Category: Knightley pleasures

Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it

So history is a bit like a spanking, I suppose. More old-fashioned femdom.

She’s a firm believer in the system of absolute monarchy.
People think of Victorian England as being rather stuffy but let’s not forget this was an era of harsh floggings in boys’ schools and the public birching of criminals, so there was plenty to pique the girlish interest of a young queen.
In every punishment that’s done, there is an element of fun.
She maintains her social media, with daily postings on the public noticeboards, often recounting further sales of her illustrated portfolios by subscription, or through purchase from that fine emporium: ‘Only Fans’. She also sells used items, mainly haberdashery.
Some young ladies watching public birchings find themselves gasping and crying out, poor things, so overwhelmed are they by the emotions of the experience.
Apparently the young priest who hears her confession always needs to lie down in a cool room for some hours afterwards.

You know how it is with some girls. They seem to take the stuffing right out of you.

I mean to say, there is something about their personality that paralyses the vocal cords and reduces the contents of the brain to cauliflower.

P. G. Wodehouse, Right-Ho, Jeeves!

Yes, it’s more Downton Domination.

Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women.

More glimpses from a bygone, more civilised age.

Except obviously you won’t be buggered afterwards. Not with a real penis, anyway.
Of course, she won’t continue her career as a governess after marriage. That would be quite against the spirit of the times, which held that even professional women, once married, should focus all of their efforts on their husbands.
War is hell. So’s her strap-on, actually.
Striking at the root of the problem, so to speak.
Even young ladies of fashion had to develop practical skills in those days. The lady behind looks singularly uninterested, though… dreaming of marriage to a billionaire, perhaps.
He loves – and loves a lass above his station, by the look of him.