wasn’t right. 
She pressed an elegantly manicured finger to a button on the side of the
VC8000.  Three red lights flashed angrily
in response.

“I’ve never seen it do that before.” she said,
uncertainly.  “Maybe we could try another
– “

“My penis is too small to activate the scanner”, Dennis
said, very fast and low.  “Please – it’s
OK, you can take a manual ID verification instead.  You’ve done it before.”

“Eh?” the assistant replied. 
“Shall we try another scanner?”

Dennis swore inside. 
“No” he said through gritted teeth. 
“My penis is too small to activate the scanner.  It won’t work in any of them.”

“Oh.” the assistant said, looking a bit worried.  She turned to the lady next to her and spoke
in a singsong conversational voice: “Gentleman says his penis is too small to
activate the scanner, Mrs Dawes.”

The older lady looked dismissive.  “Oh no – just shove it a bit further up.  They’re very good these days.”

“Could you shove it a bit further up for me?” the assistant
asked brightly, and Dennis made a show of pressing his groin even more firmly
against the edge of the counter.  Christ,
his balls hurt.  The base of his penis
moved perhaps two millimetres further onto the counter.  The skin wrinkled ever so slightly, the tip
moved not at all.

Now several of the sales staff were involved, standing
around and staring at the problem. Dennis didn’t dare turn around to see how
many customers were in the queue behind him, but he could hear some shuffling
feet and the occasional ‘tsk!’.

One of the ladies looked up and called right across the shop
“MISS MARKHAM!  GENTLEMAN’S PENIS IS TOO
SMALL TO ACTIVATE THE SCANNER!”  Dennis
felt as if he would die.

A tall blonde lady, dressed all in black strode over.  Dennis estimated her age as mid-thirties and her attitude as lethal.  She fixed him with a
cool stare.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

“Well, Miss Markham, the gentleman…” began one of the
younger assistants.

“I asked the gentleman here!” Miss Markham snapped, giving
her a murderous look. “Well?” she asked, raising one eyebrow.

 

“My er,…” Dennis began, staring shamefacedly down.  He looked up and into the most piercing blue
eyes he had ever seen.  She was holding a
pen, which she started to tap steadily against her clipboard.  Her lips pursed.

“Small penis problem, is it?”

“Erm, yes.  You see I
-“

“You have a penis that is too small to function properly,
that is all I need to see” Miss Markham snapped back.  Several of the sales staff tittered.

“But if you can’t verify your identity, I’m afraid we’ll
have to deal with you as a criminal” Miss Markham went on, the merest hint of a
smile on her ruby lips.  I’ll have to
take you off to our holding room and investigate the matter thoroughly.”  One perfectly lacquered fingernail pushed
firmly against the clip holding the papers to her clipboard, forcing it all the
way down and then letting it snap back with savage force.
 

“Unless of course, you can produce an adequately sized penis
right here and now” she went on. 
“Adequate for ID verification purposes that is. I hardly think that it
would ever be suitable for anything else.”

She leaned forward to whisper in Dennis’s ear.

“And I see you’re wearing a wedding ring.  Please pass on my condolences to your
wife.  You might want to let her know
that our ladies department has a line of very discrete vibrators.  They come in lots of different sizes… all a
lot bigger than that.”
(Yes, I know this scene has nothing to do with the story.  But isn’t she wonderful?)
 

“The gentleman was saying as how he could manually – “
Dennis’s original assistant ventured, but Miss Markham just held her gaze to
his in silence.

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary” she murmured.

They looked down. 
Dennis’s penis was no longer resting on the VC8000.  On the contrary, it seemed to have become
self-supporting, waving uncertainly an inch or so above the scanner.  It had also become at least an inch longer.

Miss Markham smiled and lowered her clipboard, concealing
the awful sight and firmly pressing Dennis’s cock down onto the black plastic
surface.  He gasped with shock and
pleasure.

There was a quiet beep and a light turned green.

Epilogue

Dennis’s wife, Mary came home to a room full of bags and
boxes.  “Oh darling!” she gasped.  “Whatever have you been buying?”

“Anything I like!” Dennis replied, proudly.  “Well, as long as it’s available at De
Lacey’s – but they sell everything under one roof, so why would that matter?”

“Oh darling!”, Mary remarked again (as ladies on this blog
are inclined to do).  “But, erm… what
about paying for them?  You know – your
little problem?”

“Not a problem any more!” Dennis beamed.  He had a sudden thought “Oh – and I got you
this.”

He handed her a gift-wrapped package and stood back.

“For me?” she asked. 
“Oh you shouldn’t have”.  And
quickly she unwrapped the ribbon and paper to reveal a long cardboard box.  She gently eased off the lid, to expose a
long, plastic object nestling on crepe paper inside.

“Oh darling” she said, running her finger lightly along its
length, gently stroking the ribbing, resting the tip on the buttons at the base.  “My
sweet, silly darling.”

“Did you think I didn’t have one already?”
 
 
 

In this absurd story, the part of Miss Markham was played by the fabulous Mistress Eleise de Lacey.  When I started writing the story, she wasn’t involved but she just arrived halfway through, and took over.

However, no resemblance of the characters to any person living or dead is intended.  Except the character of Dennis, who is very precisely based upon Servitor in all significant, and several insignificant, respects.

High achiever


Listen – I’ve been thinking. It must be really boring and demotivating for you, just doing your household duties all day long. Just drudgery for 14 hours a day – for the rest of your life, really, with no prospect of ever moving on to anything more rewarding.

So I was thinking maybe you needed more incentives to keep at it and do a good job for me!

No honey, calm down. I don’t mean I’m going to punish you more. I mean, sure, being whacked on your sore old bottom with my paddle probably gives you a pretty strong incentive not to mess up. But it’s still only a negative incentive – when you do a bad job. I was thinking you need positive incentives to do a good job!

No, not that kind of positive incentive, honey. I don’t let you do that any more, remember?

So, anyway, I had this brilliant idea! Achievements!

Achievements, honey. Like in video games?

Oh yeah, I forgot. You’ve been a few years in my service now, haven’t you? They probably didn’t have achievements when you were still free to do fun stuff like computer games.

Well, ‘achievements’ are like bonuses for doing extra things in the game or doing really well. You have to meet a certain set of conditions and then you get awarded the achievement! Like ‘Kill 100 orcs with bladed weapons’ and then maybe you’d get an achievement called “Orc-cleaver” or something, you know?

Well, no, you don’t get anything else, honey. Just the achievement. But it gives you something to work towards, you see? I think it’s perfect for you! I was so pleased when I thought of it. I guess I’m channelling my inner geek girl.

What’s that honey? No, of course you don’t have a choice. And if I don’t see you working towards your achievements, we’ll just have to try more of the negative incentives, won’t we?

That’s better. OK, here’s your first list of achievements. Don’t try to work towards all of them at once. Just pick a few –some are harder than others. Once you get all these, I’ll do you another list, OK?

Tight fit: perform a day’s work in a corset tightened three inches narrower than usual.
 

Ironic: Iron more than 50 items of clothing in a single day.

Irony: Iron more than 100 items of clothing in one day.

Bad maids get spanked: Admit to a fault that leads to a spanking.

Bad maids get paddled: Admit to a fault that leads to a paddling.

Bad maids get caned: Admit to a fault that leads to a caning.

Those who wait: complete chores with three hours to spare and spend the remainder of the day in the corner.

Her wish is my command: bring Mistress something she wanted before being commanded to do so.

Friend or enema: complete all daily chores while holding in three quarts.

Silence is bronze: no speech except in response to a direct question for a week.

Silence is silver: no speech except in response to a direct question for a month.

Silence is golden: no speech except in response to a direct question for a year.

Spit-roast: take one of Mistress’s boyfriends at each end.
 

Whole hog: Do two consecutive spit-roasts, with changed ends.

My special place: spend 8 hours standing in the corner without looking around.

Weekend place: spend 24 hours standing in the corner without looking around.

Shameful duty: appear in full maid’s costume in front of someone from your ‘previous life’.

Shameful discipline: be punished in front of someone from your ‘
previous life’.

Rain man: learn every telephone number in Mistress’s contacts.
 

Asking for it: request a stroke-for-stroke repetition of a paddling, immediately after it finishes.

Begging for it: request a stroke-for-stroke repetition of a caning immediately after it finishes.

Happy Hubby: Have a perky smile on your face every time Mistress sees you, for a week.

Rash decision: wear the same pair of diapers and plastic pants for three days in a row, without a change.

Bad scrubber: Clean the kitchen floor to Mistress’s satisfaction without once getting up off your knees.

Better scrubber: Clean the kitchen floor to Mistress’s satisfaction with hands tied back, and the brush between your teeth.

Good scrubber: Clean the kitchen floor to Mistress’s satisfaction using your hair as the brush.

Recycler: eat nothing but Mistress’s leftovers for a week.
 

Know what’s good for you: request a spanking for no reason.
 
Know what’s better for you: request a paddling for no reason.

Know what’s best for you: request a caning for no reason.

Cum-bucket: hold a boyfriend’s semen in your mouth all night without swallowing or spitting.
 

Sleep is for wimps: Perform housework for 24 hours without a break.

Dog-tired drudge: Perform housework for 48 hours without a break.

Remorseful: write a letter of apology to every woman with whom you have ever had sex.

Making amends: clean the apartment or house of a former girlfriend in maid outfit.

Revenge is bitter: receive corporal punishment from a former girlfriend.
 

Because she says so: Self-administer a whipping that draws blood.

Party animal: be the only ashtray at one of Mistress’s cocktail parties.

Potty mouth: Don’t spill a drop.

The role of the geek girl in this little tale was played by the lovely, smiley, dancey Emily Ratajkowski.






She wants you back

You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said about how
frustrating and humiliating you find it – being locked up in that thing while I
fuck Raoul.

I think I might have the solution.  You could both fuck me!

I mean, not at the same time of course.  Not quite at the same time, anyway.

You see, Raoul’s really rubbish at foreplay.  Well, actually he can be fantastic at it, but
usually he doesn’t bother, you know? 
Just wants to get his massive cock into me and start thrusting away –
silly old bull.

So I thought maybe you could do the foreplay?  And Raoul needn’t even be there – he can be
downstairs watching the football or something. 
You could be delicately stroking and kissing me – not on the face,
though, because I want to pretend it’s Raoul, not you.  And using your tongue.  Of course, you’d stay locked up just to make
sure there are no accidents.

And then when I’m good and ready, you can go downstairs and
tell Raoul he can come up.  Remember he
likes you to call him Sir.

And then we’d lock you in the cuckold pillory and fuck the
rest of the night, just like now.

There – that should help with that horrible sexual
frustration – don’t you think?

No?  Oh.  Well, you’re doing it anyway, grumpyface.

 

For old times’ sake


Oh hi!  It’s, err…, Mike isn’t it?  Oh wow.  Long time.

Well yeah,
yeah I’m fine.  You probably heard –
after we broke up I finally got serious about my work, and now I run my own
business consulting practice.  I kind of
split my time between here and New York, you know?  Although these days Shanghai’s almost as
important.

So…um.  How long’s it been?  Oh – listen to me, what a stupid thing to
say!  I know exactly when we broke up…
not going to forget it.  I guess we’ve
both moved on a lot since then!  I mean,
I got so upset, didn’t I?  Why shouldn’t
you ask me for a blow-job anyway?  I
suppose I was really conflicted, because back then I didn’t have the confidence
just to say no, so we had a scene and well… you know.

How about
you?  Do you live round here?  Pretty swanky neighbourhood, huh?

Oh, did
you?  Oh I’m sorry to hear that.  So many companies closing down lately, I
know, it’s been tough all over.  Which
one were you with?

Right.  Yes, they had a big rationalisation after
they got taken over by that French company, didn’t they?  Is that when you lost your job?  I know, a lot of people did. I worked on the
post-merger business plan, actually – that was my firm’s big break!  My client started
calling me the Surgeon – you know, for all the fat I cut out of the
company.  And the nickname got around and: ‘Hey!  Send for the Surgeon!’  You know? 
Really lucky break.

But anyway,
erm… obviously tough for you…  But
it’s nice to see you again!  I mean, just
to say hello, you know.  It’s not like I’d
want to get back together!  I mean, I
spent  – oh it must have been years –
hating you and loving you too, and thinking that I’d just pick up the phone and
maybe we could get back together… give you a blow job.  It was usually that bit that put me off,
actually!

Hmmm?  No, no serious relationships.  Actually, I usually pay for it these
days.  That way, I can get exactly what I
want and no fuss.  I’ve got so much
money, I just prefer it that way.  They
have to go down on their knees in front of me, and they have to be reluctant,
but then I start handing them the cash, one note at a time and they give me
oral sex… and I’ll tell you a little secret. 
They have to pretend to be called Mike!

Whoops!  Too much information.  Moving on! 

So what are
you doing today?

Begging on
the street?

Oh.  I see.

Well, honey,
let me see I’ve probably got a few notes here. 
Yes – here you go.  I – oops, I
dropped it!  How about that?  Go on: pick it up if you like. 
There it is – just down there in the gutter.

Truth or…

 



 

The worst
thing I’ve ever done to a boy?  Oh…
I’ll probably take the dare, erm –

No!  No, I got it.  I’ll go with truth!

OK, so there
was this, like, really cute guy a couple of years above me?  And he really wanted to feel my breasts?

So I told
him that I’d let him, if I could kick him in the balls.  I mean, I was joking!  You know?

But he said
OK!  I couldn’t believe it!

Well, we
just stood there for a bit, and for some weird reason I just found myself
saying ‘How many times’?  And he’s like
‘Just one, bitch’.  So I’m like, ‘If you
can take ten, I’ll let you go all the way’. 
And he’s like, ‘OK, but you have to stop if I say so, OK?’.  And I’m like ‘Sure!’ 

Anyway, he
made me promise to stop if he said so – and for a joke, I made him agree that
he had to say ‘Please Carly, I’m a wimp and I can’t take any more, please
stop.’

So he opened
his legs a little bit, and he breathed in and out for a bit and then he looked
at me – he was looking kinda scared! – and was just, like, ‘OK!’.  Real tense, like that, you know?  Just: ‘OK!’.

And I kicked
him really hard, right in the nuts.  I
was wearing these kinda goth boots? 
– even though I’d already started going emo back then, but you know,
they were cool –  and the toe went right
between his legs so the top of the boot smashed right up into his balls. 

I don’t
think he’d expected me really to kick him as hard as that!  Especially not for the first one.  Because his eyes bulged out, and all the
breath came out of his body, and he staggered back and he’s trying to gasp for
air?  And he looks up at me with these
horrified pleading eyes – I can still see them now – and I think he was just
about to try and say something when I kicked him the second time!

And of
course, after that I went through with the whole thing.  I mean, I knew he wanted me to stop.  But he could hardly even scream, he was in so
much pain – let alone say the complicated sentence we’d agreed.  So I could just keep going.  Once he got as far as ‘PleaseCarlyI’m
awimpand’ – but then WHAM!. you know, and he shut up again.

And – I
guess the worst thing about it was that I’d planned that?  You know? 
Cos I’d seen boys who’d taken, you know, a softball in the nuts and I
knew what it would be like?  That’s why I
made him agree he had to say such a long thing if he wanted me to stop.  And then I just had to make sure I went in
really hard for the first one.

For the last
four he was writhing on the ground – I think he was trying to crawl away just
using his arms, but of course that didn’t do him any good, and those were the
hardest of all.

And I left
him there.  I figured he wouldn’t want to
try collecting on his part of the deal that day! 

Anyway… I
heard he went to hospital, for a long time, then they moved away.  I was kinda worried for a while that I might
get into trouble, but I don’t know – maybe he didn’t want to admit to anyone
that a girl did this to him?  Or maybe he
was just scared of me.  But anyway,
apparently he told his parents and the police that these three big black guys
had done it.

I thought
that was kinda mean.  Huh?  I mean, why say they were black guys?  There’s so much, like, prejudice and hatred
in the world, you know?  That was
nasty.  Made me realise he wasn’t a very
nice guy.  If he ever did show up and
want to collect his side of the deal, I’d just be like, no way!  I don’t fuck racists!  What an asshole.

Anyway, I
guess that’s the worst thing I’ve done. 
I mean, there was another thing a few months later that was a bit worse,
but that wasn’t just me.  I had my friend
Amy with me.  She’s really cool – you
should meet her!

 
OK!  Your turn. 
Truth or dare.

 

You know…I’m
going to have to think of something really embarrassing to ask you.  Cos I’ve got such a great idea for a dare for
you!  There is no way you are leaving tonight until I’ve made you do it.
 
Let me think…

 

Man talk



 
Now listen
darling, just about dinner tonight. 
Annie wants you to talk to Victor: she’s trying to get him into
chastity, and she thought you might be able to help reassure him.  If you could just tell him how much you love
being in chastity, how you’ve never regretted a single day and all that kind of
thing.

Well… I know
it’s not quite true, darling.  But
Victor’s a bit reluctant, so it’s probably best not to tell him about the early
days. I expect he’ll have to go through the same anger and frustration, the
tears – god, all that constant whining and pleading!  But that’ll be good for their relationship,
just like it was for ours.  They mostly
only play at CP these days, so Annie will have to step up a bit in that
department.  She’s quite looking forward
to it – she was asking my advice about canes.

Just as long
as Victor accepts that first step and lets her lock him.  After that, she can use it as leverage to
sort out the rest of their relationship, and soon it won’t matter in the
slightest what he wants.  So telling a
few little white lies isn’t really such a bad thing, if it helps with that, is
it?

Just
remember: big smiles, best thing that ever happened, very happy husband.  Oh – and Annie asked me to make sure you were
never alone with Victor.  Of course, I
told her you’d have strict instructions about what to say and you wouldn’t dare
disobey me… just make sure either she or I are in earshot at all times.

I mean – you
don’t have any regrets do you darling?

Do you,
darling?

No, didn’t
think so.  Off you go and get ready.

In the morning when the madness has faded

 
  


Oh hey, good
morning!  Listen, thanks for last night,
OK?  You were great.  One of the best I’ve had.

I loved the
way you shrieked when I was pinning your cock to the board!  Don’t you dare tell me you were faking!  If you were, you’re just the most amazing
actor ever, and I don’t want to know, OK?

Oh – and I’m
sorry about the mix-up with the enema bags. 
You probably realised the soapy one was supposed to go up your ass, not
into your mouth.  Still, I don’t suppose
it did you any harm.  I’m sure you’ve had worse.

Anyway – the
money’s over there on the sideboard, in an envelope.  I put a little extra in!

Hmm?  Well, it’s your money, sweetheart. For the
sub session.

What?  You mean you’re not…?  You weren’t expecting to be paid?

So, you
just…. Oh wow.  I mean, wow.  I’m sorry, I just assumed…

Well, you
must let me pay for something.  Otherwise
I’d feel awful, about doing all those things 
to you.  It is quite a lot of
money… and I don’t mind, I have plenty. 
That’s right.  You just take
it.  Buy yourself some nice things.

And you must let me
put a little make-up over the bruises  on
your face.  So you’re pretty, just in
case you want to try another trick tonight, now you’ve done it once.

And… listen,
I was thinking.  I don’t have to be
anywhere until after lunchtime.  Erm… would
you like to earn a little more?

Don’t worry
about having breakfast – it’ll be easier to do this on an empty stomach.

 

Bit of politics, bit of politics

I’m trying a few themed posts just at the moment.  This is a theme some of you seem to like, presumably because it deals with such a subversive, transgressive topic: men’s lib.

Dangerous to bring politics into what is intended to be a fun and sexy blog and I certainly don’t want to offend anyone.  Nothing in this post should be taken in any way as an endorsement of a political programme of equality for men.

 
 
 
 

 
 






…and a little bonus story.

Speaking truth to power

“The so-called men’s liberation movement” Simon wrote “is an
absurd caricature of a true political cause: its slogans meaningless, its
demands more like an infantile tantrum than a realistic political
programme.  I regret wasting so much of
my life on it.  Men simply are not the
equals of women, and the sooner we accept that, the happier we will be.”

He stared at the sentence he had just written.  Strong stuff. 
A complete repudiation of everything that he had fought for and believed
in for all of these years.  But it had to
had to be said.

He imagined the horror that an activist in the movement
would experience, on reading those damning words.  Or indeed, how he himself would have reacted
just a few months before.  He had been ‘Commander
Riotboy’, shadowy author of numerous savage polemics against the oppressive
matriarchal system and the attitudes – of both men and women – that allowed its
injustices to be perpetuated down the generations.  Oddly, the strongest memory for him was a
smell – the smell of the hot ink as the illegal press whirred furiously through
the night, stamping out copy after copy of their newsletter, to be stapled,
transported around the country and furtively distributed on any of those rare
occasions when men gathered together without close female supervision.

He remembered running too, the sounds of pursuing police
whistles seemingly right behind him, his comrades seized to be taken no doubt
for ‘re-education’.  He had always
somehow escaped to fight on another day, in the process becoming something of a
legend in the movement.  Riotboy – the man
who would never give up.

But that, he reflected, had all been before he met Karen.  And here he was.   A meek
little househusband, dressed in skimpy little shorts that she had chosen for
him, beneath which his cock nestled securely in a locked tube to which only she
had the key. Where before he had devoted his life to producing articles furiously
calling for male liberation, today he spent his days at his desk writing words
that said exactly the opposite.  And he
felt strangely content to do so.

He sighed.  Best to
get on, as Karen would be back soon, and she would come up to check on his
progress.  He’d already had a hard
spanking this morning, he certainly didn’t want another.

He picked up his pen and carefully wrote the number “312.”  Then next to it, with equal care (because
more than three crossings out on any one page would mean writing that page all
over again), he wrote:

“The so-called men’s liberation movement is an absurd
caricature of a true political cause: its slogans meaningless, its demands more
like an infantile tantrum than a realistic political programme.  I regret wasting so much of my life on
it.  Men are not the equals of
women, and the sooner we simply accept that, the happier we will be.

313.  The so-called
men’s liberation movement is an absurd caricature of a true political cause: its
slogans meaningless, its demands more like an infantile tantrum than a
realistic political programme.  I regret wasting
so much of my life on it.  Men are
not the equals of women, and the sooner we simply accept that, the happier we
will be.

314 …”

 
What a long way off number 500 seemed.  He hoped tomorrow’s line would be shorter.
 
 
 
 
 
…aaaaaand a bonus bonus little mini-story.  This is from earlier in the same timeline, just after Simon met Karen:

“And what do you think about the men’s-lib movement?” she
asked sweetly.

“Men’s lib is a ridiculous idea.”  Simon replied.  “Men must accept their place in society and
be obedient to women, for their own good.”

He tensed. 

There was
a pause and then an agonising CRACK! of the paddle across his buttocks. He
cried out loud at the shocking pain. 
That had been the hardest yet.

What do you think of the men’s lib movement?” Karen asked
again.

“Men’s lib is a ridiculous idea” he gasped “Men must accept
their place in society and be… and be obed – “

CRACK!

“No hesitation, remember, Simon.  What do you think of the men’s lib movement?”

Office services


Hi – you
looking for me?  Mel Collins?

Right – yes,
I thought you must be.  You’re new,
right?  Have you been told what you’re
supposed to do?

You’ve got a
general idea, but you’d rather hear a detailed description directly from
me?  OK.

Right, well,
with me it’s all about domination and humiliation.  I’ve got a big strap-on, and I start by
fucking you up the arse with it.  I hope
you’re nice and tight, because I like that to be quite uncomfortable.  I’ll be tugging hard on your balls too.  Anyway, then I order you to kneel in front of
me and suck it, and you refuse because it’s just come out of your arse and it
smells of your shit.  So then I get angry
with you, I best you around the face a bit, then I tie you over the table and
whip you with my belt.  It’s good if you
cry.  Then you kneel in front of me, with
your hands still handcuffed, and suck it off. 
After that, I scatter your money around the room, and you have to crawl
about picking it up with your mouth. 
I’ll throw the handcuff key down as well, and just leave you.  You can let yourself out – I don’t want to
see you at that point.

Got it?  You can start by stripping naked for me right
now.  I said NOW you shit-licking whore!

What’s that?

Oh.

Oh, I
see.  So you’re here about the network
connection?  Not… the other thing?

Well
no,  if you’re from IT I suppose you
would be.  Sorry – I thought you were
someone else.
 
 
 

So… why are
you still getting undressed?

And – which is more – you’ll be a man, my son



Ah– it’s Jenkins, isn’t it?

Oh don’t look so alarmed, boy. For once, you’re not here to be beaten. You are
here for careers advice, as you will shortly be leaving our school.


Now, as you know, Jenkins, we at Thrashington Hall believe strongly in the
old-fashioned school values.The eight years of misery and brutality you have so
reluctantly endured here did have a purpose.Our system of rote learning,
accompanied by twice-daily cold showers, strict masturbation control and
frequent brutal floggings, was expressly designed by our founder, Constance Thrashington, to build character – so you can venture
out into the adult world with a sound moral foundation and a solid and traditional educational background.


I hope you realise that this makes you very unusual among boys of your age?  In the modern world, this sort of education is increasingly rare.  When you leave these gates, you will be one of the very few young men more familiar with counting strokes of the cane than with differential calculus, capable of writing the same line for hours without a break, but not of writing anything of your own creation, more familiar with the tawse than you are with a computer mouse. There’s not many young men today that have the self-control needed to remain perfectly in position, while enduring a brutal flogging across their bare buttocks, and then the presence of mind politely to offer thanks for the agonies they have suffered.  You have learned to respect your betters, to do as you are told and to fear retribution at all times.

Unfortunately, we’re beginning to realise this doesn’t really work, especially
in the modern world.


The eighteen year-old boys we turn out are quite incapable
of the sort of creative thought needed in modern business, lack any
self-confidence or independent drive and find it impossible to build relationships
with women.Your employment prospects are appalling – with luck, you’ll find
some minimum wage menial job that can provide you with enough money to eke out a miserable
existence in some squalid bed-sit. Many of our graduates become road-sweepers.  Street begging is another popular career choice.  Some of the more talented manage to secure jobs as burger-flippers, but unless you’re lucky enough to have an authoritarian female boss, you probably won’t be able to concentrate long enough to do a job as complicated as that.


I expect you’ll spend your evenings in sad,
lonely masturbation – your sexual urges are probably perverted and anyway, you
don’t know how to relate to women because you have only experienced them as
disciplinarians.  Not much of a life – rather a shame really after enduring such brutal, sexless and miserable teenage years.


Sorry about that.

Anyway– dismissed!  I’ll see you at the graduation ceremony tomorrow. Send in
Knightly, please.

 

 
The lady in the picture is the delightful, scary and astonishingly beautiful Lady Sophia Black.  I have had the immense privilege of being beaten, derided and ignored by her in the past, and I hope very soon to experience that unpleasant delight again.
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