Tuesday, October 21, 2014

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?


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.

Monday, October 20, 2014


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!

Sunday, October 19, 2014

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?

Friday, October 17, 2014

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.


Tuesday, October 14, 2014

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.

Friday, October 10, 2014

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.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

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?

Friday, October 3, 2014

Hurtful things

...and he's good for relieving my... tension!
Oh well.  At least you no longer have all that awful responsibility of making sure you're keeping within the distance.  You can be fairly sure it'll be no more than four feet.  Always.
I don't want to think about this.
Fucking off is something I've always been really good at.  All the girls would agree.
We used to talk about my cock quite a lot, in the early days of our marriage.  But 'gorgeous' wasn't one of the words she used. 

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

For old times' sake 2

Oh hi!  Wow – it’s really you!  When I saw the email from the agency, I thought it must be someone else with the same name.  After all this time!
It's so great to see you again!  Because, you know, I often think I never really thanked you enough for giving me a chance in your startup.  I mean, you were like this tech guru?  The big boss!  And I was just an intern!  And now look at me – you know how much I got for the IPO?  $146m!  It’s kinda crazy. 
What a shame you had to leave the company over that sexual harassment suit, just before we did the deal with Apple.  I really didn't want to tell the investigators anything you know - none of the girls did.  I mean, except Julie, obviously.  But, you know, there was this really mean lawyer and I had to sign a thing saying I was committing the crime of perjury if I said anything untrue in my statement, so... you know.  Had to kind of tell them all about it.  But I cried about it that night.  And we didn't speak to Julie again.
Hmm?  No, she moved away.  Bought like her own island in the Caribbean, or something.  So you needn't worry about running into her too!
Still, it’s good to see you’re still in work.  And I’m so pleased I can help by being a client!  Because really, you know, I owe all of this to you.  I mean, it was your product.  Even if you signed away your rights to it, I expect you still feel some kind of ownership, huh?

So – why don’t you start in the bathroom?  You’ve got all your mops and sponges and things?  Great.  Well, you get started.  I’m going to play tennis today - I have to go now, actually - but I think you’re on a ten-hour shift?  Great.  So we’ll have time to catch up.
Oh – in the bathroom, we have these granite tiles?  With little gaps between them?  You should use a little wire brush for those.  There’s one in the utility closet, if you don’t have one with you.

Oh - yeah, and we only use natural cleaning products?  No chemicals, all through the house.  You have to work a bit harder to get a shine, but we think the planet's a bit more important!  And if it takes you a bit longer, you get paid more don't you?

Don't you?  Oh.  Well, we have to pay the agency by the hour.

Oh.  That's mean.  OK.  Well, maybe I can give you a little extra, OK?  The agency said not to, but if it's just a few dollars, I don't see the harm in it.  If you do a good job!

See you later!

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Not a proper post

...just a few links and questions.

Firstly, if you haven't watched R100 already (and you should have done because Paltego featured it ages ago on Femdom Resource, but now the full movie is on Youtube) just do so immediately, OK?  Don't worry about it all being in Japanese - I understand the plot doesn't make much sense anyway, and in all honesty are you really watching it for the plot?

Here are some photos, anyway. Not carefully selected from hundreds of vanilla shots: a lot of the movie really is like this, all the way through.    You know how you skip through movies looking for the kinky bits?  Yes you do, just admit it.  That's better.  Well, in this, you don't need to skip.


Secondly, and very different, there's this.  It's not really femdom, because there's nothing overtly sexual about it.  But if you're into 60s housewives and if you're into menacing, dangerous ladies (and I expect you are, because let's face it, you're a bit of an old pervert aren't you?), you might like it.  But after the dominatrix-fest of R100 don't go expecting it to be femdom in the mainstream, OK, because it just ain't like that.  Just a menacing little tale.

And finally, if you're still here you're probably a regular reader and I thought I might ask you about the blog.  I don't really understand what's going on with the stats.  I have more and more pageviews than ever - August 2014 was nearly 100,000, equal best ever, thanks to daily holiday photos.  Took me over three million all time, woohoo.  But there are fewer comments and absolutely no new followers: my follower list has been stuck on 296 for as long as I can remember.  So I'm beginning to think maybe more and more of my traffic is web-crawlers and suchlike and really the blog is static or in decline.

Most new blogs seem to be on tumblr.  Should I move to tumblr?  I don't really like it as much as blogger... it feels more ephemeral and less serious than blogger.  I treat tumblr as a sort of database of internet porn photos and often don't even notice whose blog I'm on.  So I feel the blog would lose identity if I moved it.

Is there anything else I should be doing?  I occasionally get extra traffic from having a captioned photo posted on tumblr (hence the little watermark), but it never seems to translate into sustained new sources of traffic - the sources of visits here are always the same (thank god and paltego for Femdom Resource!).

None of this matters all that much.  I am fairly happy continuing to post things, and I have well over a year of unposted captions just now, so... I'm not about to stop or anything.   I just wondered whether I'm missing anything and I'm in a declining section of the Internet.  Surely the population of perverts on the Internet isn't maxed out yet?

Anyway, here's a captioned image for reading this far.  Thanks.

Friday, September 26, 2014

Effortless superiority

Don't worry.  If you lack the self-discipline to stay away from the ciggies, I am sure she can find alternative, external sources of discipline.  She's got willpower enough for both of you.
This is surely from Cruella, and this is Mistress Chambers, who quite apart from her other wonderful characteristics, has a delightfully pretty nose, I've always thought.  Seen to better advantage here. 

Hmm... Do you think they're going to live happily ever after?
Well, it's probably someone's kink. A pink kink.
This is Mistress Jessica, looking remarkably stern and - fairly obviously - playing the role of Auntie  in her house.
That's a relief.  I was beginning to think something was wrong with me.

Scamper back to little wife's apron strings or stay talking to Ms Ratajkowski?  Oh what a horrible choice.  Dammit, I thought submission was all about giving up responsibility for difficult choices.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Cashless society

A silly little tale.  But could it happen in reality?  You decide.

Sometimes Dennis wished he’d been born a hundred years before.  ‘I mean, what was wrong with just using money anyway?’ he asked himself furiously, as the line in front of him to the check-out slowly shortened.  Or cheques, he thought.  I could really be good with cheques.  Just sign your name – done.

The man in front of him reached the checkout desk.  He wasn’t buying much – just a couple of pairs of socks.  Dennis, in contrast, was laden down with clothes of all descriptions. He tried to buy as much as he could each time.

“That’s £8.25, thank you sir.” he heard the shop assistant say.  “If you’d like to just place your penis into the scanner for ID verification.”

Dennis surreptitiously glanced past the man’s broad back, to see a large pink object being deposited in the half-cylinder on the counter, with an audible thwack.  After a few seconds, there was a quiet ‘beep’ and the penis was put back inside the man's trousers and he zipped up.  A small green light was winking on the device on the counter, with two red lights beside it.  Two red lights! Dennis stared with horror.  The WR-20s only had one red light.  This must be one of the new VC8000 models!  He’d only come to this shop because he was confident it still used WR-20s.  At least those usually worked after the third or fourth try.

He considered running, but it was too late.  The man in front had taken his socks and gone, and the sales assistant was smiling vacantly at him.

“All these is it?  Do you have a storecard with us at all?”

Dennis shook his head sullenly as he wondered why sales assistants all had that strange way of speaking.  Why put emphasis on the ‘have’?  And what on earth is ‘at all’ supposed to mean in that context?

But he couldn’t distract his mind for long from his impending fate, and soon enough the assistant was saying “That’ll be £458.75 altogether, please.  If you’d like to just place your penis into the scanner for ID verification.”

Taking a deep breath, Dennis opened his flies and pushed himself as hard as he could against the edge of the counter.  His penis, looking smaller and more shrivelled even than usual, just managed to cover the first inch or so of the VC8000’s black length. Nothing happened.

“Just be a moment” the shop assistant said, apparently to the air beside her.  “Sometimes it’s a bit temperamental.”  They waited a bit longer.

Eventually, she seemed to snap out of her shop assistant trance and notice that something wasn’t right.  She pressed an elegantly manicured finger to a button on the side of the VC8000.  Three red lights flashed angrily in response.

“I’ve never seen it do that before.” she said, uncertainly.  “Maybe we could try another – “

“My penis is too small to activate the scanner”, Dennis said, very fast and low.  “Please – it’s OK, you can take a manual ID verification instead.  You’ve done it before.”

“Eh?” the assistant replied.  “Shall we try another scanner?”

Dennis swore inside.  “No” he said through gritted teeth.  “My penis is too small to activate the scanner.  It won’t work in any of them.”

“Oh.” the assistant said, looking a bit worried.  She turned to the lady next to her and spoke in a singsong conversational voice: “Gentleman says his penis is too small to activate the scanner, Mrs Dawes.”

The older lady looked dismissive.  “Oh no – just shove it a bit further up.  They’re very good these days.”

“Could you shove it a bit further up for me?” the assistant asked brightly, and Dennis made a show of pressing his groin even more firmly against the edge of the counter.  Christ, his balls hurt.  The base of his penis moved perhaps two millimetres further onto the counter.  The skin wrinkled ever so slightly, the tip moved not at all.

Now several of the sales staff were involved, standing around and staring at the problem. Dennis didn’t dare turn around to see how many customers were in the queue behind him, but he could hear some shuffling feet and the occasional ‘tsk!’.

One of the ladies looked up and called right across the shop “MISS MARKHAM!  GENTLEMAN’S PENIS IS TOO SMALL TO ACTIVATE THE SCANNER!”  Dennis felt as if he would die.

A tall blonde lady, dressed all in black strode over.  Dennis estimated her age as mid-thirties and her attitude as lethal.  She fixed him with a cool stare.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

“Well, Miss Markham, the gentleman…” began one of the younger assistants.

“I asked the gentleman here!” Miss Markham snapped, giving her a murderous look. “Well?” she asked, raising one eyebrow.


“My er,…” Dennis began, staring shamefacedly down.  He looked up and into the most piercing blue eyes he had ever seen.  She was holding a pen, which she started to tap steadily against her clipboard.  Her lips pursed.

“Small penis problem, is it?”

“Erm, yes.  You see I -“

“You have a penis that is too small to function properly, that is all I need to see” Miss Markham snapped back.  Several of the sales staff tittered.

“But if you can’t verify your identity, I’m afraid we’ll have to deal with you as a criminal” Miss Markham went on, the merest hint of a smile on her ruby lips.  I’ll have to take you off to our holding room and investigate the matter thoroughly.”  One perfectly lacquered fingernail pushed firmly against the clip holding the papers to her clipboard, forcing it all the way down and then letting it snap back with savage force.

“Unless of course, you can produce an adequately sized penis right here and now” she went on.  “Adequate for ID verification purposes that is. I hardly think that it would ever be suitable for anything else.”

She leaned forward to whisper in Dennis’s ear.

“And I see you’re wearing a wedding ring.  Please pass on my condolences to your wife.  You might want to let her know that our ladies department has a line of very discrete vibrators.  They come in lots of different sizes… all a lot bigger than that.”
(Yes, I know this scene has nothing to do with the story.  But isn't she wonderful?)

“The gentleman was saying as how he could manually – “ Dennis’s original assistant ventured, but Miss Markham just held her gaze to his in silence.

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary” she murmured.

They looked down.  Dennis’s penis was no longer resting on the VC8000.  On the contrary, it seemed to have become self-supporting, waving uncertainly an inch or so above the scanner.  It had also become at least an inch longer.

Miss Markham smiled and lowered her clipboard, concealing the awful sight and firmly pressing Dennis’s cock down onto the black plastic surface.  He gasped with shock and pleasure.

There was a quiet beep and a light turned green.


Dennis’s wife, Mary came home to a room full of bags and boxes.  “Oh darling!” she gasped.  “Whatever have you been buying?”

“Anything I like!” Dennis replied, proudly.  “Well, as long as it’s available at De Lacey’s - but they sell everything under one roof, so why would that matter?”

“Oh darling!”, Mary remarked again (as ladies on this blog are inclined to do).  “But, erm… what about paying for them?  You know – your little problem?”

“Not a problem any more!” Dennis beamed.  He had a sudden thought “Oh – and I got you this.”

He handed her a gift-wrapped package and stood back.

“For me?” she asked.  “Oh you shouldn’t have”.  And quickly she unwrapped the ribbon and paper to reveal a long cardboard box.  She gently eased off the lid, to expose a long, plastic object nestling on crepe paper inside.

“Oh darling” she said, running her finger lightly along its length, gently stroking the ribbing, resting the tip on the buttons at the base.  “My sweet, silly darling.”

“Did you think I didn’t have one already?”
In this absurd story, the part of Miss Markham was played by the fabulous Mistress Eleise de Lacey.  When I started writing the story, she wasn't involved but she just arrived halfway through, and took over.

However, no resemblance of the characters to any person living or dead is intended.  Except the character of Dennis, who is very precisely based upon Servitor in all significant, and several insignificant, respects.