More glimpses from a bygone, more civilised age.
Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women.
Stories and pictures themed around female domination and male subjugation and servitude. Unsuitable for children, for alpha males, for hard-core practitioners with an interest in the politics of bdsm and the mechanics of complicated rope work. Of interest to perverts like me, basically.
A strap-on beneath an Empire-line dress?
The whole country is going to the dogs 🐕….
What next? Boys complaining about fagging, I suppose.
No wonder we lost it. The bloody Empire, I mean.
I’ll need to go and lie down for a while now.
Call me for tea and crumpets please Nanny.
Mr M
You’re a stout fellow, Mr M, a stout fellow. The Battle of Waterloo may have been won on the playing fields of Eton, but much of Britain’s glorious history, properly examined, depends on the efforts of those nannies, governesses and schoolmistresses, labouring determinedly behind the scenes. Many a steadfast empire-builder or audacious explorer owed his triumphs to his time spent howling over a well-used leather bench – and more of them than is commonly appreciated had wives prepared to do their duty for Queen and empire with the rod and strap, too.
Spunk, that’s what they had. Too much spunk for this small sceptred isle to contain them.
As for the lady with the ‘visible codpiece line’, so to speak, under her dress, I believe she is Russian. An uncouth people, although blessed with never-ending birch forests in their homeland, which must have helped shape their attitude to life.
Best wishes
S
A damn Russian eh? Well that explains it. No couth at all, never had.
Don’t care how many of the blighters buy themselves in to the House of Lords, no couth at all.
Colonel M Retd (in the library with the lead pipe).
Careful with that lead pipe Col. You could do yourself a mischief.
Best wishes
S
A Fortnight Later
At the county show Catherine did, indeed, wield her gelding knife with great skill. He had always admired her. But to see her thus – cheeks glowing so prettily, bosom rising and falling with deep breaths, hands so swift and implacable. Well, he was only flesh and blood . . .
He hoped she had not noticed his excited condition. Tight breeches were the fashion, but far from discreet. However, as she held her next prize aloft (a particularly heavy pair of bovine testes, steaming slightly) she caught his eye. And glanced downwards a moment after that. His smile was a nervous one; hers betrayed a distinct impression of amused anticipation.
Thank you for that. Can I ask: do you consider yourself a perverted poet or more of a poetic pervert? Both are very welcome here, of course.
I wonder what Catherine will do about his excited condition. Sounds like she has ideas.
Best wishes
S
Equally poetic and perverted, I hope. Thank you for your cordial welcome.
The lovely Catherine will, I am sure, behave with perfect decorum. However, after fully enjoying the pleasures of nuptial bliss, and providing some fine children for her loving husband (an heir and a spare) I have no doubt she will indulge her crueller whims eventually.