I Don't Know What The 'K' On The Necklace Stands For, But I Really Hope It's Something That Should End

Wow! You nearly disappointed me there, but that was then excellent! Bravo! Lisp, sales, respect

She had been the driving force behind the mall’s creation, but now she was just a floorwalker in its anchor store, a Yellow Front franchise.

Supposedly, her job was to offer help and answer questions.  In practice, she was there so people could laugh at her piercings.

Her white nylon blouse made no secret of the palm-sized starburst nipple shields under it.  A thick ring hung from the septum of her nose, making her look like livestock.  But the worst was the heavy stud through the front part of her tongue, which made it impossible to speak clearly.

Customers never seemed to tire of hearing her say things like, “Menf cwoaves aw ovah deah” or “Vhat item iv not cawwied in vhis depawtment.”

Brilliant! And no, if I was trying to stump you I would say something like: pigtails, plastic, dumber.

Every time Barbara ties her pigtails with those plastic clips I gave her, she absorbs another dose of the drug that is making her dumber.

No, that’s much too easy.  I can do better than that.

Barbara didn’t actually mind putting her hair in pigtails.  Back when she was a market analyst, she had to wear the corporate uniform, including a high-maintenance ‘do.  She envied the technicians in the back rooms, who could dress as they please.

She was still forced to abide by a dress code, but it was actually less of a hassle, since it was basically the same outfit every time: sort of a Swiss dairy maid, hair in pigtails, smile and makeup mandatory.

She didn’t mind showing off her legs, or her cleavage.  “Eh, you deal with it,” she often said.  What did bother her were the platform heels of transparent plastic.  How the fuck did Mr. Bickford think they went with a minidirndl?  She never questioned it, she just wore them.

When she got to her desk, she found a package on her desk.  It proved to be a bizarre assortment of Japanese products, plus a “Golden Brown” membership card at The Sun Spot tanning salon, and a note stuck on the cover of a glossy pamphlet.  The note said Mr. Bickford wanted her to start wearing Ganguro makeup.

It was just about the only thing that could possibly have made her look dumber.

Ok! That was unexpected. But scary creative! Bleach, introductions, elocution.

Since the New Order came to town, I have lost my job, my credentials, my house and my savings.  Now I have to lose my chestnut hair, which I prized because it gave me a link to my mother and grandmother that I could never lose – until I did.  But my boss says he’s only going to hire blondes, so goodbye, Mom, goodbye, Oma.

I also have to lose my accent and my vocabulary, and have to listen to voice recordings of an actress named Arleen Sorkin, because my boss is crazy about “Harley Quinn”, whatever that is.

And now my boss is telling me that part of my job is going to involve his “introducing” me to some of his clients.  I’m not clear why he seems to think this is going to be some kind of big deal – I mean, of course I’m going to be introduced to his clients, how could I not, if I’m going to be working for him?

Brilliant once again! How about: phrase, overqualified, patronise?

“Good evening, Sir, and welcome to the Casbah.”

Rayleen had to repeat that phrase more than a hundred times every night, standing in the entrance to the Casbah in a white dress with a plunging neckline.  Projecting cheer and welcome with every greeting instead of boredom and fatigue was not a great challenge to a woman who had won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for The Salt Flats.

“Thank you for coming, Gentlemen,” she told a departing group.   “We enjoyed your company.”

One of them, a silver-haired gentleman in an evening suit that was out of style though not quite a “vintage” item paused.

“Did you really?”

“Of course, Sir.”

After all, you spent money as though it were water while you were here.

“Well,” he said, chucking her under the chin like a child, “I appreciate the Casbah, especially its pretty little greeter.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Rayleen said, making sure her smile didn’t show the slightest sound of how much she loathed that sort of patronising talk.

Dick Pic Challenge

I recently started doing a challenge on my blog. It’s called the Dick Pic Challenge! Here are the rules:

1) For every five dick pics you receive, you must pick one, and jerk off to it! You must also send pictures to the “winner” proving that you jerked off to his cock.

2) No matter what, ALL DICK PICS must always get a response! 

3) There is no limit to how many pics one person can send you!

4) You should come up with benefits for the same person winning multiple rounds, to encourage them sending more and more pics! 

For example: The second time they win, they get to select what color panties they want you to wear. 

The idea is to constantly remind you of why you’re a sissy, and what your place is! 

*****

Thanks to chasteapoc for this submission, it’s fantastic! I’m in for this.

*REBLOG IF YOU’RE IN FOR THE DICK PIC CHALLENGE*

“hmm, I think that word might be too big for you,” is an exceptionally hot sentence.

Premise: Speech Control

Just a little list of ideas that I came up with on the topic of speech control. Some of these are about in person speaking, some are about texting, some are applicable to both. Some of these I’d like to try, some of these I have tried, some of these I would probably not want to do, some I’m indifferent to.

Word Restrictions

No swearing.

No puns.

Only being allowed to use words once per day. 

Only being allowed to use words from a list of pre-approved words chosen by my partner.

Not being allowed to use words from a list of off limits words chosen by my partner, but otherwise able to speak freely.

Not being allowed to use words containing a certain letter of the alphabet, but otherwise able to speak freely.

Only being allowed to use short and simple words, limited by number of letters or number of syllables, or simply at my partner’s discretion. (Imagine typing out an entire text and being met with “hmm, I think that word might be too big for you,” and having to agree and reword what you’ve said.)

Having to refer to myself in the third person.

Having to refer to my partner by a title, honorific, or nickname they have chosen.

Having to use a lowercase “i” to refer to myself. 

Having to use capitalized pronouns to refer to my partner. 

Limited Speech

Only being allowed to say a certain number of words (or less) per day.

Only being allowed to say a certain number of words (or less) per text message. No double messaging, of course.

Having to keep track of how many words my partner uses, and always using less throughout the day.

Having to start each sentence with “Please” and/or end it with “Thank you,” even if it doesn’t technically make sense. 

Having to rhyme. Or else fulfil the requirements of some kind of specific poetry such as a haiku. 

Having to ask permission to ask for things. “Please may I ask to use the bathroom?” 

Only being allowed to say “Please” and “Thank you.”

Not being allowed to ask for anything.

Only allowed to speak to my partner in public. 

Not being allowed to speak on specific topics, particularly when they’re super relevant. For example, we go to the zoo and I’m not allowed to talk about animals. 

Only being allowed to say the opposite of what I mean/want. 

Restricted Speech

Having to ask permission to speak at all, either through a non-verbal signal, or else the only thing I’m allowed to say without permission is “Please may I speak?”

Only allowed to speak when spoken to.

Having to be in a specific position - the more submissive or uncomfortable, the better - to speak. Additionally, having to wait in that position until I am acknowledged and allowed to speak. 

Having to go a set length of time without speaking each day. The timer starts over each time I speak. (Imagine it’s an hour and at 55 minutes you get asked a question you can’t ignore. Each attempt like that would mean you talk less throughout the day.)

When possible, set entire days, or even a weekend as “quiet time.”

Surprise quiet time. That is, a spoken or text command, “It’s quiet time,” and I am expected to be silent until I am released. (A potential training opportunity: this could happen many times throughout the day, each session lasting only a few minutes before the next.)

Starting every day without the ability to speak until I have completed my morning routine. Finishing each day by not being allowed to speak once my nighttime routine is done. 

Having a set day of the week during which I am expected to remain silent. 

Having a cost to speak. A mild-moderate punishment for each time I wish to speak, such as having to put nipple clamps on first or having to write lines for each time I spoke afterwards.

Having to trade my ability to speak for rewards, such as not being allowed to orgasm unless I agree to a two days of no speaking.

Trading chunks of silent time for edges. Each edge is half an hour of silence. Maybe I know before I start edging, maybe I don’t. 

Having to be silent until I have completed a task, such as linewriting, or an edging session, or even something mundane like having to stay silent on a long drive, even while playing a board game. 

Having recurring tasks during which I am not allowed to speak, such as never being allowed to speak during meals or while watching movies. 

Only being allowed to speak while wearing my collar. 

Not being allowed to speak while wearing my collar. 

Only being allowed to speak while naked. 

No words, only sounds. Easy enough when you’re gagged, but having to make the deliberate effort to only make sounds is nice. 

Wearing a bark collar. Each time I speak, I get shocked, until I learn not to speak while wearing it. It then becomes a very effective gag. 

Forced to Speak

Being asked a series of questions and having to provide at least X words to answer, on topic. (It wouldn’t even have to be a high number. Imagine having to use 50 words to answer a yes or no question. Even 20 might be a challenge. But being asked to say/text 300 words on why I shouldn’t have an orgasm? Just a thought.)

Agreeing to X number of questions (number could be in trade for edges, or in trade for lessening a punishment) and having to answer them fully, even if it’s embarrassing. (Obviously within limits. Questions I refuse to answer don’t count towards the number.)

Having a mantra to repeat every time my partner says a certain word, whether that word is part of the mantra or not. (Having someone trigger a mantra like this is great fun, especially mid-conversation, or while I’m trying to ask for something, or while I’m trying to explain something.)

Having to repeat after my partner, perhaps modifying pronouns. (“You will obey” being modified to “I will obey.”)

Being tasked with writing up a fantasy, and then being made to read it aloud.

Being Physically Gagged

Being expected to be gagged or otherwise prevented from speaking at all times. (Ballgag might be too harsh for “at all times,” but tape is effective, too.)

Being gagged at random. Not just during scenes, but during mundane activities, such as watching a movie together or doing housework. (I like the idea of being interrupted while in the middle of something, maybe even in the middle of a conversation, and my partner simply holds out a gag. Or sitting at my desk working when my partner comes up behind me and slips my gag between my lips. Being told to kneel and open my mouth, excited to get to suck cock, and instead gagged. Comes with a bonus of being trained to readily take my gag.) 

Being told I can only speak while being gagged, despite knowing it will be unintelligible.

Planning a voice call with my partner, but right before we begin I am instructed to put a gag on so that at no point during the call can I actually speak.

Games

Playing the quiet game, either with my partner or with another submissive. I am rewarded if I win, and punished if I lose. 

Playing a kinky version of Taboo/Password: My partner picks a word and a length of time. I do not get to know the word, but do get to know we’re playing and for how long. My partner counts every time I use the word, and when time is up, I get punished for each use. Tons of games to be played on both sides, with my partner trying to get me to say the word, and me trying to figure out what it is. Perhaps if the time period is long enough, I get a clue to the word each day. I would probably end up speaking as little as possible to avoid it. 

In Need of Editing

Ooh! I'd forgotten about this short one! I posted this at the MCStories.com forum in 2009. Much happier with this little piece. And it's not TG! Nope just pure, grade A (well, C- at least) bimboization. It may not be good, but it contains no traces of horse meat. Oh yeah. 2013 current affairs reference. Boyah.

In Need of Editing OK. Jen had definitely been fretting about this too much. Whilst she would definitely need a stellar CV to even get an interview with the prestigious firm of Wynd, Grey & Street, she really was more than capable. All she had needed to do was take a break from editing the thing, perhaps look at that relaxing screensaver that Paul from across the hall had installed for her, and then return to the document with fresh eyes. So far that had truly done the trick! Already, Jenny could see she had made some pretty amateur errors when it came to creating a perfect representation of herself and her accomplishments. For one thing, the entire section on her schooling was far too long winded. Who really needs to mention a college when one has gone onto higher education anyway? And alongside that, she could probably cut out the mention of a BSc from Cambridge altogether. The results from her school then looked a little out of place, though. All those ‘A’s. Far, far too repetitive. Now, removing some of the subjects she had studied and adding in some ‘D’s and ‘E’s made for far more colourful reading. Now, Jenni just had to attack that interests section. “…enjoy reading... poetry… interest in classical mythology” What was she thinking?! She wanted herself to come across in the text and all this did was make her seem some tedious shut-in! Now, “Interests in clothes… makeup… flirting….boys…”. That would make her seem far more vivac-, vicacio-… sexy. Finally, just a quick modification to her personal statement. Something totally like “I’m willing to do anything for this job. Anything.” And maybe a photo of her flashing her thong to the camera lens, instead of the usual boring ones the cute old guys at the firm must get. And done. Well, maybe the font could be made, like, pink and stuff.