Very short femdom story: Burial plot

Burial plot

“I expect you find it strange, not having Mark around the house any more?”, Amelia said, sympathetically.

“Oh yes” replied Karen.  “After nine years of marriage it’s… well, it’s – “

And she broke off, tears welling up in her eyes.  Her friend reached forward and laid a hand on hers.

“You don’t have to tell me.  I went through it with Colin too.  No matter how prepared you are, it feels so odd, with the house empty.  But you know, in the long run it’s best.  He was in so much pain in the last few years – and now you can get on with your life.”

“I know” sniffed Karen.  “It was just – seeing him being buried at the weekend.  I thought I’d be ready.  But it wasn’t easy.”

She had a thought.  “Would you like to see where he’s buried? I visit every day, you know.”

Amelia smiled, understandingly.  “Yes.  Yes, I’d like that.”

They went out into the garden, where a freshly dug patch of earth made it obvious where Mark’s final resting place was to be found.

“There” Karen said.  “That’s his breathing tube, you see.  The blue one.  Then the green one is for feeding and water. I’ve been feeding him every day, you know.  Well – except Tuesday.  It was raining too hard.”

She looked a little sad.

“That’s OK”, Amelia said encouragingly, squeezing her arm.  “I did just the same at first.  But then later on you’ll find you don’t want to take the time any more, and I expect you’ll install a feeding tank.  I only have to fill mine once a month now, and that’s for both of them.”

The two stood still for a moment, looking silently at the two little tubes sticking out of the ground.  A blade of grass growing near the mouth of the blue one quivered from time to time, as Mark’s breathing disturbed the air.

“Did he suffer much, in the last few days?” Amelia enquired.

“Oh yes.” Karen said.  “I made sure of that. By the end, he could barely scream any more.”

“Well then” Amelia said, turning to her friend and smiling reassuringly.  “You’ll always have those memories. Let’s go and have a cup of tea, and you can try out the new boy.”

And with that, the two friends turned and went back into the house, leaving Mark to rest forever in peace.

Screaming when she comes

I usually find I do.

On with the captioned images of printed circuits.  Sorry, I mean female domination.  Long day.

And there he was thinking he'd got off lightly for once.  Good thing Linda came home.

 

It's nice when something you thought was finished gives you just a little bit extra like that.

 

But you have to pay her €500 first.

 



I think this is one of those times when it's just up to you to decide how to take it, you know?  On the one hand you could get angry - let's face it, it was a pretty mean trick.  But on the other, you could just be pathetically grateful that they noticed your miserable existence at all, couldn't you? 

 

Actually, to be entirely accurate, you won't be able to leave one small corner of the basement.

Little things that make her laugh

...but enough about me.  Ha ha.

Actually - not enough about me.  I have a question, and as you readers are my favourite people I thought I'd ask you.  Does anyone know of a dungeon hire/ SM studio place in Paris?  You know - that hires out by the hour or so...  do let me know in the comments, if you do.



I wouldn't go if I were you.  She won't still respect you in the morning, you know.  I mean, she doesn't now.

 



Hmmm.  Could cut through the concrete block perhaps?  No, no, that wouldn't work.  Gosh, I love puzzles, don't you?

 



Ooooh!  A little too close for comfort there?  Hmmm?

 

 



Consent.  No BSDSM relationship should be without it.

 

 



Sometimes I'm all excited, really close to an orgasm, you know, and then something happens and I just can't come.  Did that ever happen to you?  Just last spring, for example, I was really close and then I forgot to iron her shirt and I couldn't come for months.  The male orgasm...it's really a mystery, isn't it?.

Femdom story: Code-talkers

Just another little tale I tossed off, if you'll excuse the phrase.  Don't read if you're offended by silliness.

Code-talkers

“Emily!”, Alison squealed with pleasure.  “Why it’s been…well, I don’t know!  It must be three years – didn’t we last meet at Jerry’s wedding?”

Her cousin shook her head, laughing.

“No – I couldn’t make it.  Don’t you remember?  Mark had messed up that business with the plumbing, and we had a flooded cellar.  We had to stay at home to get it sorted out – I emailed you all about it.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Alison replied.  “I’ll bet you gave Mark a right good thra – “

-          and she broke off, glancing nervously at the third member of their party, their aged Great Aunt Maggie, who was sitting bright-eyed between the two of them, nodding happily.

“I mean – errr – well, you must have had a few stern, errr, words with Mark after that one.”

“I certainly did”, Emily nodded, grimly.  “Lots of words – three dozen that first time around, and then another session a week later when the plumber’s bill arrived.”

“And how’s Mark now?” Emily enquired casually.  “When you last emailed me, you said he was playing, errr, playing ‘golf’ rather too often and you were thinking of putting a stop to it.”

Her cousin laughed.

“Oh, he won’t be playing ‘golf’ any more.  Well...only when I say so.  I’ve got his ‘clubs’ all locked away, safe and sound.”

“But you let him play occasionally?”

“Oh yes.  When he’s been good.  But no more than once a month or so.  Just so he doesn’t get completely out of practice, you know.  I’ve heard that ‘golf balls’ have to be used every month or so, otherwise they can get damaged.”

“Never seen the point of golf myself!” Great-Aunt Maggie burst in unexpectedly.  “Just grown-ups playing marbles if you ask me.  And snooker – that’s just as bad.  Tennis.  I used to like watching tennis.”

“That’s nice Mags”, Emily said, encouragingly.  “Did you watch Wimbledon this year?”

Great-Aunt Maggie looked puzzled.  “I’m not sure, dear.” She replied.  “Was that nice Mr Borg playing?  I’m sure he won something, didn’t he?”

“Errr…I think that might have been a year or two earlier, Mags” Emily said, uncertainly and the three sat in silence for while.

“So how’s David?” Alison prompted, after a while.  “I expect you still keep his ‘golf clubs’ locked away, mmm?  With spikes, if I remember rightly.”

“Oh no” Emily giggled.  “David had the operation – I’m sure I must have told you about it?”

“Operation, dear?” Great-Aunt Maggie butted in, apparently pleased to be on her home turf of ailments and remedies.

“Yes Mags.  I took him in last year to have his errr” – and she caught her cousin’s eye - “to have his ‘tonsils’ taken out.”

“That’s good”, her Great-Aunt replied.  “Much better off without them.”

“Oh yes”, Emily laughed.  “He’s a changed man, without any ‘tonsils’ any more.”

“Did you get to watch the operation?”, Alison asked with interest, as she had been thinking about arranging for Mark to have his ‘tonsils’ removed too.

“Oh yes” her cousin replied breathlessly.  “It was great!  They strapped him dow – I mean, they bandaged him up tightly, and then they let me watch as they removed each of them in turn.  They even let me do the final little snip.  Gosh, it was so exciting!  I had a – errr – hot flush right there in the operating theatre!”

“So was Mark under anaesthetic?” Alison asked, beginning to feel the stirrings of a ‘hot flush’ herself, and wondering whether Great-Aunt Mags would mind if the two excused themselves and went upstairs to visit their old bedrooms.

“No – not even a local, not if you don’t want it” her cousin replied, giggling.  “He made quite a fuss, especially just before the first ‘tonsil’ came off – I mean, ‘out’.”

“And they even let me keep the tonsils afterwards” she added, casually.  “They’re in a little jar in my bedside drawer.”

“How lovely”, Emily breathed.  “So is David much more obedi – I mean, is he a bit more co-operative now?”

“Oh yes”, her cousin smiled.  “He does anything I want.  And the housework’s all done, spic and span every time. And he also - ”

“Itr was the electric that did that!” Great-Aunt Maggie broke in.

“You what, Mags?”

“The electric.  For housework.  Made all the difference.  Oh, before that it was impossible to get the place clean.  Cos before that we’d just had gas, and that wasn’t the same, not at all.  Your Great Uncle Bert liked the gas, but I said, ‘no – we’re moving with the times, Bert, we’re going electric.”

“That right, Mags?”, smiled Alison, indulgently.

“Ooooh yes.  I’ll tell you, as soon as we got that electric installed, I said ‘Right Bert, this is how it’s going to be from now on.  This is the future, this is.’ And he didn’t know the first thing about it!  He said, what’s it do then, Mags?  That’s what he said.”

“Didn’t he know about electricity then, Mags?”

“Oh no, dear.  This was 1938, and he was never very technical, wasn’t Bert.  So I showed him!  I plugged a cable into that socket – we only had the one socket when we first got the electric put in – and I attached one wire to the tip of his willy, using a hairclip, and shoved the other up his arse and switched it on!  Oooh, he found out what it did then!  You should have seen him jumping about screaming ‘Switch it off, Mistress, I’ll be good Mistress!’  Never had a moment’s trouble from him after that – housework all done, all my meals served in bed and a lovely bit of oral every Sunday morning before church.  Oh – and when we needed a bit of extra money, to buy a telly for the coronation, it just took one little dose of the electric and he was off giving hand jobs to demobbed soldiers for two bob a time, just to get a bit of extra money in."

"Oh, it used to scare the willies out of him, the electric, old Bert! Even worse than the birch.  He used to say ‘Oh please Mistress, give me two dozen with the birch instead!  Anything but the electric, Mistress!’  ‘Course, I always gave him double voltage when he tried to argue like that! And I’d sit on his face while he was taking it, too!  Lovely, that was.  Dear me.  Happy days.”

She paused in contented contemplation of times past, as her two great-nieces sat in shocked silence.

“Anyway, speaking of a bit of oral, dears, I’ve got a lovely 24 year-old strapped to my bed upstairs – Polish, or Czechyslovenian or one of those places.  Doesn’t speak a word of English, but he goes like a train and he knows what to do with his tongue when you take a flogger to him.  And I’ve got a brand-new strap-on that’s going to make him squeal a bit too!  So I’ll leave you young people to natter about your golf and tonsils, and I’ll take myself off for an early night and a good hard fuck.  See you in the morning, dears.”

And with that, the ninety-seven year old eased herself up from her chair and slowly hobbled over to where the chairlift was waiting to carry her upstairs, leaving her younger relatives to wonder what else they might have been missing all of these years.

 

THE END

The truth can hurt

...but so can lying.

Actually, he was wearing two belts.

 

 

Men's brains aren't good at remembering dates, but they do have a really good nerve connection to the genitals, so it's a perfect match.

 

"Snip-Lit".  It's going to be the next big thing after 50 Shades of Grey, you'll see.

 

She's not actually a dentist.  She did admit that on his fourth visit, to be fair.

 

 

I think this is one of those marriages where the arguments always end up with screaming and tears, don't you?

Another femdom first for Contemplating the Divine!

You saw it here first!  Corner time POV:

 

 

 

Exciting, isn't it?

 

 

That is actually a genuine picture of a corner.  Isn't the Internet wonderful?

 

 

It's almost as good as the real thing, isn't it?

 

 

Try staring at it for fifteen minutes, and just imagine the lady who put you there.  Mmmm.

 

 

Actually, for those of you who've read down this far, I'm going to let you into a little secret.

 

 

It's not just a static image - it's a moving GIF!

 

 

Yes it is!  Because I'm a technical wizard and I know how to make those things.  So, if you stare at it long enough...you'll see something rather special!  Just my little gift to loyal 'readers' of this blog.

 

 

I won't tell you quite how long but somewhere between the 30 and 40 minute mark, you'll see.

 

 

It's rather good.

 

 

But you have to watch.

 

No, honestly.  It won't work otherwise.

 

There - did you?  Oh.  You missed it.  Well, just reload the page and watch again.  It'll be well worth your while.

 

Anyway, this will be the first in a series.  So be sure to check back.

Femdom story: Locked

Well, I'll bet no one has ever written a femdom story with that title before!  Anyway, here's my take on it.

Locked

 “Are you all right, Mrs Taylor?” the doctor asked, stepping quickly to the side of the tall blonde lady standing over the hospital bed.

Janet nodded dumbly.

“Yes…yes.  I’m fine.  It’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all.  Seeing him – like this.  I mean, it’s just as you described it, of course.  But somehow it’s different seeing it for real.”

The doctor nodded understandingly. “Locked-in syndrome takes quite some getting used to”, she said.  “But he’s still in there.  It’s still your husband.”

“Alan”, Janet murmured.  “Yes, it’s still my Alan in there.  But he can’t move a muscle?”

“Well…” the doctor replied.  “His internal muscles like the heart are all in good working order.  And look – you see? – he can still blink his eyes.  That’ll make it a lot easier to look after him – no need for eyedroppers to keep the eyeballs moist, you see.  But otherwise, no muscular control at all.  Yet he can feel everything.”

“Mmmm” Janet said, reaching out and gently running her fingertips up the inner thigh of her immobilised husband.  “And he can see as well?”

“Oh yes” the doctor replied.  “Although of course he can’t control what he’s actually looking at.  But you can move the eyeballs – no, here, let me do it.  It’s best to wear gloves.”

And she deftly reached out and with a rubber-tipped finger flicked each eyeball round so that Alan was staring right at his wife.  The effect was a little uncanny, but Janet forced herself to smile.

“And you can hear me too, can’t you Alan?  Every word.”

She sighed slightly, and reached out again, this time pinching a small roll of Alan’s flesh between her fingers.  Steadily she compressed it, letting her elegant nails dig deeply into the flesh.  She watched the tiny buds of blood appear as she gently sawed her nails from side to side, and smiled again in satisfaction.

“Oh, we’re going to have such fun when I get you home.” she murmured, and put her hand to her mouth to taste the blood.

“Well, you can take him home whenever you like” the doctor shrugged.  “Everything’s fine; he’s fully recovered from the operation.  Those marks on his wrists and ankles will go away in a few days.  They’re just from where he was struggling when he was restrained.”

“Oh yes!” Janet replied.  “It seems so strange now, seeing him so silent and peaceful like this.  The last time I saw him he was thrashing about and screaming and begging so frantically…it’s a good thing he was so firmly tied down.”

“Yes, well they usually react rather vigorously when they’re told what the operation is really for” the doctor replied.    “I used to prefer them to be anaesthetised, but I’m quite used to it now.  As long as the head and upper body are held quite firmly, I can operate no matter how much of a fuss they’re making.”

She turned Alan’s head, leaving it to flop sideways, the eyes now looking away from them, and showed Janet a small, neat scar on the back of his head, just above the neck.

“Is it difficult?” Janet asked, with interest.

“It’s a bit fiddly”, the doctor replied casually.  “A few years ago, we were just paralysing the whole body, and that was pretty straightforward, just a quick cut through the spinal cord and it’s done.  But tailoring it so that he can still feel, is very delicate work – and leaving the eyelids operational is a skilled job.  It took over four hours for the whole thing, and he was conscious all the time.  Nowadays I rather enjoy the screaming and pleading, so I leave those nerves until last.”

“You don’t remember what his last words were, by any chance, do you?” Janet enquired.

The doctor paused, thinking hard, then shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t.  It was mostly just pitiful pleading at that point. ‘Please don’t do this.  Oh please, please.  For pity’s sake.’  That kind of thing.  Is it important?”

“Oh no” Janet replied.  “I just wondered.”

“Of course, keeping it reversible adds to the complexity” the doctor remarked.  “We have to tie all the cut ends up neatly, so we could reattach them if need be.  Are you likely to want to bring him back?”

“No, not very likely” Janet replied.  “But what I thought I might do – are you listening to this Alan? – what I thought I might do, is roll two dice every year, on the anniversary of the operation. If he gets a double six, I promise I’ll bring him back and he can be fully restored.  For a month.  Then I’ll put him back like this.”

“So you’re giving him some hope” the doctor nodded.  “Every year, he’ll wonder whether he’ll be able to move and speak again.  A one in 36 chance each time.”

“That’s right” Janet replied.  “I wanted to give him a little spark of hope that it won’t be forever.  It’ll make the misery of his existence just that bit harder to bear.”

She smiled again.

“Of course, he doesn’t have to wait for the dice.  If I chose to, I could let him out at any time!”

“I think his chances are probably better with the dice!”, the  doctor smiled back.  “But it must be nice to have that control.”

“Total control” murmured Janet, and on a whim she turned her husband’s head back again so that he was staring at them.  His eyes started blinking furiously.

"Locked.  Aren't you, Alan?  And I have the key!"

 

Now this next bit won't hurt...it's the bit after that hurts.

 

Her obedient servant

Hurry up, she wants you suspended and well flogged before going out - and the dinner reservation is for eight!

 

Dave season starts today!  Actually, that's not true.  Every day is Dave season.

 

Just try to empathise.  Men aren't very good at it, but women know that and often make a particular effort to make their feelings known.

 

 

He can't tell Coke from Pepsi, but he can tell Paolo from Antonio.

 

 

Oh well, never mind.  You'd probably have been rubbish at it anyway.

Another quick one

Oh, hi - is that Mr Harris?  Good morning, it’s Lisa here from Megabank Card Services.

I’m very well, thank you.  Now the reason I’m calling, is our fraud detection system flagged some of your credit card transactions as unusual, so I just wanted to check that those were really you.   It’s probably fine, but we just need to check.

 

OK, so can I just run through some recent items?

Right,  now on Thursday you purchased two books from Amazon?  “Dealing with sexual failure” was one I think, and “Spanked in front of the girls”?  OK, fine.

Then the next day, I’ve got a purchase of a web subscription, 3 months non-recurring, to “Diaper boys and strict nannies”? And then a purchase of premium access to the same site, two hours later?

 

Fine.  And then the next evening there’s a charge for “Samantha Strict’s chatline”?  No?  Oh – that wasn’t you?  Are you sure?  OK, well we’d better log that.  Only there’s several, you see.  There was “Small penis humiliation”, for £45, then two hours later I’ve got “Wank on my command”.  So I’d better alert our fraud department, and start a –

 

 - what’s that?  Oh they were you?  That’s fine then, because…oh yes, don’t worry.  It’s strange how quickly we can forget these things, isn't it?  It’s just as well, because there was another this morning:  “Piss boy humiliation”.  Oh – and one’s just popped up on screen from this afternoon: “Beg to cum”.  That’s probably why your number was engaged when we called 10 minutes ago – you’d have been just finishing that one off, I expect.

OK, well if that’s all fine, I can clear the suspected fraud flag.  They can update your profile, you see, so that similar purchases won’t set off the warnings.  That way I won’t need to keep bothering you by phoning up - I expect you’ve got better things to do!

And your profile will be updated throughout the bank’s systems.  That way we can provide you with better, more personalised financial products and offers, you see.  Whenever you call, or if you drop into the bank, whoever you’re talking to will have all your details in front of them on the screen, so they’ll know exactly who they’re dealing with.

Now, is there anything else I can do for you today?

No, not at all.  My pleasure.  Bye now!

Just a quick one

I feel a surge of deep satisfaction
Much as a queen astride her gelded steed
When I return from daily strife as a dominant wife
How pleasant is the life I lead

I run my home precisely on schedule
At six-o-one I march through my door
The boy to kiss my shoe is due at six-o-two
Consistent is the life I lead

It's grand to be a domina in 2010
Ladies are taking over, and subjugating men!
I'm the lady of my castle, the sovereign, the liege
I treat my subjects - servants, husband, slaves -€”
With a fair but brutal hand: noblesse oblige

It's six-o-three and the boy who is my husband
Is scrubbed and spanked and pinched around with pegs
And so I'll beat him till he begs, to kneel between my legs
Ah lordly is the life I lead

A British nanny must be a general
The future empire lies within her hands
And so the person that we need to mold the breed
Is a nanny who can give commands

A British prison runs with precision
The British home requires nothing less
Tradition, discipline and rules must be the tools
Without them disorder, masturbation, anarchy
In short you have a masculine mess!


Source

(Sometimes a photo just writes its own caption.)

 

Self discipline is over-rated

Always better to get someone else to do it for you, either a professional or an enthusiastic amateur.  That way you'll get a proper job done.

Don't worry about the bruises.  Most clients like them.

It's not your fault.  I'm sure she won't be taking it out on you.

I usually find that a short discussion is enough, but often she wants to go into things at much greater length.

Don't worry - most men experience depression post-castration.  But do you know what?  No one gives a shit.  So that's OK.

That reminds me, one of my girlfriends used to have a pet name for me: cockroach.