Category: torture

Bitter sweet hearts

If they haven’t, perhaps she could suggest some.
He’s not. And she’s even arranged for a lovely, bracing shower before he gets home… well, about fifteen minutes before he gets home, actually, to allow time for him to dry off by running around a bit.
All trainers know that rule number one is to make sure you remember the names of each and every one of your group. But rule two says “Except Robert or Rupert or whatever the fuck that idiot’s called”, so that”s OK.
Top tip: if you’re offended at being treated like this and want to emphasise – politely but firmly – that you expect to be treated with the dignity due an adult, I suggest balling up your fists, stamping your feet and screaming hysterically about how unfair it is. I’m sure she’ll react appropriately and start treating you the way you deserve.
Think of it as an investment. In thirty years’ time, lying in a hospital bed on a drip, you’ll be able to think fondly back on this.
Ah, like the days of Covid when we were getting used to all this. We’ve all got our embarassing Zoom stories, I expect – mine involves a funnel gag, a plastic sissy dress and one of the bulls my SO had decided to let into our Covid bubble, but I’ll spare you the details. Bull in a bubble, you ask? Yes, she had to limit herself to just three, which she found very frustrating, poor thing, but I’m proud to say that I was able to help her work through her anger.

She wasn’t asking for permission

It’s the latest in an occasional series celebrating the thrill and beauty of non-consensual femdom. Do I need to explain that this is intended to be tongue-in-cheek? I probably do, because most of you are male and thus a bit dim, even when you’re not wanking. In reality, consent is obviously of utmost importance in our weird little corner of the Internet. Any male speaking, acting or holding back money without his domme’s active and conscious permission to do so, is doing femdom wrong.

…and some of them lived happily ever after

More fairy tales.

Latest upate in the ‘spam filter unduly limiting genuine (if perverted and despicable) commenters’ saga. The spammers seem to have penetrated the updated widget thingy and I’m getting a lot of spammy comments – worst of both worlds, as I know real commenters are still sometimes blocked but now the bad guys (as opposed to the very naughty boys) are getting through. I’m just deleting manually for now but I might have to tighten the settings again. As ever, if you get blocked just request access and check back in a day or so. In case I do have to tighten the settings, I’d suggest avoiding mentioning the names of any cryptocurrencies, casinos or phrases such as ‘make money fast’ in comments*. Keep discussion on more wholesome topics like slavery, castration, piss-drinking and torture, OK?

Right… on with the fairy tales.

* Yeah, I delete all the crypto spam. It occurs to me that, since the majority of my readership is male, some of you might be very stupid indeed and feel aggrieved that in doing so, I am depriving you of the opportunity to see potentially valuable financial advice. After all, there can be few more dependable tips than those posted by a random stranger based in Russia, in the comments on a fetish porn blog. I can only suggest (and I should warn you that this does not constitute professional financial advice) that you’d do better handing over all your money to almost any random findomme. If you’re more of a long-term investor, consider signing up to a blackmail contract and suppplying her with the photos to enforce it, too. Investing in Princess Perfect’s shoe and handbag collection, or her holidays with Ibiza with her boyfriend and bf, will at least produce a certain and known return, unlike crypto, and probably one of the same expected value.

Historical fits

Yeah, more old-timey femdom. They did have it before the invention of latex, you know.

Fun fact: the beautiful Anna Popplewell who features here is, I think, the only actress I have ever captioned whom I have seen in (so-called) real life. Not a very fun fact, I know, but I don’t get a lot of fun in my life.

It’s not her fault

It’s yours.

Fortunately she’s not easily embarassed – you can look quite absurd and be made to do lots of humiliating things before she begins to experience the least twinge.
Many women secretly prefer didoes to their male partners’ cocks. My SO is more open about it – says the dildo is even a better conversationalist, quite apart from the sexual aspects in which I’m obviously not a contender at all.
Dream job – and you’ll get to do twice as much of it.
The fivesome’s scheduled for next week, when Lucy’s cousins are in town too.
Gravity will do most of the work. All you have to do is suffer; and that’s easy enough when you’re in pain.
As if this sequence of photos (others from which I unfreely acknowledge I have used before) was not wonderful enough, it actually features twin sadistic Margot Robbies. I mean… why would anyone ever need to make another movie, about anything (except movies starring Mistress Annie, obviously).

Muliebrious bodily harm

Good word, isn’t it? You can look it up if you don’t know what it means. Or live your life in wilful ignorance – see if I care.

Don’t worry if you end up eating some dirt too, it won’t do you any harm. Refusing to obey her wishes, on the other hand, could be distinctly hazardous.
Can’t be too careful. My SO loves to conduct cavity searches and if she runs out of holes in my body to delve into, she just makes more.
I understand they did make a more scientifically accurate version of the movie, in which at least half the running time was taken up with Bond’s genitals getting slowly charred. I’d pay to see that but apparently it didn’t play well with all demographics.
Sometimes Responsible Females get cross if they arrive after the five day period to find their property already disposed of – but they’re always offered a replacement and they’re usually fine with that.
Try to help her out; she’s taking pains to get this right.
To be fair, she probably would have snipped them off in due course, but not just yet – probably not for a few days.

Just the way she likes it

Be aware she might just push your limits a little, OK? Or she might just want to breeze straight past them to get into the fun zone as soon as possible… whatever.
You might wonder whether there is evidence that her method gets results. It does: the boys she thrashes are in pain for days and have a terror of her that lasts the rest of their lives… and that’s exactly the result she’s aiming at.
Don’t worry, you won’t need to break the fantasy by handing over cash to her. She’s come up with a clapping and counting game for you to chant your banking log-in details.
Works for me. Spend long enough in chastity and you develop an ‘everything fetish’ anyway.
It’s unwise to waste your breath on pleading, but don’t worry if you can’t help it: you won’t offend her.
You may not know much information now, but believe me: you’ll have learnt about a lot of new things by the time they’re – or you’re – finished.

The voice of authority

Thank goodness we have women to handle these tough decisions for us.
Don’t worry: you can tell her as many things you really hate as you like. In fact, she’d quite like to know what your number four and number five are, so don’t hold back.
Police have a difficult enough job dealing with rapists, it’s best not to tie their hands with namby-pamby restrictions on what they can or cannot do to them.

Back under the bed. They’ll try to keep the noise down.
She’s not planning to brighten your smile, but then you won’t be smiling much when she’s finished with you, so that’s OK.

If wishes were ponyboys

Once again, this blog takes a little break from its usual commitment to hard-core realism to present some fairy tales. Pretty Grimm, I know, but it’s all I’ve got today.

Don’t worry: if she smashes the door, he has alternative accommodation options. She bought a birdcage, before she had the doll’s house furniture idea.
Even tyrannical despots enjoy ‘bring your daughter to work day’.
Frustrate you? Oh, the poor chap. I wonder how long he’ll be left in that condition?
King Jorral’s queen interpreted the promise as meaning that she would continue to sleep in a queen’s bed, and she was absolutely right about that.
Now she’s learning witchcraft, she’s got some plans for Mr Granger, too.
It’s going to be quite odd for the people running heaven when, in about 970 years, the first post-Internet cohorts of mortals start to arrive. ‘Where are all the men?’, they might ask. Although obviously they’re not allowed actually to say the answer.