whipping – Contemplating the divine

If wishes were ponyboys

Once again, this blog takes a little break from its usual commitment to hard-core realism to present some fairy tales. Pretty Grimm, I know, but it’s all I’ve got today.

Don’t worry: if she smashes the door, he has alternative accommodation options. She bought a birdcage, before she had the doll’s house furniture idea.

Even tyrannical despots enjoy ‘bring your daughter to work day’.

Frustrate you? Oh, the poor chap. I wonder how long he’ll be left in that condition?

King Jorral’s queen interpreted the promise as meaning that she would continue to sleep in a queen’s bed, and she was absolutely right about that.

Now she’s learning witchcraft, she’s got some plans for Mr Granger, too.

It’s going to be quite odd for the people running heaven when, in about 970 years, the first post-Internet cohorts of mortals start to arrive. ‘Where are all the men?’, they might ask. Although obviously they’re not allowed actually to say the answer.

Hell hath no fury like a woman…

…does.

Men don’t really understand stuff like that, unless it’s slapped into them.

It’s a symbolic denial of heterosexuality, you see. And a rather practical and concrete physical one too, of course.

Actually, of course, lady Vikings didn’t usually go raiding. No: they waited at home, standing there tapping their feet and idly stroking their whips as their apologetic husbands returned with more meagre and unsatisfactory booty. There is a reason Vikings were so fierce, you know.

Of course, it doesn’t take the human element out completely – it can’t whip you, for instance.

Thank goodness for that. She must have been quite distraught.

Even if you’re sure it’s not yours (and let’s face it – in your condition, you can be reasonably confident it isn’t, right?) it’s polite to offer to lick it off.

A surprising facility for pain

Essentially the title is purely descriptive: we are back (after waking up woozily, dangling upside down, swaying around sickeningly as the abduction van tackles the winding country lanes) in the Facility. It’s a woman-owned, woman-run business that provides an ideal country break. Women can relax here, while men can get away from the stresses and cares of their everday lives to experience stresses and cares that are so, so much worse, for as long as their sponsors decide to keep them there.

Harsh untruths

“As long as it takes”, usually. Sometimes longer.

What are you waiting for? It’s rare to find a kinky costume that actually turns a woman on. Think how much closer this is going to bring the two of you.

And don’t worry if you have any concerns about her ‘three or four little changes’ – if there’s even one word that you want to change, she’s quite happy to leave the whole idea for now and give you as long as you like to come around.

Later on – with a lot of effort – they put him in the cage. That finally got him to their desired weight, without any more effort on their part, although it took quite a while.

It’s odd how many of the lesbian slavegirls on this blog seem to have an obsession with male genitalia. But I just posts what I sees.

Not entirely a surprise but he was at least hoping Nata would toss him off herself.

Like it was yesterday

More reminiscences by those sweet and caring angels, the ladies of OWK.

It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness

‘Readers of this blog, being erudite types, often to be found in exclusive salons discussing the role of foreshadowing in literature with other members of the intelligentsia (when they’re not sitting in front of their computers, trousers around their ankles, wanking to porn, obviously) will instantly have recognised the quote as one of Tolstoy’s and will thus, with sinking heart but a dreadful sense of inevitability, have discerned that today’s is another of those boring historical posts in which ladies rarely show their tits or dress up in exciting latex outfits.

Never mind, there’ll be a ‘normal’ post on Tuesday. In the meantime, try to get excited about finely-turned ankles and flirtatious badinage… or just go and whack off to whatever you can find on ImageFap, I don’t care.

Ah… the rigid grip of social convention.

Serves him right for being such a forward young man, I suppose.

Justice will be seen to be done; possibly with rather a lot of accompanying giggling and girlish shrieks.

I wonder how long he invited her to stay for? And I wonder how long she will stay? It might depend on Mrs Truscott, I suppose. It won’t depend on him.

They all only want what’s best for the young lad. He doesn’t, not really. But that’s why he needs a governess, a wardship committee and – ultimately – a wife.

They look shocked… I hope they can come up with something to take their minds off this horrible sight.

She was up late, the poor tired thing, supervising the whipping of all seven stable boys. She works so hard – but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Facts are stubborn things

… a bit like donkeys, then, and males. Today we have OWKFacts! Ages since we had any OWKFacts… this blog will be in danger of losing its reputation as the femdom blog of record and its obsession with accuracy and verisimilitude (oh, thank the Goddess for spell-checkers) if I don’t put some more facts out there.

Bonny brutality

I don’t pee standing up, either. My SO insists that I do it lying in my bathtub, with my legs up as far over my head as they’ll go. It’s quite uncomfortable – and messy – but she says it’s funnier that way.

The trick is to have a weekly joint budget – and for the male to have sufficient incentive to make sure it isn’t exceeded, no matter what she spends.

You can get an app to track your pillory time each week, I understand, which can be useful for writing letters of thanks.

‘D-I-V-O-R-C-E – find out what you’re worth to her, on the open market.’

Oh good. I hope one of them’s a nice cup of hot chocolate.

It’s not mind-reading. Men can’t really hide it when they’re aroused. I don’t just mean erections – even we submissives who aren’t allowed them exhibit subtler signs, like whining and pleading.

Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling

It’s a very rewarding relationship. But there can also be penalties.

She hasn’t completely forgiven him you understand. The topic *will* come up again… but that’s enough for one day.

A bit thoughtless of Suzie, I’d say, leaving her gimp chained up for her friends to look after. She could have got one of those autofeeder things and saved them a lot of trouble. Or just a really big bucket for the food mixture.

Then you can get on with making dinner. They’re going to be hungry, I expect.

I never know anything. Wouldn’t particularly want to, if I were there… I could just be.

…and an extra one, which I wrote in a particularly worshipful mood.

… although actually that’s not true (like many things on this blog), because obviously in session you can get away with calling her ‘Mistress’. Which was just as well for me, as I’d always assumed it was some variant of ‘El-ee-ssa’. I was granted the extraordinary privilege of visiting Mistress Eleise three or four times about ten years ago and I never did realise I was saying her name wrong in my head until I heard her say it in a video, quite recently. Fortunately, I never committed the unforgiveable sin of mispronouncing her name out loud, to her very feet (oh, those feet…). Not that it got me out of the slappings (and the mocking… oh, that mocking!) I so thoroughly deserved.