Waiting for the device to arrive…I thought I’d have a go at this caption thing people get into.
Did I mention that my wife looks not unlike this? (It’s OK to feel jealous.)
1 – Freeze her boobies in the snow, watch her changing facial expression.
2 – Make her do 10 rounds with a real boxer, dressed exactly like this
3 – Actually try to put the baseball in there
Take photos of her after she’s actually been bike training (or, shave her head).
5 – Make her earn a real living
(Basically, anything to get that smile off her face.)
There’s lots of gym bunnies down at the place I go, female ones I mean. 26 years old, probably engaged, 5 foot 6, slender, track-shorts and singlet, ponytail, pert tits, bottom swaying hypnotically on the machine on front of me. They gosspip to each other casually while running at about 11k an hour, and they glow rather than perspire afterwards. I want to be them, to kill them, or perhaps to tie them up and do unspeakable things to them. Not sure of the proportions there. Anyway in terms of sexxy, they really are the double-whammy, because they appeal to me, and because I want to be like them, too.
Alas, I am close to 40 and the Immutable Law of Carbohydrates in coming into full force. I probably could have pulled off the female gym bunny look when I was younger, as I had a very lithe frame until I was about 30, but I never put much work into it. Sex was always pretty easy to come by, and so working out new ways to attract women just wasn’t something I did; and I was musical rather than sporty so I didn’t have that reason to train, either.
Now, it seems like there’s no way I’ll ever regain that absurd weight level, I had then, and therefore my chance for a female gym bunny physique is gone. If I keep working on it I’ll probably just turn into one of those barrell-chested guys with big quads, or even one of those grizzly ogre types in their fifties, the guys with beer guts and massive hairy biceps, that bring along their tired, red-faced wives and then try to impress them by shouder-pressing the weight of the entire building.
Seriously, instead of these feats of maschismo, I have much more admiration for the effort the bunny girls put in, bouncing along neatly on the running machines day after day, breasts safely tucked away in their training bras, sipping their water and stretching dilligenty afterwards. I respect that.
Basically, I want to be a gym bunny. Not a male one, so I can attract women, but a female one, so I can appeal to my wife’s lesbian streak. I don’t want a six pack and Arnie-arms. I want lithe, athletic arms (like I have never had) and a flat, smooth stomach (like I had when I was 26). Damn.
Michelle tells me I am developing a nice pert ass and she is groping it a lot more than usual. She even said recently that I looked like a “pretty fit guy from behind.” But man, the front of me still has a ways to go.
Wish me luck.
About six months ago (when I was looking for femdom art by Rudolf Schlichter), I came across I site by a German guy called Jens which featured a Femdom version of Monopoly called Monopoland. I downloaded the game and saved it for later.
Recently I decided to have a look, and found it very amusing. Basically the rules of regular Monopoly have been changed around to make it so that the women invariably win, and then men get all sorts of BDSM punishment meted out on their turn to pay their debts. The jail is privately owned, and the railway stations have toilets which are the scene of all sorts of hi-jinks…you get the idea. There are explicit BDSM images throughout the file, btw.
Anyway I can’t imagine ever playing this because it really looks like a lot of work, and because I am not in a scene and therefore only know one other person interested in femdom type stuff. (Also I suspect that person, Michelle, would think it was a highly elaborate form of bottom-topping.) But it makes for a nice read, so here it is.
BTW I can no longer find Jens’ site at all, after all the obvious Google searches, so all that remains on my hard drive is the word document of the English version. It is copyright to him (1999), and he asks that if you like the game you can send him money so he can buy his lioness, Miss Kriss, some flowers. Maybe they are still together eleven years later.
Femdom Monopoland by Jens 1999.
Myself…I probably could have been better.
Image from Georgie Tier’s Rude Cards 4U. Check it out.
Merry Xmas, deviants all.
Lately, Lena has been blindfolding you when you have sex. Or rather, she’s been blindfolding you when you give her head. That’s been your staple diet for a couple of months now, and accounts for about 80% of the sex you have. She likes it every day.
“It’s better when you can’t see me,’ she says. “When you can see me, you get all impatient and think you get to fuck me. But this isn’t about that. So put it on now and take your time.”
So, once again, the last thing you see is her smiling, expectant face before you slip the blindfold over your eyes and then find your way down to the small patch of scented hair that remains between her legs, and then a little way below that, the wetness begins.
She’s lying diagonally across the bed, and you are kneeling at the side of it. It’s dark, warm and comfortable, and pretty soon the world around you fades away and you start zoning in on that wet lick of skin leading up to her clitoris. It becomes your world. The only sounds are her moans. Then after about ten minutes she wraps her legs around you, has a quiet, squirming orgasm, and then makes to get up.
Normally she’d have three, but today she says, “I have to get up for a moment and go check something. Stay where you are. Don’t take the blindfold off.”
Obedience to that sort of instruction has become second nature by now, seeing as the results are always so sexy; so you don’t think to question what might be going on, and just wait there for a few moments until she re-enters the room and lies down again. “Begin”, she says, in a husky voice, and you get started.
Well, she must have done something out there, because she’s not nearly so wet as she was a moment ago, and you think maybe she dried herself off with a towel, but you can’t imagine why. But after a few moments she juices up like before, but the smell is different, sweeter and lighter than her normal salty wetness. Has she put some sort of new perfume down there? Maybe she’s trying to make it taste nicer by putting some sort of lotion on it, although you have never once complained about the taste.
The clincher comes when she starts moaning. Her voice has changed; it’s deeper, and she calls out much louder than quiet, sly Lena would ever do.
“Hey, I was enjoying that. Keep going.”
“Whuh..? Where’s Lena?”
“Downstairs watching TV. Something with Johnny Depp is on that she didn’t want to miss.”
“Oh…” You just sit there looking dumbfounded.
“Oh, man. I knew we should have tied you up,” she says, half to herself. “I would always tie my boyfriend up for something like this. But Lena said you were such a bimbo it wouldn’t be necessary. Anyway are you going to get started? I’m starting to cool down here.”
Letter the third:
It is with a heavy heart that I write to you, Ivan Scrazanic, the true leader of the Russian underworld, with a plea of the utmost sincerity. You must release poor Gigi de Domai from the servitude to which you have bound her.
Oh, Scrazanic! It is not merely that you have taken poor Gigi from her home by the water and kept her as your pornographic plaything. For that offense alone I might forgive you, especially if you continue to provide me with these photographs.
What I find untenable, even despicable, is that you have dressed her like an air hostess and made her wear scarlet lipstick. Even the bedclothes have the appearance of cheapness. It is beyond tolerance. Remember, you have my romantic hopes in the palm of your hands. If you can’t release her, at least choose a better setting next time.
And on top of the pain of her appearance, it is the company she now keeps. I see she is allowed no privacy at all, for she is watched over night and day by this most uncouth and disreputable fellow. I hope she does not have a thing for tattoos.
And there is worse. If one cruel captor was not bad enough, now there are three present in the room. Surely, one fellow to work the camera and the other to hold the lights would have been enough. I hate to imagine what role the third man played in this sordid scene you have composed for yourself. I don’t really like hardcore, you see. It reminds me that what I am looking at is actually porn, and not pictures of my would-be girlfriend. I get jealous of these men, Scrazanic.
And what men they are, with which she must mingle!! Look upon their lardy, indolent bodies. I assure you, villain, that my Gigi does not prefer these men to my own considerably more meager form! (I know they have a lot more cash than I do but I am working on that. I have extra shifts now.)
Oh Scrazanic, what have you done? This was a girl who was once so fresh and virginal, posed in innocence beside the water, with sand upon her bottom like a schoolgirl! Now you have her all made up in a way that, let’s face it, really doesn’t do anything for her at all. Far too much eye-liner, to begin with.
Damn you, Sir! You do not deserve to look upon her – except perhaps for the purpose of taking photos and putting them on the internet.
Gigi, I am coming soon, my love! I will rescue you and we will return to our Czarist innocence once more! No more pornography for you!
In the meantime, could you just pull your bra down slightly so we could all have another look at those? Thank you, my dear. Excellent.