OWK – Page 7 – Contemplating the divine

Carry on screaming

Not necessarily a British cultural reference, merely a description of what I do while my SO takes a couple of minutes’ break to make herself a cup of tea.

Still, for those of you in the know, it was one of the better ones. “We’re the police – or layabouts”. And of course Fenella Fielding. I certainly don’t mind if she smokes.

And speaking of being British… I mean, this isn’t a political blog, you come here to get away from all that stuff, but…. but… but… what the fuck? Really! Huh? I mean, what the fucking fuck? Look at this mess! How can anybody seriously think men should have the vote?

Rant over. Let’s have something decent, sensible and sadistic…

Actually, I find binocular vision quite useful for ironing pleated skirts, but that’s not a huge part of my life – three, four hours a week tops – so I suppose she might as well go ahead.

What a scare! Thank goodness you were there to call the ambulance, as soon as she collapsed. You did have to move out of the corner without permission, though, so obviously that’ll have to be dealt with, when she’s back on her feet. Still: she’s getting the best possible care, and you’re scrubbing out toilets, so everything’s OK.

I used to have a problem with premature ejaculation, but it’s under control now. Matter of fact, last month I was even a few days late – she was on a business trip.

Don’t worry – they have separate fire drills when they practise evacuating the slaves. Particularly between November and February.

Actually, I once went out with someone whose Mum had worked as a cleaner all her life. When I finally plucked up the courage to tell her that I get my rocks off mincing around in a little maid dress pretending to be forced into humiliating cleaning tasks, she was a little offended at first. But we talked it through – and when I said she could tie me to a bench and beat me, she decided she was OK to give it a go after all. And do you know, she had a really good time? And there I thought she was pure vanilla! I’ve never had a session partner be so… enthusiastic. Even made me sign a little piece of paper promising not to have her arrested for assault, before letting me up and walking out of my life forever.

Girl talk

More reminiscences from those sweet Central European maidens from the sadly defunct Czech vacation spot, the OWK.

Where are they now, you ask? Some of them work as professional dominatrices but most of the others prefer to remain anonymous today, as they’ve moved on from the scene. One – I won’t name her because I do respect her privacy – has done really well in the travel industry and now works as Service Manager for one of the major low-cost budget airlines. She’s responsible for designing the passenger experience : all the way from the check-in queue to the seat design and on-board service standards. A complete change in career, you’d think, but actually she says her time at OWK was very useful preparation for her current responsibilities. Strange but true.

Ladies who leash

Seven days in already, so counting down the days from 21 that’s only 14 to go? Or 83 if it’s 90. Whatever.

Oh, I think – with all due respect – Madame Sarka is being unduly harsh on English, here. But then, she’s really good at being unduly harsh.

Actually, the taste depends a lot more on what it had to eat a few hours earlier.

Sometimes she fills the bag with ice, so as he’s sweating in the heat there, he gets some lovely cool drips of water. Usually, though, she doesn’t.

I’m not worried. Just terrified.

Miss-judged

I’ve been a very bad wolf.

Actually, there’s a funny story about this one. It turned out there were no fewer than three Miguels on the beach! So as you can imagine things got a little embarassing – and of course we soon ran out of condoms and beer, so I had to run back to the shop. Still, it all worked out OK in the end.

You can cary an orgasm donor card, you know: ‘I want to help someone come when I die’? Not that it really makes much difference, but prior consent is a thing with some people.

I think he’s looking at her funny now. Some men never learn, huh?

And the evening, and the next day too, if need be. One wrist can outlast a great many bottoms, as any schoolmistress will attest.

They can beg and they can plead

…but they can’t see the light.

Are you sitting uncomfortably? Then she’ll begin.

You’re actually already halfway through the session. Might as well finish off.

Good. Good. I expect she’ll be chucking away all those dusty old wine bottles in the cellar and filling up the racks with some nice fresh sparkling wine with cheerful labels, too.

If it’s any consolation to him, after her friend has finished the face-slapping session tomorrow, he will look like a house elf.

As it happens, the second guy from the front is the Financial Director of one of the biggest German pension and insurance conglomerates. He’s wondering whether he should say something here – but by now he’s probably got more sense.

Conscious incompetence

That’s me…with occasional periods of unconsciousness, when She plays a little too vigorously.

I
don’t know about you, but I’ve reached the point in my life where just
stuffing high-value notes into an envelope gives me an erection.

He gets up early and sings his little song.

The irony is, they then use ordinary gelding clippers to remove what remains of the burnt semi-dissolved flesh. So it’s all a bit pointless, really. Will you tell her, or shall I?

Unaccompanied males can enter the country on their own passports, of course. It’s just leaving that’s forbidden.

Best not to argue, though.

Baby it’s cold outside

…but not quite cold enough yet for me to be allowed to sleep in the house. Never mind. Here are some wintrish captions.

It’s a bit cruel of her, to focus so much on the depressing news of our changing climate. Look how unhappy he seems.

The treatment he’s experiencing looks most unethical. I’d click to inform People for the Ethical Treatment of Males about this disgraceful behaviour, but I only have one hand free and that one’s typing.

Oh well. At least your day had the prospect of some meaning, for one brief moment. Back to your squalid and pointless existence.

The UK’s not generally known for its outdoor porn shoots: pallid, goose-pimpled flesh shivering under a grey sky isn’t really a turn-on for most punters. Femdom porn, as ever, is an exception and Cruella especially has lovingly documented the effects of the changing seasons on the male British body. The shoot above appears to me to be in early summer, when the weather is no longer wintry but is turning merely ‘bloody cold’. Impressive they managed to find a day when it wasn’t raining, too.

OWK does actually have a complaints box for its male guests, surprisingly enough. I spent six hours in it once.

Oh, I hope there’ll be jellyfish

The servitor who uploads material to this blog will be on an undeserved holiday for the next few weeks. Normally awful service will be maintained, through the magic of ‘scheduling’ and comments – especially abusive ones – remain as welcome as ever, but will not be responded to (so the grovelling apologies must wait).

The jellyfish thing? Oh yeah. This.

You know, I heard once that feeling sad and lonely is just your body’s way of telling you what an unpleasant person you are to be with? Makes a lot of sense.

I’m slowly working my way into her affections, I reckon.

Mmmpphhh grtrrth.

Of course, they’ll need to use something else to achieve the burning sensation. Hot coals, maybe? They’re very creative.

Hope there’s some beer for me.

Back down Memory Silnice

Recently, while down in the cellar (basement to you Americans), I was nearing the end of a long weekend scrubbing away at the walls with a toothbrush (it’s bit of a funny story how I found myself doing that, actually – remind me to tell you some time) when I noticed in an old cardboard box another file full of interviews* with those lovely Sublime Ladies from the Other World Kingdom. So, as soon as the walls were clean enough for my chain to be lengthened sufficiently to allow me to come upstairs again, I scanned the ones featuring Madame Katarina and I’m now uploading them for you to wank over enjoy.

Now of course, OWK is lost in the pages of history, but in our hearts it will never die. What matter it, if –

– what’s that you say? ‘Shut up and get on with the pictures of Madame Katarina, Servitor, you prat’? Oh. OK, then.

…and in a postscript, with a written comment by the interviewer in handwriting too shaky to read:

* regular ‘readers’ will recognise this as the latest in one of the least popular series on the blog: OWK memories.

You can wear the uniform and I could play along

And so it goes…

“…and if there’s war between the sexes then there’ll be no people left. “
Actually, I’ve never believed that. Some of us would be traitorous quislings from the start, for one thing.

PS – she didn’t recognise him, actually. Not her fault – they used to get a lot of men at OWK. They all look the same after a while, I expect.

The holiday starts here.

Some of us have high natural levels of this chemical in our bloodstreams already. It’s produced in the spleen, I expect. Mostly because I enjoy typing the word ‘spleen’, which is a rather underused organ in femdom porn, I’ve always felt.

It’s best not to let the cute ones off too lightly.

Nazi dominatrices! Cute, huh? A bit illegal in Germany, but hey – this is the blog that treats its readers with contempt, remember?