Category: birching

Words of praise


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?

 

Callous talk




Oh no.  Don’t tell me I married an escape artist.  Again.
Scurry scurry scurry.
Thank goodness it’s nothing personal.
That looks very motivating, doesn’t it?  I think just one of those rods would motivate me, so a whole bunch wrapped together like that… I feel motivated just looking at them.
I wouldn’t mind, but he’s the priest who married us and that just seems wrong.  Still… very nice shoes.

 

Reader: I pegged him

Even more hot chicks in empire-line dresses! One of the earliest CtD posts – probably dating from the 18th century itself, truth be told, but re-posted in 2011, dealt with this highly topical theme.


To quote that early post:  

“Well-born males degradingly forced to engage in social intercourse with ladies below their proper station!  Wild tea dances! 


Remember, you saw it here first!  And probably last.”

Little did I know…. eight years on, same old nonsense. 

 

 

Kept men

(we don’t talk about the discarded ones).



Another 2% fantasise desperately about it not happening, or at least not so often and not quite so hard.
Featuring the lovely and no-nonsense Miss Cassie Hunter, the Hunteress.
Right.  It’s about time all this nonsense stopped – I’m going to put my foot down. In fact, I’m going to stamp my foot – hard.  Several times.  And I’m going to to have a proper tantrum.  That should show her she can’t treat me like this.
Their faces usually fall again when she goes on to inform them that she will therefore proceed to the next thrashing, for the next item on her list.
I once asked my SO if she could feminise me, but she just laughed and said she’d love to, but I don’t have the IQ to make a convincing woman.
She cares a lot.



By the way, not ‘found femdom’ in any meaningful way, but over the break I’ve been watching episodes of 90s British sitcom Game On and perving ever so slightly to the lovely Samantha Janus and especially her relationship with the character Martin.  I watched it occasionally at the time it was broadcast and it’s as weird and spectacularly depressing as ever, as the basic set-up is that Matt – a neurotic, agoraphobic narcissist – rents out rooms in his flat to Martin (a wimp) and Mandy (a goddess!).  Martin is a virgin desperate for sex, while Mandy is frustrated with her life and hates herself for sleeping with so many men.  But (da-dum), the only men she absolutely will not have sex with are the other two characters.  With Matt, she refuses and pushes him away but with Martin it obviously never even occurs to her to have sex with him. There’s a lovely scene in this episode (intended to be the first ever, although they varied the order of broadcast), in which her latest boxer boyfriend takes up her whole bed, so she snuggles up with Martin, who lies there with an erection the whole desperate night.  Here, starting 16.22.  Ahhh…

So, yeah, not in any way femdom.  Except that Samantha Janus is quite literally a goddess and I for one intend to found a religion in her honour.

She is notionally Samantha Womack these days, but I’ll be hunting down Mr so-called Womack and forcing the blasphemer to change his name to Janus, as is only right and proper, so don’t worry about that.

Nonsensual BDSM





Of course, it’s more effective to kill mens’ lib off with kindness and reasoned argument.  But not nearly as much fun.









I suppose a blowjob is out of the question? You might as well ask… it couldn’t hurt.

Thank goodness she gave you a safeword.  OK, she’s gagged you and also forgotten it.  But I think that demonstrates her commitment to responsible play.

Oh, nobody still beats her own husband in this day and age do they?

Goodness, what a long one, as no one in the history of the planet has ever said to me.


The other was me and I’m a boy

Never quite sure what The Who were complaining about in that song. Looks to me like an idyllic childhood.

You can earn free hair grips and stuff when you spend money too – pretty cool, huh?


She tries so hard… but usually fails.
That’s a bit unfair.  I once told my SO that I could do any job a woman can do, so she arranged an internshp at a brothel, giving blow-jobs to oil rig workers on shore leave. To be honest, I wasn’t quite as good at it as the girls but I had plenty of clients once they priced me at a 95% discount.
Yeah, how about it Dave?  Equal pay for equal work.  Stand up for yourself and be a man, for once.  Or ‘you go, girl!’.  Whatever.

Our pillory’s my special place.  I can spend hours at a time in there, not really doing anything in particular, you know?


Pet sounds



Let’s hope she’s not trying for a multiple orgasm today.







If they do a good job, she’ll probably want to buy the monthly pass.  Works out a lot cheaper.
Hi Belinda.  You know, about pain play… I’ve been thinking. 


And then he has to sow the wheat but after that he can take a bit of a rest until harvest time.  Apart from practicing for the competition at the Country Fair, obviously.

Oh dear.  I hope she’s not too disappointed.


A fairy-tale romance

… with me as the frog.



She’s trying to de-clutter.


Should last her until the spring, her favourite time of the year, when the first fresh green nettles start to arrive.


It’s probably that damn dog.  The same one that keeps stealing her used underwear.

It’s a service industry.








I guess she would.  Vigorously, immediately and without mercy.

Deliver us from freedom

 

It’s a small town, so the walk of shame afterwards will only take you 15 minutes or so.

I had a very traditional upbringing – strict discipline, cold showers, that kind of thing.  It cost about £450 but it was worth every penny and I’m going back in a few weeks for another one.

Goodness, if you can’t trust your cleaner with that sort of trivial responsibility, why would you even let her into the house?
Ahhh male doms.  I think male doms are just great, in their proper place.



Perhaps you’d better approach the bench.