New Year's Eve, that is.
My very best wishes to all my female readers, and let's hope the new year brings nothing but misery, humiliation, pain and degradation to the others. That way, everyone's happy.
Don't miss tomorrow's extra, bumper, first-of-2013 edition of Contemplating the Divine! It's all about resolve...
Stories and pictures themed around female domination and male subjugation and servitude. Unsuitable for children, for alpha males, for hard-core practitioners with an interest in the politics of bdsm and the mechanics of complicated rope work. Of interest to perverts like me, basically.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Friday, December 28, 2012
Rewards and penalties
A silly humiliation story, written to amuse my Significant Other. Names have been changed to protect...well, me.
Servitor grabbed the coffee and almost ran from the coffee shop in horror, feeling the shocked and amused stares drilling into the back of his neck, his down-turned face burning with humiliation. He walked rapidly down the street, slowing to a normal pace only when he was almost half a mile away from the scene of the catastrophe.
What had he said? How was that possible? He felt sick and shaky. If he were still a drinker, he told himself, this would be a double vodka moment. As it was, he gratefully saw a Boots Chemists sign ahead and went in to buy some aspirin.
“Do you have a Boots advantage card?” the middle-aged lady at the check-out asked him.
“No.” he heard himself say, with growing horror. “But I do like to take advantage of my little cock by wanking until it’s sore.”
This time he didn’t even pick up his purchase: as soon as the words were out of Servitor’s mouth, he was pushing past the stunned customers and heading straight for the door.
Out on the street, Servitor panicked. Loyalty card? As he thought that, the words “sweaty little cock” jumped into his brain. Loyalty card. (‘tiny prick’). Something about those words, about saying loy-…the L word. Or anything like it, remembering the Boots experience. (“Frequent flyer”? “Frequently wank myself silly”). He mustn’t even think it.
Where could he shop? He had to go places where they didn’t have a loya- a - a programme for rewarding customers. There was a corner shop just ahead, and steeling his nerves, he went in and bought bread and a few tins of food. He marched up to the counter, heart thumping.
“Four-fifty”, the man behind the counter said, not looking at him. Servitor held out a fiver with shaking hands and clenched his teeth tight shut. The shopkeeper pulled at the note, and looked up in confusion as Servitor’s fingers held it tight.
In a different town, in a different county, Mistress Valerie was tidying her toy cupboard. She picked up a box, rifled inside it and frowned.
Rewarded
Servitor
reached out eagerly for the steaming coffee.
“That’ll be one forty-nine”, the young ‘barrista’ behind the counter
said, brightly. “Do you have a loyalty
card?”
Servitor
looked straight back into her eyes as he handed her the money.
“No, I don’t have
a loyalty card but I do have a ridiculously small penis that I like to stroke
until it squirts into my pants.”
The
girl froze in the act of taking his money, carefully transferred it to the till
and turned her whole body to face the next customer, without a word.Servitor grabbed the coffee and almost ran from the coffee shop in horror, feeling the shocked and amused stares drilling into the back of his neck, his down-turned face burning with humiliation. He walked rapidly down the street, slowing to a normal pace only when he was almost half a mile away from the scene of the catastrophe.
What had he said? How was that possible? He felt sick and shaky. If he were still a drinker, he told himself, this would be a double vodka moment. As it was, he gratefully saw a Boots Chemists sign ahead and went in to buy some aspirin.
“Do you have a Boots advantage card?” the middle-aged lady at the check-out asked him.
“No.” he heard himself say, with growing horror. “But I do like to take advantage of my little cock by wanking until it’s sore.”
This time he didn’t even pick up his purchase: as soon as the words were out of Servitor’s mouth, he was pushing past the stunned customers and heading straight for the door.
Out on the street, Servitor panicked. Loyalty card? As he thought that, the words “sweaty little cock” jumped into his brain. Loyalty card. (‘tiny prick’). Something about those words, about saying loy-…the L word. Or anything like it, remembering the Boots experience. (“Frequent flyer”? “Frequently wank myself silly”). He mustn’t even think it.
Where could he shop? He had to go places where they didn’t have a loya- a - a programme for rewarding customers. There was a corner shop just ahead, and steeling his nerves, he went in and bought bread and a few tins of food. He marched up to the counter, heart thumping.
“Four-fifty”, the man behind the counter said, not looking at him. Servitor held out a fiver with shaking hands and clenched his teeth tight shut. The shopkeeper pulled at the note, and looked up in confusion as Servitor’s fingers held it tight.
“Sorry” Servitor said,
and released it.
He
walked out in triumph. No mention
of…rebate programmes…and no problem.
Well, he wouldn’t starve.
He
couldn’t face the Tube, so he took a cab home, thinking furiously of all the
things he normally bought and whether the shops selling them had…discount
schemes. It should be do-able, maybe it
would wear off soon anyway, he thought wearily.
The
cab pulled up outside his house and the driver drew the little window
back. “Do you need a receipt mate?” he
called cheerily.
“No,
I don’t need a receipt.” Servitor heard himself saying.
“But I do need my naughty bottom spanked very
hard for not buying Ms Sandra a Christmas present.”
***In a different town, in a different county, Mistress Valerie was tidying her toy cupboard. She picked up a box, rifled inside it and frowned.
“You
haven’t been fiddling with my hypnotic suggestion tapes, have you?” She
called.
Ms
Sandra leaned round the door. “Me?” She
replied, innocently. “Why would I do
that?”Tuesday, December 25, 2012
In the bleak midwinter
It's Christmas! Get on with your chores!The divine Ms Haberman. Could you possibly want anything else for Christmas? Could you? Oh. Well, you can't. |
Not that "we" get much say in the matter. |
OK, rather a bleak caption for Christmas I suppose... but remember - it's Christmas for him, too. He just doesn't know it. |
You'll have to apologise to your wife when you next see her, for suspecting her of such an evil plan. Maybe in sign language. |
I have no idea who that is, but I hate him with a burning passionate envy that I can barely express. Ahem. |
Friday, December 21, 2012
The Rights of Man
They're somewhat limited, around here, you'll find. But we like it that way.
Well, you'll find anyway, as they're due round for a drink later. |
Hmmm. Looks to me like one person's doing all the work in this relationship. |
And she's got plenty of time to think of some too - she's not due back until Tuesday. |
Should never have lent her that copy of 50 Shades... |
Maybe she can share her literary passions with him when they're married. |
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
I know when I've been beaten
and sometimes the neighbours do, too.
Actually, that whip she gave him is pretty take-charge too. But it doesn't hurt to make sure. Well..I mean, it does hurt. Obviously. |
A little light spanking? |
Yeah, come on. She's right. Sometimes you just have to trust people. What's the worst that can happen? Hmm? Oh - well apart from that, then. |
Her very first maid-boy! Bless. |
Business. It's all about relationships. This particular relationship is female-led and abusive. Welcome to the team. Worm. |
Thursday, December 13, 2012
I will feel a glow just thinking of you...
...and the way it felt, last night. Thank you, Ma'am.
You might want to refer back to my series: Seven secrets of a happy marriage. Urgently. |
Men, eh? Only interested in one thing, and - excuse me? Down here? There's a caption too, and I.. Hello? Oh never mind, I know when there's something more interesting to look at. |
I'm not one of those men who won't cry in front of women. Just the opposite, actually. |
Woah! Might be time for a safeword, there. |
If you have any comments on this captioned image, I'll be in the homeless refuge round the corner, OK? |
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Faith, hope and chastity
And the best of these is hope.
SORRY! Sorry. I mean chastity. Ma'am.
SORRY! Sorry. I mean chastity. Ma'am.
Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone? |
Thank goodness she's not cross. |
Actually, most of the change happened in the first two weeks. |
She was keen to explore his ballbusting fantasies too. |
Wise husbands know when it's best not to argue, just to curtsey and get on with the ironing. |
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need.
It's silly to worry about whether you'll stretch enough. Look - that thing's made of solid plastic, and it'll have all her strength behind it. Something's going to give, so just relax. |
Sometimes it's good to go out with your co-workers for a real heart-to-heart. And sometimes it isn't. |
Don't worry - she'll explain why at great length. |
Schoolboy sessions! My favourite. We're going to be covering irregular verbs of the fourth declension over the next seven sessions, apparently. Pretty exciting, huh? |
Or if you stray outside the permitted boundaries, of course. |
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Story: love among the test tubes
Yes, it's another Serena and Alice story. Heavy, non-consensual and utterly absurd throughout. If any of those three things bother you, go and be bothered somewhere else.
Science: it's a girl thing. |
“And apparently in chemistry the situation is even worse!”
Serena concluded. “Only 23 percent! It’s just ridiculous!”
Her friend Alice nodded silently. The low proportions of women taking science
subjects at university had been much in the newspapers, of course, but to a
dedicated scientist like Serena – who also had strong views on the question of
sexual equality (she was opposed to it) – it was unbearable.
“What do you think the reason is?” Alice asked.
“Well, it’s the fault of men, obviously.” Serena replied, calming
down a bit.
“Obviously.” echoed Alice.
The two friends saw eye-to-eye on most things, but about men
they were in particularly firm agreement.
For Serena’s birthday, Alice had bought her a t-shirt reading
“Man-hating lesbian and proud of it”, and sometimes the two went out wearing
identical messages. But they weren’t
that sort of separatist dykes who wanted to live in an all-female world. No, both Alice and Serena thought that men
were all right, in their proper place.
And principally, that proper place was as unwilling test subjects for
Serena’s scientific experiments.
Science, and especially the scholarly exploration of male degradation,
humiliation and torture was Serena’s passion*.
Alice’s passion was Serena, so she was a little less interested, but she
did find it sexy when her lover made them do such funny things. Especially when they screamed, or
begged. Or bits came off.
“It’s the male teachers in schools” Serena complained. “They make it much too boring! It’s all blackboards and formulae, and
carefully measuring the volume of the precipitate.”
“I used to hate science at school” Alice agreed. “I had this horrible teacher, Mr Greystoke, who just used
to drone on and on – we never understood a thing and I think he just didn’t
care. I just thought science was
boring.”
She caught sight of her friend’s shocked expression.
“Well, I don’t think that now, of course! You make science fun. I love it when you do your experiments. I
wish school science could be like that.”
Serena’s face suddenly lit up, in the way it always did when
she had had a brilliant idea. The slave
males standing patiently against the wall recognised the expression, knew its
consequences and flinched in fear.
“What is it?” Alice asked with interest. “Have you thought of a new experiment?”
Serena shook her head slowly, smiling.
“No.” she said. “No,
just maybe the beginnings of an idea.
Never mind – I’ll think a bit more and tell you about it when it’s
ready.”
Alice tried to hide her disappointment, but as usual her friend
could tell.
Serna leaned forward, smiling broadly.
“Tell you what” she remarked. “Is that crap science teacher of yours still
at the school?”
“No” Alice replied, shaking her head. “He retired last year. I don’t know where he
is now.”
“Shame” Serena said. “Would you like to pretend one of these
creatures here is him? I’ve got a school
cane.”
Two months later, Alice was back in her friend’s living
room, sipping a gin and tonic and admiring the view, as a young man writhed in
agony on the wall in front of her.
The man she’d chosen to play-act her hated science teacher
had been old and rather frail, so the ladies had had to go very easy on
him. Even so, he had lasted no more than
six days, before the kindly fates granted him that blessed release from his agonies
for which he had been begging since his first day in captivity. So now, Serena was repeating exactly the same
course of treatment, multiplied up, on a young, fitter man (who had once
delivered a pizza to their door, 30 seconds later than had been promised, and
had been regretting it ever since). This
was real science, Alice thought happily – every whiplash perfectly calibrated,
and recorded for the edification of future generations. She was so proud to have a proper scientist
as her lover.
“Never mind him” Serena commanded, sweeping into the
room. “Look what I’ve got.”
She held up a memory stick.
“Oooh!” squealed Alice in excitement. “Did you get the soul-catcher to work?”
This had been on Serena’s ‘to do’ list for ages. Record men’s experiences in perfect detail
onto a computer storage device (the technology for recording the more complex
sensations and thoughts of the superior sex would not be ready for decades, but
computers were finally becoming powerful enough to be as complex as simple life
forms like worms, cockroaches and men).
The benefits that such a technology could bring the world
were almost infinite. Imagine if you
could record a man being tortured to death, over the course of two days for
example. Sure, he’s suffered for two
days but then what? If you could record
the experience - every burn, every shrieking nerve, every cut and bruise and
finally fatal injury – then you could replay it, over and over again,
inflicting multiples of the same agony on a subject who would survive the experience,
only to face it from the very start all over again. Imagine explaining to a slave on the torture
table, that not only were you about to do this
and then afterwards, when the screaming had abated, you would do that – but that his experience would be
recorded and he could scream again for this
and shriek in terror at the prospect of that
– all at the touch of a replay button.
The soulcatcher, Alice thought, would surely win her lover
the Nobel Prize that had always cruelly been denied her (by men she thought, viciously).
“Errr…no” Serena said.
“No, I’m still having trouble with that.
No, this is a video.”
“Oh” Alice replied, rather deflated. “Good video?”
“It’s a wonderful video!” Serena replied excitedly. “An educational video.”
“Oh” Alice said again.
“Educational. How nice.”
“Science education!” Serena said, exasperated. “You remember – we talked about it? About how it’s all so boring and dry. Well now it’s not. I’ve made this!”
“Oh” Alice said, and realised she really ought to say
something a bit more intelligent (although to be honest, her friend loved her
precisely because she was a little dim by female standards. So does the author, as without Alice’s
constant questions, how would anything be explained?).
“So you’ve recorded some of your experiments – to show them
what fun it can be?” and she nodded at the man writhing on the wall, who seemed
to be about to lose his battle to hold himself up with his arms, with
consequences that he knew full well would be horrifically painful.
“No, no” Serena said in irritation. “That’s too advanced. They wouldn’t be able to connect it to what
they learn about. No – I’ve recorded a teaching video demonstrating ordinary
school science experiments. But my
way. Do you want to see?”
“OK” said Alice, doubtfully, and her friend loaded the
software onto a laptop, which projected onto a big flat screen TV on the far
side of the room, suspended from four tightly-bound slaves.
“What do you want first?” Serena asked happily – pointing at
the menu. “Chemistry?”
“S’pose so” Alice replied, moodily. “Mr mind-if-I-bore-you-to-tears Greystoke,
eat your heart out.”
“Right then” Serena said, with a smile, as if she had
secrets even deeper than usual.
“Chemistry it is. Here we go”
And she selected chemistry on the menu, and the video
started.
The first scene was a close-up of a naked young man rather
uncomfortably squashed up behind a glass screen. But as the camera pulled back, Alice gasped
as she realised that the glass was curved, and was in fact the side of an
enormous test-tube. The man was curled
up in the bottom of it, and did not look too happy about it.
“So” Serena said, in a rather formal voice. “Here we have a material, and we are about to
test some of its properties through experiment.”
“Material?” Alice asked, perfectly in character even at this
exciting bit of the story, when the author has to type fast.
“The boy” Serena replied absently. “We’re going to investigate its properties.”
“OK” Alice smiled.
“So how do we do that?”
“Oh, lots of ways!” her friend laughed. “Let’s start with some chemical reagents. She
pressed a button.”
Serena herself now appeared on the screen, wearing a lab
coat with safety goggles and carrying a clipboard.
“Acid reagents oxidise
materials, and we can learn useful things about the properties of the material
on which they act, by analysing the resulting gases” she said, in a
sing-song voice, speaking rather woodenly to camera.
She pulled her goggles over her eyes, picked up a bucket
marked “HNO3” and carefully climbed a ladder standing next to the giant test
tube. While she did this a voice-over prattled on about the properties of
acids, while information also scrolled confusingly across the bottom of the
screen. The boy, it seemed, knew some basic science, because he was scrabbling frantically
at the side of the test tube while this was going on, despairingly clawing at
the smooth, high sides.
“and add the reagent
to the material under study.” The voiceover concluded, and Serena carefully
tipped the bucket of acid into the giant tube.
The two ladies watched in silence.
“Well.” Alice remarked, when all was quiet again and the
test tube seemed only to contain a featureless sludge. “That was
very educational.”
“Really?” her friend asked eagerly, her face aglow. “What did you learn.”
“Oh” Alice replied (for what was now the fourth time).
“Well, you know.
Acid, boys. All that.” She
gestured at the screen. “They, erm, well
they melt. And it’s such fun as they do
it! Oh and they burn at first. Burn and
melt. Funny.”
Serena pursed her lips.
“Yes. Well there was a bit more
than that. But I suppose it’s a start.
Now, after this there’s a ten minute section in which we analyse the gases that
were emitted when we reacted the acid with the boy and – “
She caught sight of her friend’s face, which had assumed a
look of panic.
“ – but we’ll skip that bit for now, and go on to another
experiment.” she concluded, weakly, and called the chemistry sub-menu back.
Over the next fifteen minutes, Alice learned all about the chemical
properties of young men and how to investigate them.
·
How they reacted with alkalis
·
What happened if they were subjected to heat
·
The effects of removing oxygen, or of adding
chlorine
·
Practical tips, such as how to grind them in a
mortar and pestle, and the effects of keeping them under oil.
“Goodness” she said at the end of it all. “I never knew chemistry could be so very
interesting. And I always thought they
were made of slugs and snails and puppy-dog tails.”
“Yes, that’s just a myth” Serena replied absently, pointing
at the latest sticky mess displayed on the screen.
“Complex hydrocarbons mostly.”
“But if you fed them only on slugs and snails – “ Alice
began, and Serena – desperate to avoid what she thought might be a
demonstration of appalling scientific ignorance by her friend - quickly
switched to the physics lesson.
Alice found this even more interesting. There were a lot of different kinds of physics, it seemed, and all of
it could be demonstrated by experiments with boys.
Some of the sections introduced more than one physical
principle at a time. For example, one
long segment dealt both with the effects of increasing weight, in a
gravitational field, and also the tensile strength of various bits of a boy’s
body. Ultimately, gravity always won,
and the segment concluded with a delightful little speculation on how much more
weight you would need to attach to a boy’s delicate bits to overcome their tensile
strength, on the moon.
“In space no one can hear you scream!” Alice giggled, but
her friend, deep in thought, just replied absently “Yes, that’s a downside of
conducting experiments off-planet, of course.”
Then there was a segment on electricity, with a particular
focus on how well it was conducted across boys’ bodies, or bits of boys’
bodies. Alice was actually already
fairly familiar with most of this, but it was good to see it done in such a
well-structured way, with steadily increasing voltages compared across
different distances at which the electrodes were set, complex instruments
measuring the current flow that could only be determined approximately from the
intensity of the screams.
Then there were more physical experiments: what happens when
a boy is accelerated to 70mph and then encounters a fixed object, different
heights to which men could be propelled from the baskets of catapults, and an
experiment to demonstrate that a heavy pendulum attached to a man’s testicles
and set swinging would gradually trace out a circle over 24 hours (time-lapse
photography was used here of course, as the boredom of watching the whole thing
would be unbearable).
“And that’s how we know the world turns!” Serena said,
triumphantly.
“All from a set of well-tugged balls” Alice breathed in
wonder. Her friend relaxed, as she could
see that her educational materials were truly starting to engage someone she
would readily admit to herself was rather a challenging first audience.
Alice’s favourite experiment was actually a classic. Two men, one old and fat, one young and thin,
stood on top of a tower, with Serena standing behind them, while the voiceover
droned on about Galileo. What happened
next amazed her.
“But surely the fat one should have hit the ground first!”
she protested. “I mean, he’s heavier.”
“That’s a common misconception” Serena smiled. “But look – you can disprove it yourself by
simple experiment” and she nodded at the screen.
“I’ll have to try it”, Alice remarked, thoughtfully. “Maybe we could use the multi-storey car
park…Of course, we’d have to make sure somehow that both were pushed off at
exactly the same time… and we’d have to decide whether it’s the first bit
hitting or when the whole body has gone splat that counts as hitting the
ground, so maybe…”
Serena basked in satisfaction. Her friend had not only
understood gravity, but she’d learnt the much more important lesson – the
scientific method.
“You see “ she murmured lovingly. “It’s not just about learning stuff. It’s about finding out. Never take anything on trust.”
“But I trust that” Alice said, nodding at the screen. “And I trust you” she added, looking adoringly
at her friend.
“And that’s wonderful” Serena replied, giving her a little
squeeze. “But you see – everything I did
there is reproducible, some of them with just ordinary household objects, so
anyone can do the experiment at home, or in the classroom.”
“In mixed schools, they’ve even got the boys to try it out
on!” Alice agreed.
“And the teachers” Serena said slyly – and pointed to the
screen.
Alice looked and gasped with the shock of recognition. There on screen, suspended by his wrists and
twisting ineffectually, was her old science teacher, Mr Greystoke. His eyes
looked pleadingly into the camera.
“Ooooh” she breathed.
“You found him. Clever, clever
you. Is this going to be chemistry or
physics?”
“Neither”, her friend laughed. “This is part of the biology course. See?”
And when she pressed the button, a door opened above Mr
Greystoke’s head, and almost immediately, little dark shapes appeared, their
antennae twitching as they sensed the food source ahead of them. Slowly, like a dribble of treacle, a dark
tongue of scuttling figures seemed to reach slowly down to Alice’s old teacher, who was screaming hysterically.
“It can take up to 24 hours for them to strip the body
completely” Serena remarked. “Shall we
watch it on time lapse?”
“Well…” her friend replied slowly. “I’m not in any hurry. And I’m really interested in following this
experiment carefully. Shall we just…leave
it on… in the background?”
“In the background?
While we do what?” smiled Serena back, gazing happily in to her eyes.
“Oh come here, you scientific genius you” Alice
chuckled. “I’m teaching this biology
lesson.”
And as their lips met in a loving embrace, Alice glanced at
the screen on the wall. They’d just
reached his eyes, she noticed, and feeling a surge of excitement she urgently
reached out for the warmth and joy of her lover’s touch.
THE END
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