Advice to a novice sub - Part 2

Many readers of this blog ask me questions, and not all of them are of the "Why don't you just fuck off and die, Servitor?" form, either.  I know you regard me as a kind of wise old man of femdom, and after I published a blog post last year with a few choice tips for submissives less experienced than I am in visiting professional dominant ladies, the response was overwhelming and - in a few cases - not entirely contemptuous.

So, mindful of the fact that you don't know my real name or address, and so you can't sue me for any consequences, here is another batch of Servitor's tips for any subs considering a visit to a pro-domme.

Turning points - even more of them

Turning points!  Again.  Glimpses of femdom, in a vanilla world.  And if you're new here and have no idea what I'm talking about, just go and click 'turning points' in the wordcloud thingie there.  Oh, look, I've done it for you already.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

Worshipful company

 

If it's any consolation, she certainly does care about how well you do the chores.

 

 

There's plenty of boys.

 

 

It's amazing, what computers can do these days.

 

I asked a domme once for a session in which she would treat me with utter contempt the whole time. I waited for hours in the rain, and she didn't turn up, even though I'd pre-paid by credit card. Do you think perhaps she misunderstood?

 

 

Don't worry, if anyone sees you they'll probably assume you're a devout pilgrim doing penance as part of a religious observation. Which, in a sense, you are.

Feeling her pain

...it's just something she likes me to do from time to time.

Strictly speaking, that's probably against school rules.  I mean, it's not as if the chalk's her property, after all.

 

 

It's up to you whether you sign of course - and feel free to take your time.  She can always do you after lunch, if you can hold out that long.  Not a problem.

 

 

Thank you.  Ahhh.

 

 

That sounds very fair.

 

 

Glad to be of service.  It's the highlight of my month, actually.

Sometimes I get a funny pain

Please help me in my agony, dear Jane, dear Jane, dear Jane.

 

 

Actually, you only booked an hour and half. So that's an extra half hour free!  Guess you won that one, huh?

 

 

Not at all.  As a matter of fact, I'm going to beg for it.

 

 

Ymmmnneh Mnnntrrrcch!

 

 

 

If you can't choose, just take a few.  She'll choose.  Or maybe she won't.

 

 

I'm sure when Suzie comes, this whole silly misunderstanding will quickly be resolved.

He married a maths teacher

 

Now then, Colin, you’re…let’s see – five foot three in height.

Runty little shortass.

Aaaannd your cock is… oh dear oh dear - three inches long.

Yes it is – look.

Oh for goodness’ sake.  All right, because the room’s a bit cold we’ll call it three and a quarter, OK?

So - how much of you consists of cock?  Can you work it out?

Sixty three inches tall, with a cock that’s three inches long.  Yes, all right, three and a quarter.  Pathetic. 

So…?  Three and a quarter goes into sixty-three how many times?

Yes., it would be easier if it were just three into sixty-three, wouldn’t it?  But Mr Big Swinging Quarter Inch insisted, didn’t he?  So now he’s going to have to work a bit harder.

Nineteen and.... Nineteen and a bit, you say?  What – a little extra foreskinny bit?

OK, yes, let’s call it one in 20.

So – what proportion of you is cock?

No, not one in twenty.

Hmmm?

Well, because you’re not one-dimensional, of course.  Except emotionally.

No, that was a joke.  Look - even though you look like a single long stream of piss, you are in fact a three-dimensional object, so your mass and volume go up in proportion to…?

In proportion to…?

Sigh.  No, not ‘pi’.  In proportion to the cube of your length.

Your cock is one-twentieth of your length, so it constitutes about one over twenty cubed of you.  Which is?

One four thousandth?  Do you need the cane?  I knew we should have done this as a schoolboy detention game.  Try again.

Eight thousand!  Correct!  Finally.

Now, you spend about six thousand hours each year awake. 

So – how much time each year should you spend playing with your cock?  Hmm?  If that's proportional to its size?

That’s right.  Three-quarters. 

Every year, you get to spend 45 minutes playing with your cock.  Not all at once, obviously.  I was thinking maybe three fifteen-minute goes.

No, I don’t want to discuss it, I just want you to say ‘Yes Chloe’ and thank me.

That’s right.

Oh don’t look so depressed.  Imagine how bad it would be if you were of normal height!

 

...and it wouldn't be such fun beating you up, either.

A marriage of obedience

A problem shared... 

 

 

 

 

 

She's just helping you put it in context.  Don't forget to be grateful.

 

 

Worth it all for that one night of passion, though, huh?  Huh?

 

 

 

Best just to be passive and forget the aggression.

This is the lovely Gigi Allens from ClareSpanksMen and many other places.  More about her - mostly made up, but illustrated with lots of pictures - here.



Maybe.



Off-topic: je suis Charlie

 

Cartoon by David Pope.  This blog will return to publishing the usual witless nonsense tomorrow, after a brief reflection on how important it is to be free to publish witless nonsense.

Memories, memories, sweet memories

Yes, to bring in the new year, what better than to look back - with more recollections from the lovely ladies of the sadly now defunct Other World Kingdom. 

Well, completely made up stuff from the mind of servitor, anyway.  But I do have a general disclaimer over there to the right, if you care to look.  This blog does not make a fetish of realism.  Muddy boots, yes, sissy panties, certainly, but realism - not so much.

This is the second in a series of, well, two at the moment but you never know.  Here's the first.

Ladies - over to you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you like this, you might like http://poorlydressedominatrixes.tumblr.com/  too.

 

If it isn't hurting...

...then you're wasting your money.

 

Actually, I think she just wants to see you get beaten up.

 

The rule is that only the lower brown stripe can still be visible, before the traffic stick treatment can be considered complete.

 

 

It's good that she's so broadminded.  I'll get me coat...

 

 

It's what your right arm's for.

It's amazing the things they can do with CGI special effects these days.  They can actually make it look as if flesh is being burnt off with a red-hot brand, you know.  But her method's better.

Bah, humbug

Mistress Valerie stars in a Christmas Movie

We begin by meeting Edmund Scrooge, a brash, charmless, sexist 30-something yuppie in charge of a team of female office workers.  We see him throwing his weight around, making sexist comments and denying them any time off at Christmas (“Unless you want to come round and cook my turkey, girls!”). 

Off he goes, bragging loudly on his mobile about (quite imaginary) sexual conquests at work, before going down the pub with his equally obnoxious mates to try out cheesy chat-up lines on uninterested women.  He returns (unsuccessful, of course, and drunk) to his bachelor pad, watches a porn video and has a wank, before crashing out on the couch.

But this Christmas is different.  The ghost of his old drinking partner Joseph Marley appears in the bachelor pad in the middle of the night, and what a change from when Scrooge knew him!  He clanks as he moves; heavy steel chains connecting shackles around his wrists to the heavy steel collar around his neck, and trailing down from a heavy belt around his waist to steel shackles around his ankles.  As he shambles forward we see a chastity belt clamped firmly on his genitals and above his well-striped buttocks we see a tattoo reading “Property of Mistress Valerie.  Not to be removed without  permission.” 

Marley has learnt from Mistress Valerie the errors of his male chauvinist past - and he is here with an awful warning for Scrooge to mend his ways!  Three spirits will help him in this task.

We begin with Mistress Valerie of Christmas past.  We see Scrooge, as the adult he is today but in his childhood clothes, opening his presents on Christmas morning.  He has many but is dissatisfied and complains, as each gift fails to meet his expectations.  But then his weary parents fade from view, and Governess Valerie appears: to show him what might have been had his upbringing been stricter.  Each present is wrapped again, and the tawse applied to his hands each time.  He unwraps each again in turn,, with appropriately polite cries of delight - and rewrapping each again for a dose of the tawse if  Governess Valerie deems his response too churlish.  So it goes through the day.  He gets the strap for not eating up his sprouts, his knuckles are repeatedly rapped for cheating at Monopoly and eventually Governess Valerie has had enough and administers a vigorous caning before the boy is sent to bed.  Back in the present day …Scrooge wakes up howling on the couch, his hands feel his bottom incredulously, and he makes his way painfully to work.

 

 

The next night, it is the turn of Mistress Valerie of Christmas present.  Here we see Scrooge in the only place he is fit to encounter a lady: tied to the cross in Mistress Valerie’s dungeon.  She enters, a classic dominatrix, dressed in PVC.  She introduces him to all of the modern techniques of punishment: electro play, bondage and suspension, nipple clamps and flogging.  He is forced to lick clean Her boots, is tied to act as an ashtray and is fed dog food.  His genitals are tied, clamped, whipped and then shocked repeatedly with an insect zapper.  Finally, he is wired up to Mistress Valerie’s motion-sensitive e-stim and flogged with a long leather whip, the motion detector clamped firmly between his teeth.  …Back in the present day, Scrooge at work has his head down, not making eye contact with any of his staff, and he involuntarily cringes as his secretary leans over the printer and innocently asks “Shall I switch it on?”

 

 

On the third night, we meet Mistress Valerie of Christmas yet to come.  Scrooge is an old man now, gaunt and tired.  We see him in an apron and nothing else, doing dishes and other chores around a kitchen.  We see his buttocks, striped and ridged after what must have been decades of punishment.  From the steel chastity belt around his waist, hangs a slightly rusty padlock.  A handbell tinkles and he hurries as well as his old bones can carry him to the living room, where Mistress Valerie, eternally youthful, indicates his duties with a languid finger.  It is obvious that his servitude has been so long and so repetitive that no words need any longer be spoken.  Mistress Valerie’s friends are around for Christmas day, and we see them opening presents and laughing.  Some slaves are present, young fit and obviously happy to be fulfilling their fantasies.  But Scrooge moves around silently performing his chores, his face blank.  He carries out his chores efficiently, obviously well schooled in his tasks and is at no stage acknowledged by any of the party.  Finally Mistress Valerie beckons him over, says “50” and hands him a whip, without looking up.  We see him retreat to a bare room and, alone, begin to lash his buttocks.  Fade out.

We fade back in again to see Mistress Valerie of Christmas yet to come alone, surrounded by post-Christmas mess.  She is on the phone and saying “Yes, I’m going to need a new slave.  I had that last one for thirty-two years, but I suppose nothing lasts for ever“, and the camera pulls back to reveal a pile of stuffed rubbish bags outside the front door waiting to be collected.  One is in the shape of a kneeling human form…

Back in the present, Scrooge wakes up in a cold sweat.  We see him heading out the door in a frantic rush, and stopping off at a little shop in Soho on his way in to work.  In the office, to the ladies’ puzzlement, there are presents for all: each receives a pair of new shoes and an implement: paddles, canes, straps and whips.  Scrooge explains that he has seen the error of his ways, and begs them for some ‘performance management’.  The ladies tuck into mince pies and chat delightedly, as, one by one, they recall their boss’s most unpleasant habits, and exact a much-needed revenge. 

The camera pulls back from this scene of Christmas cheer, the giggles and howls fading out, and we see Mistress Valerie, watching approvingly from afar, a smile on Her face and a whip in Her hand…

 

 

This is one of the very first femdom stories I ever wrote.  I started because the first domme I ever had the pleasure of visiting - a lovely lady, thinly disguised as Mistress Valerie in these early tales - commanded me to write first of all an account of my sessions and then (when that became tedious and repetitive) stories.  I think my writing style has changed... not necessarily for the better.  Anyway, an icy blast from the past, there so wrap up warm.

 

Oh - and here's an unrelated photo, too.  And a Merry Christmas to one and all!

 

She knows if you've been bad or good...