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!

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.

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.

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.

Epilogue

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.

Helplessly devoted

Oh relax!  Look if George is hetero too, then it's not like you're going to be having gay sex anyway, is it?  I mean, who's going to make you do it?

 

 

The offence?  Oh - unauthorised erection, I think.  Now just watch the caning very carefully and try not to let it happen again, OK?

 

 

Could get expensive.

 

 

Well I think it's rather sweet.

 

 

Men can be so obsessive about these little things.

Hymn to her

And she will always carry on

It's been a while since I did this, but I believe that you begin with the examination of conscience.  Oh, and penance is involved somewhere down the line.  Quite definitely.

 

 

 

Hmm.  What makes me think the answer by the end of the evening will turn out to have been 'both'?

 

 

 

As far as I know, there aren't any countries that provide constitutional rights to have a tantrum.  So you'd better just bend over.

 

 

 

Tantrums featuring a lot today.  New husbands are prone to them.  Experienced husbands, less so.  You're about to become a lot more experienced, by the look of this!  Many happy returns of the day.

 

 

 

And although she seems to be looking away, it's probably best not to pout when she's given you this information, if you still have hopes of next month too.

High achiever

Listen – I’ve been thinking. It must be really boring and demotivating for you, just doing your household duties all day long. Just drudgery for 14 hours a day – for the rest of your life, really, with no prospect of ever moving on to anything more rewarding.

So I was thinking maybe you needed more incentives to keep at it and do a good job for me!

No honey, calm down. I don’t mean I’m going to punish you more. I mean, sure, being whacked on your sore old bottom with my paddle probably gives you a pretty strong incentive not to mess up. But it’s still only a negative incentive – when you do a bad job. I was thinking you need positive incentives to do a good job!

No, not that kind of positive incentive, honey. I don’t let you do that any more, remember?

So, anyway, I had this brilliant idea! Achievements!

Achievements, honey. Like in video games?

Oh yeah, I forgot. You’ve been a few years in my service now, haven’t you? They probably didn’t have achievements when you were still free to do fun stuff like computer games.

Well, ‘achievements’ are like bonuses for doing extra things in the game or doing really well. You have to meet a certain set of conditions and then you get awarded the achievement! Like ‘Kill 100 orcs with bladed weapons’ and then maybe you’d get an achievement called “Orc-cleaver” or something, you know?

Well, no, you don’t get anything else, honey. Just the achievement. But it gives you something to work towards, you see? I think it’s perfect for you! I was so pleased when I thought of it. I guess I’m channelling my inner geek girl.

What’s that honey? No, of course you don’t have a choice. And if I don’t see you working towards your achievements, we’ll just have to try more of the negative incentives, won’t we?

That’s better. OK, here’s your first list of achievements. Don’t try to work towards all of them at once. Just pick a few –some are harder than others. Once you get all these, I’ll do you another list, OK?

Tight fit: perform a day's work in a corset tightened three inches narrower than usual.
 

Ironic: Iron more than 50 items of clothing in a single day.

Irony: Iron more than 100 items of clothing in one day.

Bad maids get spanked: Admit to a fault that leads to a spanking.

Bad maids get paddled: Admit to a fault that leads to a paddling.

Bad maids get caned: Admit to a fault that leads to a caning.

Those who wait: complete chores with three hours to spare and spend the remainder of the day in the corner.

Her wish is my command: bring Mistress something she wanted before being commanded to do so.

Friend or enema: complete all daily chores while holding in three quarts.

Silence is bronze: no speech except in response to a direct question for a week.

Silence is silver: no speech except in response to a direct question for a month.

Silence is golden: no speech except in response to a direct question for a year.

Spit-roast: take one of Mistress’s boyfriends at each end.
 

Whole hog: Do two consecutive spit-roasts, with changed ends.

My special place: spend 8 hours standing in the corner without looking around.

Weekend place: spend 24 hours standing in the corner without looking around.

Shameful duty: appear in full maid’s costume in front of someone from your ‘previous life’.

Shameful discipline: be punished in front of someone from your ‘
previous life’.

Rain man: learn every telephone number in Mistress’s contacts.
 

Asking for it: request a stroke-for-stroke repetition of a paddling, immediately after it finishes.

Begging for it: request a stroke-for-stroke repetition of a caning immediately after it finishes.

Happy Hubby: Have a perky smile on your face every time Mistress sees you, for a week.

Rash decision: wear the same pair of diapers and plastic pants for three days in a row, without a change.

Bad scrubber: Clean the kitchen floor to Mistress’s satisfaction without once getting up off your knees.

Better scrubber: Clean the kitchen floor to Mistress’s satisfaction with hands tied back, and the brush between your teeth.

Good scrubber: Clean the kitchen floor to Mistress’s satisfaction using your hair as the brush.

Recycler: eat nothing but Mistress’s leftovers for a week.
 

Know what’s good for you: request a spanking for no reason.

 

Know what’s better for you: request a paddling for no reason.

Know what’s best for you: request a caning for no reason.

Cum-bucket: hold a boyfriend's semen in your mouth all night without swallowing or spitting.
 

Sleep is for wimps: Perform housework for 24 hours without a break.

Dog-tired drudge: Perform housework for 48 hours without a break.

Remorseful: write a letter of apology to every woman with whom you have ever had sex.

Making amends: clean the apartment or house of a former girlfriend in maid outfit.

Revenge is bitter: receive corporal punishment from a former girlfriend.
 

Because she says so: Self-administer a whipping that draws blood.

Party animal: be the only ashtray at one of Mistress’s cocktail parties.

Potty mouth: Don’t spill a drop.

The role of the geek girl in this little tale was played by the lovely, smiley, dancey Emily Ratajkowski.

She wants you back

You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said about how frustrating and humiliating you find it – being locked up in that thing while I fuck Raoul.

I think I might have the solution.  You could both fuck me!

I mean, not at the same time of course.  Not quite at the same time, anyway.

You see, Raoul’s really rubbish at foreplay.  Well, actually he can be fantastic at it, but usually he doesn’t bother, you know?  Just wants to get his massive cock into me and start thrusting away – silly old bull.

So I thought maybe you could do the foreplay?  And Raoul needn’t even be there – he can be downstairs watching the football or something.  You could be delicately stroking and kissing me – not on the face, though, because I want to pretend it’s Raoul, not you.  And using your tongue.  Of course, you’d stay locked up just to make sure there are no accidents.

And then when I’m good and ready, you can go downstairs and tell Raoul he can come up.  Remember he likes you to call him Sir.

And then we’d lock you in the cuckold pillory and fuck the rest of the night, just like now.

There – that should help with that horrible sexual frustration – don’t you think?

No?  Oh.  Well, you’re doing it anyway, grumpyface.

 

Rentrée

Literally, a re-entering, so obviously it's not to be taken literally in my case.  But here we are, back again.

Same old, same old.

But more so.

If you know what I mean.

Update: thank you all for the kind comments, while I was away.  Sorry I didn't respond at the time, but if you check back you should find that I have now.

...and while I was away, this blog went over 3 million page hits/views whatever it is!  Many of them by automated search bots no doubt, others perhaps by worthless little pathetic worms of no importance or interest to anyone whatsoever (if you're wondering whether you're one of them, then you probably are, like me), but even so it's a nice big number.  Thank you all.

Update again.  Don't you just love the horse picture?  Not the caption, necessarily.  Just the picture.  Isn't it great?

It's a bit unfair, really.  I mean he makes as much noise as he likes.  Doesn't get the fucking sjambok, either. Why do we put up with this sort of thing?

I've been caught shopkeeping eleven times, now.  Oh dear... am I out of butter again?  Off to the shops...

He's taking a subtle revenge for the lifetime of humiliation and suffering she imposed, though. He's over-salted the popcorn.  Only slightly - but enough to notice, you know?  Haha!

You know, people can often behave very differently at home and at work.  Although actually, she doesn't.

I love this picture.  I quite like my caption to it, too.

A bonus one, because I am by no means sure this one is actually femdom.