 |
| Look at that… she gets to have a mug of rich, steaming coffee… and Raoul’s coming round later, too. |
 |
| Things just haven’t been the same between us since Humpy Hippo moved in. |
If you like Humpy Hippo, then you might also like Mr Floppyears because it’s basically the same caption.
 |
| I remember as a child running excitedly to the door to let the District Disciplinary Officer in, while Dad grovelled for mercy at my Mum’s feet. These days you can order a beating on-line, but it’s not the same. |
 |
| It’s silly to criminalise sexism. Men are better than women at lots of things and it shouldn’t be a crime to say so. Hard labour, for a start: we’re really good at that. |
 |
| 10 Green Bottles? |
I gave up coffee once. It was the longest Sunday morning of my life.
Yes, I realise the blog's getting into some pretty edgy territory here. I mean: castration, slavery, branding and electric shocks are all very well, but coffee deprivation? It's a bit sick – who would do that to a fellow human being? Sometimes I scare myself and I only hope this dark turn doesn't put any nervous 'readers' off.
Sounds like you were lucky to avoid the long, dark tea-time of the soul, in Douglas Adams's splendid phrase (the words will be meaningless to the Internet generation who have no idea how boring Sunday afternoons could be).
Best wishes
S
That "Humpy Hippo" is a Moomin.
Oh, just what I need. Trolls in the comments.
What next – Hemulens and Hattifatteners? I could probably admit the Groke as a valid character for this blog, as she seems to be a dominatrix.
A good spot – thank you – although actually I have been entirely consistent in that, if you follow the link to the original Mr Floppyears caption, you'll see that his ears are not, in fact, floppy. Possibly dommes just aren't good at naming things accurately?
Against that, though, I have found that whenever a domme has bestowed a nickname on me, it has been thoroughly, humiliatingly apt.
Best wishes
S
Yes Sundays were a torture. With Dickens on every weekend it seemed. Then there were the etiquette lessons and lots of smacked wrists and palms and bottoms. People had to pretend that they were sober and religious and the TV reflected it. All shops other than the newsagent which opened till 12 noon were closed. Femsup
There were compensations when the nice DDO came round and I am sure my father was next on Her rounds. She always had rosy cheeks, upper ones whilst her charges all had rosy lower ones. Of course the District Masturbatrix was even more keenly anticipated even if there wasn't always an orgasm at the end of it. Ahh such Halcyon days looked back on fondly. Femsup
Ah… the District Masturbatrix. Those were the days before privatisation, of course. Nowadays they've cut the service to the bone and they just try to process people through as quickly as possible. I'm not one to oppose the march of progress, but modern 'contactless' systems of masturbation just aren't the same.
Not that the old 'DM' Ladies were a soft touch, back when the nationalised British Chastity was the only place you could go to get relief. They were hard as nails and woe betide any 'customer' who missed his appointment or didn't have the forms filled in right – you could wait for months! But at least they were professionals: most of them had been in the job for thirty years or more and they knew what they were doing, not like the minimum-wage twenty year-olds with two GCSE's apiece employed by our local MyWank centre.
Those ladies knew how to give relief and did it day in, day out, all their working lives. Except during lunch or tea breaks, obviously, or early closing day. Or when they were on strike.
Yes the modern ones chew their gum and talk on the phone and give the occasional swipe with a cane to encourage one whilst they talk about "literally dying" etc. The matronly huge bosomed women were so Motherly as they kept a hold of one throughout and were so experienced. Made one fancy the more mature type of Woman from the start. Femsup
Having a Dominatrix peddle by on a weekly schedule, like a milkman, sounds like a perfect arrangement. And while milking would rarely be an option , I suppose, I’d look forward to it with trembling legs each week. SaraE