Here’s a whipping frame I knocked up as a holiday project, using up spare bits of wood lying about the place.
The screw-in eye lags (or “screw thread eye screws”), with the circles at the end for securing the submissive’s wrist and ankle cuffs before punishing or fucking her, are the only things I had to buy especially. So the whole thing cost me about eight bucks.
Actually I’ll have to paint it, so that’ll cost a few dollars more. There is a story about the sudden creation of this artefact, and its first use, but I can’t tell it. One of my personal rules forbids that. Come back in 2020, and maybe I’ll tell it then.
I’m going to continue the Qing story tomorrow. And then I get back to the Raylene story, since that poor girl has been sitting, ignored, in her bedroom for a couple of months now. That’s embarrassing, I guess, but she prefers her humiliations more focussed and intense than that.
I don’t think any woman would actually wear that on the streets of any Scottish town or city. Scotland is cold, and never mind the perverts, the place is full of Calvinists. But authenticity isn’t everything.
I’ve mentioned that the wind can be pretty obliging with little kilts. But this girl is actually inside, and there shouldn’t be any kilt-lifting gales blowing in her bedroom.
We’re being lied to, by our soft porn!
One last thing.
When I bought my kilt, and all the associated accessories, I was not offered underpants. There are Scots things I don’t go along with, like eating porridge with only salt and hot water, but I follow the kilt rules. One doesn’t wear anything under a kilt. Really. You just don’t.
But I recently discovered that tartan underpants, also knickers, do actually exist. Some chancer is making them, and some terrible, misguided, wrong people are buying them.
But they shouldn’t find their way under a kilt. Ever.