whipping – Page 9 – Contemplating the divine

I will show you games where the winner never wins

So lock away the childhood and throw away the key.

Probably best just to do it. Discussions about obedience can become very repetitive.

I think the best years of their relationship are ahead of them.

Like many subs, I find there are limits to how much pain I can take… but none to how much I can receive.

Frekke gutter som går av og oversetter bildeteksten under disse bildene, tar bloggen altfor seriøst.

If he doesn’t, they can always turn their attention to the so-called ‘best man’.

Traditional crop-wielding ladies

Not a problem: premium cat food doesn’t actually taste as nice as the adverts imply. In fact, in tests I understand eight out of ten slaves said they preferred to go hungry than be forced to eat it… but why should anyone care about that?

Which is odd, because women are supposed to be good at empathy.

Having said which, these two – while not exactly exhibiting empathy I’ll admit – are certainly very concerned to ensure fair treatment of all of the prisoners. Which is nice.

She does use him for sex, but only in a facilitative capacity.

And I’m very persuadable. I’ll even pay for it.

She’s right, you know

She just is.

My
SO once told me that it was on our honeymoon that I gave her the best
sex she’s ever experienced. Which is a bit of luck, really, as you
never know what you’re going to get when you’re in a foreign place and
you don’t know the escort agencies well.

It’s only fair: she took his electric razor, when they split up, I understand.

Got there eventually. Well done. Now let’s talk about ironing pleats.

Don’t worry: he won’t allow himself to be improperly influenced. Properly influenced, yes, certainly, possibly even vigorously influenced. But no more than that.

Women, eh? Sometimes you’re supposed to scream in agony, sometimes you’re supposed to stay silent. How are we supposed to know? I mean, unless they use ball-gags and stuff.

Remembrance of times past

The Other World Kingdom is mostly gone, at least in its original form, but its memory lives on. And so do the memories of those fine ladies who worked there, which by a process of entirely fictional thought transferrence have ended up inside the mind of the author of this blog. From where, after picking delicately around the piles of rancid porn and mounds of bad ideas that clutter that place up, they emerge to be shared here.

Or, to put it more simply: OWK ladies remember. Again.