Exactly! Your top quality room has no bathroom, no toilet, no flatscreen, no minibar no nothing. Your day starts at 06:00 sharp with some face-slaps, fitness with nipple-torture and a shower of piss. Hard labor and a brutal whipping in the afternoon, followed by a Strap-On Invasion in the evening. One of the Ladies will then smother you to sleep. Any questions so far, sir?
Good, good, excellent. Now, let’s talk about sleeping. You’ll either sleep tightly tied to the rack by your wrists and ankles, in the standing cell or hanging upside down from the staircase. Like a giant bat, one might say. Isn’t that hilarious?
Of course you do. Now, you get your passport back after paying a ransom of $750. Before you open your mouth: shut up. It’s a pittance, no need to go on and on about it. So, I wish you a very unpleasant and painful stay, sir, and I hope you will visit our hotel again in the future. NEXT!!
Blimey, he didn’t see that one coming! His mouth fell open and his pants fell down.
Ohhhh! I apologise Mistr- … uh … Madame? Milady? Empress? Duchess? Baroness? Queen?
Nah, don’t like that at all.
Man, he was caught in a fucking nightmare. These beautiful and honourable titles distinguished the Mighty & Powerful from the braindead pricks. Surely you could not address such a Lady with Betsy, Agatha, Theodora, Molly or Dolly! Let alone with sweetie-pie, doll or babycakes.
Triple shit, what the fuck was the world coming to! Damn you first names! But, you know, he was a slave and slaves were not allowed to think for themselves. Besides, he was the proud owner of a pair of testicles, and he wanted to keep it that way, thank you very much.
Ask Me what My first name is, pet.
What is Your first name, he asked without any enthusiasm whatsoever.
The door opened and a second Mistress entered the room. The Ladies talked a bit, then the newcomer pointed at the slave: Who do we have here?
That’s My husband, Mistress Summer said with a sweet smile, I love him to bits.
She is elegant, sophisticated and educated. She drives a pair of horses like a charioteer, is at home on a race course or the deck of a fast yacht. She is a power at the theater or the Opera; and none is more brilliant at a dinner party. She dresses with taste, class and style and stops men in their tracks. When She walks everyone follows, when She speaks everyone listens. And obeys. Her voice is calm, direct and powerful. She never shouts, because showing anger is unladylike, and, more importantly, a sign of weakness. When a Lady loses control over Herself, She will effectively lose control over Her slaves. Women are the upper-class of society, which means that Women should always be an example for their slave. Superiority means high quality leadership and high standards. Always. She can be persuasive and manipulative, a seductive huntress who always gets Her prey. She has enslaved hundreds, if not thousands, of men. It’s not even a challenge, because most men are eager to submit. They accept their submissive position and are proud of it. Women are born to rule, just as men are born to submit. It’s not a choice, it’s a fact of life.
If I win, Mistress Angela said, I will pick a punishment for you. In the unlikely event that you win, you can pick any punishment you like. How’s that?
I smelled a rat, I didn’t like it.
I like it, Mistress, I said with a pokerface.
She won the first three in a row, which resulted into severals kick in the groin, nipple torture and bastinado. Bloody hell, we had just started and I was bruised and battered already. But then I started to win. Not once, not twice, but over and over again. So foot-worship joined the fun, facesitting, ponyplay, ass-worship and much more. I started to love this game.
I’m starting to hate this game, She said with a clear threat in Her voice.
It’s a game of luck, Mistress, I panicked.
She drew a card: three of diamonds. I began to sweat like a waterfall in spring. I drew mine: Queen of hearts. If looks could kill, I would be living in an urn right now.
Quite strange, because I did not see the inside of church until I was sixteen years old. So God knows why I’m so obsessed with nuns uniforms; but I really am. And I know: buying a box of condoms doesn’t make me the world’s greatest lover, and putting on a habit doesn’t make Her a nun. And yet … that uniform gives Her a level of authority and power that’s not from this world.
Truth is, I was way too salty and intimidated to say something to Her Holiness in Paris and I’ve not seen a fetish nun since. But I’m hoping and I’m praying, literally praying, for it every day.
So much for for being an atheist, right?
Tingling-fresh! Ice-fresh! She says with a sales-pitched voice. This toothpaste is actively caring for My teeth and gums!
I have no idea what She’s talking about: I’m sorr-
She slaps me once, twice, thrice with the back of Her hand.
You’re a spittoon and spittoons don’t talk!
Jesus, my head is spinning and my jaw hurts like the dickens. She starts to brush, moving the toothbrush in tiny circles over Her teeth. My dick and I look up to Her in quiet admiration.
Anyway, She says through the foam, this toothpaste means sparkling whiteness for My teeth.
She leans over and spits in my mouth.
Now, that’s a gorgeous mix of saliva and toothpaste, I hope you appreciate that.
She slaps me again, only harder this time. Much harder. The fillings rattle in my teeth.
One more word from you, spittoon, and you’ll end up in the garbage truck!
I keep my mouth shut and open.
Let’s not forget the gums, She says, as She continues to brush Her teeth, because for the gums this tingling-freshness means even more!
She spits the toothpaste right into my mouth again.
Isn’t it ice-fresh in your throat right now, slave?
She almost decapitates me with a vicious slap. The bathroom heels to starboard.
You did it again, didn’t you, spittoon!
I’m so sure, I teased, that you can’t hold me down.
And so, after giving Her my money, She told me to lay down on the grass. I almost teared up between my legs when She wrapped one arm around my head and squeezed me in a tight headlock. Her face was so close to mine that I could feel the warmth of Her breath on my face. Then She placed my left arm in an armlock and squeezed. Holy Moses, I didn’t see that one coming! I erupted in pain and tapped out quickly.
Don’t move, or I will hurt you a lot more, She said.
I tested that theory two or three times, and learned She was right. So I gave up struggling and lay there helpless and unable to move. It didn’t seem to take Her any effort at all to keep me down, which made it even more special. I was in Heaven, and looking back on my teenage years, I can honestly say this was my finest hour.
Slave Tingle, Your Honour.
Ah, Tingle, yes. You removed your chastity device without permission, is that correct?
It fell off, Your Honour.
You sawed the padlock off.
Correct, Your Honor, and then it fell off.
He just stood there as relaxed and comfortable as could be. He was simply too simple, too ignorant, too naive and too stupid to think through the consequences of his actions.
The gorgeous, smashing, breathtaking judge sighed.
Why did you take it off, Tingle?
I was horny, Your Honour, my balls were burn-
Thank you, Tingle, I get the picture.
She looked at Her papers and said: I give you the choice between castration an-
I take the second option, Your Honour, he hastily said.
You don’t want to hear the second option?
No, thank you, Your Honour. I’m too attached to my balls, thank You very much.
Fine by Me. Then, without further ado, I hereby sentence you, slave Tingle, to ten years in prison.
Ho-ho, wait a minute, Your Honour. Did you say ten days or ten weeks?
Years, Tingle. Ten years behind bars.
Oh dear. Is that with or without a chastity cage, Your Honour?
Still, I would have given my left toe and my right testicle for a contract like that. Because those meaningless signatures still mean something, you know. Because no self-resprecting slave should, could or would ever walk away from the promises and duties he signed up for in a slave contract. In that respect a slave contract is far more binding than the law wants us to believe.
By Mistress & Madams Auctioneers (aka M&M’s): On Monday the 16th April 2096, at 2 o’clock P.M., will be sold at the Femdom Hotel in Chicago, the following described slaves:
Dick, aged 26, cook, carpenter & cleaner, energetic boy with a small penis
Fetch, aged 33, human dog, loves being butt scratched, play fetch and tug-of-war
Jack O’, aged 41, aka Of-All-Trades, quiet, humble and obedient, face-slap lover
Rebel, aged 22 , unguided missile, looking for a strict and firm Mistress
Albert E, aged 37, gardener, rare specimen, shows signs of intelligence, foot fetishist
Julian, aged 59, experienced housemaid (Julia) with a fetish for high heels (for himself)
Jeeves, aged 48, head butler, trustworthy, impeccable manners, weakness for shiny satin
Ed, aged 27, human horse, very easy to ride, suitable for dressage or jumping
Billy, aged 40, (aka Idea-Ikea) human furniture, to be used as footstool, doormat or floor lamp
Mark, aged 51, servant, hardcore masochist, bruised and battered item
Digitalus, aged 30, computer nerd, goofball, drinks spit by the gallon
Will, aged 57, bookkeeper, good subject with a piss fetish, nicknamed Pee Willy
All the above slaves are fully guaranteed against the vices and diseases prescribed by law. All slaves can be seen, slapped, kicked and mildly whipped by applying at the office of the Auctioneers. Purchased items can be castrated on request.
Yes, Mistress Valkyrie.
So, what did you do?
I clicked on it, Mistress, I said wit a guilty voice.
Yes, you did. Then what happened?
A dialog box popped up, Mistress, prompting me to apologise for my bad behaviour.
Go on …
I closed the dialog box, I squeaked, because I panicked you see. I put my computer to sleep and went to bed with a book.
And a boner, no doubt.
I nervously giggled: Yes, Mistress Valkyrie.
Because of Your demanding words in the dialog box, Mistress. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The next morning I clicked the button again and wrote a sincere apology.
That’s right. And now we’re on the phone, talking about you behaviour. You told Me you are still a novice slave, but you disobeyed Me and you have to be punished. And I’m not talking about paying a fine, I’m talking about a punishment in the flesh. So you have to book a session with Me. That’s a direct order from Me to you, slave. I don’t care how you do it, but you will do it.
And that’s how it all started for me. If it hadn’t been for Mistress Valkyrie, I would still be a novice slave, endlessly waiting for the right moment.
SLAP – SLAP
SLAP – SLAP – SLAP
SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP
SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP
SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP
SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP
SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP
SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP
SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP
SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP
SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP
SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP – SLAP
He wriggled nervously in his chair: No, haha, thank You. Yes, You have beauti- but no, no, haha.
He was a quiet man, a bachelor and a passionate bookkeeper. He lived in a small house with four goldfish, named Ollie, Mollie, Hollie and Fred. He lived a perfect life and never asked for more. But then he met Lady Grace and everything changed. Even his scrotum, which had been in lockdown since early childhood, was now boiling and steaming like a geyser.
Kneel down, that’s all there is to it, She said.
Oh, heavens above, he blushed, no, I would never do that, never ever.
She crossed Her legs and dangled Her heel from Her foot.
Are you sure? She asked with a teasing smile.
His eyes were glued to Her foot and he was breathing heavily. Turned out his “never-ever” lasted only 27 seconds, then he slid off his chair onto the floor and crawled to Her feet.
That’s better. You may address Me as Princess Ingrid. And now I want you to beg for permission to worship My feet.
Oh God, p.please Princess, I humbly ask Your permission to kiss Your feet. I beg You.
She smiled down on him. He had no idea he was just ten centimeters away from a new, everlasting addiction, and just one kiss away from a life in slavery.
john, do you take this lovely Lady to be your lawfully wedded Mistress, to love, to obey, comfort and honour Her, surrendering yourself to Her alone as long as you shall live. If so say I do, you lucky swine.
Now Karin! Grab john’s ear and repeat after me.
I Karin take thee, john, to be My loyal servant, My devoted slave and My brainless punchbag, from this day forward, to use and abuse, to whip and to cane, to kick and to slap, till death do us part. I pledge to you My guidance, My cruelty, My short-temperedness and My unstoppable need for Power.
Now john, look up to your Lady Owner and repeat after me.
I john are taken by thee, Karin, to be my Mistress, my Lady Owner and Goddess, to obey and to worship from this day forward, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. I pledge to You my obedience, my loyalty, my patience, all my earthy goods, including the Märklin train-set.
Karin, place and lock the collar around john’s neck and throw away the key.
By the authority given to me by Her Majesty, I now pronounce you man and Wife. You may now whip the groom.
We giggled and elbowed each other.
Anything goes, as long as the object of your affection makes you feel small and your dick feel big. A shrine can be anything, from a few pictures on the wall, a statue or figurine on a stand, the worn shoes of a Lady on a pedestal, to a decorated wall with framed pictures, an entire room with an altar, candles and whatnots. Next, place 100 slips of paper in a box. Fifty of the slips are marked 1 hour, thirty are marked 30 minutes and twenty are marked 15 minutes (additional: add to ten of them the words allowed to cum). This will decide how long your worship service will be that day. Because you will be at your shrine every day without fail. So, get to work and send me a picture when you’re finished!
A buzz filled the hall as we discussed what to create and who we would worship.
Now it was Phyllis’ turn to be pissed. She decided to seduce Aristotle and teach him a lesson. One day She walked by barefooted, which was the equivalent back then of making a porn movie. Aristotle was smitten with Her and begged Her to have sex with him. Not a romantic dinner, not a walk along the beach at sunset, not a good conversation about psychology or the latest iPhone, no sir! Just wham-bam: Phyllis, I wanna fuck You. The brute.
On one condition, Ari, Phyllis said, you will come to my chamber crawling on hand and foot, in order to carry Me like a horse.
Aristotle obeyed, put on saddle and bridle and went on all fours. She grabbed a whip and spurred him on with a vengeance. The members of the court watched in awe and admiration, as Phyllis humiliated this great man.
Come on, full throttle, Aristotle! She demanded.
And from that moment on, dear children, everyone called him Aristhrottle.
Jack whined, but obeyed, because Michelle, Eveline and Suze were standing around him and they were ready to kick the shit out of him. Again.
I was a mere spectator, watching from a distance. Dry mouth, wet dick; that was me. Becky removed Her shoes, stepped on Jack’s face and muffled his groans with Her bare feet. She moved Her feet to an fro and I could hear his smothered screams and the snot in his nose moving around. She allowed him to breathe three breaths, then stepped back on his face again with a wicked smile. Oh God, how I wished it was me! Becky shifted Her weight to one leg, and no doubt Jack’s dentist rubbed his hands in glee. Jack however had other things on his mind, because he was in desperate need of oxygen again. He clutched at Her legs and She had to spread Her arms for balance. Michelle and Eveline grabbed Her hands. Becky allowed him to breathe and he squealed like a pig. Tears of a) happiness b) agony c) both rolled down his face.
Before that day, I didn’t know what jealousy was. Turned out I was a quick learner.
Sleep, I guess, he yawned.
Exactly! Now, let’s see, She sighed, thumbing through the papers, you used sleeping tablets, drank a river of Sleeptime Tea, threw away $250 on a bottle of sleeping oil, took yoga classes and went to a sleep coach. Who, you wrote, fell asleep during the session. You’re on a strict diet, stopped smoking, stopped drinking and you had no sex in seven years. You stopped living altogether, one might say. And still sleepless?
Well, you’ve come to the right place, sir. The Femdom Sleep Clinic has a worldwide reputation for putting people to sleep. So, you’ve got your pyjamas on … She paused and looked at them with new eyes … Bambi pyjamas, seriously, sir? Oh well, whatever gets you through the night, right? Now, I will put your head between My legs … don’t worry, sir, it will be fine. You just close your eyes and think of happy things.
She started to squeeze Her legs together and his eyes popped open again.
Yes, sir, that’s correct, that is your neck. She squeezed Her legs tighter and tighter. His face became as red as a tomato. He struggled, but his body started to feel so heavy and everything became blurry. He lost consciousness and slept like a baby. Just like the doctor ordered.
Now, place the spoon in your mouth and the egg in the spoon. Keep your hands behind your back during the race. If you drop the egg, you’re out. The first to reach that tree over there will be the winner. And the winner, numbnuts, is allowed to worship My gorgeous feet!
We looked at each other with murder in our eyes, because Her feet are worth dying for.
I walked slowly, eyes focussed on the egg, wiggling like a duck with a cucumber up its ass. But slave Burt went like a bullet out of a gun. Jesus, the man was in a hurry! I accelerated, but he was hard to keep up with. The others were already way behind us and it was now a neck and neck between me and that rotten egg just ahead of me. We almost sprinted to the finish line, but he was just too fast and he reached the finish line with sixteen lengths to spare over me. May have been seventeen lenghts, eighteen even, but who cares. He was now blessed with the honour of worshipping Her gorgeous feet, while all I could do was suck on my stinking egg.
A good old-fashioned dungeon cell has thicker-than-dick walls, heavy doors and restricted light windows. The cell is freezing cold, damp and unhygienic. No furniture, except a wooden bunk and a bucket. If you are lucky. A cage is a different kettle of fish altogether. A cage is an elegant and sturdy piece of furniture which looks good in a bedroom, study, hallway or living-room. Put a glass top on it and use it as a one-of-a-kind coffee-table. Sweet! Invite your friends to come and watch this caged hound (that would be you, by the way), this bruised and battered piece of Neanderthal (you again, I’m afraid), this still life of stupidity (wait, wait …. yeah, that’s you again, I’m sorry). A caged slave is a piece of furniture and a piece of shit in one, one might say. If he has to stay in there for 23-hours a day, then so be it. Who is he to complaint? It’s nice and warm in the living-room, he can watch (or listen to) the television and, most important of all, he has a room with a view. He can look at his Mistress and worship Her with his eyes. Unless She covers the cage with a Good Night Caged Asshole Cover, of course. In that case (aka in that cage) he can’t see shit.
You begged for it, didn’t you? She warned you, but your dick wouldn’t listen. And so you gave Her the login codes to LinkedIn, Twitter and Facebook and the email accounts and phone-numbers of your parents, friends, brothers, uncles, nephew’s, nieces and colleague’s. And tons of compromising photos and clips of yourself. A bit like digging your own grave, wasn’t it? She posted five photos on Her website and you were forced to pay to have them taken down. You loved it, because it was unlikely that anyone of your friends knew about this website. Then She posted the next set of photos. And the next. The tempo went up. As did the price. You wavered and begged Her to slow down. She opened your Facebook account and wrote: Who wants to know my secret? You paid quickly. This wasn’t a game, or at least not the game you thought it was. The thing was, She had many, many slaves, She lost count. Ruining your life was just in a day’s work. So you obeyed when She demanded new and more compromising photos and clips. She had you by the balls, and there was nothing you could do about it. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you? As long as She had complete and total control over you.
There is a similarity, I think, between NASA scientists and unowned slaves. The former is searching for alien life in the universe, the latter is searching for dominant life on planet earth. The difference between the two is that NASA hopes to find life in the cosmos within the next ten to twenty years, while most slaves will never-ever-ever serve a Mistress in real life. They’re destined to remain unnoticed and unowned till the end of time. Their time, that is. They have to settle for Femdom scraps, little bits and pieces that brighten up a submissive day. A Lady in shiny boots in the supermarket, a Young Goddess in leather pants on Main street, an arrogant look, a bitchy remark, a cheap movie-clip on the Internet; anything will do. These insignificant moments set in motion a chain of thoughts, dreams and longings that propels them to other worlds, lightyears away from this dreary place called earth. Far away in the universe are planets where Women rule and men are slaves, where Femdom is a fact of life and not an earthly fantasy for the highest bidder. So maybe we should put our submissive faith in NASA, because who knows what matriarchal surprises the universe has in store for us.
He turend around and saw Her standing there. She looked stunning in Her black riding boots, jodhpurs and white shirt.
Yes, Miss, I’m one of the new volunteers. Brushing the horse-
And you didn’t bother to introduce yourself to Me properly?
His face turned red. I … I … You … actually I … no one …
She silenced him with a wave of Her hand. You’re a very lucky young man, you know. Because I have plenty of time on My hands today to show you the ropes and teach you a few valuable lessons. So that this won’t happen again.
He was very thankful and eager to learn, he said. That changed when She ordered him to drop his pants. Are you crazy, he screamed, and: fuck off, I’m out of here. That changed as well after a devastating kick to the groin.
What’s going on here! a Female voice said. A second Lady in jodhpurs entered the stable.
He was still salvaging his balls, but there was enough adrenaline in his voice to hose the stable. For God’s sake, help me!! This bitch is dangerous! Please, help me!
I’ll help you alright, ungrateful young rascal, the Lady hissed. Tie him to the door, Anna, while I fetch the riding crops.
You can’t do this, he screamed, I’m a volunteer.
So are we, Anna said, and smashed his face against the stable door. We won’t charge you anything, so stop whining, this is a free ride.
Her words caused some laughter in the crowd.
It’s not a conscious choice, She continued, something urges him to do so. Another example: your slave is constantly horny. All too common among men, I would say. So the hypnotist puts the suggestion in his mind that he can’t get an erection until his Wife gives him permission. That’s it, from hardware to software in the blink of an eye. You can make his penis as lifeless as an ancient burial site. One more example: he will be spanked at 17:00 hours. Each day, every day. Not by You, not by anyone else. There’s no one there, and yet stroke after stroke brands his bottom. The possibilities are endless! So bring out your slaves and let’s get to work!
Yes, Miss, he said. He tried to sound humble and sincere, but it was hard not to laugh. Because he was sentenced to 8 strokes, how hilarious was that! That was not a punishment, that was just a tickle! Stupid Women!
It’s the 15th today, She said, looking at the CFC (Cruel Femdom Calendar), which means 8 times 15, is 120 strokes.
Wait a minute, wait a minute, he panicked, what do You mean? No, no, that’s not fair! No one said anything about this-times-that!
Oh dear, She giggled. What should we do? Call the police?
They said 8 strokes, he persisted.
Don’t push your luck, Dick!, She snapped, before I double it.
He backed down immediately: I’m sorry, Miss.
Right! Now, let’s see who’s available right now. She ran Her finger through a list of names. Here we go: Lady Beatrice, better known as: The Butcher from Baltimore, is available … and … let Me see … Mistress Slaughter, also know as: The Liquidator from Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, can also see you right now. Ah, and Lady Winny, better known as Winny the Whipper.
I … I would li-
You go straight down the hall to the second door on your left. They hate funny slaves, by the way. So good luck with that! Men In Peril Magazine – November 2088.
Now, now, She said, tapping Her finger playfully on my nose, don’t be so jealous. Mark is a friend, not My boyfriend.
Yeah well …., I said grumpy.
She smiled and looked at me with new eyes. She studied my face intensely, as if She’d just found a secret compartment in a chest of drawers.
Now then, She said, you want to be My slave, is that correct?
Yes, Karin, I whispered.
I’ve always dreamed of having a slave, did you know that? Well, multiple slaves, really.
I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, because this moment was as fragile as porcelain. One false move or one stupid word and this glorious bubble would burst.
I’m not sure, of course, but I think I’m a very demanding, pretty cruel and merciless Mistress, hehe. Be very careful what you wish for.
I’m ready to serve You, Karin, I said with a hoarse and trembling voice.
Sweet God, was this really happening, was my dream about to come true?
The daydream exploded into reality and my ears filled with the noise of the school canteen.
Stop staring at Me, you creep, Karin sneered. She was sitting at a table opposite mine, and if looks could kill, I would be living in an urn right now.
Imagine doing all that in the summer heat or, even worse, in a muddy field with deep puddles!
Sometimes they use stimuli, which, I think, is a fancy word for torture devices. Last week for example, we were forced to jump up and down with clamps on our nipples. Man, that hurt! The week before that we were forced to do a five-kilometer run over rugged terrain with rough hemp ropes tied around our balls.
They want to keep us fit and healthy, they say. Which is funny, because they use their whips freely and there are more scars, scratches and impact craters on my back then on the fucking moon! I’m not allowed to say that oud loud of course, because before you know it I’m forced to do 100 bullwhipped push-ups, 200 face-slapped sit-ups and 150 ballbusting jumps!
Phil was 18 years old, and yet his father hired an old-school Governess to beat some sense into the lad. The boy was livid and told Governess Emma bluntly to go ✗#$℥ Herself. She was not impressed. Turning a man, any man, into a slave, was a rescue mission and an act of kindness, She believed. It took Her less than three hours to break him in and transform him from a self-centered, arrogant, primitive and downright stupid piece of dick, to a tamed and obedient young man. But She knew: one swallow does not a summer make, so She had to stay alert and train him vigorously for the next six months. Each day, every day, from six in the morning to eight in the evening. Breakfast on the floor at seven, luncheon underneath Her pumps at noon and dinner in a bowl at six in the evening. She was not the friendly, encouraging, stimulating and supportive kind of Governess and patience was most certainly not Her second, third, fourth or even Her fifth name. Fresh, stubborn meat needed to be whipped, kicked and slapped into slave position, much like a blacksmith hammered iron into shape. It was not harsh, cruel or inhumane, it was necessary. Because, as Her mother used to say: power teacheth Women how to rule; pain teacheth men how to obey.
To say that Goddess Nikki was a natural born dominant, is just as farfetched as saying that I’m Albert Einstein’s grandson. However, She was a lovely Femdom/Fetish model and Her popularity started in 2015. Seems like you guys can’t get enough of Goddess Nikki, the Men-Are-Slaves website wrote that year. And so Nikki whipped, scissored, spat, slapped and humiliated to Her heart’s content. Or should I say: to our heart’s content. She may have been a model more than a Mistress, but She had a natural feel for the camera. Her lovely smile, Her calm voice and Her amazing beauty made Her the ideal Girl-Next-Door with a naughty twist. And yet, it all lasted just five years and it’s about to end in a few days time. I’ve decided to move on to other things and will stop accepting new signups to my website on May 1st, followed by having my content removed on June 1, She wrote on the Goddess Nikki’s Cum Countdown website (no doubt the website will continue under its original name: Cum Countdown). Nikki will be sorely missed by Her many fans, no question about it. But Brat’s, Princesses and Young Goddesses come and go in a flash; it all happened before and it will happen again. The Next Nikki Next is already anxiously waiting to take the stage, I’m sure of that.
Countess von Dick bis Scrötum was without doubt the most dominant person he had ever met. Her piercing eyes, the predatory tone in Her voice, the directness of Her questions; it was all very intimidating. And extremely sexy! So when She offered him a job, he gladly took it. In return She took his wallet, passport, cellphone, creditcards and all his passwords and stuff. She even took his clothes and gave him a striped prison uniform instead. He was forced to sleep in a damp, filthy underground cellar of Her enormous estate. She had a household of 122 slaves and his first few months were a hellish nightmare of pain and suffering. Because She believed in strict discipline and total submission to Her will. She was the Countess of Countless Punishments and was, oddly enough, not familiar with the word mercy. Serving and working for Her was a 24/7 occupation, because She didn’t believe in weekends for slaves. Let alone holidays. The very idea itself was absurd. But you know what? In spite of everything, he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He was perhaps a victim of Her beauty and a prisoner of Her power, but She gave his life a sense of purpose and direction. This was what he was born to do.
- When being spoken to, stand still, hands behind your back and eyes to the floor.
- Keep your mouth shut, unless to ask a necessary question and then do it in as few words as possible.
- Always respond when you have received an order and always use the proper address: yes, Mistress, no Madame, yes Goddess, no Empress etc. Mistakes & mixups will be dealt with in the appropriate and painful manner.
- Never offer your opinion to a Lady, unless She has spoken directly to you and wants to hear something stupid.
- If you encounter one of your betters in the house, make yourself as invisible as possible, turning yourself toward the wall and averting your eyes. Hold your breath and tongue.
- If you are required to walk with a Lady in order to carry packages or for any other reason, always keep a few paces back.
- You have one half-day off per month, but you are not allowed to leave the premises without consent of a Lady.
- Expect that any breakages or damages in the house shall be severely punished.
- You have to pay for your own uniform. Loans, at usury rates of course, can be provided.
- You will be locked in chastity 24/7. Any attempt to remove the device will be dealt with in the harshest manner possible and can lead to dismissal.
Stop! I scream, like a midget with vertigo.
She looks over Her shoulder, grins and spurs Her horse to go faster. She drags me through green pastures and still waters, hills and hamlets, dirt and puddles. I’m all mud and boner, one might say. At sunset She ties me to a cactus, hand feeds me and knocks me unconscious. I don’t know it yet, but She lives at the far end of the world. It will take us at least a year to get there. It’s the wettest dream come true. I’m Her prisoner and She will take me across countries and continents, in a never-ending parade of Female Power. Her captive and Her trophy for all to see.
The salade came with 25 brutal face-slaps. Bon appétit with a twist! We drank wine, which did not go down well with the waitress. She wanted us to drink Spa Spit or Pepsi Pee. We held our ground and got pulled by the hair and spat on in the process.
The pasta was delicious, as was the paddling. I had to bend over and a lovely waitress paddled my ass strawberry red. And I was the lucky one, because one of my friends had ordered Strapon à la Stroganoff. Man, they fucked him all over the place with a humongous strapon. The poor lad couldn’t sit (or shit) for days. They forced us to clean the table, the dishes and the kitchen afterwards. The hefty bill was a financial rape, but who cares. We’ve booked a table in the Emergency Room for next week. Some of the things on the menu there are Guillotine Soup and Chinese Noodles Noose. Could well be my Last Supper.
08:00 – Jim leaves for work. Gosh, he looks so handsome in his new suit.
08:15 – Drop the children off at school. Tell them to behave. They roll their eyes.
08:40 – Arrive at work. Put the heater and the kettle on. Make-up & lemon tea.
09:30 – Slave J. is experienced and confident. He knows what he wants and isn’t shy about it. Hard earned money.
11:00 – Slave B. is a novice. It’s the most beautiful day of his life, he says. He wants it all and he wants it now. Gently does it, though.
12:30 – Homemade sandwiches and tea. How glamorous.
14:00 – Slave S. drove all the way from Manchester again for a two hour session. It’s fun to dominate him, I like him. Ordered him to clean the dungeon as well. Told him how lucky and privileged he was. He fell for it hook, line and sinker. What’s new.
16:15 – At the supermarket. Mom picked up the kids from school and drove them home.
17:15 – Preparing dinner. Jim comes home from work. He looks tired, poor thing.
18:15 – Dinner together. This is what life is all about.
19:30 – Taking the kids to bed. Love them to bits.
21:00 – On the couch with chips and drinks. Jim asks me about my Femdom day. I shrug my shoulders. Same o’, same o’, I say.
03:25 – Time is moving backwards.
05:00 – Showered & clothed and ready to go ….. but I have to wait another six hours …..
06:30 – Too nervous to eat. Who cares about breakfast. Or lunch for that matter.
08:15 – Panic sets in. I’m going to cancel the appointment. Tell Her my late mother is ill. Or that I broke my neck. And back. My neck & back. My neck, back and legs, that’s it! Or that I have a flat tire. Less dramatic and more convincing!
09:00 – Too scared to cancel the appointment. I arrive two hours early. Circle the house like a hungry shark. My heart is pounding like a hammer and I’m ready to puke.
10:20 – Another panic attack. What the hell am I doing here! I’m going home, fuck it!
11:00 – She opens the door and takes my breath away. My head is spinning and my mouth is dry.
11:15 – Heaven is here at last! I’m a slave, Her slave! Each command is like manna, each stroke a miracle. A roller-coaster ride of beauty and pain!
12:05 – Drive home on a cloud of happiness.
You’re not going to get me, Bitch, he screamed hysterically.
He drove full throttle to JFK airport in New York and flew to Paris. He stopped shaving, pulled out his front teeth, bought glasses, a different outfit and a Fiat 500L (1969). He drove from Paris to Austria, Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia, Macedonia, Bulgaria, Turkey, Syria and finally to the city of Samarra in Iraq. Turned out his car wasn’t fit for long-distance driving (better said: his car wasn’t fit for driving), so it took him nine days to cover the distance. But he made it, he cheated death and the eternal chains of servitude. He checked into a small hotel and went outside to find something to eat. He walked through a maze of old narrow streets, stairs and alleys, turned a corner and bumped into…Lady Death.
WHAT! he screamed. Are you serious! How is this possible, I escaped you in Chicago!
There you are, My new slave to be, Lady Death smiled. I was so surprised to see you in Chicago, I couldn’t believe My eyes! For I knew we had an appointment here today, in Samarra.
Sex with you is not exactly a Viking invasion, isn’t it? It’s more like having sex with a hamster. Although that’s an insult to hamsters and other rodents. I deserve better. Much better. And bigger. Much bigger. Time to lock your tiny little wiener behind bars and throw away the key. Read My lovely lips: you’re not going to have sex anymore for the rest of your life, and that’s the end of it. Don’t look so worried, you’ll get used to it. Or not. I’m curious what the effects of your long-term chastity will be. Who knows, maybe you will lose the ability to cum, or even better: the ability to get an erection! It’s a small step from a micro dick to impotence, I would say. Anyway, it will be very interesting to see what happens. In that respect you’re not so much a hamster but a lab rat. Every now and then the cage will come off and your penis will be cleaned thoroughly. Ah, I see a glimmer of hope in your eyes. Well, make yourself no illusions, your hands will be cuffed behind your back and the chastity cage will be back in place before you know it. And so, I hereby sentence your shadow of a penis to a lifetime in chastity.
Now, let’s wait for our siblings to come home, shall we?
Jesus, are you stupid or what, he laughed sarcastically, no one can sit like this for so long.
Oh, we’ll see about that, She giggled.
And She was right, because somehow Her legs didn’t go numb.
You sat on him for several hours??? one of their sisters asked in disbelief. Way to go, Sis!
Man, you’re a wimp, the older brother mocked.
I pinned him down for more than three hours, Ellen wrote in Her diary that evening. Surely that’s something for the Guinness Book of Records!
Regular dog walking is one of the best ways to keep Your human dog healthy and happy. Our Dog Slave Walking Service specialises in fun-filled group dog walks and dog adventures. Because dogs are naturally pack animals and they love playing with their buddies. From the laziest to sportiest and from the largest to the tiniest; they’re all welcome. We take them to parks, open fields, forests and the beach, where they can run and play to their hearts content. We play fetch and tug-of-war for example to let them burn off excess energy. We also change old and annoying habits into new and appropriate ones. Don’t worry about separation anxiety or leash obedience; our dog walkers are amongst the most brutal in the business and these bloody dogs soon realise they’re barking up the wrong tree. We teach them social skills and commands and it’s amazing to see what a choke collar and a penis shock device can do! Our service is free of charge, because we simply love to humiliate, drill and torture the male species. That’s much more rewarding than a paycheck. Sasha’s Dog Slave Walking Service – Barcelona, Spain.
Matt is chosen to be Human Doormat 2020 at the Femdom Estate! While the Ladies will use him to wipe their feet, he will wipe his tears of happiness. Because it really means the world to him. He has been practising and preparing for this for many, many years. He’s not like all those idiots who think they excel in everything Mistress throws at them. Gardener, cleaner, mechanic, carpenter, painter, technician, writer, all in one? Shut up, no way! Doing one task at the time is already way beyond the capability of most men. And even then! Ask a slave to clean the bathroom and the Lady probably has to do it all over again after the knucklehead has gone home. Matt instead, focuses on one job, one fetish, one calling or whatever you wanna call it. Being a doormat is all about trampling and, if necessary, cleaning the boots, shoes, sneakers and pumps with his tongue. He always has to be on top of his game, because Mistresses don’t talk to doormats, you know. Few people do, actually. Anyways, his tongue always has to be ready to shift into second gear. No one orders him to, he just knows. You see, that’s the difference between an experienced doormat and a cheap, amateur one.
I see you appreciate the excellent workmanship that went into making this whip, She grinned.
The lashes came in quick succession, leaving me no time to recover. My body winched in pain.
Mistress, have pity on an innocent novice, I shivered.
She laughed out loud and made a serious attempt to whip me in half. That evening I examined my back in the mirror. It looked like a battlefield, with craters and trenches criss-crossing in every direction. The Nazca lines gone wrong, so to speak. I was very proud of them and couldn’t stop looking. They were silent witnesses of one of the most memorable days of my life. Over the weeks this beautiful landscape slowly began to fade, until finally it simply disappeared altogether. As if nothing happened. As if it was all a figment of my imagination.
Ladies & gentlemen, Mistress Tombola said in the microphone, let’s hear it for the winner! He has won the coveted prize, the dream of all dreams … the-e-e-e-e Strap-On Marathon!!
We cheered loudly, because we were so glad it was him, not us. There was a long queue of Women, strapped-on to the teeth, to have a go at him. One after the other rammed the missile in his enormous ass and fucked his brains out. The poor man was screaming in agony, so the marching band played a few uplifting tunes to bring the atmosphere back in. Rumour has it that 126 Women “congratulated” the prize-winner in this fashion.
The Temple of the Goddess is Japan’s oldest Femdom temple, located in the Kyoto mountains, and is dedicated to all lifestyle Mistresses around the world. A few months ago the authorities finally granted me permission to stay, work and worship at the sanctuary for a few weeks. It’s more beautiful than I’d ever imagined and I wished I could stop the clock and be here forever. I rise at 4am every morning and wash and clean the boots of the 6-metre high statue of a Goddess in the inner sanctum. The statue is made of pure gold and is decorated with diamonds, rubies and sapphires. A couple of devotees wash Her legs, others Her hands etc. The Holy Guards are an elite and highly trained forse, licensed to kick, slap, smother, whip, cane and – no doubt – kill flies like me. They keep a sharp eye on everything. Thousands of male slaves visit the temple each day and offer food, flowers, money and gold to the Goddess. They all get a free meal, so most of the time I’m dishwashing, scrubbing and cleaning in the enormous kitchen. The highest authority of the temple, Princess Juri, arrives in the early afternoon and we all lie prostrate for Her for at least six hours. Sometimes She points at one of the slaves lying on the ground, and he will be punished right in front of Her. Without rhyme or reason as far as I know, but then again: She’s a living Goddess, I’m nothing. Slave T. April 2016.
Public humiliations were initially intended to embarrass the naughty ones, not to arouse them. Wrongdoers were tied to a cart and dragged through the streets, had to sit on the repentance stool for a number of Sundays (sometimes with a paper mitre on their head) or ended up in the pillory. Compared to that, going down on your knees in public before your Mistress, is just kid-stuff, wouldn’t you say? I was collared, leashed and paraded through the streets of Paris, wore a slave collar and a T-shirt saying i am a 24/7 slave, in a restaurant in Rome, had to kiss a Lady’s boot on the world famous zebra crossing on Abbey Road, London, was on all fours in Amsterdam with a Mistress sitting on my back, was slapped in the face repeatedly on the Old Town Square in Prague and kneed in the nuts at the airport. One day a Madame took me to a very busy shop and told me to wait at the entrance. Then, after twenty minutes or so, She grabbed me by the ear, dragged me to the shop counter and ordered me (loud and clear) to get my wallet out and pay for Her stuff. All this was meant to humiliate me, but to me these were moments of intense beauty. Because there’s no shame in being a slave. On the contrary: it fills me with enormous pride.
I’m a huge fan of the sleazy, adventurous, slightly erotic, pulp magazines of the 1950’s, 60’s and 70’s. Especially the ones with strong, powerful and deadly Women on the cover. Some of these covers are genuine pieces of art, as far as I’m concerned. The stories inside range from Female Islands and Tribes, to Harem’s, Bordello’s, Femme Fatale’s and Madame’s, to Pirates, Man-Killers, Sex-Slaves and Nazi. Lots and lots of Nazi’s. The titles of these stories can be mouthwatering:
- He Was Hostage Of The Orient’s Fabulous Female Brigade
- Tortured Slave Of The Whip Goddesses
- Trapped By The Slave Trading Nymphos Of The Nile
- I Ran the Torture Gauntlet Of Those Blood-Crazed Amazons
- The Berlin Nudes And Their Studio Of Torture
- The Wild Raid Of The Lace Panty Commandos
- Captive Of The All-Girl Ching Dao Jewel Ring
- The Nazi She-Devil Who Killed For Kicks
- Attacked By The Girl Pirates Of The Yangtze
- The Teenage Nazi She-Wolves Of Berlin
She promised a paradise of love and freedom in the sun, but now we were Her slaves with our lives at stake …. That’s enough for the Nobel Prize in Literature if you ask me. Amazing covers, catchy titles and tag-lines allow us to escape the doubts, difficulties, hazards and impossibilities of finding a real & right Mistress in the 21st century. They inspire us to dream and fantasise of undiscovered islands, jungles and worlds where real Women rule.
He swore he wouldn’t come back. I didn’t try to stop him, because we’ve been through this a hundred times or more. I knew he’d be back, because he’s too weak and too addicted to go through with it and leave. And sure enough, within weeks he was back to his own self. Grovelling in front of Me, begging Me to forgive him. All because he’s a slave to My long and smooth legs. It takes a mini-skirt or a pair of shorts to turn this respectable, successful and confident man into stammering mess. My legs make him utterly powerless and the more he stares at them, the weaker he becomes. Crossing My legs makes his penis swell up and get extra thick. Oh, how I love the power I have over him. Sometimes he’s allowed to touch, kiss and worship My legs … sometimes not. That’s the way it is. So yeah, I knew he’d be back. And each time he does, the price will go up. Yes, he has to pay a hefty sum to see My legs. He’s now in the phase of selling things to get money, bless him. He has sold his bedroom TV, his laptop, his books and CD’s; all because he wants to worship My legs. He’s caught in My trap and I will cross My legs and dangle My feet in front of his face till he’s ready to sell his last shirt.
Years ago, My husband foolishly agreed to be My slave. He quickly regretted it, but I had him by the balls and I was not planning on letting him go. I’m not a coldhearted bitch (I’m much worse that that), so I introduced Handjob-Day. It’s held twice a year and all he has to do is hold back an orgasm for eight minutes. And be honest: what’s eight minutes in the scheme of things, right? If he succeeds, he’s a free man. If not, he will be My slave for another six months. Now, My dear husband is not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, because he really thinks he has a fighting chance. How pathetic. He’s a walking vulnerability, an open book. I don’t even have to wear shiny boots, a mini-skirt or a leather jacket; mentioning it is enough to drive him crazy. Touching his penis makes him quiver and shake, and his body arches in immediate response. His dick is already leaking like a broken sewer pipe, and I haven’t even started yet! And he wants to fight ME? Come on! I can give an erection to an eunuch, for God’s sake, and I can make my husband cum just by looking at his dick. He cums whenever I please and he will be my fucking slave till the end of time.
There’s a new Subby-Market in town, so I went there to check it out. The two-storey store looks big and bright and I was impressed how friendly and professional the staff was. We have a large variety of slaves from all around the world, one of the young Ladies said, and there’s always something thrilling in our collection. The ground floor showcases the new products that are up for sale. All slaves are trained, tested, cleaned and certified. They’re on display in large display cases with an electronic information card and a price tag attached to it. Male slaves are ridiculously cheap of course, a luncheon in town costs more. And tastes better. On the 2nd floor (the Lease-A-Sub department) you’ll find the second-hand, often somewhat damaged, lease items. The store is open 24/7, just in case someone needs a late-night slave. Some Ladies are emotionally attached to animals, but absolutely no one has feelings for these lowlife creatures we call men. We made that mistake before, and we’re not doing it again. So a Lady can use Her purchase as a work-slave, a handyman, a doormat, a sex-toy, a whipping boy, human furniture, a servant, a pet, a medical experiment or anything else that comes to Her pretty mind. It’s a lovely store with helpful staff and a huge range of products, so I recommend them highly to everyone. Diary of Mistress Sunflower – March 2079.
Get up, She snaps, you can’t lay in bed all day, now can you? You lazy pig!
You have the privilege and the honour to dominate Me for a couple of hours, he said with a confident smile. You should be really thankful for that and I honestly think you should pay Me, instead of Me paying you. Anyways, you’re free to wear whatever you want, as long as it’s a short, black leather skirt, shiny black boots, a white T-shirt and a black leather jacket. You’re also free to do whatever you want with Me, because I’m the best and most obedient slave in the world. So we’ll start the session with some boot worship. I’m not into feet, because that’s just gross. After the boots comes a bit a face-sitting and some face-slapping. Mild, not wild, because I have a pretty face and I want to keep it that way. Then it’s time for a bit of whipping and stuff. I don’t want any marks, because I have a sensitive skin. Then we’ll do some pony-play, because I like that. Now, it’s a well-known fact that My penis is a magic want and no doubt you’ll be mesmerised as well. Impossible to resist, c’est moi. So, I grant you permission to give Me a blowjob at the end of the session. See it as your reward. No, no, you don’t have to thank Me, it’s OK. Trust Me, your life will never be the same, Mistress, because I’m a super slave.
Just as I thought, She said, he’s got a boner.
God help us, the other one said, and She made it sound as if he was a highly contagious disease.
Sir, we are the Penis Police and the The Law on Boners, Act 2019, Section 311-a clearly states that erections are forbidden in public transport, parks, on the streets, at sports venues, etcetera.
He growled. How the hell should I know tha-
She silenced him by squeezing his balls. His testicles were now boiling and his dick was ready for a lift-off.
Feel it, Angela, this is a bad one.
The other one dived in.
Jesus! That’s at least a $500 fine, but it’s more likely to be $1000.
He protested and was arrested for having a) boner b) an attitude c) a dick in the first place. He was fined and sentenced to six months in the Penis Correctional Penitentiary at Fort Dick.
He never forgets a single bag or hat-box; buys tickets and tips the guard efficiently, secures a reserved railway compartment; brings the noble Lady tea at the stations (for he travels third-class) and has everything unpacked and ready by the time She leisurely strolls upstairs to dress. He has always the same noiseless step and perfect sleekness and politeness of manner, the same absolute good temper and gentleness of tone, with the same subserviency of voice, the same enthusiasm and energy in his work. He polishes Her boots till She can see Her face in them; clothes are pressed, dried and ironed; hats are brushed; hot water is always at the ready; whips are greased to perfection; the carriage meticulously washed and cleaned; the horses groomed and fed. A Lady’s valet is an unique specimen of fine manners, humility, obedience and complete submission. What he lacks in intelligence he makes up for the vows he makes to serve and obey a Lady. There is veneer, but no real value underneath. Yet, take him all in all, a Lady’s valet is agreeable to live with, easy to manage, useful, faithful and devoted, meek and obedient and without any wishes of his own. He submits with all fear to a Lady, not only if She’s kind and reasonable, but also if She’s strict, perverse and cruel. December 1898 – Lady Rose
Aha, She grinned, found your weak spot.
And that was the start of a painful romance between my nipples on the one hand, and clamps on the other. Now, nipple clamps are not that bad during the first twenty minutes or so. You could do a summersault, if you wanted to. I wouldn’t recommend it, but you could. But then, after a while, pain sets in. The clamps start chewing through your flesh like piranha’s on the loose. The clamps restrict the blood flow and pain ripples through your body like a shockwave. But that’s nothing compared to removing these man-eating things. I fear that moment more than anything. The blood rushes back into your nipples, like barbaric herds with a silence to kill. It’s an explosion of pain, there’s no better way to describe it. The more ruthless Ladies would then grab the dying nipples and squeeze them like grapes. Loved it, hated it, feared it, but most of all: felt it.
Thank You, Madame, he said with little enthusiasm.
She laughed out loud: My word, you still think Female Domination is all about your dreams and your fantasies, isn’t it? Well, it’s not, you piece of shit!
Keeping the toilet clean wasn’t the hardest and most time consuming job in the world, of course. But Madame’s move in mysterious and merciless ways and quite often She forced him to clean the toilet bowl with his tongue.
Madame, what about all the bacteria and germs, he shivered the first time.
It all depends if you’ve done your job properly, slave. Besides, you’re a germ yourself, so stop blathering, start licking.
She even pushed his head into the toilet bowl and flushed it. He knew the water came from the main water supply line, so it was cleaner than his underpants (but then again: everything was cleaner his underpants). And yet, he dreaded that flush of water more than anything. She knew it, of course She did, and loved it. Sometimes She forced him to clean the floor with his tongue as well. You see, being Lord of the Loo is not as glamorous as it sounds!
W.what d.did You put in .. in .. my .. d.drink?
Oh, some sleeping pills, She smiled, nothing to worry about, My pet.
Her voice sounded lightyears away. He tried to get up, but his arms and legs wouldn’t let him. Then everything went black. He woke up with a steel collar around his neck, chained to a wall. His ex was sitting on a stool in the corner.
Brenda, he said with restrained anger, what is the meaning of this?
Well, She sighed, if you really must know, I collect ex-boyfriends.
Wha- wait a minute – what??
She giggled. Funny, isn’t it? Do you remember Steve?
Steve, my predecessor? Who immigrated to Australia five years ago?
Yeah … well … I named his cell Australia. So technically speaking, I wasn’t lying.
Yes. And Raoul. And Tom. And Mike.
Big Dick Mike is here as well??? Jesus, Brenda, he left years and years ago.
Leave, leave, that’s a big word. He moved from My bedroom to My dungeon, to be really honest with you. You see, no one breaks up with Me. No one.
That said: you’re My husband and I’m not going to make you homeless. Because I hate cruelty towards animals, you know that. Besides, we need your salary and who else is going to clean the house, cook dinner and do the shopping, right? So, I will give you some money to turn the shed behind the house into a tiny house. Your house. Nothing fancy: basic, brutal and Spartan will be your building blocks. And leave some space for the bikes, will you Harold?
Now, don’t look so miserable. You’re My slave and I can do with you as I please. I decide, you abide. Enough talk for now! Time for you to make a list and visit the hardware shop. Chop-chop!
Headmaster Collins dismissed all claims as silly pranks. These accusations are absolutely false, ungrounded and fabricated, he said. He was missing his front teeth, had a black eye, a bloody nose, and a collar around his neck. Which was a bit odd, but a hype perhaps. Behind him stood a Schoolgirl in an absolutely lovely school-uniform. She had Her hand on the headmaster’s shoulder, which seemed to make him somewhat nervous, as if he was afraid to be rebuked. That must have been the light playing tricks on the mind, no doubt. Then we heard a terrible scream, but the headmaster was quick to explain that it was an owl gone crazy. There was sweat on his forehead and his eyelids were twitching, but that was probably a hobby of some sorts.
Time’s up, the Girl said firmly, and I admired Her for looking after the headmaster so well.
You must be very, very proud of Her, I said.
Proud is a word, the headmaster answered mysteriously. He sounded hoarse. Probably an oncoming flu, or something like that. So rest assure, dear readers, everything’s fine at London University College, nothing to worry about. Tim Sharp – London Chronicle.
All men are locked in chastity and I really do understand the reasons why. But it means, in practise, that owned slaves lead the good life. Because is he’s a good boy and if he’s very lucky, his Mistress will unlock the chastity cage from time to time and let Vesuvius erupt. But unowned slaves always get the short end of the stick, and they have to go to the Milking Farm every three months. It’s compulsory and those who refuse will be arrested, fined and castrated. In that order. Don’t get me wrong: I was all for the the Female Revolution, I even handed out flyers. I was, and still am, a firm believer, but the Milking Farm is a step too far for me.
The machine in the milking parlour can milk up to 250 slaves at the time. The smell of sperm is overwhelming and gets into your nose and clothes. But the Milkmaids also use plates, bowls and Tupperware cups to collect the sperm. Some of us are even taken outside and milked in a bucket. Not once, but twice, sometimes thrice in a row. It’s all so degrading, especially when they want us to mow like cows. The last time I was there I confronted one of the Milkmaids with this. She slapped me in the face and threatened me with the slaughterhouse. I left with the tail between my legs. Yes, these are bleak and unsettling times. Joe Mill – September 2067.
Steady! I did’t ask you to gallop, didn’t I.
He slowed down. He couldn’t see a hand in front of his face, but all it took was a light pressure from the reins to know which way to go. Well, and the relentless lashing of the crop, of course. She was a petite type of Lady, but crawling with Her on his back was pretty exhausting. His knees were almost killing him.
Let’s trot, She said, applying pressure with Her legs. Put some backbone into it, Jolly Jumper.
He did his utmost, but the crop told him he wasn’t going fast enough. He breathed heavily and drooled like a mad dog. Eventually he became so exhausted and simply collapsed on the ground.
Who the fuck told you it’s time to take a nap?
He hoped it was a rhetoric question, because he couldn’t talk. Or neigh.
She got up, pulled his blindfold off and showed him a pair of spurs with huge five-spiked rowels. He nearly fainted.
This will wake you up! Come on, horsie, time to train the passage, the piaffe and the pirouette.
And you call yourself a slave, Monique said.
I admit I was a bit taken back by Her words. I sat there looking stupid for a while, but then I realised She was right.
I apologise, I don’t know what got in to me.
You can be such a jerk sometimes, do you know that? Submissive, pfff. Whenever it suits you, I would say. It pisses me off. So, go and stand in the corner over there where I can observe you.
I wasn’t sure if She was pulling my leg, but I did what I was told.
Nose against the wall, hands on your head. I don’t want to hear your voice and I don’t want to hear you breathe.
Her voice was right behind me and I shivered uncontrollably. I stood there for hours and my arms started to ache pretty badly. It was late in the evening when She told to go home.
Sounding. It’s such an innocent word, isn’t it? Like a relaxing, crackling fireplace or rain snuggling down on the roof. Well, there are no crackles and snuggles in the Femdom toolbox, my friend. So sounding (urethral sounding) simply means: stuffing a stainless steel rod (a sound) in your dick. Stick a stick in his dick, better said. The rods usually range from 3mm to 18mm. The bloody thing plows through your penis as if it’s boring a tunnel and it will eventually reach your prostate. Moving the rod up and down and touching the prostrate feels sensational and can lead to unbelievable orgasms. Spraying the ceiling like a hot geiser, one might say. Sensational as it may be, my dick and I are happy that we didn’t have to go through this ordeal. I know, tomorrow never knows, and if it happens, it happens. In the second hour of my very first session with two professional Mistresses, one of the Mistresses stuck needles through my nipples. I’m not afraid of needles or anything, but through my nipples!! Man, I was sweating like a pig gone crazy, I can tell you that much. But it wasn’t too bad in hindsight, so should a Mistress decide to impale my penis, then so be it.
Do you have any good intentions for the New Year, slave? No, no, don’t answer that, give your braincell some rest. Poor thing. It’s a rhetorical question, you see. You are a man, if you can call it that, which means you are frighteningly predictable. So let me guess: your good intention for 2020 is more foot worship. Or more blowjobs. More high heels perhaps. You only think of yourself, that’s the uncomfortable truth, isn’t it? You say you would do anything for your Mistress, but what you really mean is: you will do the things you like. Am I right or am I right? So let Me give you some examples of genuine good intentions. Shut-The-Fuck-Up 2020, how does that sound, mmm? Slaves tend to make a lot of noise, it’s awfully tiring sometimes. Another good intention is Happy New Diligence. If you clean Her house, do it diligently. It’s not difficult and even you can do it. Or, what about: No, Ho, Ho Jealousy! I know, you honestly believe you are the best slave in the universe. Well, you’re not. You’re an idiot. Like all the others. So stop feeling rejected when a new slave joins the club, because you are making a fool of yourself. Chastity 2020, is that something you are interested in? No more dicky dick for 365 days. Can you handle that? In short: come up with something good and unselfish this time, slave.
Mr. Jones had been a shoe salesman at Lawson’s Ladies Shoes & Boots for more than fifteen years. It suited him well, because he didn’t have the brains or the bravado to open his own shop. There are leaders and there are followers, he used to say, and he followed the leader. His place was on the fitting stool or, more preferable, on his knees in front of the customers. Nowadays customers were more outspoken, impatient and demanding than ever. Even physical sometimes. He remembered a long blonde Lady who grabbed him by the ear and slapped him in the face for being clumsy. Or the brunette who tried on a pair of boots, ordered him to lick them, as She watched Herself in the mirror to see how it looked. She tried six pair of boots before She found the most lick-able ones. Not to mention the Asian Lady who kicked him in the balls to see which boots were the most kickable. After forty-seven kicks She decided on a pair of knee-high lack boots with silver heels. The silver metal gave the heels a unique glow, and the combination with the deep black gave it a magical effect. Mr. Jones was smitten by Her. So much so, that he knelt before Her and begged Her to be his Mistress. She gave him the boot.
Hold the line, I screamed. But there was a serious thaw in the line because the boys were fleeing. So I did, what real men do: I ran. For five metres, then someone jumped on my back and I fell down in the snow. I tried to fight my way out, but Lisa (who lived opposite the greengrocer) was too strong. She sat on my chest with Her knees on my arms. She had me pinned down and I was going nowhere. She laughed triumphantly and started rubbing snow all over my face.
Ho, ho, ho, I shivered, let me go!
She did … and Ingrid (number 77, end of the street) took Her place and pinned be down with force. She showed little mercy and stuffed snow in my ears, nose and mouth.
Stuff snow in his pants! She commanded.
No-o-o-, I snow mouthed, but the Christmas spirit was nowhere to be found that day.
It’s not Her clothes that make Her dominant; it’s Her personality, the tone of Her voice and Her demanding eyes. In other words: a Mistress in rags is still a Mistress. She’s a Woman and She must be obeyed at all times. On the other hand, as Princess Beverly so rightly put it in one of Her clips: sometimes guys will buy a Financial Domination clip, just based on something you’re wearing. She’s 100% right, as far as I’m concerned, because I’m always on the lookout for something shiny. Just a glimpse of a satin blouse, a PVC skirt, nylon shorts, leather gloves or a wet-look jacket are enough to brighten up the day. Once upon a time one of my colleagues came to work wearing a short, leather skirt. Man, I couldn’t think of anything else for the rest of the day. And night. She had tried it on in a shop somewhere, had looked at Herself in the mirror and bought it. Sadly enough She wore it only once, and yet it changed everything. Because I would never be able to look at Her again with the same eyes. She would always be The Girl With The Leather Skirt. I was willing to walk through a brick wall for Her, I really was. So to quote Princess Beverly one more time: I can make you do anything, based on My outfit. So very, very, very true.
Alright, the Chainsaw Girl said, let’s cut off his penis. The noise of the chainsaw was deafening and rattled the fillings in my teeth. My husband pissed his pants. So sad. Because these were brand new pants, you know.
She turned off the chainsaw. Come on, man, be a sport, let me cut it off.
I will hire a contractor, OK? Happy now?
They looked at each other, grabbed him and tore down his pants.
Let’s dig a tunnel, Circular Saw laughed.
They attached a dildo to the hammer drill and invaded his ass with pinpoint precision. The dildo was spinning round and round and my husband begged for mercy. He was a changed man with a changed ass after that.
Call us if he shows any signs of recidivism, Demolition Hammer said, and we will be right at your door. Oh well, you know the drill.
Anyone with even the slightest brain activity knows it’s rude to give someone the finger, and most people will be offended by it. Not male slaves though, because men and brains don’t go well together. And as far as he’s concerned You don’t even have to say anything; this non-verbal gesture says it all. It says he’s worthless to You, just another piece of shit with a tiny little dick, a big-time loser and a complete waste of time, space and energy. He loves all that and gets a boner. Your middle finger, one might say, is his early Christmas present.
So don’t overdue it, don’t hand out fingers as if You’re Robina Hood. Because your spoiling him rotten. Use Your finger wisely, that’s all I’m saying.