OWK – Page 3 – Contemplating the divine

So chic so fine you all look so divine

I do my best thinking in the corner. Sadly, it’s still not very good.

Reminds me of my SO, who has a real phobia about germs. If there are any streaks left in the toilet bowl, she calls me to lick them away immediately. Hygiene’s so important to good health, after all.

Apparently, many men find female sexual fantasy hard to accept – but as long as you’re tied tightly enough, you’ll accept whatever’s going on, I say.

Yeah, it’s weird: from a very early age I had no interest in playing with toy hammers or saws but show me a mop or a dishcloth and I’d be away. I used to play in the girls’ household corner at nursery school (kindergarten to you, most likely). Well… I used to clean up their mess after class, actually, but it was play for me.

Of course in reality she’s speaking in Czech and he ain’t from round there so I’m afraid he’s not getting much of this. He has picked up a few words already in his stay, but all he’s hearing is “—- flogging —- punishment —– ball-kicking —-“. Fortunately the OWK ladies have other ways of making themselves understood.

So if he’s already had gay sex eleven times, that implies a gay/straight ratio over the course of his life of… well: infinity.

All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling

With grovelling apologies to anyone with even the slightest taste, it’s a special OWK poetry day! You see, I – no, come back! Really, it’s not that bad, and anyway at least there are pictures of –

Hello?

Anyone still here?

Oh well, just you and me, then. OWK poetry, anyway, all based on the kind of traditional British canon I learnt (but perhaps suprisingly given my interests did not actually have beaten into me) at school. More difficult than it looks, even done this badly, especially as there is essentially no one-word rhyme in English for ‘kingdom’, or for that matter ‘Owk’.

Just in case any of you are interested, puzzled or just entirely short of better things to do sitting there, as you are, in front of a computer with your trousers down around your ankles, the actual poems these are mangled from are, in order:

How do I love thee?
Jabberwocky
The Tyger
The Waste Land
Elegy written in a country churchyard
To his coy Mistress

Love not given lightly

There’s no excuse for that kind of blatant rebellion; I hope she deals firmly with it.

I always get embarassed in these situations – when you’re with someone and she starts talking to someone else and you’re kind of there, but also not really in the conversation, you know? You can try nuzzling her shoes, or something, to remind her you’re there too, but it’s still usually a bit awkward.

OWK being OWK, of course, the used wax strips covered in this animal’s fur will then be stirred into the slops for the next feeding time in the Queen’s Prison.

Pink? Pink? Well what’s wrong with pink?

She always feels it’s best to be businesslike, rather than sentimental, when breaking off a relationship.

She wants you to have an orgasm, but you’re not making it easy for her.

Days of their lives

The OWK ladies once more reminisce to a fictional (but enviable) interviewer, about the best of the best of days. In fact, they reminisce at great length, at least in comparison to the space available for an ordinary caption…

Perhaps one day I’ll post the transcript of the whole interview here, if I ever get round to making it up.

We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope

So true. Martin Luther King said that and if I’m honest (I’m not, in general – see the disclaimer to the side of the blog, there), he was probably talking about something other than femdom chastity regimes. But you never know.

You did bring the Travel Scrabble, right?

This is the lovely Little Caprice, most of whose oeuvre is unsuitable for viewing by the omega-males who read this blog (and I had to crop the image above to make it suitable) so don’t go googling her, OK?

One of the great joys of teaching is helping the pupils come to realise that they can achieve anything they set their minds to, if they are determined enough.

Don’t worry about being late, I’m sure they’ll be very understanding. Just get in there and do what you came to do.

I read somewhere that one of the many Femsuprem parties now contending for power intends to require all locksmiths to register their businesses and to log all requests for replacement keys in a central database. Seems a bit draconian, but then so, I suppose, are the plans to send sexists to prison camps staffed by whip-wielding guardresses in tight-fitting leather uniforms. And no one’s complaining about that…. no one who matters, anyway.

Of course, if she *does* actually want you to suffer, that might be counter-productive, but I suppose it’s worth a go.

He found life a bit difficult, after the OWK closed down, I heard. But he wouldn’t change a thing, if he had it all to do it again.

There was a time

…when they used to say...

Yes, it’s another 1980s/90s -ish-themed post. Those heady days of big hair, big music and big phones. What’s that? yes, I’m well aware I’ve ‘done’ the big hair / big phone joke before. But this is a nostalgic post, it’s supposed to hark back. Oh, and it’s mostly very British. I hear they had the 1980s in other countries, but it doesn’t sound half as good. We had ladies with whips on The Tube and Space 1999 too…

Anyway, this is not another issue of Empress Magazine (but one is even now being lovingly pasted up using photographic paper and wax and will soon be linotyped into existence and rushed out in vans to newsagents worldwide to be handed out to furtive punters in plain paper bags). No, this is just captions relating to another time. That’s what it is. Here they are.

Probably not a good idea to lick up too much latex shiner, then act as a live ashtray, though. Foom! But quite funny for any watching dommes.

For some reason, in the UK this sort of image is known as a ‘glamour shot’.

OK, technically this one isn’t very British. This is, remarkably enough, Tina Fey in a muppet movie. More kids’ films should feature attractive ladies dressed as guards from totalitarian regimes, in my view.

It’s a good look for him. The screaming, I mean. The moustache is meh.

It was all a very coy way of talking about that ‘very special time of the month’. Or ‘special time every three months’ or year, whatever your chastity regime requires.

Yeah… we expected a future with jet-pack travel, bases on Mars and cities beneath the oceans. Instead, what did we get? A near endless supply of femdom porn, free and available to be furtively consumed in the comfort of our own homes. Thank goodness for that.

With huge apologies throughout to Cruella. Still going! Pay Andy a visit.

Motivational speech

He’ll have a very clear understanding of who she is by the end of the session.

Anyway, even if people did recognise you, no one’s going to say anything. That’s the nice thing about the Internet: it’s such a trustworthy, forgiving place.

Oh, I’m sure things will improve, she just needs to keep trying. And that’s exactly what she’s planning to do. Anyway, Mario’s waiting so off you go.

I think it’s wonderful that his wife isn’t giving up on him and walking away, but some people are just amazing, aren’t they? I hope she’s finding some time for herself, at least.

As a professional, she can keep the personal clearly separate. For instance, the fact that she finds you contemptible is in no way going to diminish the zeal with which she’ll fight your corner in court. Just don’t expect miracles, yeah?

Nothing worse than a micro-manager, is there? Unless it’s a sadistic micro-manager holding a whip, I suppose.

“I wear the chain I forged in life,” replied the Ghost.

“I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it.”

A typically uplifting sentence from Mr Dickens there. Actually, I have been developing my own version of his classic tale. Titled ‘A Findomme Carol’, it has a similar story arc but the heroine, Princess Screw-you, isn’t such a soft touch as Dickens’s Scrooge. Like his tale, though, it has a happy ending, celebrating the true meaning of Christmas, which as we all know is ‘getting’.

But for this year, ho ho ho, it’s just a few captions with a rather tenuous and even desperate link to the holiday season. Bah humbug.

…and as it’s Christmas, here’s a bonus image, from the series OWK Ladies remember…

Czech their privilege

With apologies for the title, here are yet more of those OWK Ladies remembering the old times…

Fishers of men

… but don’t worry: they are mostly doing it for sport. After hooking you and letting you wriggle and gasp for a while, they’ll usually just unhook you and throw you right back where you were.