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.
I suppose they’re better suited to a ‘1980s called’ post, like the last one, but I can’t resist linking to the ladies in this lovely dance act from the time, as they do indeed all look as if they just strode imperiously from the pages of those old femdom magazines. Ahhhhh…
Sometimes couples need a little time apart. I’m sure my own relationship is much stronger for all the time I spend in the oubliette – out of sight and out of mind.
Don’t worry: there’s an emergency over-ride code. She’s got it written down somewhere, I expect.
Consent is a gift in a BDSM relationship – and doesn’t she deserve to be given everything you possess and more?
The first time I (tried to) have sex with a girl she said it was a ‘unique’ experience and, looking back now, I’m impressed by how prescient she was.
Some commenters might be tempted to observe that the sundial’s not going to work if most of it is in the shade. To which I’d reply, first, that it’s art not mere functional construction and, second, that you are welcome to explain that to Mistress Jennifer, just as three of the men in this picture did. She always needs more materials. Finally, some pedant or other is bound to point out that there are thirteen figures on the dial, to which I can only say that Mistress J has an Orwellian approach to many things in her life.
Remember: if you don’t like any of the contractual terms, you can just walk away now and never, ever see her again. It’s time to think about what’s important in life.
And there we are! That’s the end of Tuesday’s post. So… yeah! No more new material here until Friday, I suppose. Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays, those are the days Servitor posts. I mean, it’s not as if there’s ever a post on Wednesday, right? That would just be weird. So no point in coming back to check, tomorrow. Although… you never know, right? I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to have a quick look on Wednesday. Now, would it?
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?
Ah, the Bible is such a great source of vaguely pervy-sounding quotes. As are the collected works of Leopold Sacher-Masoch, for that matter. I just take inspiration from where I can get it.
There’ll be other opportunities. I’m sure all that worrying won’t go to waste.
I’m proud to say that I’ve never paid for sex in my life. Quite the oppposite, if anything.
She could ask you to finish the story for her, but she doesn’t want to embarass you unduly on the first day of your married life together.
Any male visitors suggesting their holy book is a modern fake will be scourged severely. But then, all male visitors get scourged severely anyway, so…
Her rule is that you can specify any limits you like in the email but if it’s NOT in the email, it’s fair game. And she’s a lot more creative than most of her clients, so she manages to have plenty of fun whatever the constraints.
He should be reassured: Anya’s something of an expert on testicular damage.
Actually, guys with small penises have proportionately more everything. My little finger, for instance, is huge in comparison – a woman remarked upon it, once.
They’re reworking the pay structure too, to make it more discriminatory.
Zoe’s good at games, usually winning on the first move when she plays slaves at chess. She also enjoys playing ‘guess the voltage’.
I expect he’ll come up with some lavish belated gift or other… she can even make some suggestions while she has his full attention like this.
Of course it’s best to wear thick gloves when handling that X stuff as it can irritate the skin. But they’re professionals, they know how to handle things that can be irritating.
She likes to give her clients a ‘happy beginning’ occasionally.
It’s pay to play. Except when it’s ‘don’t you dare play but pay anyway’.
There were great hopes for the ‘living crash test dummy’ programme, when it was set up, but it turned out to provide data of limited medical usefulness in studying brain damage because of course by female standards, males’ brains are already damaged.
Just like my wedding night… except my blushing bride wasn’t actually in the same room as me.
Thank goodness it’s only a hypothetical question. I don’t object in principle, but can’t she see I’m busy with the ironing?
Music hath charms.
Oh… I remember this occasion. Such a bad time to sneeze.
You often hear it said that women don’t really care about cock size and that’s certainly been my experience. Most women I’ve dated have made clear to me that the size of my cock is of no interest or practical significance whatever, as far as they are concerned.
In the modern world, men have to learn to be supportive if they want to remain useful.
Oh, you can stick with being Number 13. You’re already among the luckiest men alive, to be one of her paypigs, so I don’t think you need to worry about anything bad happening.
Men don’t really do irony. Screaming and begging for mercy, that’s what they do.
Who is also the lovely Samantha Alexander, here being delightful and non-dominational in a video introduced by (formerly Strict Miss) Zoe Page. So regrettably vanilla, although so captivating in appearance and voice and the line “We’re not in Chesterfield any more” gets extra points for Britishness. Does anyone know if the other lady, Charlotte Elizabeth, is also a domme? She looks kinda dommey.
Now he has to endure that agonising pause while he awaits her reply. She’s really good at agonising pauses.
It took a while for me to get used to our D/S dynamic in restaurants. I used to get embarassed at being so publicly submissive – even over what are actually practical and necessary things like, for example, my SO requesting that my food be given a quick whizz in the liquidiser so it can more easily pass through my feeding funnel. But you soon realise that the waitresses just don’t care: they’ve got jobs to do, after all.
That’s awfully generous of her.
I can do some quite spectacular things with it. Just not while having sex. Or at least, spectacular things have occasionally been done to it, by mischievous and highly creative people.
She has a keenly attuned sense of what your needs really are.
She’s got a little whip on which each of the thongs is studded with diamonds cut into sharp little points. Some might think that’s overdoing it, but she thinks it and the marks that it leaves are pretty and as long as she likes it, really who is to question her taste? Not me, certainly.
Form an orderly queue by the stage door…. Hey! I said an orderly queue! Look, if you can’t even follow simple instructions, she’s hardly likely to …
Oddly enough, I was actually engaged in SPH play years before I even knew what it was – in the school changing room, for instance. I guess I’m just a natural.
Don’t worry, she generally just takes little light puffs, she doesn’t pull on it to drag it down quickly. Unless she’s had a hard day or something like that, obviously.
In a very real sense, marriage to her is a stress position, so it’s all good practice.
I find being on a leash quite reassuring. My SO got one of those extendable ones – you know, that have a kind of wheel that can pay out to allow the pet to run off some way – and I have to say, I felt almost agoraphobic with it on. Unfortunately, it broke one day when I was fetching it, and after a good hard discussion of why ‘it broke’ I was dragged out of the door on the good old chain.
Bunnies are actually savage little creatures. True fact (read Watership Down). Perhaps that’s what inspires these lovely ladies.
Hmm… looks like Jake was a bit surprised by that! He really shouldn’t have been – anyone could have guessed that Bluetooth connectivity was likely to come up. Now he’s going to get all embarrassed by having his ignorance shown up right there on stage.
Oooh… 50% of the way there! That’s closer than I’ve ever got.
It’s not as high-margin a business as you might expect, but fortunately some of her labour costs are very low indeed. Speaking of which, have you negotiated your salary yet? No? OK.
From the look of the sea, they’ve got ages… which is just as well, because Julie can be quite slow to get aroused, unless she can use her cattle prod.
Every poet should have a muse. This lucky lad has two.
And let’s not have any old-fashioned patriarchal nonsense about ‘earning’ it, OK? It’s not your salary, not now you’re married.
You might find it hard to imagine you’ll forget you’re wearing something as heavy and bulky as that, but believe me: once the nipple clamps go on and the scrotal ring is properly anchored to your ankle chain, you’ll hardly notice it.
