Just scream and weep

She’ll do the rest.

Well, at least you can be confident you’re in safe hands.  They’re obviously all trained professionals – look, they’ve got nurses’ outfits and everything.
 

 

Oh well. No regrets, eh?  Strawberries are good.
 

 

I think she might be right. She usually is.
 

 

And where’s the fun in that?
This of course is the lovely Mistress Vixen, sometimes to be found virtually at the address shown there.  Oh go on then, I did it for you.  But she seems to be out.

 

What an unpleasant little tale.  Why would anyone write something like that?



He married a maths teacher

 
Now then, Colin, you’re…let’s see – five foot three in
height.

Runty little shortass.

Aaaannd your cock is… oh dear oh dear – three inches long.

Yes it is – look.

Oh for goodness’ sake. 
All right, because the room’s a bit cold we’ll call it three and a
quarter, OK?

So – how much of you consists of cock?  Can you work it out?

Sixty three inches tall, with a cock that’s three inches
long.  Yes, all right, three and a
quarter.  Pathetic. 

So…?  Three and a
quarter goes into sixty-three how many times?

Yes., it would be easier if it were just three into
sixty-three, wouldn’t it?  But Mr Big
Swinging Quarter Inch insisted, didn’t he? 
So now he’s going to have to work a bit harder.

Nineteen and…. Nineteen and a bit, you say?  What – a little extra foreskinny bit?

OK, yes, let’s call it one in 20.

So – what proportion of you is cock?

No, not one in twenty.

Hmmm?

Well, because you’re not one-dimensional, of course.  Except emotionally.

No, that was a joke. 
Look – even though you look like a single long stream of piss, you are
in fact a three-dimensional object, so your mass and volume go up in proportion
to…?

In proportion to…?

Sigh.  No, not
‘pi’.  In proportion to the cube of your
length.

Your cock is one-twentieth of your length, so it constitutes
about one over twenty cubed of you. 
Which is?

One four thousandth? 
Do you need the cane?  I knew we
should have done this as a schoolboy detention game.  Try again.

Eight thousand! 
Correct!  Finally.

Now, you spend about six thousand hours each year
awake. 

So – how much time each year should you spend playing with
your cock?  Hmm?  If that’s proportional to its size?

That’s right. 
Three-quarters. 

Every year, you get to spend 45 minutes playing with your
cock.  Not all at once, obviously.  I was thinking maybe three fifteen-minute
goes.

No, I don’t want to discuss it, I just want you to say ‘Yes
Chloe’ and thank me.

That’s right.

Oh don’t look so depressed. 
Imagine how bad it would be if you were of normal height!
 

…and it wouldn’t be such fun beating you up, either.

If it isn’t hurting…

…then you’re wasting your money.

 

Actually, I think she just wants to see you get beaten up.

 

The rule is that only the lower brown stripe can still be visible, before the traffic stick treatment can be considered complete.
 
 
It’s good that she’s so broadminded.  I’ll get me coat…
 

 

It’s what your right arm’s for.


It’s amazing the things they can do with CGI special effects these days.  They can actually make it look as if flesh is being burnt off with a red-hot brand, you know.  But her method’s better.

Boys only want love if it’s torture

Regular “readers” will know that my musical tastes rarely extend beyond about 1988.  But I am prepared to make an exception for Mistress Swift.

On with the rest of it… femdom captions, dominatrices, chastity, all those words that get search engines so excited, you know?

Oh no, not again.
 

 

You could try calling her tomorrow.  “Hi!  It’s William from last night.  That’s right, the one with the small penis.  Listen, I was wondering…”
 

 

NO!  Not the comfy chair!
 

 

Well… I hope someone’s asked Andy if he’s OK sharing his cucky closet, that’s all.  Some men can be a bit funny about that sort of thing – it’s their own special place, you know?
 
 

 

…and then if that gets too much, the electric shocks will take your mind off the pain from the welts.



At the hairdressers



Hi honey!

What?  Oh, my poor embarrassed baby!  You haven’t been worrying about that all day,
have you, honey?

Listen – if that’s what makes you feel sexy, it’s fine with
me, OK?  But I just need you to wash the trainers
out each time you do it, before I use them again, that’s all.

Oh, really?  Well, honey, you know
I run every day, so I guess they’ll get stinky again pretty quickly, won’t they?
Not stinky enough?  Awww… I’m sorry honey.  But you know, it’s not nice for me when I want to go for a run, if you’ve spurted all over the inside, see, and –


Oh – hey!  I just had
a brilliant idea.  Why don’t we keep an
old pair of my trainers for you to come in? 
You could sniff the pair 
I’m using as much as you like, but then when you jerk off you’d do it into one of the old ones.  Then I
wouldn’t have to worry about finding my new trainers all sticky! 


Yeah?  That works?

Oh – if I force you, huh?  Honey, you’re really pretty kinky aren’t you!  Sure – I can force you.  I’ll tie your hands behind your back and force your face down onto my stinky trainers with my foot – how about that?

Yeah – I thought you’d like that.  Or I could tie you to the bed and leave one over your face all night. Yeah, you betta believe it.  All night, honey.  Not in my bed, obviously.  I’m not sleeping with a smelly old trainer in the bed.  But I can put you in the guest bedroom.

What’ll I do?  Oh, I’ll be OK.  No, really. It’s OK honey.   
I mean, it’s not like our sex life was great anyway and – oh, I’m not
blaming you, honey!  It’s not your fault
you’re so small.  But I think we’ll both
be happier if you don’t have to try to please me in bed any more.  I was thinking anyway of telling you not to bother – I mean, it just makes you all embarrassed and ashamed, and it does nothing for me so –

Hmm?  No honey, that’s
just Mario talking.  I’m at the
hairdressers.

Not these, honey.  These are mine, OK?

Well of course he heard, honey, but don’t be silly about it. 
Mario wouldn’t say a thing. 
Hairdressers know how to keep secrets – don’t you Mario?  Anyway, I told him weeks ago about our wedding
night, so he already knows half the story.
Well sure, honey.  About all the condoms being too big to stay on and how you had to ask at the hotel reception for extra small and all that.  He was really sympathetic, even though he’s never had the problem himself.  Just the opposite, actually.
What? Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that, honey.  Just talking nonsense.  I do when I’m at the hairdresser’s.  Listen, anyway, we need to get my trainers cleaned up.  If you won’t wash them, then I guess you’re going to have to lick it out, aren’t you?  Yes, now, honey.  You got them there? OK, well you’re going to have to put the phone down to get your face right in there and lick it all out, OK?

Oh – hang on!  Before you hang off, my old trainers are in the closet by the kitchen door, OK?  Those are what you use for playing with yourself, honey, not the new ones!  I mean it!

That’s right.  OK, honey, have a good time.  I’ll be back quite late – maybe not until nine or so.  I’m having some complicated hair treatments today.  I expect you’ll find something to amuse yourself with until I’m back.  Won’t you?

Bye!

See honey?  This is where you’ll be making love from now on.  You’ll always have a choice between two sexy lovers who’ll never tell you you’re too small, and they don’t mind how quickly you come!  Do you wanna give them names?  I think you should give them names.

No means no

There’s been a lot of news lately about the need for men always to seek a woman’s consent before any sexual activity.  And I think that’s exactly right.  If she says no – that’s it.  You’ll just have to wait until next month.

 

Finally found something you’re good at!  Well done.
 

 

The selection process is quite rigorous.  Some don’t survive.  But there’s plenty of them, so that’s really not a problem.
 

 

Well, if being told off and humiliated by an attractive lady in a sharp business suit doesn’t take his mind off sexy things, I don’t know what will!
 

 

They’re more kind of… snaily, if you know what I mean.  You don’t?  Oh.  Well – kind of like a cockroach that’s been squished under a boot most of the day – and I expect you know how bad that tastes!
 
 
Awww… sweet.
 

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.

Informed consent

It’s very important.  She always informs me when my consent is required for something.











Penectomy trouble
Ignorance is no defence. 






Check-out time is when she decides to release you.





Hmmm. Interesting.  I wonder what she does use, then.  Any thoughts?





..and what’s the best?




Probably best not to ask… I certainly don’t know.



She seems nice.






I was going to point you to this forthcoming movie which looks very fine, but Paltego beat me to it.


So instead (trigger warning: vanilla.  And you have to enter access code 7201969), how about Anne Hathaway in space




Begging on the streets

Street begging?  Eh?  I’m opposed to it.  I just think it’s unecessary, and disturbs people going about their daily business.

But she insists on it, so of course who am I to argue?

SPH lady is precise
Actually, I prefer to use centimetres.  Or even milimetres.
 
 

Farmyard femdom oh my
I wonder what the prize is, if he gets them right?
 
 

Female led discussion
Then again, maybe we don’t have to discuss it right now…. We do?  Oh.  OK.
 
 
 
Slave furniture
Actually, the back of the laptop adjusts.  But her way’s good.
 
 

Bad news femdom snuff oh dear
I wonder what it can be?
 

Vermiform

That’s me.

Pervert punishment
Of course he can.  He’d do anything for her.  Wouldn’t you?
 
 

Humiliation served cold
Well… OK.  This time.
 
 

SPH handjob
Hmmm.  An occasional sympathy fingerjob.  Well, that’s a pretty big win, right there.

 
 
Cruel therapist
It’s great when you’re confident your therapist understands the real you, isn’t it?
 
 

I don’t think she’s taking this seriously enough, you know.  I mean, a man’s been murdered here.  And more importantly, a quite valuable pen was stolen, too.
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