Outer space now belongs to…

Anne!  And it’s got some stupid title but anyway it’s the Anne in space film!

Here are some publicity photos, and a sneak preview of the dialogue – well, monologue – from one of the best scenes.


Houston?  Crewmember
Brand here for Janus 9.   We have an
emergency. Oxygen levels are now at 43% nominal and dropping fast.  I am in my suit and my status is green, but
Commander Cooper and Crewman Benlow are out of their suits. Please advise, over.

Negative, Houston. 
The Commander and Crewman cannot en-suit at this time, because they were
engaged in sexual congress and the Commander cannot disengage.  Over.

Yeah – it’s kind of a forced bi thing I was making them
do.  We’ve had a bit of a femdom scene
going on up here, and I thought it would be funny to make the Commander fuck the Crewman up the ass.  They begged me not to, but I’m in charge in here.  Over.
What?  Well sure it’s relevant to the emergency, dickbrain!  Ahem, sorry, the Commander’s sexual organ appears to be
unusually engorged, Houston, probably due to the sudden drop in capsule pressure.  Consequently he cannot disengage from the
Crewman.  Over.

Houston, do you copy?  Oxygen at 31%.  Rate of depressurisation constant.  Over.

Negative, Houston, the Commander is unable to join this conversation.  It’s just on my suit channel.  I’m not broadcasting it through the cabin, Houston, because they’d be really embarrassed and they might hyperventilate.   Right now they’re breathing fast and shallow, like we did in training for emergency depressurisation.
Request permission to detach
the Commander’s penis from the rest of his body and thus enable both
crewmembers to suit up. Over.
 
 

Houston, do you copy?  Over.


Houston, awaiting response.


Over.


Glad you’re back, Houston.  You went kind of quiet there.  You want me to say again? 
Sure.  Can I castrate the
Commander?  He really doesn’t want me to
but I think it’s the only way.  I’ve got
a scalpel right here.  Oxygen now at 23%
nominal.  Over.



Say again, Houston? 
Turn the oxygen back up?  No, I
don’t know how to do that.  I’ve heard
it’s kind of complicated.  Over.

Negative, Houston.  I
can’t see a dial that looks like that.  
I could look for one, but it would take a long time. But I’ve got the
scalpel.  Right here.  Please advise, over.
 
 

Oxygen levels now at 19% nominal, Houston.


Your call.

You can get more with a kind word and a whip…

… than you can with just a kind word.

These ladies know that.





Disappointed?  Well.. maybe a little.
 
 

 



He can continue to explore his interest in blow jobs too, I understand.
 
 




 
 

 



Enjoy. Only 25 seconds now…
 
  

 



Woof.
 
I’ll confess, I don’t often last the full twenty seconds.  But she’s not one of those women who minds if her man comes very quickly.
 
 

 

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.

Consequences

A ‘turning points’ story.



Darling, can we talk about last night?  About the party?

Yes, I know you had a bit too much to drink.  That’s what I want to talk about.

No, you were fine.  Just a little tipsy.  Not like Mark.  You weren’t being drunk or embarrassing, or anything like that.  I just wanted to talk to you about the game.

The game of ‘consequences’, of course.  Have you forgotten playing?  We did one round, just before the Saxtons went home.

I’ve got all the strips of paper here, you see?  I got them out of the wastepaper bin.  Now – you had a blue pen, didn’t you?

Oh don’t try to pretend darling, yes you did, I know you did.

Right, so let’s have a look, shall we?  Hmm…let me see.  I’ll just unfold them.  That one’s OK, you went first but um…yes!  What about this one?  I’ll read it out.

“President Obama” met “Humphrey the Cat” in “a cattle market in Australia”.  He said to her “There are better cakes in Portsmouth” (that’ll be Mark, of course.  Anyway, doesn’t matter.) She said to him “That’s six of the best with my cane – pull your shorts down!”  And the consequence was “the Bee Gees reformed and released a Garage album.”

You don’t remember which of those was yours?  OK, let’s try another.

“Mr Tickle” met “a strict headmistress, flexing her cane menacingly”, in “Transylvania”.  He said to her – well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?  I do recognise my husband’s handwriting.

Or this.

“Adam Ant” met “Seven of Nine” in “Cardiff”.  He said to her “the flowers that bloom in the spring, trala, have nothing to do with the case”.  She said to him “Because reasons”.  And the consequence was “She put him across her knee, and spanked his naughty bottom until it glowed.”

Honestly, I could have died of embarrassment when we read them all out.  Mark whispered to Gerry that you should be sent to bed early with a smacked bottom!  And everyone heard him.  Everyone except you, apparently.

If it was just a joke, it was a very silly one.  But perhaps there’s something we need to discuss, is there, darling?  Because if you want me to put you across my knee and spank your naughty bottom until it glows, believe me – you’ve picked a very good day to find out what it feels like!

Resistance is futile

Utterly futile.

I love the way a recent article in the Guardian about science fiction on British TV just *happened* to use an image from this episode featuring whip-wielding dominatrices to exemplify the series Space 1999.
 

 

That’s only fair, because you’re not in fact safe.
The awesome Jean Bardot.

 

Aww… look at that little pout.  Isn’t she sweet when she’s cross?  Better do what the little woman says, hmmm?  Just to humour her, you know.  You can assert yourself later, I expect.
 
 

 

If you want a picture of the future, imagine a sweaty trainer stamping on a human face — forever*.
 
 

 

I do.
 
Mistress Francesca Harding, prepared it would seem to help with life-long learning experiences.





*Test time!  What is the slightly garbled literary reference?  Hmm?  Anyone?  You!  You at the back – hands out of your pockets, boy! – what’s the answer?

OWK memories

As most of you will know, the Other World Kingdom closed its doors some time ago.  Like many submissives, I was completely captivated by the images and videos produced by this place, and I wish I had had the opportunity to go.  Especially in the very early days, there was a freshness and originality to OWK.  I still remember seeing the first full-page glossy ad for the place in a magazine (before the Internet – or at least before I had access, in 1992 or so).  There were these stern ladies escorting prisoners with a real concentration-camp vibe.  So different from the scenes shot in the British home counties, or the usual studios.

Anyway, through the extensive use of a media technique known in the trade as ‘making it up’, this blog managed to secure interviews with several of the OWK’s ladies just before it closed, reminiscing about the early days and their time at the OWK.  The author would like to thank all of these ladies for donating their completely imaginary time, as well as for the advice they provided to him for self-improvement, during the course of the fantasised interviews.

We miss you, OWK.

 

 

 

 

 

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.
 

Because she says so

…is there ever any other reason?



It’ll help take your mind off the pain, while you’re waiting, anyway.  Nothing like ‘more pain’, to do that.



 

 

How exciting!  I wonder who it is?
 
 
 
It’s good to talk these things through.  And then to smack them out.

 

You’ve either seen the movie or you haven’t.

 

 

 

Can’t stop staring at.. the …gloves…!  Oh, er, right!  Dinner.  yes, right away.

Temper temper



Oh hi darling!  Locked myself out again!  So annoying – I mean, I knew you’d be coming home late today.

Actually, I’m having a bad day all round.  I lost my temper earlier on, and I’m still on edge.  You see, I went to buy some new boots, and –

– well no, not these boots actually, darling.  That’s the point of the story.  I do wish you wouldn’t interrupt.  You know how cross it makes me. Just listen, will you –


Anyway, I saw this lovely pair of boots – like these ones! – at lunchtime, so I bought them and I thought I’d wear them straight away, but when I got back to the office, what do you think I found?

No, of course you have no idea, darling.  It’s a rhetorical question.

Anyway, I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it before, but I suddenly noticed they were all scuffed, at the side around the top of the keel.  I mean really scuffed – not just marks, but the leather had come up ragged in a few places.  And they’d obviously been like that when I bought them, because all I’d done was walk along the road to the office – it’s only ten minutes, you know, from that little row of shops near St Pauls.

So I went back after work, and I found the shop assistant who’d sold them to me – rather a creepy little guy, actually!  And he was smiling and nodding in that obsequious way they have, you know, and calling me ‘madam’ but then he said he couldn’t change them!  And I said why not, and he said because he couldn’t be sure that the damage hadn’t happened after I’d bought them!

I mean – really!  He was practically accusing me of lying!

Anyway, I just saw red.  You know how I get.  And I was just shouting at him, at the top of my voice… and I grabbed his head and I forced him down, shouting ‘Look!  look there at these boots you sold me!’ and I might have called him all sorts of awful names.  Poor guy – he was really upset.  Started stuttering and breathing hard – honestly, I think he might have been about to cry!

So I took off the boots and I was holding them right in his face, shouting at him.  When he took them his hands were just trembling.

And the store manager came over.  Quite a young lady – younger than him anyway.  Very smart and proper, you know?  And I was telling her all about it and – I feel awful now – but I was saying what a useless sales assistant she had, and she ought to give him the sack and all that sort of thing.  And he was just getting redder and redder in the face, and breathing harder and harder.

And then he ran off!  I mean, I must have just pushed too many of his buttons!  He just started gasping, and he bent half over and just scurried off through some door at the back of the shop.  With the boots!  I don’t think the manageress knew what to say!  She went to go and make some sort of phone call, from the till.

And then a couple of minutes later, he came back.  He seemed to have calmed down a bit, although he was still very red in the face.  And he was panting away, as if he’d just run a mile or something.  Goodness knows what he’d been doing back there!  Maybe he’d been crying.  But anyway, he had a new pair of boots with him!  Just like the others, but not damaged.  And when I said ‘But I thought you said you couldn’t change them’ he muttered something about how he could always pay for them himself, out of his own wages.

Well, I didn’t really think.  I just sat down and I held my hand out for him to give me the boots, but he just kneeled down in front of me and put them on me himself!  And he said ‘Thank you, Madam’ and he held the door open for me, when I left the shop.  I think I must have sacred the living daylights out of him!

Poor guy.  I mean, it’s not really his fault, is it?  I felt awful afterwards, I really did.  I shouldn’t think he’s paid very much, do you?  And it can’t be much fun, selling boots and shoes to stroppy ladies all day, even if they don’t all get angry, and shove their boots in his face and call him names!

Oh dear.  Do you think I should go back and apologise?

Do you think she should?