Oo-er sounds a bit rude, don’t you think? It has often struck me (oo-ERR!) how often random Google searches for words and phrases about punishment and humiliation lead to religious sites, as well as to bdsm ones. I wonder why? Anyway, penance is due so on with the divine scourging:
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| Words fail me. Probably just as well. |
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| I love it when you start up a fight…and I love it when the fight ends your way. |
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| Always carry the card. You never know when you’ll meet a knife-wielding man-hating psychopath in a rubber dress. |
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| The impossibly divine Ms Darla. She doesn’t have to actually do or say anything. The look is enough. |
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| She’s amazingly good at orgasm denial, actually. She can keep it up for months. Maybe longer! |
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| A ‘first footer’, greeting the Spring with an affectionate kiss. |
In the town of Åasblød in Norway, the Spring Festival of the Birch takes place on this day. All the men of the town who turned 18 in the previous year swim naked in the lake in the morning. Then, naked and cold, they run to a lodge in the forest. There, ladies who turned 18 in the prevous year, together with those turning 28, 38 and 48, have been gathered since the evening before, fashioning fine bundles of rods from the proud forests around. The men are secured tightly over logs and birched vigorously, in a process that usually starts in an orderly fashion with the ladies forming a queue in front of each male, but often typically degenerates into mayhem, as bits of birch fly everywhere and the air fills with the shrieks of flogged males and the delightful murmur of female laughter and conversation.
Once all the rods have been used up, a white cloth is pressed to the backside of each of the secured males, to produce an impression in blood to recall the day. This memento is kept safe, and usually presented to a bride by her groom on a wedding night, as part of the ‘Marriage night ritual of the birch’. As a matter of fact, the birch tree is the centrepiece of much of the cultural life of Åasblød, with no fewer than 17 festivals over the course of the year devoted to this noble plant.
In South Africa it’s not actually Spring, because it’s in the southern hemisphere. Nevertheless, on or around this date, a tradition has developed in recent years called “Apology Day”. A powerful figure from the apartheid regime is selected, as are several representatives of the new, young, multiracial South Africa. This year, Capetown’s former police chief is the main participant, and the photo below shows him with two of the youngsters selected to engage in dialogue with him about the apartheid era. Interestingly, although he will be free to go once the day is over, he might well emulate his predecessors in choosing to go into domestic service for one or more of his young examiners, presumably out of a sense of remorse.
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| Young citizens prepare for Apology Day, along with this year’s lucky ‘volunteer’ for atonement. |
In Iceland, men are released from chastity and allowed to come on this day. Then they are locked up again. There’s no great ceremony around it, but if you’re visiting Iceland on business or on holiday, it’s worth considering going at this time of year (or the Autumn Solstice of course) as it can provide a welcome moment of relief from Iceland’s otherwise strict chastity laws. If you’re staying in a hotel, the chambermaid will probably have your key but you should always ask at reception the night before, to ensure you don’t miss out.
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| Welcome to Iceland. Hold still now. |
* note for new readers: little-known because completely untrue – see the disclaimer to the right about the veracity of information presented on this blog.
Much more important than the quantity. Don’t you think? Worth waiting for. At least, I assume it will be.
Anyway, while I randomly gibber over here, condemn yourselves to eternal damnation by feasting your eyes – and any other parts of your body that need sustainance – on these captioned images of female domination.
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| Hmmm. This looks fun. I wonder if she has anything special she does before getting you off? |
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| You weren’t expecting a multiple orgasm, surely? Once is plenty. Actually, many ladies think once is too much and who am I to argue? |
“No!”, usually.
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| Huh! And she accuses you of being a gadget freak! Never goes anywhere without that remote, these days. |
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| So much more fun than silly old ‘naughty maid’. And the marks last a lot longer too. |
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| Frankly, I think it’s a bit lazy not to do it herself. Ooops – you won’t tell her I said that? |
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| I was reading the crush version of Metamorphosis the other day. It’s shorter than Kafka’s original. |
Here I go again:
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| Dread. A fine healthy emotion, that I always find sneaks up on me as the Tube train gets to a few stations away from Her presence. |
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| They might do some remodelling work on the bits of his face that still show, too. |
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| They never really got the point of card tricks either. Pick a card, slave! No – wrong! 30 lashes! Now pick another! |
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| Oh he loves it really. Just as well, as he has two hours to go. |
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| Just some rough sketches really. |
… the only created being who bows in humility and adoration.
Hosea Ballou 1771 – 1852
Crazy name, sensible guy!
On with the pictures of not-nekkid leddies:
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| Don’t forget to say ang ooo. |
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| On reflection, you were just going to ask if she wanted a nice cup of tea, weren’t you? |
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| Ah the smell of burning rubber, the screams, the sounds of sirens… What’s that? Bad taste? Hey – YKINHK, right? |
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| Hey – don’t knock it. Imagine having a girlfriend who handles mens’ genitals all day for a living. Hmmm? |
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| But later she overdid it and found that his attention disappeared completely. Never mind. Plenty more fish in the sea. |
Tender loving cruelty, that is.
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| Let’s hope the helpline gets back to her quickly. She doesn’t want a suffocated corpse lying around her flat – again. |
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| Not that it really matters. |
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| Men who find it difficult to see their wives’ points of view should try it – it’s amazing what a few hours of agony can do. |
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| Oh no. Not Sarah. Not again. That’s just not fair. Maybe you should say something? |
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| Thought I’d moved on, didn’t you? Oh no. She haunts my dreams…and my hard drive. |
Nothing in particular. Just generally.
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| Come on now. That’s got to be a hard limit. Just look her straight in the eye and tell her you won’t let her. |
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| Actually, fear and trust can go hand in hand to make the relationship fly. Like love and contempt. |
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| Phew. Let’s hope Miss Chalmer is in a kind mood too. |
| You should be grateful to her for making the effort to control every single aspect of your life. |
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| Aaah… Isn’t that nice. It makes me think of our honeymoon. Raoul was a real pig that whole time, too. |
Let me just – ouch – try to settle myself back in this – oooh! – chair, and I’ll just see if I can get some pictures to put up. Sorry. With you in a moment. Just a bit battered and bruised. Thank you, Miss Black.
Ouch. Right then. Got some captioned images here somewhere, lovely fresh ones, ah here we go:
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| It’s actually a rhetorical question. I’m not even sure there is a right answer, but believe me “Because they’ll be ripped right off and I’ll be left castrated in agony you evil bitch!” isn’t it. |
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| Just for Paltego. He da man. |
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| Isn’t that special? |
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| Phobias are funny things, aren’t they? |
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| Kindly humiliation – an underserved niche in the femdom market, I’ve often thought. |