Subjectivity

Noun: the state of being a subject.  That used to be me but now I’m more objective.


No great loss, right?
Somehow it still feels like I’m on the leash, even when I’m not.  Strange, that.
I rolled a six this month!  But apparently “rules are made to be broken”!  Not her usual attitude to rules, I have to say… but that’s women for you.  Bless ’em.
She’s already being the best wife she can. That’s why you’re wearing the shock collar.








My brain hurts.  Sorry: I think I’m just too male today to understand this one. Something about a hash?  Is she talking about breakfast?

Malevolent society

Possibly rather alarming, but don’t worry: she’s a kind and loving person. She has cats, for example.  Cat people are always OK, right?  She has several cats and she loves them dearly.
Fortunately, scurrying is one of the things I do best.



It’s odd, because when I bring up how little I like the idea of giving blow-jobs, she says I shouldn’t rule something out without trying it!  I’m almost tempted to agree with the sexists that women can’t do logic.  But I won’t argue about it.  It’s just very frustrating, though, you know?
Looks like you owe your liberty to her.  I hope you’re grateful.








Poor Diana. Oh well, back to lesbianism I suppose.

There is no fire

Music only a little related. But don’t you just love the way Mistress Lennox’s voice sort of… swoops in at the start? I do. And I tried to find a version with a video, and I found this and she looks lovely, but someone’s ringing a bell, playing an electric organ and generally messing up that opening.


Sigh.  First world problems…

More things follow:

I had this wonderful puppy play session in the park, the other day.  She did that thing of making me balance a twig on my nose in sitting position?  And then she backed slowly away saying ‘stay… stayyyy’.  It’s actually quite hard to stay still for long like that, so after only seven hours, I sneezed and the twig fell off. If I ever see her again, I’ll have to tell her and be punished. Exciting thought!

 

Oh, just a plain vanilla ball-crusher, then? OK, sorry.  Just go ahead.



I still remember the first time she called me a ‘lazy little bastard’…
It’s actually not quite true to say she doesn’t care. She enjoys making you cry. But she’s trying to spare your feelings, the dear thing.





Yup. All about the rules.






Never say never again

Please?  Please don’t say that. I’ll be good, I promise.  I – 




Its ridiculous really. If she wants a curvy cock, what does she think this is, neatly tucked away in the tube around my scrotum?  Women, eh?

He’ll be thanking her particularly fulsomely.*

Maybe I could have sex in the fields?  When the weather’s a bit warmer, obviously.

I wonder what the question was… Honestly, who writes these things? Why be so obscure?

And new things about bears. I’ve heard they shit in the… anyway, I’m sure you’ll have a very interesting time.





* ‘Fulsome’ is a word often mis-used to mean ‘complete’ or ‘enthusiastic’ when in fact it means ‘excessively flattering or insincerely earnest’.  I once emailed a domme I was visiting, expresing my ‘fulsome’ thanks for my treatment in our last session, to be greeted next time by a Mistress holding a dictionary and a cane.

Begging the question

It’s usually “May I? Please Mistress?”

Typical. She remembered to pack plenty of condoms for her own sexual pleasure, didn’t she? But didn’t think to bring just one little key.  Honestly: if I’m permitted speaking rights at any point during this trip, I’m going to give her a piece of my mind!



Many people get uncomfortable at the idea of public humiliation scenes, which impose your own sexuality on random strangers without their consent.  But in this case, she made you go around asking everyone in the cafe if they were OK with watching you being humiliated for sexual kicks, so that’s all right.
Actually, the neighbours wouldn’t mind.  They never liked him. But it’s thoughtful of her to think of them.

‘Fool around’?  Who says that, these days? Why do people in porn talk so weirdly?




Can’t argue with the science.


Girls don’t make passes

… at boys with slapped arses.




I had to post this, because it’s something I have personally experienced and I think it is precisely the sort of abusive behaviour that comes from negative stereotyping of male submissives.  What – just because I’m sexually submissive, some random stranger expected me to give her money, to go shopping with her, pay for everything, carry the stuff home, wash her car, cook and serve a meal for her and her boyfriend and then fuck off? If I hadn’t had her socks stuffed in my mouth the whole time, I’d have told her a thing or two about mutual respect in BDSM!











She’s still technically employed as a housemaid, but on a substantially higher pay scale.







Nor would I, willingly.









Character development is important in snip-lit.  Women want depth and emotional complexity in the characters they read about.  They don’t just want to read accounts of guys screaming in pain and terror as the cheesewire tightens… they want to know something of the inner pain they’re experiencing too.









Even an ordinary hotel room will normally have coat-hangers, kettles, maybe even a sewing set with needles.  Oh – and if there isn’t a steam iron, you can send for one.  You can have lots of fun in even the most vanilla environments.
The lovely Lucy Mistress Sidonia,  there, of course.

Stunted little runt




OK, so the story is that the guy had won
a chance to meet me – it was a charity thing I did, yeah?  Raised a lot of money. For, maybe, stray cats
or something?  Or dogs, I don’t
remember.  Maybe homeless people, come to think of it.

Anyway, I met the guy backstage at a convention like this one and… let’s just say he was the typical loser fanboy?  I mean, no offence to anyone here but you know the type, right?  Lanky hair, black t-shirt, scuzzy
trainers.  He started out by saying he’d been hoping I’d be wearing the Wonder Woman outfit,
which was kind of a bad sign from the beginning, you know?

And then he said ‘can you do a fight
move’?  And I was, like, no way: that’s
only on-set in carefully controlled conditions, with professional
stunt-men.  But he started ducking and
dancing about saying ‘I know stuntwork – fight me’ and… well, suddenly I saw he
had this massive – actually not so massive but very prominent – bulge in his pants, you know?  The guy had a boner.  And I just reacted instinctively and I spun
and kicked hard at the side of his head.

OK, he’d said he knew stunt work,
right?  He’d said that.  When you’re taking a hit to the
head, you lean with it.  Everyone knows that. Day one at stunt school – lean with the blow. But he leaned
into it.  Got the full force of the kick
right to the side of the head – blam! 
I was a physical fitness instructor in the Israeli army, yeah?  I’ve got strong legs.

So… he’d wanted a fight move, I was doing a fight move. That spin and kick – it’s a two
stage move.  A kick to the head, the
stunt guy falls back and sideways, I finish the spin, shift the weight from one
foot to the other and do the second kick which just misses his chin but with
the right camera angle, the audience can’t see that. It’s all one motion – has to be, or I’d fall over.  I need the second kick to balance up.  It’s just reflex with me now, anyway.

So I came around and I guess I could somehow sense he wasn’t in the right place.  Totally not in the right place. He was
reeling, staggering, whatever,and he was way too close.  But I had no time to think and the second kick
went right in, and it was still on the upstroke, probably just at its most powerful moment,
unfortunately, right up between his legs. 
The force actually carried him off the ground… and he was kind of overweight, so there was a lot of power going in there.
Like I said, I’ve
got strong legs.

And that was it… my people called an ambulance
immediately, obviously.  He was quite
lucky actually – he had a minor fracture to the skull from the first kick, but
no permanent cranial or brain damage. That would have been really bad.  The second kick… yeah, well, that didn’t work
out so well for him.

I’m actually sorry for the guy, yeah?  I really am.  I don’t mean I said sorry for what I did – that’s actually a different word in
Hebrew, the difference is clearer.  Maybe I should say I don’t ‘apologise’?  Because everything was the guy’s own
fault, right?   But he had a pretty sad life to
begin with and now there’s… less in it. 
So I feel kind of sorry about that.  Although I don’t think he was ever going to have much of a sex life
anyway, if you know what I mean.

And we raised a lot of money for the stray cats.  I don’t know how much, but I heard it was a
lot.  Or for the homeless people – whatever.

He might as well have buttons and bows

Mistress Kate, of course. I was reminded of her the other day, when a delightful domme made me dance and mime to Wuthering Heights.  I fear I wasn’t very good at it and she mocked me mercilessly… some people can be so cruel.





If he’s lucky, he’s going to be a shower head.  But he’s not been enormously lucky so far in his life, alas.
That reminds me of a date I went on once, actually.  It was a pub quiz and our team came last but oddly it was only right at the end that my date told everyone she was the first and second prize.  So I had to hang around for an hour or so, while the winning and runner-up teams collected their prizes.  Then she said she was tired and just wanted to go home, so I walked with her.  I thought I might be in with a chance but she said she never kisses on a first date, so that was that. Still: I didn’t get kneed in the balls, shat on or made to suck off any gay friends, so all in all I count the evening as a success.  The second date didn’t go so well, unfortunately.

Lots of men make this mistake: she’s asked you about your day so she wanted to be asked about hers, right?  Right?  And now you have chores and you don’t have permission to speak, so it’s too late.  You unfeeling brute.


If they’re quick they can catch happy hour. And then there’s a cabaret, but obviously they won’t have time to stay for that.
I’ve always had a weird phobia about Scrabble, ever since this girl I knew at school followed through on her threat to make me “eat my words”.  The little tiles weren’t so bad on the way in, but even with rounded corners you can certainly feel the sharp edges when they come out again. I was bullied quite severely when I was at school – did I ever mention that?  And afterwards, too, of course – but at school it was free of charge.




I am not a doormat

OK: that’s not strictly accurate: obviously I am a doormat. But I’m not just a doormat, you know?  I am also a foot-rest, a cup-holder, a draft excluder, a bookshelf end and a rather amusing vase for flowers.  Although no more than three of those things simultaneously.

It’s odd how sometimes the most sadistic individuals so often realise later that they weren’t cruel enough.  My SO has this problem all the time: you’d think she’d learn and stop being so lenient.

So… does that mean next week it’s my turn again?  No?  Oh.

There seems to be quite a lot of shared understanding in that room. Obviously some great teaching techniques being applied.

Lion?  Lover-boy?  Lady-killer?  Liposome?  Leprechuan?

Perhaps they could somehow transplant the ones from the real rapist?  After a fair trial and conviction, obviously.  Oh – he already lost them in the police station?  That’s unlucky.  Funny how often that happens… you’d think the police would take more care.




Several times now, upon a time

Tales about bold princesses rescuing helpless princes from evil, erm, princesses and all that kind of thing.  Again.


Why do three wishes always turn out this way?  You’d think people would have the sense to learn.  But the protagonist in this one is presumed to be male, so I guess ‘sense’ is not really an option.




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