Distorted view…see-through, baby blue

Oh, Arnold Lane. Pictures are mostly unrelated.

Yes…but…in the church?
 
 

 

Actually, on this blog it’s not amazing.  It was practically a certainty.
 

 

Lots of men feel embarrassed about how they behave during castration.  It’s a shame, because it’s not as if they’ll ever get another chance.
 

 

I wonder if it’ll feel different, being whipped as a married man….
 
 

 

Interestingly, the one time they tried vanilla sex, she accused him of being only halfway in when in fact he was fully committed.  It’s obviously a thing with her.

Cold comfort

…but not on the farm.

 

I’m not sure if I could manage that.  But I expect I’ll learn, over time.

 

 
 
Oh well.  As long as it’s completely voluntary, I suppose it’ OK.
This is the lovely, magnificent, Vancouver and Paris-based Mistress Eleise de Lacey. But then, you knew that didn’t you?
 

 

Gosh, it’s a long way down, isn’t it?
 

 

One day perhaps.
 
 

 

And replace them with inhibitions about disobedience.

We’re not worthy

Just never met the right girl, I guess.  Hard to strike up a meaningful conversation in seven seconds or less.
 

 

Happy to be of service.
 

 

Shame she doesn’t get sexual pleasure out of the beatings.  That’s two of you, then.
 

 

It’ s easy to get confused.
 

 

No comment.

Hopefully devoted

It might sting a bit.  More probably, it’ll sting a lot, actually.
 

 

She’s not a big fan of mens lib, to be honest. Just old-fashioned that way.
 
 
 
 

 

Sounds a bit edgy. Still, what’s the worst that could happen?
 
 

 

It’s a perspective thing – like that dress the Internet went crazy about.  If you’re looking at this picture and thinking about your own cock, then her strap-on bound to look huge, isn’t it?
 

 

I wonder what they’re expecting to happen? I mean there’s just you, a bare concrete cell and a strange scratching and scrabbling sound from behind that grill to your right there…

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.