torture – Page 8 – Contemplating the divine

Conscious incompetence

That’s me…with occasional periods of unconsciousness, when She plays a little too vigorously.

I
don’t know about you, but I’ve reached the point in my life where just
stuffing high-value notes into an envelope gives me an erection.

He gets up early and sings his little song.

The irony is, they then use ordinary gelding clippers to remove what remains of the burnt semi-dissolved flesh. So it’s all a bit pointless, really. Will you tell her, or shall I?

Unaccompanied males can enter the country on their own passports, of course. It’s just leaving that’s forbidden.

Best not to argue, though.

Femalevolent

Let’s hope she does want to treat him nicely.

Any particular flavour?

I think Hugh should stand up to them. I mean, is he a man or a mouse?

It would probably be OK to use any one of the Approved Slave Apology Phrases # 23 – 38 in reply. Or several, even.

Well, that’s thoughtful. Just what I needed.

By the way, I’ve been keeping this quiet partly because I don’t want him closed down, but there’s a chap with an account on archive.org
who must own an industrial-quality scanner, who appears to be
digitising what looks to be a large lifetime collection of (mainly
British) material relating to… well, our interests. The vast majority
of it is fem sub but even if only 5% of it is FD, the sheer volume he
is posting there makes it rather significant in itself. I make no
judgments on the copyright issues, let alone the rather more serious
violation of this blog’s code involved in publishing material in which men oppress
women (they’re only lengthening the charge sheet against them, for when
we finally achieve the righteous smack of firm government) but I leave
it to you to decide.

Callous talk

…doesn’t cost lives, in my experience, rather a few hundred pounds stuffed into an envelope and left closed but not sealed within the bag containing a gift.

Oh, he’s got nothing else to do down there in the basement. Might as well have some fun with him.

Large vagina humiliation. It’s the latest thing in the female submission world. I’d be really good at it, but sadly I have no dominant instincts.

I don’t think the verbal reasoning test should have much weight. The job mostly involves responding to simple, clear instructions.

I think it’s outrageous that convicted rapists receive free medical treatment anyway, actually. They should stop mollycoddling them like that – it’s supposed to be a pumishment, after all.

She’d take some of the other men with her too – the ones who know that no one will be coming for them within the three days – but Angie would object. She says one man around the home is enough, possibly even more than enough.

Women beat their men

Animals watch beyond the fire.

Don’t worry, they’re quite uncomfortable for her too, so this part of the session shouldn’t last more than 45 minutes or so.

I’d scream for Keira, nightly if she wanted me to.

Well, I hope it’s still summer, if we’re going to play outside again.

They have lots of good ideas for taking all the hard work out of BDSM too – or at least, making someone else do it.

Must be nice not to have to worry about limits and all that nonsense.

Panic of girls

Oh well. It has to be better than that call centre in Dhaka she put me in last year.

That is what little boys are made of, after all. Somehow I always knew.

Well, as long as she’s genuinely rehabilitated herself, I suppose it’s OK.

Girls have always known I’m ‘special’ and treated me accordingly.

I feel disempowered every time I even see a picture of Gal Gadot. I go weak at the knees.

Curled up with a good book

My weekend newspaper’s book review section always includes a roundup of the top five
bestsellers in some literary genre: science fiction, historical novels, that
kind of thing. This week, they’re focusing on castration lit. I was
heartened to see that this popular genre is breaking out into the mainstream at
last, so I thought I’d ignore the law on copyright and share the piece with
you.

I expect these
are all available on Amazon, somewhere. Incidentally, isn’t that a great
name for a company?

Bestsellers monthly: Cast-lit

This month, our bestsellers feature reports on the castration literature phenomenon that swept the
English-speaking world in 2016 and shows no sign of abating as 2017 draws towards its close. Here are the top five on this month’s
chopping block!

Find Out What you Mean to Me

Susan’s unhappy marriage turns into what seems likely to be
a still more unhappy divorce – until Susan has a brilliant idea to turn her
life around! Her husband Oliver is a deeply
dislikable character whose inevitable end on the cutting table we anticipate
with growing pleasure – and we are not disappointed. In the run up to this satisfying denouement,
however, Susan must first learn about the tools of her trade – and there are newspaper
boys, divorce lawyers and an unfortunate Anglican vicar along the way, to give
her the opportunity. Strictly by the
numbers but if you enjoy scenes of men in agony, pleading in terror to avoid
their richly-deserved fates – and who doesn’t? – this one is for you.

Rising cast-lit star Liz Folgate, author of Find Out What you Mean to Me.

Scream Louder for Me: the Chronicles of Cutting, vol 5.

Patricia Layton knows what her readers like and reliably
delivers it to them in a fifth volume of her popular series. Literary critics affect to despise her
contrived plots and weak characterisation, but no one writes a torture scene
like Layton. Every male character we meet is going to end up strapped to a
wooden block awaiting his fate in terror before too long anyway, so do we
really care much about their motivations?
More than 200 million sales worldwide says that most of us don’t.

The queen of scream herself, Patricia Layton. Not a believer in cruelty-free fashion!

Sins of Omission

Many would not consider this debut novel to be ‘cast lit’ at
all. Julie Melfoy builds her world slowly and with care, inviting the reader
fully to enter it – and readers seeking a slash and scream experience should look
elsewhere, as no cutting occurs at all in the first two-thirds of the
book. John Laurie, the main male character,
is far from the arrogant obnoxious stereotypical man providing the meat in a
typical cast-lit story and Rosie Vinners, his childhood sweetheart, no sadistic
torturess. Yet their relationship seems always fated to end up with him on the
cutting board and the path they take there is richly satisfying. For readers who want literary ‘meat’ as well
as the more ordinary kind, when reading about castration, this book is strongly
recommended.

Can men and women ever resolve their differences without resorting to castration? Sins of Omission explores this dilemma with flair and sensitivity. The movie adaptation, pictured above, is eagerly awaited for 2018.

Pride and Penectomy

Olivia Rawston’s tongue is always firmly in her cheek in
this witty homage to Austen. Will Mr
Darcy manage to save his family jewels?
Of course not. Austen-lovers will
adore Rawston’s wry and wickedly sadistic take on a classic, others will just
enjoy the inventive use of agricultural tools as Elizabeth and her sisters turn
the tables on their pompous suitors.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good set of genitals must be in want of a gelding knife.

Endgame

Dark and complex, this novel turns the established cast-lit
plot on its head. The screaming never lets up, but this is no mere orgy of pain. Instead of meeting a sequence of unpleasant men who will
inevitably receive their just desserts, we are introduced to each character when he is already on the
cutting-table and we learn his story through his desperate confessions. Initially, our sympathies are –
for once – with the men, who seem to be the innocent victims, but the truth is
slowly and oh-so-painfully extracted from them and we come to appreciate and
admire the wielder of the red-hot pincers.
Her story is told only at second hand, through the agonised pleading of the men who have wronged her – but what a tale it is. Be warned: this novel will make you think, it
will make you weep and it may well change your life. Shortlisted for the Booker Prize.

All of Endgame takes place in a single room but somehow the novel avoids any feelings of claustophobia. Instead, in its life-affirming conclusion, true freedom is found within the bare stone walls of a torture cell.

Controlling personality syndrome

It’s not a ‘disorder’, thank goodness.

It’s a remarkable experience, actually wanting your penis to be smaller all of a sudden.

Should be a lot of fun.

It’s kind of her to help him like that. Spreader gags can be so impersonal.

My pleasure.

Cometh the hour cometh the thithy

The whole principle of arguing with women is intrinsically wrong

I’m not claiming the link is really on topic but (a) I like Simon Pegg (b) I like Sally Phillips too – rather a lot (c) she does say that and she topples him too… After that, it’s less interesting.

Meanwhile, more of this:

She’s right. You can have a lot more sex in a chastity belt than without one, oddly enough, especially if you’re taken to the right clubs.

Of course Suzie won’t mind at all, but it’s kind of her to ask. Consent – it’s the foundation of BDSM.

I must say, I find all these lovers’ pet names a bit embarassing, don’t you? Goodness, if I were Brad I’d be cringing with humiliation right now.

I mean, obviously, the two of you can always use a gag when you play, but I’ve always thought that really spoils the sensation for the woman. A muffled ‘mmmpph’ can be cute enough, but sometimes what she really needs is a good, sustained session of agonised, terrified screaming. Yum.

Actually, he is still experiencing a paid-for abduction fantasy. Only difference being: it’s hers.

Prisencolinensinainciusol

As they say about President Knavs’s husband’s tweets: I think the title speaks for itself.

I understand more and more people these days are digging out cellar* conversions, creating lots of lovely extra space down there, far, far down beneath sound-proofed floors.

*basement

They could go down to the cellar* and play with her toys.

* still ‘basement’

I’ve got a special brown card – it’s kind of the opposite of a loyalty scheme. Hotels and airlines treat me like dirt wherever I go.

I wrote a story about loyalty cards once. That was when I wrote stories featuring the first domme I ever visited and her friend. They appear briefly in this one, under false names.

But this was my favourite from back then.

I dunno. Feels a bit weird, trying on her dead dad’s dresses. Don’t know why.

Apparently she does humiliation scenes too. She just doesn’t always know when she’s doing one.

Castigation

My secretary at work handles all my appointments too. This evening, for example, I have an appointment to wash her boyfriend’s car.

Well, she won’t find anything down there, believe me! Ridiculous to have to go through these sorts of inspections, even now.

You can use the basin in the ladies’ bathroom, if it bothers you to be seen doing the handwashing in the mens’.

The divine Goddess Heather, of course, whom we might have contemplated here once or twice before.

You’d be surprised how more effective that can be than even the most enthusiastic amateur.

PS -just discovered this (rather excellent) post, and indeed quite a few more femdom tales by ‘Freddie’. If you like my stuff, I think you’ll like those. I do. Many of the rest of his stories feature dominant males, which for me… well, I just find it to hard to suspend disbelief when authors stray quite so far from real life as that, but I suppose it’ll rock some people’s boats.