Other World Kingdom – Page 5 – Contemplating the divine

Unreasonable demands

She’s embarrassed now… but don’t worry, she has coping techniques for that.

Now come on – man up. Remember what you all discussed at the last encounter group? No, no I don’t mean the bit about ironing pleats – about standing up to your wives? Yeah? Right then. Hang on – where are you going? You can’t stand up to her on your knees! Oh for goodness’ sake…

My SO and I have a consensual relationship. I didn’t want to but she insisted.

They’d starve to death, I expect. I mean, more of them would than when the Ladies actually are there, anyway.

This photo is actually a rather sophisticated optical illusion. Many men, seeing it for the first time, don’t notice the slice of pizza, the big red cup, the bottles of water or the coffee maker – even after staring at it for hours. Something to do with how the brain processes images, I understand.

Supremely confident

Thank goodness he’s around.

My SO can be quite inconsistent on this. If a tawse or cane she was hoping to use goes missing – or on one memorable occasion the batteries from her favourite cattle-prod – she instantly suspects me and we ‘have a little chat’ about it. But if a key isn’t where she’d expected it to be it’s ‘just one of those things’ and ‘is bound to turn up in a month or two’. Women. Eh?

As anyone deeply familiar with the OWK photographic record will testify: describing an OWK slave as ‘that one with the stupid moustache’ isn’t really specific enough. They might have to have a lot of slaves punched to be sure to get the right one. Still, no real harm done if so, I suppose.

Am I the only male sub whose first experience of toilet slavery was during the interval during a fully-booked theatrical performance? I suspect not.

…which is actually true of a lot of things, if you think about it. As I’m sure you have. Pervert.

Indifferent ways of loving

Oh well, at least she’s finally taking an interest.

‘Getting annoyed’ is something the OWK ladies are quite spectacularly good at. I understand it’s listed on the application form for the job.

That’s reassuring.

Oh dear, what a terrible tragedy. The poor thing. She’d only just started to get over the previous one.

Let’s hope they don’t go too far. These things can easily get out of hand.

Love and abjection

You might want to try noble, stoic silence? No? Oh, OK: frantic pitiful grovelling it is, then.

Don’t worry, it’s only until next Christmas, then she has other plans for her little porky-boy.

I imagine you’re expecting a joke here about being ‘tossed off’ but I won’t because (a) it would be weak, unfunny and in very poor taste and (b) I’ve done it several times before.

Her paces, obviously. Moron. Do you expect her to change the way she walks just to accommodate you?

Personally I’d rather they were in those cute Young Communist Pioneer outfits. But my opinion doesn’t matter.

Contumelious captions

Older husbands might start to find it hard to bend down every morning (and evening, obviously) for the greeting, but there’s a simple solution, especially after retirement – just stay on hands and knees all day.

Mock away.

If you wiggle about, he’ll probably finish quite quickly.

They know all the tricks. Actually, occasionally the ‘clients’ aren’t faking and are genuinely unconscious, but then if they’re hung up and severely whipped, they can’t feel it and no harm done? Right? Well, OK, technically some harm maybe, but nothing to get bothered about.

Yup. I was asked the other day if I’m sexually experienced and – with all due modesty – I did have to say that I thought the stain on the floor in front of my computer table could speak for itself on that particular score! She looked suitably impressed.

Venging angels

Like many guys, I walk around fully conscious of the big swinging padlock between my legs.

It’s actually a very environmentally-friendly way of disposing of old shoes.

Oh, all right then. Let’s be daring, for a change.

It must be weird being vanilla – you do a sexy maid scene and hardly any floor actually gets scrubbed. I’m not sure I could cope with that kind of unrealistic fantasy.

OWK’s safety record overall was only middling, but that average conceals an important disparity between male and female injuries, the latter being thankfully rare, the former equally thankfully daily.

Czeching accounts

Some newly arrived slaves fear that a night alone and abandoned in a cold prison cell will be hard to take – but they often find that, actually, when the Ladies arrive the next morning to take them out, they find themselves looking back fondly on the hours of merely being uncomfortable and cold, with a nice strong steel door between themselves and the rest of OWK.

Looks like he’s losing. They always do, oddly enough.

The local hospital is getting a bit fed up, to be honest. I mean, there’s pandemic on: they can’t keep dealing with minor fractures and burns, the whole time.

Of course, you’ll want something to wash it down with. They do have an expert sommelière but actually all of the ladies are ready and only too willing to whip out a funnel and provide some liquid refreshment to their own personal specification.

Some of the ladies love waking up to the cheerful singing of the ‘guests’ working beneath their windows. Others hate it and storm outside furiously, at the slightest sound, to dole out misery to anyone disturbing their precious sleep. But then at OWK, you have to take the rough with… well, you have to take the rough, anyway.

The very lazy OWKerpillar

In a cold prison cell, an OWK slave shivered on the floor.

One Sunday morning, the Ladies arrived slap! – out of his cell he went to be dressed as a very lazy caterpillar.

They started to give him orders.

On Monday, they made him crawl the length the corridor from one end of the Queen’s Castle to the other ten times, kicking him to help him along. But he was still lazy.

On Tuesday they beat him to make him wriggle to the top of the hill twenty times. But he was still lazy.

On Wednesday, they made him flop his way around the mud on the edge of the pond thirty times, pushing his head down into the mud beneath their boots each time he came past. But he was still lazy.

On Thursday, they held a contest in which he had to compete against other human caterpillars in races, boot-licking contests, testicle-tug-of-wars and ‘most pitiful begging’ competitions. The losers each got forty strokes of the cane. The winner also got forty strokes of the cane. But he was still lazy.

On Friday, they suspended him from a tree, with weights clipped to his nipples and genitals and swung him around and around with punches and kicks, until he had come up with fifty amusingly shameful names for a human caterpillar. But he was still lazy.

On Saturday, they just lost it. They strung him up by his ankles, whipped away what was left of his caterpillar costume with a cat o’nine tales then each took a bullwhip and went for him, flogging methodically up and down his body while he screamed for mercy, then they used a cattle prod on his genitals, kicked him in the face, pushed pins through his foreskin and scrotum, then dragged him back to his cell, pissed on him and left him there, weeping and moaning in pain. That evening, he regretted coming to OWK more than he had ever regretted anything in his life.

On Sunday, he lay alone, cold and hungry in his cell.

Now he remembered he wasn’t a human caterpillar but a successful businessman called Christoph. Outside, he had money, houses and cars – he dressed in fine clothes, not rags and tatters; he ate at Michelin-starred restaurants, rather than gulping slops off a concrete floor and no one hit him, put clamps on his flesh or trod on his face. He resolved to tell these crazy Czech Ladies he had had enough and he would rather cancel the second week of his ‘punishment stay’. They could keep the fucking money – he wanted out.

So later that day, when they came to open his cell, he looked up, smiled confidently, started to speak and…

They hit him in the face, shoved a ball-gag into his gaping mouth, pulled a leash tight around his bollocks and dragged him off to the Courtyard, to carry bricks from one side to the other in the rain.

He was a stupid, useless male object.

I thought we should finish with a happy picture: well done Madame Christine!

Tearful conversations

Anybody else want to negotiate?

It’s recreational for her, anyway – although there’s a serious element to it too.

I wonder what the OWK Ladies would have done, had the wall not come down in 1989 and no Velvet Revolution occurred? Oh, they’re so talented I am sure they have found some kind of niche within the totalitarian system where their skills could be useful, but it would have been very different.

Just try to think unsexy thoughts while they do it. Reading this blog should give you some ideas.

Once again, I do have a bit of a gripe here. I mean, sometimes it’s “I want the truth and I’m going to keep on increasing the voltage until I get it’ and next it’s ‘Keep your nasty little opinions to yourself.’ It just doesn’t always seem entirely fair, is all I’m saying, but I suppose it’s best not to complain.

Romantic disdain

Women… sometimes they want you to scream hysterically, cry and beg for mercy, sometimes it’s just ‘annoying’. My SO gave me 24 hard strokes with the cane yesterday and when I started shrieking and pleading frantically (on or maybe just before stroke number two, if I recall correctly) she told me she was ‘just not in the mood’. I mean, at that point I was committed, you know? It’s a physical thing for us guys… can’t just switch it off.

The frightening – truly terrifying – thing about assisting with any kind of competitive sport in OWK is that one of the Ladies has to lose. They often don’t take it with good grace, you know.

Needless to say, inflicting this sort of public BDSM play on passing strangers is not OK. And even worse when it’s in front of members of your family, as here.

The customer is always right.

The gimp hoods are going on in the later, private ceremony. When you and flappy-ears take your real vows.