Whips and whims

Don’t forget your morning prayers too.
If love is there, honouring and obeying should come naturally. And if they don’t, I’m sure she can find an alternative means to encourage them.
He has… but here’s only so much misbehaviour you can get up to, muzzled and on a leash.
Don’t worry: she won’t whip you any more than necessary.
My SO finds it very upsetting when our cat catches a mouse and plays with it so cruelly. As she says, there’s a 50% chance the poor little thing is female.
It’s a future-proofed profession, because although technology obviously could automate the basic function of shit-carrying, it could never provide the same satisfaction forcing a male to do that provides to the onlooker.

“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

When her pet-name for you is ‘maggot’

 … then you know you’re onto a good thing.

 

Make sure you get the right one, this time.

 

 

She’ll have plenty of sex and plenty of money – she prefers to get them from different people, that’s all.  That’s not going to be a problem, is it?

 

 

Sexual pleasure is over-rated anyway, so I have been led to understand.

Princess Neive and Miss Analisa, there, and also here.  But neither working in person any more, I believe, alas.



Oh well.  You can enjoy watching her eat too, I suppose, just like you watch her do the other thing.



I asked a sex worker for a nurse roleplay session and when I got there she threatened to go on strike, harangued me about the state of NHS funding and then fell asleep, exhausted after a 14-hour shift. Exactly as I’d asked for in my pre-session email… what a pro.



Severely

I suppose it’s polite to ask, but really she should just make herself at home.


 

He looks pretty trustworthy to me.  You’ll be fine.  Just think about something else for 20 minutes.

  

 
 

No, she’s not particular.  Well…she is, obviously.  Just not about that sort of thing.

 

See?  There’s always a solution if you just talk it out.  It’s like the time I finally told my SO I was finding our ‘lifestyle’ a bit difficult and in just a few minutes ‘talking it through’ we hit on the solution of shutting the fuck up and never complaining to her again.  So simple, in retrospect and it’s avoided so many problems since.

 

 

She’s definitely going to go down there and check he’s OK, though.  There’s just something she needs to do first, that’s all.

 

 

Textual humiliation

Scamper scamper… wag wag wag.

 

 

She’s not, like, a pervert or anything.

 

 

 

Mistress’s boyfriend actually, so a bit of both you might say.


 

 

Personally, I just feel more comfortable wearing stereotypically female clothing, because when I try to sneak any male clothing on I invariably get found out and beaten.

 

 

One fewer thing to worry about, then.


 

 

 

 

 

 

She looked like something special

 …the kind who’d understand.


Perhaps she’ll bring you a treat.




Where there’s a will – and strong pelvic muscles, restraints and plenty of lube – there’s a way.


Some valuable soft skills there, to complement the hard skill set many of the senior staff already have.



If men’s libbers feel oppressed, they’ve got no one to blame but themselves.




Raoul has a gay friend!  Sign of the times.  Maybe he’s moving on from those ridiculous old-fashioned attitudes.


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!


Girlish ferocity

I just have resting silly grumpy-face.  When I don’t have resting screamy pleading-face, anyway.

 

 

It’s supposed to be quite effective in preventing premature baldness… or was that ‘laziness’?  All good, either way – just ask Helen.

 

Of course, she might do that even if he doesn’t make her.




And don’t forget to wag that cute little rubber dildo-tail.

 

 

 


 

I remember my first, fumbling attempts at sexual intercourse!  Embarrassingly bad, like most men I suppose.  I can laugh about it now, along with the guests whenever my SO tells the story, but at the time it was quite humiliating, especially with all those other guys there.  I suppose a second time needn’t be quite such a… a shall we say ‘cringe-inducing failure’ but as my SO likes to say, ‘why risk it?’

 

 

Maybe I’m just stupid

I thought we’d got it sorted. (NB: link is not femdom-related, unless you have the same sorts of fantasies about Louise Wener as I do).


Ah, those far off heterosexual days.





The game of ‘fetch’ is actually harder than it looks.




Once she’d explained her idea, they agreed that it was safe.  Not consensual – obviously – and quite possibly not sane, but safe enough, probably, so they just decided to go for it.




He’s lucky.  My
SO usually decides I’m too busy to take even 15 seconds out of my busy
schedule and of course I have to agree with her about that.



I think she’s right: she probably should have used a different bat.  But those big heavy ones have their uses, too.

 

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