I'm going to give you some terrible thrills

And truly terrible some of them are, too.

She put the mission first, though, and that's the only thing that really matters.

Erm... OK.  That sounds different.  Still: I'll try anything once.

Yes.  Start with him.

It is purely hypothetical because, obviously, they won't have a choice.

Course she did.

Scream queens

I quite often get scared in session, but I wouldn't call any of that a 'phobia', as such.  Phobias are irrational fears. 

Probably best if they never find out. They're so sweet and innocent, long may they stay that way.

People like her contribute to the unfair stereotyping of the BDSM community.  You should say something - when you've got your breath back, obviously.

I don't think it bothers her.

French capital punishment scenarios require some quite specialised equipment (although easy enough for any domme with slaves with carpentry skills).  Anyone wanting to try out American cap-pun play is going to need something to step up the voltage. Ordinary electricity's not quite enough to kill, even in Europe.  I mean, it works eventually, but if the client's only paid for a couple of hours, the domme's at risk of the scenario not working out.

It Came From Outer Space

And this is how the message ran...

She should put him in the stocks. 'Cos the sonic doesn't work on wood.

 

I believe there are still traces from which civilisation could be reconstructed, under the guidance of the Galactic Community.

I think you're about to experience their rigorous clinical testing procedures personally

I would just like to point out that as an arachnophobe, I did not at all enjoy searching Google images for the picture on the right hand side in the background there.  I suffered for my art.  Now it's your tur - oh, I did that one already, didn't I?

I don't really understand how anyone can be an atheist, in a world that contains Arianna Grande.   

What's that you say, blog 'reader'?  You don't think this one fits in with the overall science fiction theme of today's post?  Oh yes, it does.  You see: this is your future.

Just like a prayer

Humbler and humbler we become.

Brisk, businesslike and to the point.

I was the victim in an abusive relationship once.  It's actually quite a traumatic memory.  I was upset for months afterwards... begging her to come back.

 

It's good to have a hobby.

Charlotte's Web - the femdom version.  With bacon for supper.

I have to praise her

...like I should.

 

Don't forget to scurry.  Ball boys should definitely scurry.

 

 

Sergei I am not looking forward to.

 

But seeing as this is Mistress Absolute  - the Mistress Absolute - I suspect that can only add to the value, among certain rare connoseurs conouiseirs conosewers, don't you think?

 

 

Domina Liza.  I'll confesss, I don't know the Lady in person, but I suspect that her attitude to such a request would be along these lines.  This caption is intended to comment on the style of femdom photo that I mentally categorize as 'tits out for the lads' and try, virtuously, to avoid.

 

 

Awww... poor little thing.

 

I hold these truths to be self-evident

...all Men are created equally servile, that they are endowed by their nature with certain inalienable duties, that among these are service, slavery and the pursuit of degradation. That to ensure these duties, Women's rule is instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the inadequacies of the governed.


From the 93rd amendment to the US constitution, 2064.


Long time to wait.  Here's something for now.




Richard thought of "Mistress Initiating Loving Flagellation".  Sadly, that was almost twelve hours later, when he was lying face-down in his bed, desperately waiting for exhustion to overwhelm the burning pain. 

It's called Juliephobia.  Fear of Julie.  It's actually quite rational.



Apologising can make you feel good.  But not in this case, obviously.  Not until a long time after.



It's true, ladies, so don't hold back.  Not only are our brains smaller, but 95% of their volume is given over to thinking about you, so there's really little capacity left for anything else.  Might as well fill it with pain.



Actually, almost everything in that book is made up.  That party she threw at the sushi bar for all three ex-girlfriends where they exchanged stories about your sexual performance, and paid a prostitute to pretend to pick you up, then scream with laughter and steal your clothes?  No way.  It was in a regular steakhouse.  See - there's loads of stuff like that.