Advertising Spot


Thanks for coming in – listen, we’re really excited about
this campaign and it would be great to have you on board!  I don’t know how much you’ve been told?  The client’s a major supplier of household
products and they’ve got this premium dog food product, yeah?

So: the spot opens in the… well, the ‘dungeon’, I guess, of
a dominatrix.  And she’s got a slave on
the floor in front of her –that’s you! – and we see her grab a can of generic
dog-food and pour it into a bowl in front of him.  Really nasty stuff – you know?  Slops into the bowl and glistens
unappealingly. Slave takes a sniff and retches, refuses, so she pushes his head
into the bowl with her boot and starts whipping him – and she whips him harder
and harder, until he’s eaten the whole thing. 
We see him taking mouthfuls and swallowing with disgust – that’s important.
Then we see him dressed, thanking her for the session and he goes outside and
is violently sick on the street. With me so far?

OK, then we see him arrive for his next session, and he’s
casting nervous glances at the shelf where she keeps her dog food as he hands
over the tribute, see?  But this time
when he’s naked at her feet, she grabs a can of the Product, and tips it into
his bowl. Lovely chunks this time, with translucent jelly just catching the
coloured dungeon lights – mmm.  Slave
sniffs nervously, looks surprised, starts eating it and then begins wolfing it
down, you know? Can’t get enough!  And we
finish with him in doggy-begging mode below the shelf, barking excitedly up at
another can of the Product, as his mistress stares at the empty bowl in puzzled
disappointment.

We were originally going to use actors and beef stew, but it
wouldn’t be legal to show someone eating stuff that isn’t actually the Product, you know? That would be false advertising. 
So… we asked around if anyone knew
anyone and Lucy in accounts  – she’s in accounts but she really wants to join the creative team – Lucy said she knows a findomme with piggie slaves who’ll do
anything she tells them and… well, here you are!

There’s be quite a lot of money in it. The client sells in
over 30 countries, and the packaging is different in most of them so we’ll have
to re-shoot. You have to eat it again each time, too – pesky advertising laws,
I’m afraid.  And the nasty competitor
product. We were a bit worried about the whip marks, but Sophie thought we
could just completely cover your back with them to begin with – like you’d
already had a good thrashing, yeah? – so there wouldn’t be continuity problems
with that. Of course, we won’t make you do more than seven or eight spots in
any one day.  But you get paid for each
you see – well, or rather your findomme does, I suppose.

So – you up for it? Obviously, you can only sign the
contract of your own free will, but if you need a day or two for someone to
force you to agree, we don’t have to sign today?
THE END
Epilogue
Actually, this was just the start.  Lucky old Spot (yeah, the slave’s called Spot…bit of a coincidence, I know) went on to star in a wildly popular campaign for a well-known brand of toilet cleaner.  Again, a frustrated domme finds that when she’s used the Product, her toilet no longer tastes foul, so she ends up having to take him out to lick a public urinal clean.  Last I heard, he was getting so many offers his findomme had decided he should resign from his day job and do it full time – pretty great, huh?
Uncharacteristic boasting
Incidentally, if you’re ‘reading’ this far (and you shouldn’t, it’s unhealthy to edge for too long – go on, get it out.  There.  That’s right. Phew  – isn’t that better?), you  might want to know that January 2019 was the most popular month in this blog’s history.  More than seventeen pageviews from at least four separate people… no, actually, I’m pretty sure it was more than seventeen… ah yes, that’s right, over 100,000, that’s it. The pageview count went over 100,000 in the month for the first time ever. It’s almost exactly eight years since the blog started: 7.5 million page-views, over 1000 comments. Goodness me, if this keeps up, how ever will I be able to maintain my self-image as a worthless loser? 
Thank you all – keep on coming.*
OK, so some of it is probably people not using Tumblr so much.  Still…
*  Yes, I know.  Sorry.  But after all those page-views you are used to it by now, right?

Fear and loving

They go together so well.  More common than you might think.


In the – very unlikely – event that it does start giving you punishment-level shocks, there’s a helpline you can call that’s open every single day between 10 and 4, and usually only has a very short waiting time. So… nothing to worry about.


That’s the thing about a good thrashing with a cane: it’s so straightforward. You know where you stand (corner, usually).
And there’s some lubricant in case any chafing symptoms emerge, for whatever reason.
Don’t worry: she’s planning to consummate the marriage.  Just not with you.







I’ve always thought the mens lib movement would be much more effective if they just recognised reality and put a woman in charge.  But they like to try to do things by themselves, bless them.

Senseful brutality


Well.. someone might mind, actually.  But no one who matters.








Goodness, what a large one.  As no woman has ever said to me, in my entire life. More seriously, though, I really, really like this caption. If you don’t like this one then you are probably ‘reading’ the wrong femdom blog, because as far as I’m concerned, this is as good as it gets (sorry).


Actually, I stopped complaining to Mum when I realised she was always going to take my sister’s side.  And obviously there was no point complaining to Dad – he tried to stick up for me once, and we both got a spanking for his trouble.

 

Looking?  Looking where?








Actually, I really like this one too…

Special delivery

 
Yes, it’s from Harold. Listen to this, Marion:
My dearest Bess.  I write these words in haste.  I hope you are well and have not been too worried
by my unexpected absence.  If you are reading this missive then I have the joy to announce that our enforced separation can at last be ended.
You see, my love, there has been the most monstrous misunderstanding.  The uncle of yours, to whom you suggested I apply for a position, appears to have been under the impression that I was a potential pupil for a school of which he acts as governor.  I  am not aware of the precise location, but somewhere on a bleak moor in Derbyshire, I am enrolled in a boys’ boarding school! 
In vain, I have pointed out that I am no schoolboy, but an independent gentleman of 25 years, recently contracted in the blissful state of wedlock with a beautiful young lady. Yet the school , it seems, caters to delinquent young men and the headmaster appears to assume that I am one such.  I have ceased to protest for fear of his cane, which he and the staff use viciously to deal with any minor infraction or even annoyance.  Most of my ‘class’ appear to be well into the age of majority, and have advised me to ‘buckle down and take it’, so beaten into submission are their poor spirits.
My own spirit is flagging somewhat, I will admit, under the oppression I suffer daily.  As you know, dearest Bess,
since I recall you remarking on it with a smile when I mentioned the fact, my own school had a more progressive outlook and so the canings, cold showers and country runs are taking a terrible toll on my physique, not to mention my mental state, which alternates between terror of a forthcoming thrashing and tedium as I complete the mindless rote-learning tasks that pass for instruction in this benighted institution.  I have been here not more than three weeks, yet already I have written over five thousand lines!  Yes, my dearest, lines: it apears modern educational theories have yet to reach whatever godforsaken corner of Northern England holds me captive.
Furthermore, several of the tutors take… liberties with the ‘boys’ that I will not commit to paper for fear of being prosecuted for penning an obscene publication – and are in so sense fit to mention to a young lady, even one with
such enlightened ideas as I was pleased if somewhat shocked to experience on our wedding night.  
I am handing this missive to a groundsman, to whom I have entrusted the last of my secreted funds. I can only
hope and pray you see it and intervene with your uncle before the end of the week, when I have been promised the thrashing of a lifetime.
I kiss the air and pray for your well-being, my love, my only dearest. 

Your ever-faithful
Harold.
Goodness. Marion, my darling, will you bring me paper and pen?  I need to write to my uncle.  Is the boy who delivered this still waiting downstairs?
Excellent.  Give him some supper.  Tell him I want him personally to deliver my letter to Uncle Frederick, will you?  I’m sure Uncle Fred will enjoy dealing with him himself.  Honestly: taking money from pupils to deliver letters.  You can’t trust anyone these days. 
Oh – and that reminds me: we need to pay Harold’s school-fees for the rest of the year.  Apparently after this first year, we can set up a trust which pays the fees in perpetuity, so we don’t need to be bothered with it again.
But we can sort that out tomorrow.  Run my bath, will you Marion dearest?  And get in: I’ll join you there when I’m done with this.

Lachrymatrices



The annoying thing is, I only bought the car last week. But I guess I can do without it.  It’s essential to prioritise, when making important financial decisions.
She doesn’t mean the bondage. He likes the bondage.  It’s the things she can do to him because he is in bondage that he won’t like.

There used to be a brand of condoms that fitted me just perfectly, but the manufacturer decided to stop producing that particular size.  Not enough demand for it, apparently.  Over 20% of men are that size or less, but they make up only 0.3% of all sexual encounters, so… I can’t really blame them.

And she’ll decide whether you really really need it, or not.
My wife’s very sexually demanding too, but I don’t have too much difficulty keeping her satisfied: the local male escort agencies all give us loyalty discounts now and if I book in advance as well, I can get up to a 25% off the list price. Which is – just about – affordable on my salary, if I’m careful to economise on everything else.


Ladies in red


Men’s libbers are actually firmly opposed to being spanked.  Most men are, actually.  But they always end up thankful for it.





I once paid a prostitute to have sex with me – booked with a credit card.  But when I opened the door to her, she looked me up and down, dug around in her purse, handed me the same amount in cash and walked off.  Which could actually be quite handy some time, if I’m ever somewhere with no ATMs.
Never try puppy play alongside an actual dog.  They’re better at it. Much the same goes for sex and real men.  Don’t even try – you’ll just look foolish.  And you wouldn’t want that.

 

Except that she’s started by using social media to advertise, so her first clients are precisely likely to be your friends.  And your close family members.

She’s sneaked a tub of lube into the bottom of your tuck box.  You know: to make the first few days a bit easier.  She’s kind like that.


They think it odd and Sodom and Gomorrah-ble

Isn’t it delectable?

My SO can be scatterbrained like that.  Just last week was supposed to be my annual orgasm and the silly thing forgot it completely!  How we laughed when she realised the next day why I’d been looking so anxious. She still smiles when she thinks about it…
Abusive behaviour can develop slowly – or can be quite quick, starting almost as soon as one hands over the bag containing the champagne and the envelope with the tribute money. 


Tried it.  What now?  Hmm?
The rules can be quite strict.  I tried to change my name to my wife’s and they wouldn’t allow it. Isn’t that ridiculous – in this day and age?  Apparently “Mywifes” is not an officially recognised christian name.

 

Well, I hope she’s prepared to let him stay for the whole session, even if he did underpay.

Good morning




Good morning, darling!  Happy honeymoon!  Aww… you’re down on your knees, how sweet!  Are you going to give me a lovely little kiss?




Good morning, darling?  Now where are my morning kisses, hmm?








Well, you’re not going to be able to greet me properly from all the way up here, are you darling?  Down you go.




Just on the top of the stocking today, I think darling.  I’m still cross with you.




Hmm? No… no particular reason. I just thought it would be nice to have my morning kiss at the back for a change.






Kiss!








   

Come on, hurry up.  You’ve got chores.
Well, I’m not going to get up just for your convenience, am I darling?  Just kiss the knee – no: the ankle.
Kiss!


So, anyway, Karen had a headache and went home early, so I had both of them to myself and – hmm?  Noise, what noise?  Oh: it’s nothing, just my husband saying good morning.  Anyway, they had me kneel on all fours and…






Hurry up, darling.  There’s something I need to discuss with you.








No, I’m fed up with you slobbering all over my shoes.  You can kiss the floor.






And kiss the cane, too, to show me how grateful you are.

Kiss, then tell me how many you think you deserve today.

Hmm? Oh – good morning. Actually, it’s not morning but I suppose you weren’t to know that.  Anyway, I just thought I’d let you know that I’ll be away for a few weeks, so I’ll fill the food hopper and put your shock collar on automatic.  Oh – and it’s our anniversary on Tuesday – that’s the day after tomorrow. Your shock collar will be going on and off on all day, to make sure you don’t sleep. You’ve so much to be grateful for, I thought you wouldn’t want to miss a second of it.