Stories and pictures themed around female domination and male subjugation and servitude. Unsuitable for children, for alpha males, for hard-core practitioners with an interest in the politics of bdsm and the mechanics of complicated rope work. Of interest to perverts like me, basically.
Oh – a CtD post on a Thursday! Hmm, you say. Must be an extra, because Servitor is celebrating the blog’s fifteenth anniversary. And certainly not because silly Servitor messed up the dates in scheduling the posts and thought 29 January was a Friday and noticed too late to delete it, as Sam had already commented. No no no no no… So, yeah, an extra post, because Friday’s post hurriedly recscheduled from later in February will obviously come out as normal tomorrow.
They say the secret of a successful relationship is mutual respect. Which just goes to show how little ‘they’ know. She says the secret of a successful relationship is tyranny and fear and I really can’t disagree with her on that.
Findommes… the unsung heroines of the consumer economy.
It’s funny, back when I was dating, two of the girls I – OK, OK both of the girls I slept with – rated my perfomance as the ‘worst fuck in human history’. Which doesn’t strike me as being right, as one of those fucks must have been worse than the other. Of course, I’m using ‘sleep’ as a euphemism – I never actually ‘slept’ with them, if you know what I mean: they threw me out. But not before I’d had my eighteen seconds of passion!
He didn’t wonder why she was constructing a prison cell in the cellar? Ah, love makes one blind. So does masturbation, ‘they’ say, although my SO says red-hot needles are actually more effective.
I wonder… have any subs who’ve been in this situation ever been tempted to stop brushing for just a moment, turn the hairbrush round and administer a sharp, stinging… I mean, I’m not saying I have, of course! Just to be clear, ahem. But it’s like – or I imagine it would be like – that feeling you get standing on the edge of a cliff, you know? That you could just… jump. Only a lot more dangerous than that, obviously.
Ah, Gigi Allens. A lady with plenty of inches and strong hips to back them up.
Yes, what a touching story. I like to imagine that every time she sees them sparkle, she’s reminded of how she has lots of other lovely necklaces too. Long-time readers will of course be well aware that my visions of the future show that in her political career, President Annie will re-orient male vocational training towards traditional, manly, backbreaking labour or domestic tasks, so really the college fund was no loss.
All poets need a muse – and if you can find one who’ll twist your testicles until the rhymes come, so much the better.
I was only asking for directions to the nearest metro station. Oh well, go with it.
It’s actually one of the few sports where women and men play together at the highest level, although men’s careers are generally much shorter.
Ah, the good old days. I don’t like having a king. ‘His majesty’s ship’ – it just sounds ridiculous, and sends entirely the wrong signals, as we all prepare for the inevitable World War M.
Except obviously you won’t be buggered afterwards. Not with a real penis, anyway.
Of course, she won’t continue her career as a governess after marriage. That would be quite against the spirit of the times, which held that even professional women, once married, should focus all of their efforts on their husbands.
War is hell. So’s her strap-on, actually.
Striking at the root of the problem, so to speak.
Even young ladies of fashion had to develop practical skills in those days. The lady behind looks singularly uninterested, though… dreaming of marriage to a billionaire, perhaps.
He loves – and loves a lass above his station, by the look of him.
He needn’t worry that his session tribute will, increase, though: instead she has a completely different financial model she intends to apply.
My SO told me on our wedding night that our intercourse had lasted almost exactly 45 seconds too long for her to enjoy it – which I thought odd, as it had only lasted 45 seconds in total. Just the first of many misunderstandings, but we’ve come to understand one another very well now.
They won’t be fresh of course… in fact, by then they’ll probably be rank and fetid. Yum. I hope she’ll warm them up, though. Nothing worse than cold sweaty socks.
I’m sure if she could bend the rules on this occasion, she would. But she doesn’t make the… oh, hang on.
And afterwards it’s easy enough to keep you tight by just moving up one strap-on size each time. It’s surprising – and a bit uncomfortable – how big they go. But Anya has strong pelvic muscles, as she says, so that’s OK.
It would be foolish to let this day pass without posting something Halloween-themed. But then, that’s what I am. Foolish, I mean. So here are some completely Halloween-unrelated captioned images from the ever-unpopular Downton Domination series. Because I just don’t know when to stop.
I know how to satisfy my wife sexually. I just have to hire some help to do it in practice.
Depends what you define as a problem. There’s obviously going to be a lot of screaming, for a start, and – what’s that you say? She doesn’t mind the screaming? Oh, OK then. No, I don’t think there’s going to be any kind of problem.
Of course, she doesn’t regard him as being on the same level as all her appliances. She’s a lot closer to her vibrator, for a start.
You should keep the little teensie condoms around, though. You might get lucky, after all! How many have you got left? Three? Oh yes, that should be more than enough. The honeymoon only lasts two weeks, after all.
Aunt Clarissa’s used to slightly looser men, of course. I mean, Uncle Arnold hasn’t spent a day without a butt-plug since the 1960s, I understand.
