Tuesday, November 29, 2022

Savage elegance

... and elegant savagery too.  Both are good.

 

She's being remarkably patient with you, but patience has its limits you know.

 

 

I'm not sure it's entirely sensible to assign such an important task to someone who is obviously completely unqualified and inexperienced.  Those plants need just the right amount of water: too much and they drown, too little and they dry out.

 


He'll have plenty of opportunity to think about it, which is just as well, given he is male.
 

 

Poor Treasure... I'm sure she is wracked with paroxysms of guilt.  Maybe she needs a kiss and a cuddle, hmm?

 
 

 

Girl talk... good thing the guys have got more important things to be getting on with, than sitting around listening to her prattle on.

Saturday, November 26, 2022

Beast

Rather uniquely for me, this is a lesbian BDSM tale. No really: it’s not going to be another one of those where it seems to start off with some kind of femsub vibe but then has a (entirely foreseeable) plot twist in which the tables are turned and a male ends up being punished. There are simply no males in the story to end up in that position. So if scenes of the superior sex being spanked distress you, even when the spanker is another member of the same superior sex, don’t read this.

It's a schoolgirl scene. Obviously, the two schoolgirl characters have both just passed their eighteenth birthdays, conveniently enough. They should be understood to be at the sort of posh British girls’ boarding school that features in old fashioned British school stories. The girls there are all jolly good sports, of course, but occasionally… just occasionally one of them might do something to offend another and be accused (in a cut-glass British accent) of being ‘an absolute beast!’.

Beast


“Oh I say” Harriet said to her friend admiringly. “You’ve put on your school prefect’s tie! It looks awfully smart on you.”

“Thanks” Angela smiled, fingering the garment around her neck, whose thin yellow stripe superimposed on the normal school colours symbolised her newfound rank. “Miss Gorman put up the list of new school prefects today, so it’s official.” I've got this room too, all to myself.

“Well I hope your new importance won’t turn you into one of those stuck-up prigs!” Harriet replied, smiling back. “You’re still Ange to me and we’re still chums, I hope.”

Angela’s expression turned serious. “Well, I hardly think it’s conducive to maintaining good discipline if I let you call me Ange, I’m afraid. ‘Angela’ from now on I think. Or even ‘Williamson’”

She burst out laughing at her friend’s crestfallen face. “I’m joking, silly! Of course I’m Ange!”

“Although… she went on. “In all seriousness, I have now taken a vow to uphold the school rules, you know, Hat. And I do intend to do my best to do that.”

“Of course” her friend replied. “Rah rah and up the jolly old school, what!”

Angela smiled, more thinly this time.

“No. But I do have an obligation to report any rule-breaking I hear about, Hat. If I were to learn that anyone had been… for instance… sneaking out to buy chocolate without a pass and storing it at the back of her locker.”

Harriet’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ of shock.

“You wouldn’t! Would you, Ange? Anyway, I gave some of it to you – just yesterday, for instance. You’d get in trouble too!”

Angela shook her head slowly.

“Nothing in the rules to stop a girl accepting a present from a friend, Hat. I didn’t sneak out, did I? No… I’m afraid…”

“Surely there’s something I can do…” stammered Harriet. “You can, you can have all of the rest of the chocolate, if you – “

“Attempting to bribe a prefect in the performance of her duties” tutted Angela, still slowly shaking her head. “No, Harriet, I’m afraid that won’t do at all. However, I am prepared to resolve this without taking it to any of the teaching staff, as a special favour to you, given our long friendship.”

And she reached over to a table, to where her gym kit lay strewn and picked up a plimsoll* and eyed, it thoughtfully.

Now it was Harriet’s eyes that formed perfect ‘O’s as she stared at her friend gently tapping the thin rubber shoe against the palm of her hand.

“Surely… surely you don’t mean…” she stammered.

“One of the more unpleasant duties my prefectorial responsibilities require of me, I’m afraid.” sighed Angela. “Of course, if you’d rather I took it to Miss Rathbone…”

“No…no” Harriet burst out desperately. “Please don’t tell on me Ange. I’ll let you – “

“I think we will make it ‘Angela’ now, just for this” her friend interrupted. “And it’s not about letting me. Confess your crimes and ask. Politely.”

And she went to sit down on a small armless chair and stared up at the other girl expectantly.

“Ange… ela I, erm, I broke school rules by sneaking out to the shop without a pass, to buy sweets.” Harriet said, in a low, hesitant tone.

“Dear me.” Angela replied. “Whatever shall we do about that, Harriet?”

“I’d like you to punish me, please Angela”, Harriet replied, her face turning crimson with shame. “To… to smack me with that plimsoll.”

And, trembling slightly, she held her left hand out, palm up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, kiddo” Angela said curtly. “You’re going over here”.

And she indicated her lap, where her knees and lower thighs lay bare, beyond the length of her pleated school skirt.

“You’re going to… going to…” Harrier stammered.

“Smack your bottom.” nodded the prefect. “And don’t think you’re keeping your knickers on, either.”

“You want me to take my knickers off?” Harriet replied in horror.

“Or I can do it” shrugged Angela, reaching up.

“No, no, I’ll do it” shrieked her friend, hurriedly hooking her thumbs into the elastic and pushing down.

Before the shapeless blue cotton knickers had reached her ankles, she found herself being pulled across her friend – former’s friend’s – lap.

“Oh you beast, Ange” she said bitterly.

“Now now” Angela replied, briskly folding Harriet’s skirt up across her back. “Less backtalk.”

“Ange, please, I – OWWW! Ow, that hurt, Ange you – OWWW!”

And so it began.

 

Forty minutes later. Two piles of schoolgirl uniform lie untidily beside the bed. The plimsoll sits abandoned on the equally abandoned chair. The bed, designed for just one person, is clearly full beyond capacity, though, as what seems a single shapeless mass gently moves under the covering blanket. A nearby listener (there are none) would hear soft murmuring.

 

Beast. Beast!

Oh, you deserved it. Anyway, you asked me to do it.


Only because you said you’d tell on me if I didn’t! My bottom’s going to be sore for a week! Beast.

Didn’t I kiss it better enough, then?


And that’s another thing! I’m not a lesbian, you know!

Really? You gave a very good impression of one. Twice.


I hardly had the choice, did I? It was… it was rape is what it was. I can’t believe you did that, you beastly thing. After we’ve been chums all these years without ever… ever… well, you know. I should tell Miss Rathbone you raped me. Twice.

Oh…well, I suppose if you're going to do that, you might as well tell her it happened three times.  At least... C’mere, kiddo.

Oh!  Oh, Ange, you... you b... b... - Oh.  Oh, yes, there!    Oh Ange!



The next day

“Oh, Harriet! Would you mind taking Angela Williamson this book” Miss Lavery said brightly, as the girls filed out of her class. She held out a book. “She’s in your dorm, isn’t she?”

“Happy to, Miss Lavery” Harriet replied. “But of course she’s got her own room next to the dorm, now. She’s a prefect, you know.”

“Oh yes, of course” the grey-haired teacher replied. “Well done her. How’s she taking to it?”

Oh, erm… all right I suppose, Miss” Harriet replied, her hand fluttering back as if to pat her skirted bottom for reassurance, before being firmly stopped in an effort of the will. “I suppose it’s quite a lot of responsibility… for enforcing the school rules and suchlike. It’s a bit weird, for those of us who are friends with her too.”

“A lot easier than it was when I was at school” Miss Lavery laughed. “You know, back then prefects were allowed to discipline the students directly. With corporal punishment. At least you don’t have that to worry about!”

“Aren’t prefects allowed to discipline the other girls any more then?” Harriet asked, forgetting the customary ‘Miss’ in her confusion. “I thought…”

“Good lord, Harriet, of course not. This isn’t the 1960s you know!”

“No… no of course it isn’t” replied Harriet thoughtfully. Then she brightened up.

“Thanks Miss!” she said cheerfully, and rushed out of the classroom, holding the book.

 

Later on

“What are you doing in my room? Very serious business entering a prefect’s room without permission, Hat! I hope I don’t have to… to…”

And Angela’s voice trailed off in confusion, as she stared at her friend, who was seated in the chair in the middle of the small room, holding the plimsoll in her right hand and tapping it gently against the palm of her left.

“As serious as violently assaulting a fellow pupil with something like this?” Harriet replied coolly. “And then forcing her into lesbian sex - repeated lesbian sex - all on the pretext of prefectorial powers that were abolished forty years ago? That sounds pretty serious to me... probably would to Miss Rathbone, too.”

Angela stood in silence. Harriet sighed.

“Whatever shall we do about that, Angela? Hmm?”

She did not wait for a reply, instead simply pointing to the other girl’s waist and flicking her finger downwards in an unmistakable gesture of command.

“Oh…” gasped Angela, as with bottom bared and with hot tears of shame welling up in her eyes, she found herself slipping over her friend’s lap. “Oh you beast, I – OWWW!”

And so once again it began. And there, dear reader, we will depart the scene and leave the two chums to it. Whatever ‘it’ might be and whatever other ‘its’ might follow.

 

Epilogue – ten years later.

Angela is a lawyer in one of the smartest City firms of solicitors; Harriet a journalist writing features for a trendy magazine. They share a flat near Edgware Rd in London and although both lead busy professional lives, they make sure that at least twice a week they return to it in time to spend a full evening together. One or other will cook, usually something quick and simple, and they eat quite hurriedly. Hanging up in the cupboard in their bedroom are two school uniforms: the same school uniforms, into which they both still just about fit . Harriet now finds her blouse rather tight, but Angela says she prefers her like that, so Harriet squeezes herself in.
 

But the two ties are different, so a choice must be made. One of the ties bears simply their old school colours, while the other displays the striking addition of a thin yellow stripe, betokening higher status. Sometimes, they have already agreed who will wear the prefect’s tie. If one of them, for instance, forgets that it is her turn to take out the rubbish on dustbin day, she might lay the prefect tie out for the other to possess, in a gesture of apology. If neither has any particular reason to accept to wear the ordinary tie, they might discuss over dinner whose turn it is. But they can rarely agree, so it often turns into a sudden rush for the cupboard and to the victor who grabs it first, the prefectorial spoils. Of course, having been the beneficiary of an expensive education, the loser always puts on her less colourful tie without argument… but sometimes, just sometimes, if she feels the tactics by which the other had seized the prefect’s tie were a little... underhand, she might hiss out a resentful “Beast!”

And then it begins. 

 

[THE END]

 

Is this a picture of Harriet and Angela during their school days (before Angela got her prefect's tie but after, just to reiterate, their eighteenth birthdays)?  Hard to say... it certainly looks like them.  But those skirts aren't regulation length, they're both wearing blazers that are clearly several sizes too small for them and those shoes!  I mean quite apart from not conforming to the school's heel length policy, they're thoroughly impractical.  How would the girls join in a jolly lunch-break game of British Bulldog (Angela especially used to love being one of the bulldogs: grabbing other girls as they tried to run past and holding them tight), wearing those monstrosities? So I think it must be two adult porn models who just look a bit like them.

 

 

* A 'plimsoll' is, or was, a British sports shoe: a simple canvas upper over a rubber sole.  Like a trainer (or even a 'sneaker')  but thinner, much less complicated and never, ever fashionable.  But they had their uses...

 

Something like this... although these don't look very clean.  I'm sure well brought-up English schoolgirls would never spank one another's bottoms with a plimsoll that had seen outdoor use.  After all, there's always the hairbrush...

 

Friday, November 25, 2022

Punitive pleasures

She's right, of course.

 

 

She puts a lot of effort into giving feedback and making sure the overall messages of the review are clear. So you'll get a lot out of it. She appreciates obsequious upward feedback too.

I expect Cruella's employees get plenty of feedback.  As do unpaid employees or random passing gawkers at their photoshoots, I imagine.

 

Another lady with an interest in giving clear feedback. Shame Harold won't have much chance to learn from it for next time.



I asked my domme once how she managed to switch from non-stop verbal humiliation and contempt to chatting in a friendly way at the end of the session. She just smiled and said she's a good actress, but she'd probably run out of ideas if it went for more than five minutes or so.  Which I didn't really understand because we'd had a two hour session but it was time for me to go, so I never got the chance to ask.





Hmm... Looks like you're not going  to get a chance to impress her with that dazzling wit.  Or anyone.  Oh well, win some lose some.  You did win some, right?  I mean, at some point in your life?

 

 

 

Tuesday, November 22, 2022

Savage sirens

 

It's your own fault: what you get for abusing her kindheartedness.

 

Good thing they had the bat with them.  They usually bring it along on their walks, though - just in case it might come in handy.
 

 

...and so on.  Sounds like it might become rather repetitive.  I hope you don't get too bored.
 

 

Don't worry about the forced tofu-eating.  Tofu has a slightly disgusting texture, but it's pretty nearly tasteless - just absorbs the flavour of whatever liquid it''s been soaking in, basically.  So whatever Raoul chooses to... yeah, anyway, I'm sure it'll be fine.

 





Oddly, though, the client she still calls 'Mr Superglue' became a regular, after he left hospital.  Subs, eh?  You think you know how weird they're going to be but they're always twice as weird again.


 

 

 

 

 

Sunday, November 20, 2022

Friday, November 18, 2022

Superior sex

 She is it, and she also has it.


Perhaps you should discuss her salary expectations soon, as I think right now they are increasing rapidly.


She uses 'cruelty free' cosmetic products but I'm afraid that attitude extends only to animals. Non-human animals, I mean.


The system is open to abuse by women seeking to save money on nursing care for their elderly male relatives unfortunately. But a recent inquiry into the prevalence of false accusations of crminal sexism concluded (a) that it was not so very high and (b) that the old bastards probably deserved it anyway. So that's all right.

Imagine putting her to so much trouble. And he calls himself submissive...

The lady visting OWK in this pastoral scene is Goddess Sophia, whose cages, canes and (most memorably) gloriously swishy rubber dress Servitor has had the honour to experience - and can thoroughly recommend to UK-based subs. She may or may not still be in business and is not the lady of the same name in Portsmouth, who I am sure is equally lovely.


I imagine Douglas knows many things they don't... lots of secret little thoughts.







Tuesday, November 15, 2022

Pretty woman don't make me cry

What's that?  Oh, I ticked 'make me cry' on the session negotiation form?  Oh yes, so I did.  Sorry, my mistake: go ahead then.

 

Just hand me the lipstick and stand aside, little lady.  I got this.



Very public-spirited of them to help out, I say.
 


You might worry that if she just gets high grades without effort, she might end up with no skills and in a low-wage dead-end career.  Don't worry: she's developing lots of skills and her future in a high-paying professional career is almost guaranteed.




What, did you think she just... I dunno... abducted guys and skinned them in her basement? You've been reading too much lurid fantasy.  Relax, OK?


I wonder why she went too far like that?  She's supposed to be a professional.




 

 

 

 



Saturday, November 12, 2022

Twelve honest women

 


All rise for her Ladyship!   This court is now in session.

Members of the jury.  You have now heard all of the evidence in this case, as well as the summing-up arguments of the defense, so eloquently put to us by defending counsel Ms Ingrams there,whom I would like to compliment once more on her cogent arguments.  And the stuff that prosecuting counsel said too, of course. Ms... erm, Langham I think?  No, don't get up, Ms Langham. You've said all you need to say, I think.  Don't worry: you did quite well, too.

As you know, members of the jury, the prisoner - Ms Rebecca Frances Davenport - stands accused of various crimes of violence which are, in descending order of severity: grievous bodily harm, actual bodily harm and assault.  It is your job to decide whether she is guilty of any crime and if you do so decide, which of those it should be.

The fact of this particular case are not substantially in doubt or disputed by either party.  We are concerned with the injuries sustained by Ms Davenport's husband, Tom, when she beat him, first with a cane and then with a riding whip, after he served her coffee that was too milky.

Now, members of the jury, you may well wonder what there is in this that requires the involvement of the law?  Surely in this day and age a woman has a right to beat her husband as she sees fit and for whatever reason she chooses - or indeed no reason?  I am sure we have all inflicted painful punishments on males from time to time, no doubt all richly deserved - should we therefore fear the heavy hand of the local police, following some healthy domestic corrective action?

Obviously not, members of the jury. The law, thankfully, recognises the needs of males for physical chastisement and the rights of responsible females to provide it.  Yet it also specifies that only 'reasonable force' can be used. You may feel that a wife's rights over her husband should have no such limitation and so might I, so might any of us, but we do not make the law, ladies of the jury, and even after twelve years of Femsuprem government, this restriction remains in the law, albeit rarely tested in court.

What does it mean, this word 'reasonable', members of the jury? That will be for you to decide on the facts of this case, but I can give you some guidance.

First, 'reasonableness' refers to the severity of the beating sustained. You will have seen the detailed photographs of the buttocks and thighs of Ms Davenport's Tom, following the beating. Or beatings.  You will have noticed the many criss-crossed welts from cane and whip, the extensive bruising in all shades of purples, browns and even black. I hope it is not inappropriate for me to note that Tom Davenport has a rather attractive, muscular pair of buttocks so no doubt - like me - you examined those photographs closely and with great interest.

In fact, Clerk to the court, do you think we might be shown the photographs again?

Splendid.  Mmm.  Yes, there we are, members of the jury.  Study the evidence carefully, so you can recall every detail when you come to deliberate.  Observe for example the cross-hatching on the right thigh, where Ms Davenport - clearly a most skillful wielder of the disciplinary rod - has first laid down a ladder of horizontal stripes with the cane, at near mathematically precise intervals, then some half an hour later, after devoting herself to abusing some other area of his flesh, returned and positioned herself in front of her secured husband and completed this grid pattern we see here with an exactly equivalent set of vertical strokes from her whip.

You will no doubt recall, members of the jury, how Tom sobbed with pain and fear even at the recollection of this part of his beating, as he described it stroke by stroke, with these fine photographs arranged to provide the colour, so to speak, to his shaking, tearful description.  Indeed, members of the jury, one of you at least will recall that testimony very well, as we all heard that you were unable to contain your excitement.  No cause for embarrassment, madam, still less - as counsel for the prosecution suggested - a reason to consider you biased and thus unfit to serve. It is perfectly normal, healthy and proper for a female to become sexually excited when contemplating a male being punished.  You merely articulated what many of us, I dare say, were feeling, but with fewer inhibitions.  And perhaps a little more loudly.

These bruises - whips and cane strokes, members of the jury - are the injuries at issue in this case.  The prosecution withdrew the allegation that the injuries to ankles and wrists were in any way Ms Davenport's fault, as those were inflicted by her male upon himself, as he struggled under the lashes of her discipline.  A fine pickle we would all be in, members of the jury, if any husband could escape the consequences of wifely retribution merely by jerking his arms so much when secured across the family whipping block, so as to dislocate his wrist or elbow!

So, members of the jury, have a last look at these photographs before I must ask the clerk to take them away again.  Consider the welts and bruises inflicted - consider them carefully. They are certainly skillful, and I think it is clear that they were most effective in bringing home to Tom the errors of his ways and thus ensuring a more harmonious domestic environment. You might consider them, although severe, well within the boundaries that are - and should be - allowed for domestic discipline in our society.  Bearing in mind the importance of suppressing all or any glimmers of male rebellion, after we finally threw off centuries of male oppression.  You might feel that Ms Davenport should be praised for her skill and her firmness in how she dealt with her husband and wish to reward rather than penalise her for that. However, your task is a simpler one: was this firm, effective - and no doubt for Ms Davenport thoroughly enjoyable - thrashing a reasonable way for her to discipline her husband, just as reasonable as any beating any of us might inflict on our partners, any night of the week? You may well think so, members of the jury, you might well think so.  

However, you might also choose to decide for whatever reason seems proper to you, that this action was unreasonably painful for Tom. The question, for the avoidance of doubt, being whether you consider the pain inflicted  unreasonably severe. You are not being asked to decide whether Ms Davenport was unreasonably lenient on Tom.  You might decide she was unreasonably severe... perhaps because you believe, in effect, that males even in firmly loving disciplinary relationships should be able to count on the law to protect them, should they - the males, members of the jury - themselves decide that the pain is too much for them.  Perhaps you might think that you would be entirely content if your own husband were to turn around and warn you not to hurt him too much, threatening you with prosecution. You might think any of those things, members of the jury, and if you do then you might decide that the level of pain inflicted in this case, as shown in these splendid photographs, was unreasonable.  You might decide that; you have that right and duty.  Or you might decide that there's nothing wrong with a woman beating her man to the best of her ability and that the pain will do him nothing but good.  It is up to you.

Clerk of the court, with regret I must ask you to take the photographs away again. 

Now, members of the jury, there is a second element to 'reasonableness' and that relates to the severity of the punishment in relation to the fault Tom committed.  As you will recall: he served his wife coffee that was too milky.

Now, counsel for the prosecution devoted considerable efforts to paint this act of Tom's as somehow undeserving of the thrashing that he received. You may have found the prosecution's arguments a little hard to follow there, members of the jury. I am not sure I myself can help you much in understanding them, but I will do my best.  I believe young Ms Langham's point was that milky coffee is not such a bad thing.  That - in effect - Ms Davenport should simply have put up with the milky coffee.  Perhaps, members of the jury, the prosecution would like you to think she should have drunk coffee that was milkier than she enjoys, to avoid hurting the feelings of - or in other ways hurting - her husband.  She could, in short, have taken some discomfort upon herself, privileging the feelings and desires of a male, above her own.  As women did for so many centuries under the patriarchy.  Perhaps the prosecution also believes she should have taken on some of the housework, to give poor Tom a break, put on an apron and cooked him a meal - or even gone down on her knees before him, unlocked his belt and given him a blow-job? Perhaps.  We don't know.  All the prosecution said was that Ms Davenport should have simply forced down the unpleasantly milky coffee without complaining. That this would have been more 'reasonable' then the actions she in fact took. Perhaps you agree with that idea, members of the jury.  Or perhaps you do not.

Let me nonetheless remind you of a few relevant facts to consider.  First: Ms Davenport has been Tom's wife for over four years and was his Responsible Female for some eight months prior to that. She is not - and I believe this is undisputed - new to coffee drinking, members of the jury. Tom has been making her cups of coffee for all of that time. Every day, usually more than once. Tom knew how she liked her coffee, members of the jury.  A crucial point, so I shall emphasise it again: Tom knew how she liked her coffee.  Yet he made it too milky. She likes her coffee quite dark... Tom knew that but made it milky. An act of rebellion, perhaps, members of the jury?  Or merely the act of an unthinking male, characteristically concerned only with his own convenience and thinking nothing of the needs and wants of the woman whom he promised to love, serve and obey when they married? Either way, I am sure you will want to consider very carefully whether you wish to characterise a corrective beating in response to such behaviour as 'unreasonable', members of the jury. But of course that is a matter for your judgement.

Second, we have heard Ms Davenport's evidence - corroborated by Tom when he was strapped across the witness block - that this was the third time in the last year that he had served her coffee that was too milky.  The third time, members of the jury! He repeatedly served her coffee he knew she would not like! Is that the act of an obedient husband? Should she allow it to pass unrebuked? Is it really that unreasonable for a husband to spend a few hours screaming and struggling under a relentless beating when he has willfully ignored his wife's wishes time and time again? Indeed, how 'reasonable' would it be for Ms Davenport - for any woman - to suffer such a repeated gesture of contempt and not inflict a thorough beating, I ask you?  I can merely ask: it is of course for you to decide that, not for me.

Finally, we come to the conflicting evidence relating to Ms Davenport's instructions to Tom, when she dispatched him to the kitchen to prepare the coffee.  She has testified that she clearly said "And don't put too much milk in it, maggot!", 'maggot' of course being the affectionate nick-name she uses at home to refer to Tom.  The maggot himself - Tom, that is - denies that she made any such remark, and maintained that position even under vigorous cross-examination over the witness block.  Rather a crucial piece of evidence, members of the jury, as even those of you who might for some reason feel well-disposed towards Tom and inclined to be lenient towards his apparent total lack of interest in his wife's comfort might feel that serving milky coffee following such an instruction is tantamount to direct disobedience. Direct disobedience, members of the jury. 

Direct. Disobedience. 

Something none of us would tolerate in our own relationships, I venture to say. But that is of course for you to decide, not for me. Perhaps you are of a different opinion.  That is your right.

But many of us would no doubt feel that if such an instruction were given, Ms Davenport has no case to answer.

Yet was such an instruction given?  Here we have two witnesses offering conflicting evidence on this point, members of the jury!  Ms Davenport says she gave such an instruction, Tom says she did not. She says she did.  He says she did not.  How can we resolve this conundrum?  Fortunately, I can be of service to you on that point, as the law is quite clear in this regard: when a female witness and male witness provide conflicting accounts like this, the female's evidence is to be accepted and the male's disregarded. That is now established case-law, with numerous precedents dating back to soon after the Liberation. It is in any event only common sense: females being generally trustworthy while males, as we all know, are duplicitous, lying little weasels.  So you can put your minds at rest: Tom lied in the witness box and his evidence is to be disregarded.  He was instructed to ensure the coffee was not too milky: the evidence on that is uncontested.  Uncontested by any female, anyway, and legally that amounts to the same thing.

So: members of the jury, that is the case in a nutshell.  It is now for you to decide whether Ms Davenport is guilty or not guilty.

You will of course be well aware of the intense media interest in this case. Cases brought by husbands against their wives are thankfully rare and I believe this is the first time for several years that a male has sought to bring such serious charges against any Responsible Female, let alone his wife.  Public opinion in some quarters is running  understandably hot but I must advise you not to be influenced by anything you may have seen or read.  You must put such headlines as "Drink that, you bitch or I'll have the law on you!" and "Criminal waste of police time and public money" or other such over-simplified characterisations of this matter entirely from your minds.  Similarly, you may or may not be aware that certain underground - and illegal - 'men's lib' publications are following the case with keen, if rather furtive, interest. One such - a squalid publication absurdly named Equal rights for men now! - even sees the decision I shall shortly ask you to retire to consider to be, as with some distaste I quote, "the first step in rolling back the oppressive and brutal Femsuprem state." 

 Like the rest of us, they must await your decision, ladies of the jury.  Whether you wish to encourage men's libbers in their shrill and self-centred campaign, or not, I urge you to put any such considerations entirely aside and decide only the case in front of you: is Ms Davenport guilty, or not guilty?  And decide that on the facts. Let any political consequences fall as they may.

And that is the only decision in front of you: remember, Tom is not the accused and you are not here to decide what should happen to him, no matter how much you might like to be able to do so.  

No: the accused today is a woman, a female. As you are female.  As I am.  And I will leave you with just one more piece of legal advice and that - as counsel for the defense explained earlier so well - is something known as the golden thread that runs through English justice: the presumption of female innocence.  Every woman, no matter how severe a crime she is accused of, is innocent until proven guilty.  If there is any reasonable - that word again, madam jurors! - any reasonable doubt as to the guilt of the accused, then she must be set free. That is a cornerstone of female liberty, in this United Queendom.

So: members of the jury.  It is time for you to retire to consider your verdict.

(Two minutes later)

Madam Forewoman, welcome back.  have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?

Jury forewoman: We have, Your Ladyship.

And do you find the accused, Ms Rebecca Frances Davenport, guilty or not guilty?

Jury forewoman: Not guilty on all counts, Your Ladyship.

Thank you.  You have discharged your duty admirably, no doubt weighing up  -

Jury forewoman: And if I may say so, Your Ladyship, we think the little swine deserved everything he got and then some. I'd have given him a second full dose later the same day, if my husband had - 

Yes, erm.. thank you Madam Forewoman.  I'm sure we all share... anyway, you have been most helpful. You have carried out your duty in a case that... well, some might say should frankly never have been brought, but I am nonetheless grateful.  You may - 

Jury forewoman: And also, if any tosser of a man thinks he can - 

Yes, THANK YOU, Madam Forewoman, members of the jury. You may stand down.

Now.  First of all, it is my very pleasant duty, Ms Davenport, to declare you not guilty.  An innocent woman, entirely cleared of all charges and without a stain on your character. You may thrash males with the skill and vigour you displayed towards your Tom without the slightest concern that the law might seek to intervene to soften the blows, so to speak.

Rebecca Davenport: Thank you, Your Ladyship. I'm so pleased.

I'm sure all right-thinking citizens are, Ms Davenport.  Indeed, although in my supervision of these proceedings and my summing up I had to be scrupulously unbiased, to ensure an absolutely fair trial, now the jury has reached its well-justified decision, I will note for the record that I believe the Police and the Public Prosecution Service have some serious questions to ask themselves about their decision to intervene in this matter. What exactly they were thinking, to bring the full majesty of the law into a simple and wholesome domestic beating? That mystifies me as it has mystified so much of the press.  It may even be a resigning matter, in some quarters. 

I'll confess I found it difficult at times to restrain my extreme scepticism about the case that has been brought before me and my irritation at the - frankly - rather sexist implications of the idea that a woman cannot beat her male as she sees fit. I had thought those dark days of male impunity were behind us.  Following the jury's wise decision, perhaps at last they are.

I should note for the record, however, that my criticism does not extend to counsel for the prosecution, who really has done her best, I believe.  Barristers, especially junior barristers (and by her youthful appearance I believe Ms Langham to be very junior), must accept briefs that come to them and Ms Langham was doing her job and carrying out her duty, in making the best case she could on behalf of this wretched male.

Ms Langham (blushing): Thank you, Your Ladyship.

And your rather pretty blush reminds me, Ms Langham, of how I - and I think we all - felt the greatest sympathy for your embarrassment when you had to present some of the more absurd elements of the prosecution's case.  At least you did it most fetchingly - you wear the barristers robe so well - and it was a pleasure to have you in my court. No, sit down, now Ms Langham!  You have carried out your disagreeable task very well and if we did not always agree with what you had to say, I for one thoroughly enjoyed listening to you say it.  I hope you are able to take on rather more wholesome work as your career develops.

Finally, more seriously, I turn to what should become of Tom Davenport.  As I explained to the jury, he is not on trial here.  Yet there is obviously now a serious question of whether charges should be brought for wasting police time and for perjury - which he obviously committed when he contradicted the evidence of a woman, while under oath. These are serious charges and if found guilty of both, Tom Davenport as he now is (but he would lose his name, of course) could face a sentence of up to thirty-five years in a Male Re-education Centre.  Even without going to the trouble of such a trial, I could here and now sentence him to eighteen months in an MRC for contempt of court.

I am minded to do so. The healthy outdoor air, the constant physical labour and of course the frequent attentions of skilled and qualified Male Re-eduction Officers, would clearly do Tom nothing but good.  He would emerge a changed man - changed much for the better.  I can consign him to such a camp only for up to eighteen months, as I said, but the Camp Commander or her deputies can extend his stay indefinitely in the case of, for example, disobedience, disrespect or repeated laziness. Given his behaviour in married life, such offences seem almost certain, so although I cannot directly impose the sentence of many years that he so richly deserves, without wasting still more time and money on trials, I am confident he would receive an appropriate 'education' and would be able to take the time needed to let the lessons sink in.

However.

There is another course of action. His wife, Ms Davenport, has by her actions already demonstrated her devotion to his improvement and her determination that he should mend his ways.  As well has her skill and vigour in encouraging him to do so. Rather than making him a burden on the State and having him take up a square metre or two of bare concrete in a cell block that could otherwise be used to house a male with no such loving alternative, I am inclined simply to release him back into her care.  However, she is of course entirely within her rights to reject the selfish little swine, in which case I will happily consign him to the care of the MRS. Ms Davenport, would you be willing to take this ungrateful male back?

Rebecca Davenport: Oh yes, Your Ladyship. Willing and quite ready, believe me.

Your commitment to his welfare makes you a role model for women everywhere, Ms Davenport.  Very well.  Clerk of the court, please record that the court instructs the MRS to restore Rebecca Davenport's rights over the boy Tom, of the same name, as his Responsible Female.  Also, that the aforesaid Tom receives a suspended sentence of eighteen months re-educational labour at the discretion of his Responsible Female, that sentence to lapse after thirty years if no further offence is committed.  And finally, the aforesaid Tom is hereby sentenced to - I'm sorry, that's the wrong word, please strike it from the record - released into the care of his wife and Responsible Female, the aforesaid Rebecca Davenport.

Good. Anything else?

Thank you, ladies. This court is no longer in session.  Ms Langham, I wonder if you would care to join me in my private chambers, for a quick glass of sherry?

All rise!

 

Miss Langham.  She really is very young, poor thing, to take on such a difficult brief.  But her senior colleagues (who had all skillfully avoided taking the case) advised her that if she did her best and smiled at the judge a lot, the judge would probably treat her kindly.  And they were right.


Friday, November 11, 2022

A kiss on the boot

 ...may be quite deferential.  But diamonds...


Double what he himself would normally have to pay, that is.  So about six times the going rate for a 'normal' client.  But he does get to keep the shoes and 'normal' clients don't get to keep the lady, so I guess he's ahead.




Very directly.  She'd appreciate short and truthful answers too and frankly you are likely to be gasping and crying out too much to think of (still less articulate) anything complicated.


I think she should just get on with it.  A few little buzzes and he'll almost certainly find that he agrees with her - on this and on everything.



Probably something to do with swimming. Maybe you can ask her about it later - but I'm sure you'll both have better ideas for how to spend your wedding night than reliving old school memories.



I think the phrase he's looking for is "Ma'am yes Ma'am!".