I kept him locked in a chastity cage for almost six weeks. It opened his eyes, shut his mouth and brought out the best in him. I was happy with his performance and I felt he deserved a reward. So I tied him to the bed, arms and legs wide apart, and removed the chastity cage. His dick gave Me a standing ovation. Taking him the to edge was easy, because his swollen balls were ready to explode. His body twitched and he asked Me to let him cum. That was cute, but certainly not enough! I wanted to hear him beg and wanted to see some tears. Which was, needless to say, just a matter of time. Besides, I had no intention of letting him cum, not yet anyway, and certainly not because he wanted it, so I pinched the tip of his cock, pinched it hard. He roared in agony.
I took him to the top again … and slowed down … Up … and down. My long hair touched the tip of his penis and his body arched and quivered. He was pleading for mercy now, so I tightened My grip and put it up a notch. His sperm rose up the shaft like lava in a volcano. His body convulsed as I let go of his dick. The seed flowed from his cock. He moaned in frustration. This was not the powerful sperm eruption he had hoped for, it was more like an overflowing cup. Poor baby!
So I grabbed his dick seconds after cumming and continued to jerk. Most men find it unbearable, and that was exactly the reason why I was doing it. I ran the palm of My hand over the tip of his cock and he screamed and wailed like a wounded animal.
That’s what I call a Happy Ending.


I opened the front door and came face to face with an incoming fist that sent me back to where I came from. I landed on my back and seconds later a blonde nymph dropped down on my chest and jammed the barrel of a gun into my mouth. Demolishing my front teeth in the process. My dick jumped up and down in my pants, because She was one of the Ladies of the Hitwoman Roleplaying Association (HRA)! She looked over Her shoulder at the eruption between my legs.
No need to introduce Myself, I see, She grinned. You know exactly who I am. Say: yes Mistress.
Heff Mifpfeff, I said, with a mouthful of barrel.
I quit My job at HRA, She continued, because I’m not really into roleplaying and stuff. I’m more a real-deal-kind-a-Girl, do you know what I mean? I’m now a fulltime assassin. So you’re really, really, really going to give your life for Me today, how cool is that! It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?
Heff Mifpfeff, I drooled.
She put Her hand on my high explosive groin and smiled.
No doubt you’ve had a downright miserable life, but your death is going to be spec-ta-cu-lair! You’re going to die with an enormous erection and a smile on your face. So, let’s count down, shall we … ten … nine … eight …
Man, She was so hot and She played the role so convincingly!! What a lovely actress! I was so glad that I had booked a se-


You have been out of work for a year. Is that correct, male P-32-611-06?
Yes, Madame. He pulled an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and put it on the table.
She looked inside the envelope: What is this?
It’s … a … a … gift, Madame, a gift of encouragement. That’s it!! A gift of encouragement!
We are not allowed to take money, She said, but in this case I would like to make an exception.
He grinned from ear to ea-
However!! Attempting to bribe an officer is a serious crime that should be dealt with by the full force of the law. I therefore sentence you to five years in prison for attempted bribery.
Wait a minute, wait a minute, he panicked, I just gave you an envelope full of cash!
She slapped Her hand on the table: BE QUIET!!
He cringed in his chair.
Immediately upon your release, you will be transferred to a Hard Labour Camp in the wilderness of Alaska for a period of two years. It can be terribly cold up there, so don’t forget to take a scarf with you. She laughed out loud.
Please, Madame! His scream echoed through the room. I beg you to reconsider! I am a weak and frail man, unable to do ha-
QUIET!! Do not interrupt Me again or I will double your punishment! She took a deep breath. Your accounts will be seized, because someone has to pay for your food, clothing, transportation and accommodation and it’s not going to be us. So, good luck, goodbye, cheerio, bon voyage and don’t forgot to send us a postcard!
September 2144, San Francisco – The Unemployment Agency


I started out as a boot-boy at Ingrid’s Boot Boutique (aka Ingrid’s Bootique) in Booth Lane, London. I loved every second of it, because, you know, Ladies boots are just beautiful. Then Madame Sandra opened a new shop, called the Triple-S Shop (aka the Shoe Shine Shop), in Shoe Lane, London. Boots in Booth Lane and shoes in Shoe Lane, I mean, what are the odds, right? Shortly after the opening of the Triple-S Shop, Lady Ingrid gave me the boot and handed me over to Madame Sandra for free. For FREE! I mean …. really?
So I became one of Madame Sandra’s shoeshiners and I have been slaving for Her ever since. The shop is lovely, with five boxes (aka shoeboxes) on each side. We, the Shoe-Shine-Slaves that is, wear a pink uniform with the Triple-S logo on the front. And back. Each slave has a shoe cleaning box with shoe polishes and different brushes. And let’s not forget our tongue, which is always in demand with the customers. We work eight hours a day, six days a week. And that’s a lot of tongue and an awful lot of saliva, believe me! Madame Sandra is strict, demanding and not easily satisfied. Patience and empathy are not, I repeat NOT, Her strong suit. But you can say the same thing about the customers, I guess. Strange but true, Women have a short fuse when it comes to shoe cleaning. And make no mistake: they will let you know (and feel) when they are not satisfied. Still, licking these gorgeous shoes while being spanked on the bottom is quite an addictive cocktail. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Shoeshine Bob


I was still so new to Female Domination, so fresh and innocent, so green and so utterly naive. So when I rang the doorbell that day, I was curious, excited and in the best of moods. A young Girl opened the door and took me downstairs to a dungeon. The Mistress, whom I met two months ago and who had invited me here, barely looked at me when I came in and told me to sit down and shut up. It was not exactly the warmest of welcomes and I was quite intimidated by it. So I sat down on the floor and hid behind my dick. Well … Against the far wall was a guy tied up in chains and the Mistress started whipping him. Slowly at first, but then with full force. After 15 minutes or so, She switched to the cane and made each strike rip through the flesh. The slave wailed in agony. This was so much more intense than watching a thrashing on a computer! The brutal blows and his cries of agony sent shivers down my spine. It was unbelievable, but She broke three canes on his ass! She showed no signs of mercy though, and literally beat him to tears. She turned his ass into a bloody pulp, She really did.
And then, after what seemed like an eternity … it stopped. The slave sobbed really hard and his body quivered uncontrollably.
The Mistress came towards me and I’m not afraid to say that I was ready to shit myself. Man, I was so scared! There was not even a hint of a smile on Her face and Her cold eyes pierced into my soul. Her voice sounded strict and unforgiving:
This is what happens to you if you disobey Me.


It’s easy, as far as I’m concerned: their only goal in life should be to obey Women, work for Women and suffer for Women. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. No ifs, buts or maybes. Simple as that. Sadly enough however, the murky, male world is filled to the brim with egoism, bullshit, laziness, ignorance, arrogance and stupidity. So men are bound to commit crimes, consciously or unconsciously. Not necessarily heinous crimes, but crimes nonetheless. Now, I’m a Lady Detective and I don’t always do things by the book. Well, almost never to be exact. Observation, deduction, research, knowledge of the law, attention to detail and, most of all, time consuming interviews and interrogations are such a waste of time, money and energy, wouldn’t you agree? I don’t have the patience and the right temperament for that. Quick, cheap & simple, that’s My motto. I believe in intuition, gut feeling and the simple fact that we need oxygen to survive. Take away the oxygen and the confessions come marching in. Many a man shits his pants by the thought of My airtight buttocks and confesses immediately. But it can even get weirder. Hundreds and hundreds of them confess to crimes they did not commit! There’s always a queue waiting outside, it’s just mind-boggling. All because they want to suffer beneath My gorgeous ass! Men are weird and awkward creatures, what can I say.
July 2096,  Miss Tanya – Law & Disorder.


The bell rang and the hallways filled with chatter and laughter. I grabbed my jacket off the hook and took a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket. There was a piece of paper stuck to the box that read: I want to be Your slave.
WTF!! Was this a prank or something?? I looked around and over my shoulder, in the hope that the perpetrator was watching. Why on earth would anyone want to be my slave? What did it even mean?? But there was no name on it, so I decided to ignore it. Which was easier said than done, because the more I tried not to think about it, the more I did. Did Michael write it? Bobby perhaps? Or was it William the creep?”
I went home with an headache and blamed, needless to say, my parents for that. I went to bed early and forced myself to think of something else. I had just closed my eyes to go to sleep when a thought hit me like a bolt of lightning: Did one of the girls write it perhaps?? Stephany? Or Claire? Or was it Ingrid, who could not stop staring at me?
I pounded my fists on the bed in frustration. I hated this! If they had something to say to me, then why not just say it! Whoever wrote this note, needed a severe spanking. And I was more than be happy to administer it! Far away, in a remote corner of my soul, a seed called FemDom opened up and began to grow.
Mistress Charlotte


Submissive creatures up-to the age of thirty-five or thereabouts are subs, not slaves. Because even a man in his early thirties still thinks, talks and acts like a schoolboy. He wants this, he wants that, he wants it all and he wants it now. And six months later he wants something completely different. To him, serving a Mistress is like playing a Playstation game. A game in which he is the main character, needless to say. It’s no criticism, by the way, simply a fact of life. Because it takes time, time, time to figure out what you want to do with your life. Many a sub assures Me that he worships only Me, that I am the beginning and the end of everything. Then the local cheerleader comes along, with Her gorgeous figure and Her mesmerising smile. And before you know it, he’s up to his elbows in a romantic, vanilla relationship. Do you know what I mean? Immature, overconfident, impatient and clownesk … that is not what I am looking for in a male creature. Sure, I will whip, slap, kick and drain the lot of them as long as I’m paid to do so. Someone has to pay for My lifestyle and it’s not going to be Me. But roleplaying with subs has little to do with slavery. A mature slave knows that he is not the main character in the story, but merely an extra. Because Female Domination is never about men; it’s always about Women.
Lady Anna


One day Eve came up to me and challenged me to a fight. She was the first, and as it turned out, the only Girl to ever do so. I was a bit lost for words at first, but then it dawned on me. I was the strongest boy in the class and She was a judoka (and a fine one from what I heard), so somehow it made sense. I accepted the challenge and we went to the nearby park, with several classmates following close behind. The first to win five games would be champion. I wasn’t worried or anxious, but I took the fight seriously. This was about prestige and I was not planning on handing out any gifts. And yet She took me by surprise in the first two rounds. Within minutes I was 2-0 down (a vicious arm-bar and a brutal rear choke). I won the third by twisting Her arm behind Her back. Yes! I was back in business! In the fourth She threw me to the ground, wrapped Her arm around my neck and pinned me down. It felt like I was stuck in concrete and was forced to tap out. I was 3-1 down and my classmates cheered and clapped. The bastards. Next I managed to throw Her to the ground and land on top of Her. This was going to be easy! But then She wrapped Her legs around my torso and clasped Her ankles together. Like getting strangled by a two-legged python. I tried to fight myself out of Her grip, but She was too strong. I was forced to tap out and everyone was cheering Her. She smiled triumphantly. In the sixth I landed on my back and She pinned me down- and decided the match- in a classic schoolgirl-pin. She beat me 5-1 and in front of my classmates. Ouch! I was no longer the strongest kid in the class, nor would I ever be again.


He escaped on a dark and rainy night and fled to a town called Freedom, where he found a room above the grocery store on Liberty Road. My God, he had outplayed, outsmarted and defeated the Women! He was free!!
But was he really?
Because his initial euphoria quickly turned to fear. His face would be all over the news as a fugitive and he knew that there would be a bounty on his head for his capture and return. No doubt the elite (and feared) Femdom Squad and every Bounty Huntress in the land would be looking for him. They would chase him to the ends of the earth and return him like a runaway dog to his rightful owner. He became afraid of everything and everyone. In fact, he became afraid of his own shadow. So he barely went outside, because there was always the possibility of being recognized on the street. He sat by the window all day and watched the street below. Wary of anyone suspicious and constantly alert for every noise or movement. He was not free at all. He was a prisoner of his own fear.
It was 3am and he hadn’t slept in days. His thoughts drifted back to the night of his escape; the meticulous planning that went into it, the adrenaline rush and the feeling of triumph afterwards. He was so deep in thought that he did not hear the whispering voices outside and didn’t notice the moving shadows on the wall. It was going to be his last night in Freedom.


When the night falls, Her name is whispered in streets and alleys, in clubs and restaurants. Whispered, not spoken aloud. God no! Jack’s voice sounded hoarse and strange. Believe me, She’s not an imaginary person, not a figment of our imagination! She’s real! She only targets single men, did you know that? I mean … how does She know these things? How can you tell who’s single or not these days? 
He wrung his hands nervously and there was terror in his eyes.
These are dark and dangerous times and I’m not afraid to admit that I’m scared. My nerves are in tatters. I’m a single man, does that mean She has me in Her sights? Some say She takes Her victims to the Underworld because male slaves are in high demand there. But how do they know that? No one has ever returned to tell the tale! I’m su-
I’m sorry, the psychiatrist said, time’s up. Jack turned towards Her and gazed directly into Her amazingly blue eyes. He tried to look away, but couldn’t. His eyes were glued to Hers and his arms and legs felt heavy. And then … slowly but surely … it dawned on him.
Are You going to take me to the Underworld? he whispered in a trance.
An underground dungeon, She smiled. I’m a collector, you see. And you, well, you are a fine specimen and you are going to be one of My slaves. How does that sound?
That sounds wonderful, he said in a dreamy voice. He was awake and sleeping, lying on the couch and falling.
No longer scared?
Not at all, he whispered. All I want … all I ever wanted … is to obey You.
I hear that a lot, She smiled.


I’m not scared, I bragged. But you could hear the shit screaming in my underpants.
Of course not, She said soothingly. Besides, it’s a bit too late for second thoughts, is it? Your ankles are cuffed to the legs of the chair and your hands are cuffed behind your back. I’m now in charge, how cool is that!
B.but I am the customer, I protested weakly.
Nope! You WERE the customer; you’re now the victim.
She looked so harmless and weak, so fragile and frail and I found it hard to believe that She was capable of hurting anyone, let alone choking someone out. But that thought evaporated instantly the moment She wrapped Her arm around my neck and applied some pressure. My whole body stiffened and then the fight for oxygen was on. My face turned red and my tongue came out. She loosened Her grip just enough so I could breathe a little. What was it? Two seconds? Three maybe? Then the pressure increased again and everything went black. She brought me back to consciousness and put me into darkness again. And again. And yet again.
I begged for mercy. Well, not in so many words, but by panting frantically.
She rubbed Her hand over my crotch and my dick slithered in my pants like an eel with an itch.
Looks like someone is having a good time down there, She laughed. Well, you paid Me a handsome sum, so I’m going to give you your money’s worth.
I opened my mouth in protest and darkness.


I’m confident in the belief that there is truly such a thing as living again,
and that the living spring from the dead

The ship arrived sometime around 1875 at Castle Garden Immigration Centre, Manhattan, New York. From there I travelled to a small town on the East Coast of the United States, where I found a job as town clerk & surveyor. I never married (somewhat unusual at the time) and I lived on the corner of a long uphill street. I had some money when I arrived, but I trusted people I should not have trusted and all my savings disappeared into someone else’s American dream. This would never have happened if my sisters were still alive. Five formidable Ladies with strong personalities, who raised me after our parents passed away. Their word was law and they made all the decisions for me. I looked up to them, revered them and always, always, always obeyed them without question. Even when I grew older. They made me feel safe and protected and for that alone I would do anything for them. They died in their thirties, one after the other in the space of fourteen months. I came to America in the hope of a new life. But not a day went by that I didn’t miss them. I would sit and stare at their portraits for hours, longing for their guidance. I felt vulnerable, insecure and weak without them. So, who knows, perhaps this mysterious desire to obey Women originated not in this- but in my past life.
Past Life Regression Session – July 2018


The truth of the matter is, Her habit opens my floodgates of submission, simple as that. On a Biblical scale, one might say, and it gives Her a level of power that is not from this world. So I’ve been going to confession for ten years now. Twice a month, like clockwork. She wants it that way. It makes perfect sense, though, because I have a dirty mind (which is a joy forever, by the way) so it adds up pretty quickly over the course of time. I don’t know much about Her, to be honest. Don’t know if She’s married, don’t know is She has children or not, don’t even know Her name. She calls Herself Sister Mercy, but that’s not Her real name, is it? And yet, this mysterious Lady controls my bankaccount, my chastity dick, my career and what not. She puts me in a hypnotic trance and I am powerless to disobey Her. She never raises Her voice, only the rod. Oh yes! She strongly believes in penance & pain and She will stop at nothing to tame the beast inside me. She’s an Angel, be it a brutal one. I’m grateful for Her help, I really am, and my ass is grateful it has a fortnight to recover. One thing though …. She’s very open about the sins of lust and always wants to know if I fantasised about Her. It may sound strange, but I find it difficult to talk about such things in front of a nun. Although She is no more a nun, than I am a priest, of course. I’m not that naive. But to me She is, and always will be, a Divine creature from a Higher Dimension.


In spite of the successful Female Uprising and the crushing defeat of the male armies in the battle at Kohi Tra, there are still male creatures who are in denial of what happened. Villains who still believe this is a man’s world and who see themselves as heroes and demigods. They are clearly suffering from mental health illnesses and fantasy disorders. We, Superior Women, have a duty of care towards these delusional creatures. So we arrest them and take them to Bethlem Hall, the most notorious asylum in the land. Easy to get in, hard to get out, because it is not for the male patient to decide when to get discharged. No sir! Some of them will be detained indefinitely. I know, I know, some people say these men need a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, a willing ear and a few kind words. Yeah, screw all that, it’s not a nursing home, for God’s sake! The Bethlem Bitches are not interested in boring stories and lame excuses. Trust Me, they’ve heard it all before. Instead of giving compassion and empathy, they give the bastards shock therapy. Voltage fun! Electro wands, stimulators, electro penis bands & pads, electro clamps and even electro urethral sounds that go all the way up the penis and boils the testicles like eggs. But here is the remarkable thing: some of these weirdos love it! Crying for mercy with a rock hard penis is quite a common thing, I was told.
April 2117 – Dorothy Messing: Behind the Walls of Bethlem Hall


Avoid walking through the neighbourhood after dark, the Female police officer said. There’s a Female Gang operating in the streets who attacks anyone with a penis (aka dick, willy, cock, shaft, pecker, phallus). The male victim is assaulted at gunpoint and gets locked up in a chastity device. Once Captain Cock is behind bars, the victim is free to go. He will, of course, try everything to remove the device. All his attempts will be unsuccessful, fruitless and in vain, because the chastity cage is made of a newly created material that is so hard that it cannot be cut. It can probably only be removed with the help of a demolition expert, but it’s not something I would advise anyone to do. It leaves such a mess.
Anyway, the nights of masturbating are over. Cage closed, one might say in a merry sort of way. However, the key to happiness, aka: the road to cock & sperm, can be obtained by paying a hefty sum of money to the gang. So, strictly speaking it’s not ransomware, but … well … hardware.
The policemen are still in the dark of what is going on. But they do know this: the members of this gang wear a special group-, gang-, membership pin, like this one here.
The attractive Police Officer proudly pointed at Her pin (in the shape of a chastity cage with a red dagger running through), on the lapel of Her shirt.


The Femdom Fair is a classic fair with bumper cars, a Ferris wheel, a roller coaster, a carousel and all the other stuff. There’s a yummy, yummy candy floss machine, a popcorn cart and the ice-cream stand is just opposite the You-Scream tent. Oh yes, besides the classic rides and attractions, there’s a lot Femdom-themed stuff to enjoy as well. There’s a Slap-the-Chap for example, a Saliva-Sucker, a Whip-the-Wimp and a Coconut-Cry, where Ladies throw coconuts at a man’s nuts. Testicles are very popular at the fair, always have been, always will be. So there’s a Kick-a-Dick as well, a Balls-in-a-Bucket, a Pluck-the-Cock and a Whack-the-Wanker. But the mother of all miseries is of course the Yodel-Ay-Ee-Ooo Striker, where Women hit a man’s scrotum with a classic mallet. When the testicles hit each other, they produce a distinctive high-pitched sound of castrates in the making. Absolutely hysterical! And a fair is not a fair without animals, of course. So there’s a Dogs-Obstacle-Course, a Human-Horse-Race, a Pig-on-the-Spit, a Slam-the-Snout and there’s even a replica of a Ducking Stool. That contraption has nothing to do with Donald Duck, or any other duck or animal for that matter, but it’s awesome to watch! There’s really something for everyone to enjoy: a Cripple-Nipple, a Choke-a-Bloke, a Slave-Shooting-Gallery (recreational guns of course) and did I already mention the Human-Cannonballs? Their screams, fading away into the distance; so hilarious!
So, if you want to have a g-r-r-r-r-eat time, come join us at the Femdom Fair!


It’s six o’clock in the morning and we servants gather in the hall. Lady Emma rarely gets out of bed before 09:30, but here we are, at this godforsaken hour, just in case an early-morning-miracle happens. We are all naked, because, as Lady Emma so elegantly puts it- pigs don’t wear pants. Well, you can’t argue with that, can you.
The head butler is waiting on top of the stairs, his eyes fixed on Her bedroom door. He has a very important job, because our fate res-
ALL RISE, he roars.
What!!! Holy shit, She’s up, She’s up! We grab our cocks and masturbate like wildebeest. We have approximately 45 seconds to pull it off and get it up. Lady Emma wants our dicks to be fully erect and hard as steel. Anything less is an insult, She says, a slap in the face. And that’s no good, because She’s the one who does all the slapping. So we need to plant a forest of trees in less than a minute. Each day, every day. That’s what I call stress on the work floor!
She comes down the stairs like an apparition from Heaven, wearing a white, satin robe.
Good morning slaves.
Good morning Lady Emma, we answer as one.
She doesn’t look us in the eye (no FaceTime yet) but inspects the erect. She stops, points at a miserable looking penis and shakes Her head.
What’s this? Mm? This will not do. Come to My room at 11:00 o’clock and I’ll teach you everything there is to know about Eunuchs. 
Hard times, man.


This cottage, Hänsel said, is made of chocolate and biscuits.
He broke off a bit of the roof and took an enormous bite. A horrifying cracking sound followed.
Well, that’s one way of losing your baby teeth, Gretel said.
The cottage door opened and a Witch came out. Man, She was a knockout! Hänsel’s dick rose to the occasion and was ready to launch itself in orbit around the moon.
We’re a bit lost, he quikly said, spitting molars in the process.
The Witch licked Her lips like a predator looking at her prey.
Come in, She said, with a serpentine smile, all will be hell …. oops, I am so sorry, I mean: well. All will be well, that’s the spirit! 
Hänsel took Gretel by the hand and they went in. There was a large cage in the room.
Yikes, what a scary cage, Gretel shivered, I bet no one dares to go in there. 
Hänsel laughed, pushed Her aside and stepped into the cage. Its door fell shut behind him.
What did I tell you, Gretel grinned, easy does it.
The Witch chuckled and gave Gretel 20 silver coins.
Just out curiosity, what are you going to do with him? Gretel asked.
Sell him, I think, the Witch answered, or eat him. Don’t know yet.
Hänsel fell down on his knees.
No, no, no!!!! Gretel, I beg You, please don’t do this. Help me!
She looked at the coins in Her hand and opened the cottage door.
Na, sorry, bro.


The first years of our marriage were sweet and exiting. But things changed over time. Don’t get me wrong, we still loved each other, but there was something missing. So we went to a marriage counsellor for a while, but that didn’t help much. Then one day, out of the blue so it seemed, we started talking about leaders and followers, control or to be controlled, Mistress and slave. We decided to give it a try. It was a revelation, it really was! As if the sun broke through the clouds! We eagerly embraced our new roles and what started as a playful experiment four years ago, quickly became a lifestyle. I can now do with him whatever I want, because he is so eager to please, so eager to obey. The more I punish & degrade him and the more demanding I am, the more he loves it.
So, is your marriage struggling and do the both of you think it’s time for a change? Slap your other half in half, grab him by the balls and squeeze the bejesus. Show him who’s boss. And if he’s not willing to submit, then he is not the right material and you should move on without him.
My hubby had become a shadow of the man he once was. Boots & Floggers have refreshed and revived him. He now worships Me like a Goddess. No, wait, let Me rephrase that! He worships Me like the Goddess I am.
Oh yes, I have changed as well.
Lady Jane 


She cranked the winch until I stood on tiptoe with arms raised over my head. I was as vulnerable as a house of cards during an earthquake. God, She looked so spectacular in Her satin boxing shorts! What a Lady! I admit I was a bit nervous, because I had never been punched before. But come on, how painful could it be, right? Going to the denti-
Suddenly, She hit me in the stomach. The blow wasn’t that hard, but harder than I had imagined. She grinned and hit me in my left side. Harder this time and I groaned.
Then She opened the floodgates and a thunderstorm of punches, knees, kicks and elbows rained down on me. Punches to my belly and arms; knees to the side of my body; kicks to my chest & legs and elbows to my ribs. And then, without warning, She slapped my cock straight down between my legs. And when my pride-and-joy returned from the dark side of the moon, She slapped him again. And again. And yet again. As if She was hitting the speed bag! I screamed and swung helplessly back and forth like a monstrous pendulum. Tick-Dick-Tick-Dick-Tick-Dick.
I know, I know, She said with an almost apologetic tone, I’m just an amateur. My sister, however, is trained in Kickboxing. She’s due to arrive and is dying to have a go at you. Isn’t tha- Ah, the doorbell! That will be Her. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.
Her laughter echoed through the hallway.


She left him for his best friend. Ouch! Then, without batting an eyelid, She came to the house to divide the things they owned. Really, was there no limit to Her wickedness! He opened his mouth to give Her piece of his mind, but his words never saw the light of the day. Because She took Her jacket off and he saw Her mouthwatering, dick-ticking, mind-boggling shiny blouse. Years ago he had told Her about his fetish for shiny clothes. She had not taken it very well, to say the least, and had given him the telephone number of a psychiatrist. And now this!!!
I want to split things up fairly between us, She said with Her non-negotiable voice, so 98% for Me, 2% for you. I get the assets, you get the debts. It’s that simple. I’m not the one with a tiny penis, Fred, so don’t give Me that look or I’ll run you over in the parking lot.
Her voice sounded far away and he couldn’t hear half of what She said. Please let my eyes feast a little longer, he thought, before She walks away for good. He couldn’t stop staring at Her dazzling blouse and he didn’t notice the growing stain in his pants. She did, of course. He was so easy to manipulate, She thought, and She almost felt sorry for him.
But She didn’t.


O, thee foolish and blindeth men
Thee disobedient and rebellious servants
Thee shall be damned to eternal flames of pain

The sky was completely dark and in front of me were six fiery pits, filled with hundreds of thousands of naked men, many of whom were weeping and gnashing their teeth.
Women are superior in everything, a Woman’s voice thundered. These wicked men refused to submit to our authority and disobeyed our commandments. They are brought to this place from which there is neither escape nor deliverance. Here they shall be tormented indefinitely. 
And lo and behold; thousands of them were slapped all day, everyday; others were constantly swept away in raging floods of saliva and urine. Some were smothered and choked for millions & billions of years and in the 4th pit Goddess Ḥeraht-Shā, wearing a black top hat, wielded hundreds and hundreds of whips at the same time and lashed out with full force. A perpetual thrashing that went on forever and ever and ever. In the 5th pit the men stood bent over and Goddess Ȧhet-Uluaā used an enormous red-hot dildo to fuck them up the ass forevermore. The sickening smell of burning flesh almost made me throw up. But the scenes in the last pit were truly the stuff of nightmares. That pit was under the charge of Goddess Ḥāpi-Ḳereḥet, who hacked, slashed and ripped off penises and threw them in the fire. Not once, but endlessly and for all eternity. The shrieks and cries coming from that pit will haunt me forever.
Fred Burns – No Rest For The Wicked.


He heard drawers being opened and closed in the bedroom and heard Her mumble and talk to Herself: “I could have sworn” and “how is this possible” and such things. She was probably searching for Her phone, an earring, Her wallet or whatever.
Everything alright, darling? He yelled.
You stay out of this, Harold!
He could hear a hint of impatience in Her voice. He giggled softly. She was always so calm, confident and in control, always so strict, demanding and powerful. But now She was running around the house like a headless chicken. Small potatoes perhaps, but in a world of slaps & kicks, it brightened up his day a bit.
She stomped down the stairs and went into the kitchen. She wasn’t just opening and closing drawers anymore; She jerked them open and slammed them shut. Her frustration was almost palpable. Mayday – Mayday! Female Vortex on the move. She entered the living room and he hid behind his newspaper and pretended to read.
Unbelievable, She grumbled, they have disappeared into thin air.
Are You looking for something, dear? The words tiptoed from behind the newspaper.
Keys? Oh dear. Car keys, darling?
The keys to your chastity cage, Harold, if you must know.
His head popped over the newspaper like a Jack-In-The-Box: WHAT ?!??!?


They have tortured you for three days. Three long days in which you did not get much sleep, in which you had to eat your meals off the floor and had to beg for a few sheets of toilet paper. They wanted you to confess that you were a member of an anti-Femdom gang and demanded the names of your accomplices. They yelled at you, slapped, kicked and whipped you. They pulled a bag over your head, attached electrodes to your testicles and pushed your head under water until you almost drowned. And now, as fast and unexpected as lightning on a cloudless day, now you’ve reached breaking point. You can’t take it anymore. But you don’t just break; you collapse like a house of cards. The words are flowing from your mouth, unstoppable, like a raging river. Because the more you talk, the sooner all this is over. That’s what you’re thinking, right?
But that’s not how it works, son. These Women are not going to stop because you have had enough. They delight in making you suffer. So your willingness to cooperate is not the end of your suffering, it’s merely the beginning. You haven’t seen anything yet and in the next couple of days you are going to confess to the most absurd accusations. Why? Because they want you behind bars, their bars, for as long as possible. Believe me, you’re here to stay for a long time.


I’m here on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Headmistress White said, and Headmistress Red is here on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You, Richards, are sent to the Headmistress’s office on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays to be disciplined, but never on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Can you give Me an explanation as to why that is?
The God’s smile favourably on You, Headmistress, he said with a deviant smile.
Watch your tongue, Richards! Do you like being punished? Is that it?
His smile faded a little and his face turned red.
I … don’t know, Headmistress.
Her words lashed out at him. That won’t do, Richards! You are one of the best students of this school, so stop wasting My time and answer the question.
Yes Headmistress, he whispered, I … I like being punished … … by You.
An awkward silence fell between them and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was scared, She could see that. Scared of the consequences of what he just said. Scared of what would happen next.
(He’s at My mercy now, She thought. I hold his future in My hands.)
Well, well, She said. How about that: a submissive young man.
He erupted. Please let me suffer for You. Please, Headmistress.
Don’t you worry about that, Richards! Clearly I did not punish you hard enough. So pull down your pants, bend over and say a prayer.


Some of these male creatures actually enjoy being punished. So a merciless bare bottom thrashing can either be a treat or a torture. Absolutely ridiculous and unacceptable. Sinners should be punished, not rewarded. So we looked to the past for inspiration and what we found was simple and effective: the stool of repentance. It’s a high, four-legged, backless chair that will topple over if you do not sit completely upright. It’s meant to publicly shame and humiliate any who refuses to submit to Female rule and authority. At Liverpool, on May 16th, a rebellious slave was sentenced as followed: that he should sit in sackcloth, barefooted and barelegged, at the marketplace, on the repentance stool, from sunrise to sunset, during six consecutive Fridays. The stool of repentance can also be used to subdue the lying and seditious tongues of slaves. In Newport, on December 29th, a slave was sentenced for being untruthful and conduct unbecoming. He was condemned to sitting upon the stool of repentance, in the coldest of winters, during eight consecutive market days. Male creatures are famed for their arrogance, ignorance, short-sightedness, stubbornness and stupidity, which means the stool of repentance will be a hot seat for decades to come.
July 2107, Lady Laura – Have A Seat


He had dinner in Sandra’s Sushi Bar and drinks in Bloody Mary’s Cocktail Bar. He drank one too many and went home singing “The Wild Rover”. Then he came across a place called The Armbar and decided to go in. An armbar, he learned, was an unique experience unlike anything he had ever tried before. And that for just $250 an hour!
That’s like giving it away for free, he sheered enthusiastically. Give me a double portion!
And so he met Barbara, a wonderful young Lady with deep blue eyes, blond hair and a killer smile. She told him to lay down on his back. You’re my kinda girl, he laughed and started singing again (“Happy Days Are Here Again”). She put one leg across his chest, the other across his face, grabbed his wrist and secured his arm between Her legs. She applied some pressure and he produced some screams. The Happy Days came crumbling down. He tried to fight himself out of Her grip, but he didn’t stand a chance.
Don’t fight it, She said, embrace it!
It hurts!!! he wailed, tapping out in a hurry. The pain was excruciating and he feared She would break his elbow.
The door opened and a second Lady entered the room.
Meet Barbarella, Barbara said, She will take care of your other arm.
No, no, no, he panicked, that’s not -ah-ah-ah!! OK! OK! If you insist!
It was an experience of a lifetime alright, but not something he would ever want to go through again. No, nay, never. No, nay, never, no more!


She grabbed him by the ear and dragged him out the front door to the corner of Flora & Fauna Street. It was midnight, but the heat was still hanging over the city. She tied his arms and legs and pointed at the garbage heap.
Lie down or I’ll push you.
He knew all too well that there was no point in begging or pleading. So he obeyed.
I told you to take the garbage out, She explained with a harsh tone in Her voice. Not once, but twice. You didn’t do it. Well, if you’re not willing to take the garbage out, then you’re out tonight with the garbage.
And off She went.
The stench of rotting trash was overwhelming and hundreds of thick black flies swarmed around his naked body. He felt utterly miserable and dirty, like a skunk with a guilt complex. At one point an old lady walked by with her dog. She asked what he was doing and he explained. Meanwhile, her dog took a pee all over him. Poodle Piss. It was a long and awful night.
Just before sunrise She untied him and took him to the garden. There She rinsed him thoroughly with the garden hose. Twice. Cold water of course.
Now, go the shower and clean yourself up, She said. Then you have just enough time to put the garbage out.


Sasha started working for us on a Monday morning and Her desk was opposite mine. She was beautiful in a mysterious way and there was definitely something dangerous lurking behind Her smile. Then we shook hands and I literally fell in love with Her in a matter of seconds. It felt like being pushed off a cliff, it really did. I think She knew, there and then, what a weakling I was and how easy it would be to make me dance to Her tune. She didn’t hesitate and within hours She had me on a short leash. She knew exactly what to say to push my buttons and it was impossible to refuse Her anything. If I tried She would pout and make me feel guilty. I worked late to finish Her work, lied for Her, bought Her clothes and paid Her rent. I even fumbled with Her assessments so She would get a raise.
Sometimes She humiliated me, be it in a playful way, in front of our colleagues. Asking me if I would do anything for Her. Telling them I was such an obedient boy.
She quit Her job within a year. I felt gutted, but luckily it didn’t mean the end of our friendship. At least that’s what I thought. But on Her last day of work She looked at me with cold eyes and said: Before you ask, I’m not interested in keeping in touch with you. You are boring. 
All this happened many years ago, but I still remember the smell of Her perfume, still hear the echoes of Her voice. In case you’re wondering if you ever met a Femme Fatale; trust me, you would know. Because you’ll never forget.


The Woman looked at him from top to bottom and shook Her head.
Oh dear, She said to his Wife, I see what you mean.
He frowned: do we know each other?
She slapped him hard across the face, making his brain shift like cargo in a ship. He was shocked and ready to say something rude, bu-
Meet Lady Anja, his Wife said. I’ve told Her we’ve been experimenting with D/s and such. She’s here to give us some advice.
He looked at the Woman with new eyes, rubbing his hand over his cheek: Well, what kind of bloody advice i-
She kicked him viciously hard in the groin, sending his balls through the ceiling and into the upstairs bedroom. He doubled up in pain.
Jesus Christ, Woman, he screamed in sheer agony, I’m not a real slave and my Wife is no-
Lady Anja grabbed him by the throat and stopped his words in their tracks.
This is more serious than I thought, She growled. Alice, dear, can you fetch the big, black bag from My car, please? It’s time to act. Also known as: it’s time to torture.
N-o-o-o-o, he panicked, all I want is to listen to some music!
Don’t you worry about that, She grinned, I give you a beautiful symphony of Hurt, Pain & Suffering. It’s an instant hit, trust Me.


All I ever wanted in life was a serious relationship with a lifestyle Mistress. I honestly thought it would be easy to find someone like that, I really did. Men had a reputation of being self-centred (especially in bed), being ill mannered and for cheating and lying all the time. I was and did none of that, I just wanted to serve and obey. It should have been easy. But it was not. Because for every genuine Mistress there were at least three hundred slaves. If not more. Still, I met, served and obeyed some of these wonderful Ladies. Not as a lover or a boyfriend, but as one of many slaves and admirers. Sure, I always hoped for more, but a the same time I got much more than I deserved. I’m grateful for everything and if I could do my life over again, I would do it exactly the same way. Because I was what I was and I couldn’t go without. Finding a real-deal Mistress is much harder nowadays, because the fundamental ideas, values and principles of Female Domination are melting faster than the glaciers. Femdom has become a soap, a weird comedy in which the slaves have more class, style and intelligence than the Women who are supposed to lead them. I know, you probably think that I’m a sorry old fool who thinks that everything was better in the past. Well, some things were, some things not. Femdom was. So save it, before it’s too late.
Frank V. (March 1934-August 2021)


It was Christmas morning and everything was covered in a thick white blanket of snow. The whole village was still fast asleep when the doorbell rang. Tom bolted upright in bed, startled and somewhat confused.
Jesus Christ, he murmered. It was Christmas after all.
He ran downstairs as fast as he could because the bell kept ringing. He flung the front door wide open … and there She was, his Mistress, dressed as Santa. Her sleigh was in front of the house and the naked sleigh slaves looked like frozen poles. North Poles, needless to say.
Mistress! What a surpr-
She pushed him aside like a rag doll.
M-e-e-e-e-e-e-rrrrrr-y Christmas, She thundered. She grabbed his hair and dragged him through the hall. Santa has brought you a very special present, My boy! She showed him a strap-on dildo in the shape of a Christmas tree. Flickering lights and all.
Shut your mouth and open your ass. NOW!
He moaned, dropped his pants and bend over.
Let’s bring the spirit of Christmas to you and your biggie bum! She bellowed.
She fucked him all over and forced him to sing “Jingle Bells”. All the way. She kept at it for twenty long minutes, pulled the thing out and left him for pegged on the floor.
Have a holly jolly Christmas, My lad, She howled, it’s time for Me to GO-HO-HO.


It’s a hot summer day and sunlight streams through the cracks in the barn wall. The barn is two stories high and covered in dust, mouse droppings, cobwebs and God knows what else. It’s not a place for kids to play, but we do it anyway. I have a creative imagination and always come up with the best games to play. Today it’s going to be Cops & Robbers. And, as always, I want to be on the losing side of things. So Sue is the cop, I am the villian.
You’re going to arrest me, I say, force me to the ground and sit on top of me as long as you can.
There’s a silence. And then …
You always want to lose!!!
The tone of Her voice knocks the air right out of me. Her words have uncovered a secret that should have remained in the shadows. I deny it passionately and run with my tail between my legs. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for hours. What if She tells Her mother … What if Her mother tells my mother … What if they put me in some sort of hospital …
I’m just eight years old and I don’t know why I want to lose. Don’t know why I want Her to humiliate me. I only know I do. I need to keep my submissive cards closer to my chest, that’s for sure. No one must suspect a thing. And with that last thought I sink into a dreamless sleep.
Five words. Five simple words that would change my life for decades to come.


I’m a strong supporter of equality between men and Women, She said soothingly. In education, society, at work, you name it, I support it.
What about equality in marriage, he growled.
It’s an illusion, dearest, and you know it. You say sell – I say buy; you say drive – I say fly; you say spend – I say save; do you know what I mean? We cannot resolve it by majority vote, so someone has to decide. And that someone is Me.
She paused and smiled.
You are like clay in My hands, sweetheart, and you know it. You are weak, I am strong; that’s the long and short of it. And I have the key to your chastity cage. Minor detail.
She giggled and seemed to revel in the beauty and perfection of it.
It’s My duty, She continued, to protect you from doing stupid things. Which is a full-time job, I might add. The chastity cage, the harsh rules and even harsher punishments are all there to keep you out of harms way. They are tokens of My affection.
It’s a brutal way of showing affection, he muttered.
Love hurts, handsome.
We are all born equal, he said with the stubbornness of a child.
Yes … but you’re a man, a fool, a halfwit, a moron, an idiot. You are inferior, I am superior. It’s just a fact of life. So yes, I’m all for equality, darling, as long as I’m in charge.


How long have You been a pig farmer? He asked, watching the pigs in the sty.
For a long time already, She smiled.
He nodded and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief.
Anyway, he said, over the last twelve months, several men have gone missing after last been seen in this area. Have you seen any of these men, by any chance, Madame? Tim Habberly (Oink! one of the pigs shouted), Adam Calypso (Oink! another one screamed), Harry Frontella (Oink!), Tim Lobster (Oink!), Freddy Chappel (Oink!), Augustus Ha
I could do with a cup of tea, She calmly said, do you care to join me, sir?
He looked a bit taken aback. Tea … yes … yes … thank You.
She threw some herbs into a cauldron and placed it on a fire.
We let this brew for a good few minutes and then you can tell Me all about the missing pi- men, the missing men.
He frowned and wondered. But it was simply too hot for sleuthing and he let it pass.
She poured the tea and handed him a cup.
This, She smiled, is a life changer.
I drink to that, Madame.
And so he did. Minutes later his body began to twitch and jerk violently. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. His body made cracking noises, his ears lengthened and his face became a snout. He turned into a pig.
Welcome to My herd, the Witch laughed, and put him in the pigsty with the others.
He understood everything She said, but he could not speak. All he could do was grunt and wiggle his tail.


He wasn’t thinking (easy), wasn’t talking (difficult), wasn’t paying attention (as usual). So it took a while before he realised that they were looking at him.
not exactly a carpenter, he heard his Mistress say, give him a box of nails and you have to explain the hammer.
They laughed.
Thanks for letting Me borrow him for two weeks, Lady Rain said with a wicked smile.
BORROW ?!? He was ready to shout, shout and let it all out, but managed to control himself. His eyes were screaming like a heavy metal band and his heart was about to get a ticket for speeding. Please, not Lady Rain! He was terrified of Her! She hated men, hated dicks and She absolutely hated men with dicks. His eyes sought refuge by his Mistress. Surely She would protect him!
You’re more than welcome, dear, She said, do with him as you wish. He’s all yours.
WHAT! He couldn’t believe his ears! This wa-
I’ll try not to damage him, Lady Rain grinned. Well, not too much, anyway.
He couldn’t file a complaint, organise a demonstration, or start a signature campaign. He was simply powerless to do anything about it. And so She took him home. And the cane Rained down on him like a flood of Biblical proportions. No mercy, no quarter, no surrender. She was everything he feared She would be. Only worse. Much worse.


Women loitering around in the area??
Yes sir, Detective Chief Inspector Kickz said. Armed and dangerous Women. They’ll knock on the door and talk their way into the house. A gas safety check, a visit from the Waste Education Team, a carbon monoxide emergency, you get the picture. Once inside, one of them pulls out a gun and holds the victim at gunpoint. The other one ties him up and gags him with a worn panty.
Wow, he said with a fast growing dick, that sounds aweso- … sorry, sorry, I mean awful.
Sir! This is not a laughing matter, Detective Sergeant Slep snapped.
I know, I know, I’m sor-
We would like to come inside for a minute, DCI Kickz said, pushing him aside.
Ho! He screamed. What are you doing? Come back here! 
He hurried into the living room and came face to face with the barrel of a gun.
You gotta be kidding me, he said flabbergasted.
“They will talk their way into the house”… DCI Kickz grinned.
Well, well, what do we have here …
DS Slep pointed at the desktop picture of a Woman sitting on a man’s face.
It’s my brother’s computer, he quickly said.
DCI Kickz laughed and pointed at the bulge in his pants: Is that your brother’s as well?
They zip-tied him, forced a panty into his mouth and robbed him blind. They took their time, left with the loot and came back for more. Thrice.
Throughout the ordeal his cock remained rock solid.


Good morning, slaves.
GOOD MORNING, MANAGING DIRECTOR, the men replied in unison.
Our company has ‘Rules & Regulations’ to ensure order and discipline on the work floor. And what does our FCH (Femdom Company Handbook) say about touching oneself and fiddling with one’s privates during work time?
WORK FIRST, PENIS LATER, they yelled as one man.
Correct. But there’s always someone who doesn’t understand … Isn’t that right, slave 228-P-12?
I’m s.sorry, Managing Director, a pale looking slave whispered.
Oh, you’re going to be sorry allright. We’ll give you something to remember for days to come. Each time you sit down. She smiled and turned towards Miss Winter (Manager Web & Whip) and Miss Summer (Assistant Manager Sales & Slaps). Strap him to the bench, Ladies.
He was stripped, strapped and ready to go.
Slave 228-P-12, the Managing Director said, you are sentenced to 150 strokes with the lash and 100 strokes with the cane. There will be no mercy and no stopping.
She looked at the faces before Her and a deadly silence fell on the men.
We don’t like repeat offenders, She slowly said. As a matter of fact: we despise them. If this piece of shit is caught again for the same offence, he will be …?
CASTRATED, the slaves cheered.
They all laughed. All but one.


When I was in my mid-teens we welcomed two new teachers to our school. The geography teacher was a very sweet guy. But he was young, inexperienced and had no idea how to keep order. Which lead to chaos and mayhem in the classroom. After two months or so he tried to tighten up on discipline, but that ship had sailed already. He didn’t stand a chance and after three months he threw the towel and left for good.
The new history teacher, however, turned out to be a tyrant. He scolded us over the silliest things and we were not allowed to talk or move without his permission. Man, we were all so scared of him. He loosened the reins a bit after a couple of months and he turned out to be a relaxed and funny guy. If history taught Me anything, it’s that My history teacher was right: it’s much easier to relax after a strict start then to tighten up after being over indulgent. This same general rule applies for training your husband, a newbie slave or anyone else with a dick. Be strict, demanding, impatient, unforgiving and hard to impress in the beginning stages. Show him who’s boss on a grand scale and inspire so much fear that he’s ready to shit himself. Don’t hold back; knock yourself out. Or him. After merciless comes mercy, not the other way around. Remember that.
Lady Vortex de Esméralda


Claudio Assholio is, as we all know, one of the most influential Fetish Sound Artists in history. His first album, called Knee Boots, was released on LP and cassette in 1981. The sound of approaching boots (side A), getting louder and louder, versus the sound of retreating boots (side B), fading into the distance, would be his hallmark for years to come. Red Boots was released in 1984, followed by White Boots in 1986. Same concept, different boots. But the breakthrough came with the release of the album Black Boots (on LP and CD) in 1993, which sold over 35 million copies worldwide. Then the boots were taken off (the single No Boots was released in the summer of 1994) and feet emerged. The CD Feet First was released in 1999, Cold Feet in 2000 and Tired Feet was released three years later. Silent Feet, Holy Feet came out in November 2008 and is still considered to be one of the greatest Christmas sounds albums of all time. Assholio’s first Face-Slapping album, called Slap Happy, marked the beginning of a new phase and a new sound with slaps on the left- (side A) and slaps on the right cheek (side B). Bitch-Slap followed in 2013 and sold over 28 million copies. His latest album will be released early next year and is all about kneeing men in the groin. The double album is called Wounded Knee. He may be an asshole, but he’s a fucking legend, man.


You wanted to meet, greet and obey an Asian Mistress, even if it was just once, even if it was only for one or two hours. It was, you said, what you’d been dreaming of for so long. Usually there’s a huge discrepancy between what men say, what they are and what they do, but you flew all the way to Asia to meet Me. So eager and I hadn’t even trained you yet! Your eyes almost drowned in submission and you obeyed willingly, passionately and zealously. But I’m more dangerous than quicksand; did no one ever tell you that? I’m seductive and irresistible, mesmerizing and intoxicating, immoral and destructive. You can not simply hire Me for one or tho hours and then toss Me aside like a piece of garbage! Who do you think you are? Or better said: what do you think I am? So … I’m going to train you vigorously, mercilessly and relentlessly. You will breathe only for Me and you’ll rather die than disobey Me. Don’t worry, I’m highly experienced and utterly ruthless. I could make a T-Rex eat from my hand like a kitten, so you are no challenge for Me. I honestly don’t care where you live, what you do and what you’re material status is; you’re Mine and from now on I will be in your dreams, thoughts, fantasies and nightmares. Twenty-four seven.


It was a Sunday afternoon and I was on my way to the local cinema to watch a Female Vampire movie. Erection guaranteed! I took a short cut through the woods and reached the pedestrian bridge half an hour later. Three Girls were standing right in front of the bridge, blocking the path.
I’m going to the cinema, I said, hoping that would open the gates of Sesame.
This is a tollbooth, one of them said, you’ll need to pay in order to pass.
Nuh-uh, I said firmly. I have just enough money to buy a ticket.
Do the math, kid. There are three of us and you are alone. We could strip you and send you home naked … or tie you to a tree and leave you there for the night. Is that what you want?
In hindsight it sounded fan-tas-tic, but I was still a bit young for that, so I shook my head.
Alright then, give me the money.
I protested vigorously as they closed upon me. They were older, faster, stronger, so what could I do? Tears welled up in my eyes as I gave in and handed over the money.
Here, She said, I give you 50 cents to buy an ice scream.
She stepped aside so I could pass.
It’s not fair, I sobbed.
Hey kiddo.
I turned around.
You will remember this for the rest of your life. Trust Me, that’s worth more than a cinema ticket.
Turned out She was right.


I have never removed a copyright watermark from a picture in my life. And I sure as hell never added the name of my blog to an image that was not mine to begin with. Because, let’s be clear: I didn’t hire the photographer, I didn’t pay the make-up artist, I didn’t hire the models or anyone else who was involved. I didn’t sort through the photos and decide which ones to keep, I didn’t watermark them, didn’t upload them … I didn’t do all that, so removing the watermark from a picture and claiming it to be mine is just despicable. I mean, Jesus Christ, it takes one hell of a stinking gutter to produce assholes like that.
She stared at him open-mouthed.
Well, well, She slowly said. A bit rough around the edges but a fine specimen indeed.
I apologise Mistress, he giggled, I got carried away.
It’s fine, don’t worry about it. So … slave! I’m going to entrust you with a special task. From now on, you will add the watermark of My website to all My pictures. I’m sure there are tools that can add a watermark to multiple images at once. But I forbid you to use them! Above all, it has to be a labour of love. You’re going to do it one at the time, so that you can relish in My power over you.
You see, it was not about doing it the easy way. It was about doing it the honest way.


Nostradamus stared into water for hours on end and saw the future. Bit weird, but there you go. Now, I for one am very interested if and when I’m going to be bossed around again. So I took a bowl of water and tried it myself. It didn’t work. If anything the water made me want to pee. So I turned to the next best thing and stared at my dick for six hours straight. Man, what an apparatus; what a friend to have on a cold and lonely night! That said, my ding-a-ling turned out to be a lousy glass ball, because it held no prophecies concerning kicks, slaps, spits, whips, canes, cages or what not. I turned to reading tealeaves instead. Put the tealeaves in a cup, poured some hot water, swirled it three times while singing “Tea for Two” and studied the contents intensely. Nothing. To me the leaves looked like squashed ants and clearly there is no future in that. Next I consulted a fortune teller. Cost me a small fortune but he couldn’t tell me anything exciting about my future. Then I drove nine hours straight and read the palm of my hand underneath a palm tree. You know, hoping it would bring good luck. It didn’t. All I saw was a lot of sweat and a small splinter. It was all very disappointing. So! Not at the mercy of a Lady anytime soon, but at the mercy of time once again.


The Halloween theme was “Deadly Femmepires” and the party took place in an abandoned underground military facility. Jim decided to go as vampire hunter Van Helsing, complete with hat, boots and duster coat. The party was really nice; spooky atmosphere, great music, lovely people, lively dance floor. At one point a Lady came up to him, leaned over and sniffed.
Mmmm, She whispered approvingly, blood type AB … My favorite.
You guessed it right, he grinned. Awesome fangs by the way, couldn’t tell that they were fake.
She hissed and walked away.
The music abruptly stopped at midnight. One of the Ladies jumped on the man standing next to Jim and forced him to the floor. What a great performance, Jim thought, and started to applaud. Then a Woman flew at the throat of the guy standing right in front of him. His body twitched and shook and blood splattered everywhere. Men went down like flies and suddenly reality sank in.
Jim screamed and ran in fear. The bunker was enormous and he ran through a maze of corridors, down narrow staircases, through rooms, halls and offices until he reached a dead-end. The lights in the corridor were dim and flickering. He was panting, his heart was racing and he was sweating profusely. God, what a nightmare. He turned around and there She was, the AB-Blood-Type-Bitch, standing right behind him.
Where are you going? She smiled. The party has just begun.
Please, he begged, I wanna go home.
One more drink, She said, licking Her fangs. You have My word.


I met Shirley Holmes (Sherlock’s younger sister) in the spring of 1891 at the Eccentric Club in Soho, London. She had long dark hair, a gorgeous face and an amazing smile. I bowed and kissed Her hand while Her blue green eyes took a walk all over me.
That you are gullible, ignorant and not particular intelligent is of course obvious, She said.
I beg your par-
She slapped me twice. Not hard, but twice.
Do NOT interrupt Me! She paused a moment. Now then. You were born in a shed with two cows, one of which was lame …  you broke your arm when you were five years old … mother a seamstress, father an accountant. You like kippers, not sprats. Beans, not carrots. Sherry, not port.
I stood there with my mouth open wide, because She was bang-bang-bang-bang on.
How on eart-
She punched me hard on the mouth. My head was spining, my teeth falling. But before I could say anything She grabbed my hand, turned it over and stared at the palm.
Ah! The calloused hand shows signs of lifelong manual labor. Masturbation, I presume. You are the possessor of a fine dick, which I should describe roughly as being larger than a matchstick and smaller than a flagpole.
How dare Y-
She kicked me in the shins and I howled.
Take him to My dungeon in Baker Street, She said to a big man standing in the corner. There’s something fishy about him. Mackerel perhaps. Cod maybe.
I was never to be heard from again.


What is it with you and your obsession with boots? My colleague Sakia laughed.
Your boots, I added.
Charmer, She mocked. So, tell Me then, what’s the deal?
Well … You look absolutely stunning in boots, Saskia, You really do. And the sound! God … the sound of Your boots on the floor is the most beautiful music ever written. Mozart, Beethoven and Bach are just scribblers compared to that magnificent sound. It’s a heavenly duet, a stunning serenade, a thrilling symphony.
Is it now … She slowly said. Be that as it may, John, but from now you will pay a € 20 fine each time I catch you staring at My boots.
Saskia! That’s stupid!
Nope. It’s fair.
I said things like “absurd”, “not in your wildest dreams” and “never”, but yielded in the end. Needless to say.
Thank God She a) worked only three days a week b) worked on a different floor c) didn’t wear boots all the time. It saved me from bankruptcy, because I couldn’t stop staring.
After a while She lost interest and it slowly petered out. Years later I convinced myself it was just a bit of harmless fun. But was it really? I paid every fine, and I was fined a lot. Never argued, never hesitated, never refused. And She took it, She took it all, and never gave it back. Not one euro cent. Thank God for that! Because- between you and me- I found it all extremely exciting.


The six of us stood there, naked to the dick, waiting for our name to be called. Five veterans and one nervous breakdown. Yeap, that was me alright. I was still such a novice and I had no idea what to expect. Then my name tumbled down the stairs and my heart skipped a beat. I trembled myself up the stairs and kneeled down in front of a whole bunch of Mistresses. Man, it was so intimidating and I desperately tried to hide behind my dick. They asked me about my limits and what my experience level was.
No limits and no experience whatsoever, I answered with a slight tremor in my voice.
They laughed with an appetite and before I knew what was happening, I got swept away in a flood of contracting orders.
Come here, novice, one of them ordered, and kiss My feet.
Where the hell are you going, a second Mistress said, come here so I can have a good look at you.
On your back slave, a third one barked, I’m going to sit on your face.
They played me like the cheapest banjo in the business. Getting angrier with every minute that passed, because in my eagerness to please, I disobeyed them all.
This is certainly not a good start, an Asian Mistress said with a wicked smile, and you’re going to pay dearly for this.
My longest night was about to begin.


My name is Flint and I’m the founder of the Sydney Self-Flagellation Society. Because, you know, the Internet is choc-a-bloc with brats nowadays. Girls in their twenties who talk, act and think like five year olds: it’s bonkers and definitely not my cup of pee (aka tea). So yeah, it’s hard to find a decent Mistress nowadays, mate. And we have needs too, you know. I personally don’t give a toss about cuddles, comforting arms or listening ears. I do, however, love a fine whipping from time to time. Which is easier said than done without a skilled Mistress to do the honours. So I came up with the idea of self-flagellation. It’s cheap, you don’t have to wait in line and you’re not dependent on others to make you happy. Makes your dick tick like a rocket on a launchpad, doesn’t it, fella? Sure thing! Now, our Self-Flagellation season runs from April to October, when the members (more than 200) meet each Friday evening here in the main hall. We offer talks, demonstrations, games and what not. The highlight of the evening is, of course, when everyone whips himself into a frenzy. I know, without Women it’s all a bit higgledy-piggledy perhaps, but it’s better than nothing, right? So join us if you live in the area, mate. You’re more than welcome!


More often than not, submissive men are stuck in their old habits, despite trying to be a good slave. They call Me for help, because I’m a Problem Solver, also known as The Mad Motivator from Manchester. I don’t care if they’re inexperienced, selfish, ignorant or stupid: you name it, I cane it. No, I do not negotiate with creatures who think (occasionally) and talk (continuously). To Me a male slave is just a big lump of meat and the road to true obedience starts with a bruised ass. I will discipline and punish regardless if they like it or not. Push them to their limits and beyond. That’s when the moaning, groaning and begging starts. It’s such a wonderful feeling to turn a big, strong man into a sobbing little bitch. Sometimes tears, genuine tears, run down their face. I’m not aiming for it, but I love it when it happens. The creature is now willing to do whatever I demand him to do. God, that’s such a thrill. Tears are wonderful, but they do not signal the end of the session though. He’s on the path to redemption, the painful path of becoming a better slave and it’s My job to beat him in the right direction. His training, ordeal, punishment, living hell or whatever you want to call it, stops when I want it to stop.
Madame More.


Listen! You’re a barren and exposed landscape; a lowlife piece of tundra without a defence line. She can squash you like a bug, no question about it. Fighting Her is like battling the storm of the century with an umbrella. But! But you have a trump card up your sleeve, my friend, only to be used in desperate situations. Yes, I’m talking about begging. Use it wisely though and don’t overdue it. Don’t go begging for whips and canes, for feet and bums, for slaps and kicks, for skirts and boots. It’s not a bloody mantra, you know! If you beg all the time and for everything, it loses its meaning and your pleas for mercy are just as silly as peeing against the wind. Begging is an art, waiting for that rare moment to shine. It’s a small bottle filled with a magic potion. And no refill! Do you know what I’m saying? So you have to choose your moments very carefully, because once the potion is gone, it’s gone. Begging, and I mean truly begging for mercy, is one of the most wonderful and unforgettable moments in a slave’s life. Suddenly it’s no longer a game, no longer a choreographed dance between your limits and Her wishes. No sir! You have now come face to face with the raw and real power She has over you. Beggars believe, doesn’t it?


The duel between Bill “Coconuts” Branson, undoubtedly the most notorious outlaw of his time, and Tilly the Tit (a niece of Billy the Kid), was witnessed by hundreds of spectators. It was noon, the sun was hot, the sand dry and the salon empty. Tilly shot the gun out of Bill’s hand and then, without blinking an eye, shot his hat from his head. Bill was not happy (he seldom was, to be honest) and came charging at Her like an angry bull. She could have shot him point-blank, but didn’t. Instead She lashed out and punched him hard on the nose, jammed Her fingers into his eyes and kicked him hard between the legs (aka: from coconuts to peanuts). Bill went down like a sack of potatoes and Tilly grabbed Her lasso and reduced him to an oversized roulade.
From now on, I’m the Boss down here, Tilly said to the crowd. If you have a problem with that, then leave. I’ll give you a one day’s head start. If I catch you, and I will, I will cut off your balls and feed them to the pigs. If you’re a woman, I’ll sell you to a whorehouse. You have My word.
She looked down on Bill, who was still in real pain.
And you, She smiled, I’m going to keep you as My pet.
Legend has it that Tilly hasn’t aged a day and still runs the town with an iron fist.


I wasn’t focused on one particular Mistress, to be honest. Because the best facesitting Lady is not by definition the best disciplinarian. And the best ballbusting Princess is perhaps not the best humiliator. Do you know what I mean? I wanted to meet them all! So I dove in on the deep end and booked a session with a professional Mistress. It was spec-tac-u-lar and a wet dream come true. What a way to start a submissive journey! I was rea-
I want you to come to My house this Saturday at 10am sharp, She said. I need someone to clean the place and that someone is you.
Like being run over by a lawnmower, do you get my drift? My shoes and I stared at Her open mouthed, my tiny little brain all over the place, my heart pumping like a maniac. She was kidding, right? She knew nothing of me! On the other hand: She hadn’t asked me, She had ordered me. And that was a big difference for a guy li-
Have I misjudged you? She asked with a tone of disbelief.
No, Mistress, of course not, I hastily said, I’m just lost for words! I would be thrilled and honoured, thank You so much!
So, there you have it: I went in a one timer, came out a life timer.
July 2003, slave michael, Northampton, UK


There are several rules of thumb when it comes to clothespins. For example: the thinner the skin, the more unpleasant. Or: the closer together, the more agony. And the most important one: taking them off, hurts more than putting them on. With that in mind, let the fun begin. Now, use enough clothespins to start a laundry business. Put them on his arms, legs, chest, back, nipples, scrotum, ears, nose, tongue and wherever there’s space left. The more, the merrier, that’s the spirit. Let the pins simmer for a while and stir them from time to time. He’ll love that. Or not. Sure, you can remove them one after the other … but ask yourself this: do you break up a jigsaw puzzle piece by piece? Do you know what I mean? Just grab a riding crop and flick them off! It’s much more fun and if you miss ONE, you hit HIM! So cool! Or, and now we’re getting somewhere, attach the clothespins to a thin piece of rope. Removing them is now the easiest thing in the world! Just grab the rope and yank them all off at once! Trust me, he’ll love it. Or not. And, as a final touch, rubbing, squeezing and pinching the tortured skin only adds more joy to the agony.
And that concludes today’s lesson. Next week: how to iron a laundry slave.


The Ladies spoke Czech with each other, so I didn’t understand a word of what they were saying. That didn’t mean I had a day off, or something luxurious like that. Don’t listen but always pay attention, they used to say, slapping me across the face to drive the point home. Anyway, all went well in the beginning. There was a lot of laughter and I, well I was all dick & no brains. Then one of the Ladies looked at me, frowned, grabbed my left ear and turned it like an organ grinder turning the crank and making music. And in this case, I was making the music.
A-h-a-a-a-h, Mistress! My e-a-a-a-r!!!
Are you deaf? She shouted.
I probably would be after this, but I couldn’t say that, could I? Then the other Lady joined the fun and grabbed my right ear. They pulled my ears from left to right and up and down.
Have you not been listening?
Forg-i-i-ve me, Mistress … I didn’t underst-a-a-a-a-a-nd!!
He didn’t understand … the bloody nerve … well, I hope you know what a tug of war is!
They went full throttle and were seriously trying to pull my ears off. I screamed hard and they pulled harder. I do not know who won this brutal tug of ears, I only know who lost. I learned my lesson though; since then I am all ears.


Sending a slave to school to be educated, is like trying to teach an orangutan to sing an aria, or a cactus to run the marathon. Male creatures are below zero, empty vessels frozen in ignorance. The love of their life is their own penis, do I need to say more? Besides, there’s always a risk- however small- that one or two of them will develop a primitive brain of some sorts. They would learn to despise their lot in life, leading to revolutionary sentiments, or, God forbid, resistance, uproar and revolt against the superiority of Women. So no, slaves are not meant to think for themselves, they’re meant to work, obey, serve and suffer. If anything, we should drill them even harder to achieve the highest levels of obedience, efficiency and willingness. A slave doesn’t care if the Nile is wet, that the gestation period of an elephant is 22 months or that the average height for a man in the Netherlands is 186 cm (6’1 ft). He doesn’t care. He’s a simpleton, a mop with a dick, a talking scrotum. A primitive, with primitive needs and wants. He wants to chew and gnaw on boots, wants to be slapped around and wants to swallow spit and piss by the gallon. Let’s keep him simple, for everyone’s sake.
August 2167, Brisbane, Australia – Women’s Convention


I was shocked when he told me about his submissive feelings. I thought I knew him through and through and then, in the blink of an eye, my whole life was in turmoil. I felt betrayed, does that make sense? But after many talks (and a lot of wine) I agreed to play the role of Mistress on five consecutive Saturdays. The first three were a complete disaster, because I honestly didn’t know what to say, let alone what to do. And his whole demeanour changed, I hated that! He was no longer the man I fell in love with, but someone I’d never seen before! We had agreed not to talk about it during the week: no suggestions, no requests, no advice. Thank God for that, because I was well aware I sucked at this.
And then the anger came. All this nonsense about obedience and doing everything for me! Yeah sure! So on the fourth Saturday I ordered him to clean the bathroom. Once finished, I inspected the work and told him I was not satisfied. I ordered him to do it again. To my astonishment he did; the walls, floor, tiles and shower, as if nothing had happened. So I inspected his work again and sneered: “Do you call this cleaning? Do it again and do it properly this time.” And so he did, without a word of complaint. Christ, he even thanked me for it! And then, surely but slowly, it dawned on me: I didn’t need to worry about his suggestions, his ideas and whether or not he liked it. Who the hell was he in the scheme of things? That’s how it all started.
Mistress Selene


I can clearly remember the sunlight filtering through the leaves and the smell of freshly cut grass. But I can also remember a feeling of fear and panic, because Karin scissored me with Her legs. This was not the first time, certainly not, but it was by far the worst time. Because She was livid and squeezed the bejesus out of me. The pain was excruciating and something popped in my neck, I’m sure of that. I screamed like a pig.
Don’t move and shut your mouth, She growled.
I obeyed immediately and She loosened up a bit. She was waiting for Lisa, who was chasing after Robin. I honestly can’t remember what we’d done wrong, but it must have been something pretty awful. We waited for about ten minutes for Lisa to return.
Sorry Karin, he got away, Lisa said. She grinned and looked down on me: I see you had more luck.
She kicked me against my back.
Karin is stronger than me, I screamed in panic.
That made them double up with laughter. But Karin’s anger wasn’t over yet. She tightened Her grip a bit, terrifying me almost into a fit.
Did I tell you to speak?
N-o-o-o-o-o, I yelped.
It’s just a small patch of grass underneath a tree. But to me it’s much more than that. Because in spite of the humiliation- or should I say: because of the humiliation- every inch of it is engraved in my memory.


An incoming text message woke him up from a deep sleep.
Come to My house AT ONCE!! Come by bicycle!!!!!
He frowned. Why on earth did he have to use his bike?? Then he heard the rain pattering against the window and the penny dropped. Wicked, wicked Lady! Her message sounded urgent, so he jumped out of bed like an acrobatic flea, grabbed his clothes, his rain suit and a towel (She hated dripping slaves, man, She really did).
It wasn’t raining, it was bucketing down. The night was stormy as well and he had to be careful not to be blown over. By the time he got to Her house, he was panting like a marathon runner with hemorrhoids. He went to the shed, took off his rain gear, dried his hair, face and hands with the towel and knocked on the backdoor.
You took your time, She thundered with a lot of headwind.
I’m so sorry, Mi-
Yeah, yeah, I heard it all before. Get your lazy ass inside, get the dustpan & brush and sweep that up. She pointed at the few grains of sugar on the kitchen floor. He didn’t frown (wise), didn’t raise his eyebrows (wise too) and didn’t ask (wise again); he grabbed the dustpan & brush and swept the floor. It took him less than twenty seconds.
Good! Now, get out and go home. I’m tired and I want to go to bed. Move it!


She flew all the way from Prague to do a movie in my hometown. She wanted me to accompany Her as Her toy, private secretary, slap-around, onlooker, devotee, pet and moron. Yeah baby, I’m a Jack of all trades! The movie was about one Mistress and no less than seven slaves. I suggested the title Frostbite and the seven Dwarfs, but if looks could kill, I would have died on the spot. Anyways, She introduced Herself to the slaves, who stood side-by-side, naked to the dick. Right on that moment someone walked in and asked Her something.
I’ll be right back, She said to the talking dicks, left the dungeon and forgot all about the little fellows (small potatoes, you know). She returned one and a half hour later with make-up on, hair done and dressed in a gorgeous leather outfit. The dwarfs hadn’t moved an inch.
Oh my God, are you still here? She laughed in surprise and delight.
Then She took the reigns and dominated these guys with ease, precision, confidence and professionalism. She was a puppet Mistress who pulled all the strings; a conductor who conducted a symphony orchestra to create a masterpiece. I was truly in awe and mighty waves of submission rolled over me. So there you have it: it doesn’t matter if it’s one or one hundred slaves, a skilled Mistress is always in charge.


Come here slave.
He looked up from his dick and crawled to Her.
You’re really in love with your penis, aren’t you? She shook Her head in disbelief. Well, let’s see if we can take that admiration to the next level.
He felt a glow of happiness spread all over his face. Was She really going to take a picture of his monumental cock, print it, frame it and hang it on Her bedroom wall? Had that day finally come?
She unlocked his chastity cage, ordered him to masturbate like a rabbit and cum in a plastic cup. He almost teared up from happiness, because it wasn’t even the end of the year yet! He was a man, not blessed with an abundance of brain cells and completely oblivious of what was coming. He embraced his dick as if it were a long lost friend and filled the cup in no time.
Such a good boy, She smiled. Now, drink it.
He looked shocked and stared at the thick, white, jelly-like substance in his cup.
C.can I have a diet coke instead, Mistress?
Shall I put your dick in the toaster, slave?
Man, She can be so persuasive!
He shivered, swallowed it down and gagged several times.
Thank you Mistress, that was a real treat.
Glad you liked it slave, She smiled, we’ll do it again tomorrow.


The Lady examined his skin as if it were a papyrus scroll.
She shook Her head: the skin lays over your body like a depleted field. A barren landscape of dust and dirt, that’s what it is. It’s dry, it’s dull and missing its glow. And … wait, wait … hold on … oh no, there’s no skin circulation anymore!!
Jesus Christ, he panicked, no circulation??
Sir, we have to act quickly, before things get out of hand. Lay face down on the table and spread your arms. That’s it, lovely. I need to strap your arms and head, because desperate times call for desperate measures. Normally I would use a body brush or scrubbe-
Stop blathering, Woman, he screamed, DO something.
A cold front moved into Her eyes and She lashed out with Her nails. She dug Her nails deep into his skin and dragged them down. Sometimes agonizing slowly, sometimes with lightning speed. He screamed, wriggled and fought in agony. But She was just getting warmed up and went full throttle on his back, arms and legs. Then She unstrapped him and had him turn over.
Save me, he cried. Save my epidermis!
She nodded, climbed up the table and sat on his chest.
This is going to hurt a bit, She said. She pierced Her sharp nails into his face and scratched the skin of his cheeks. Blood trickled down from the deep cuts. He howled in pain.
Don’t you worry, She said, your skin will be soft, smooth and healthy again in no time.


Are you a bit of a gambling man? She asked.
That was weird, he’d just told Her about his mortgage, the alimony and his gambling debts.
As I ju-
I bet you are. Well, I believe in luck, in destiny, in numbers. So I will think of a number between one and ten. Guess it right and glory, glory hallelujah.
He had no idea what She was talking about: Three?
THREE?? Why on earth would it be three??  She shook Her head. Absurd! Try again!
He looked bewildered and confused: F.five?
She doubled up with laughter. Five! Hilarious. If you had guessed it right, then I would have paid all your debts. But now … well, now you leave Me with no other choice then to fire you.
WHAT!! He ejected from his chair like a human cannonball. WHY? You can’t do this to me, Angela! Without an income I will be destitute within weeks.
Man, don’t be so overdramatic. Alright, Jesus!, you can keep your job. On one condition.
He was overjoyed: Thank You so much! And yes, of course, name it!
From now on you will be My slave.
W.what?? His smile crumbled and fell.
You heard Me!
I … I … don’t understand … w.what does that mea-
Alright John, goodbye! Have a good life.
Stop! Stop! OK … I will … you know … do it.
Do what exactly, John? Shout it as loud as you can! NOW!!!!
She smiled. That’s right. Your number is up.


A Woman sitting on a man’s shoulders … that’s just a bit of harmless fun, right? That’s what I thought, anyway. That changed on a sunny day at the local park, when Patricia sat down on my shoulders. She locked Her feet behind my back and squeezed Her legs together.
What are you waiting for! Move!
I giggled and before long I was sweating like a melting glacier.
Come on, She groaned, slapping me across the head, FASTER!
She grabbed my hair and pulled.
Horses don’t talk! So shut up and move!
She tightened Her grip on my head and I walked the bejesus.
Stop, stop!
I obeyed immediatlely, panting to breathe.
Do you want Me to replace you? Is that it? I’m pretty sure there are plenty of guys who would love to take your place. Is that what you want?
No, Patricia, I panicked.
She slapped me on the back of my head.
What did I say about talking horses? Mm?
I opened my mouth, but wisely closed it again.
Better! Now, prove yourself worthy to Me.
And off we went. Left, right, uphill, downhill and always faster, faster, faster. She slapped me, pulled my hair and almost killed me with Her strong legs. I was sure I would faint from exhaustion, but somehow I survived the ordeal. She was not my Mistress, nor would She ever be, but She gave me one hell of a ride that day!


I did (and still do) lots and lots of family research to find out more about my ancestors. Some were successful and quite wealthy, others ended up in the workhouse. Some lived a long life, many others died young. Some were sentenced to jail (for petty theft mostly), one was flogged and died in prison and one of my ancestors was hanged for murder in February 1803. Some received the Yad Vashem title of “Righteous Among the Nations” for helping Jewish families during WW2, several family members died in Nazi concentration camps, while someone else in the family was sentenced to jail by a war tribunal for collaborating with the Nazis. One brother joined Napoleon’s Grand Armée and died during Napoleon’s catastrophic invasion of Russia; while the other brother fought against Napoleon at Waterloo. Many of them were born, got married and died in the same village, others crossed the Atlantic Ocean and found a new home in America. A view of my ancestors became locally famous, others nationally, and at least one of them became world famous: Mata Hari. It’s such an honour to be related to Her, it really is. I often wonder, as I go through the stories of my ancestors, if somewhere, somehow, Female Domination played a (tiny) role in their life as well. Because who knows, maybe I’m not the first to embrace the superiority of Women. Maybe it’s all in the family.


Can you believe it? Jessy, my youngest, turned eighteen last week. Man, time goes so fast! So I wanted to get her something special to commemorate this milestone. I thought about an Orbit-Around-The-Earth-Experience in a spacecraft or an Around-The-World-In-Eighty-Ways travel voucher. But in the end I settled for something she will enjoy for years to come. If not the rest of her life! You probably guessed it already: I decided to give Her a slave. A friend of mine was willing to sell one of Hers, but you know, there’s always a risk of wear and tear and who knows what bad habits he may have picked up! Second hand is second hand, no matter what. And sure, yes, of course you can teach an old slave new tricks, but it’s such a strain on the whipping arm. The lass is a bit too young for that, I think. So I got one directly from the Breeding Facility. He’s a 25-year old blank slate, you might say, healthy, vaccinated, very active and playful and eager to learn. Jessy has decided to call him James, which has a nice old-fashioned ring to it, I think.
She’s very chuffed with him and immediately started with his training. She might be young, but she’s very strict, very ruthless and extremely demanding.
Like mother, like daughter.
Lady Alice, July 2099


On the road betwixt Sherbourne and Shaftesbury the coach was held up by a masked rider. Sir Duncan, special advisor to the King, stuck his head out of the coach-window.
Why are we stopping? Thee there on the horse, who are thou!
I am thy worst nightmare, a Woman’s voice said, step out of the coach, all of thee.
Four flabbergasted men stepped out with their hands up.
I’m all dick, Sir Duncan murmured. Sorry, sorry, I mean ears. I’m all ears.
Out with thy purses, She demanded.
And if we refuse, the tall man asked.
The Lady pointed the blunderbuss at him: Then thee shall kicketh the bucket the present day.
They immediately dropped their purses.
Thee has stolen so much more than my purse, Sir Duncan blushed.
She smiled, but ignored him.
Drop thy pants, all of thee. Now!
Not in a million years, the bald man screamed.
The blunderbuss roared into life and a bullet ploughed through his hair.
Woman, the fat man lamented, has’t thee nay mercy?
I have no more of that dull commodity than thee has’t, She growled.
She threw their trousers in the bushes, tied Her victims back to back on the stagecoach horses and drove them into the next town, where many people gathered and cheered. The Lady let Her horse prance and drove off into the night.



I was somewhat strapped for cash that season. And then I met a guy called Bill who said he was willing to pay for My pee. I thought he was kidding, but sure enough, he showed up with the cash and paid me $25 for a filled urine container. That’s how it all started. I created a website called Peeper-The-Pee and started peeing on an industrial scale. I didn’t take long before I was peeing all over the country. And beyond. The key to My success is My integrity, My honesty and thousands upon thousands of liters of water. No sir, I don’t sell the urine of My partner, My brother, My aunt, My dogs or whatnot; what I pee, is what you get. And I know; a lot of Women are cutting corners with this and laugh at Me for being so honest. Well, all I can say to them is: piss off and let Me pee in peace (aka pees).
Being a professional pee-er is not as simple as you may think. I drink huge quantities of water and I constantly need to pee. Which makes driving a car, shopping or a walk along the boulevard perilous undertakings. And I don’t go about with a bag filled with urine-containers, thank you very much. Yesterday I went for a drink with My mother. And sure enough, I had to pee. I flushed the toilet, shook My head and sighed: I’m literally flushing money down the toilet.


A picture is worth a thousand words, they say, and I wholeheartedly agree with that. Because a picture allows us to dream, imagine and wonder what happens next. Look at the top picture of this post, for example. That’s not just a Schoolgirl-pin POV snapshot, my friend, that’s a triumph, a masterpiece! My dick and I can stare at that picture for hours on end, without a minute’s pause, no kidding. Make a poster of it, sell it, worship it, lovely!
The lovely Mistress Katja, sitting on top of you, pinning you down to the ground. Her golden hair, hanging down Her breast, Her sexy, shiny lips and Her eyes, Her beautiful eyes, looking down on you with disdain. She can enslave you for life with that powerful gaze. Her strong legs in jeans, pressing down on your chest and arms. One more stupid word from you and She will push Her exquisite bottom onto your face and hold it there till you pass out. So you better lay still and don’t say a fucking word, asshole.
You see? All that from one, single picture, a split second of Power & Beauty, one unforgettable moment of Female Superiority.


I was on my knees in front of Her, my eyes down to the floor. I had been around a time or two, but this mature, amateur Lady made me shiver in fear and admiration. Everything about Her was powerful; Her piercing eyes, Her personality and the tone of Her voice left no doubt that She expected to be obeyed. And She didn’t need a whip for that.
Her black, shiny boots came into view in front of me. My heart was racing and my mouth was dry. Then She put Her finger under my chin and forced me to look at Her.
It was nothing really, just a slight movement of Her hand, a mere trickle in the scheme of things, a painless touch in the world of Dominance and submission. But to me it was just breathtaking and I was in awe of the beauty of the moment. Huge waves of submission swept over me, dragging me under. All it took was an index finger and the tiniest bit of pressure to reach the Glory of Female Power and the Heavens of slavery.
What are you, She asked with a commanding tone of voice.
I’m Your slave, Mistress, I whispered, spiralling down in the vortex of Her eyes.
That’s right, She said.


You don’t remember us bringing you to this cabin last night? I’m not really surprised, you had way too much to drink. Four bottles too much, to be precise. No, I don’t have the keys to the handcuffs, I’m sorry. Alice has them. She will be here in an hour or so. I know, I know, you think She’s a stupid cunt, you said so many times. She was furious when I told Her you said that. I shouldn’t have, I realize that, but one thing led to another, you know how it goes. Anyway, She wants to have a word with you. And “having a word” equals torture, of course. Excuse me? Why? Well, because She’s an amateur Dominatri- Sorry? You didn’t know? Seriously? Oh boy, well, you’re in for a painful surprise then. Rumor has it She’s quite a talent. Yes, whips, canes, clamps; enough equipment to shit yourself like an elephant with diarrhea. Trust me, you will hate Her even more after today. Don’t worry, you will survive … Wait! I take that back. I’m not sure you’re going to survive. Ha-ha, I’m just teasing you, man! On the other hand … we’re just twenty meters away from Dead Man’s Creek … I do hope that’s not a bad omen.


A Woman was not allowed to attend university, to vote (suffrage), divorce Her husband, open a Bank account or sign a legal document without Her husband’s approval. And if that was not enough, a husband was legally allowed to rape and beat his Wife. In the 19th and early 20th century Women stood up against this male-dominated society that had been in place for 4,000 years. The men were not amused. They mocked and ridiculed these Women, assaulted and beat them. In Colchester a mob smashed the windows of the hotel where Josephine Butler was staying, and stones were hurled into Her room. They threatened to burn the place down unless Mrs. Butler was delivered to them. She fled through a back window and hid inside an unused warehouse: I stood there in the darkness and alone, hearing some of the violent men tramping past. Others were imprisoned and force-fed by inserting a tube through their nostrils and shoving it down into the stomach. Militant suffragettes smashed the windows of hundreds of shops, planted bombs, and burned down cricket- and horse-racing pavilions. Suffragette Emily Davison threw herself under King George V’s horse in the 1913 Epsom Derby race. She died of Her injuries. It was, quite literally, a battle of the sexes.
So, where will you stand when Women try to seize power? Will you try to stop them, sit idly by or are you willing to fight and suffer for their cause?


Once upon a time a Mistress adopted a human dog named Ahh-Choo (aka Gesundheit), because She wanted a dog to protect the property. He was not allowed in the house of course, because that would send Sissy Slave Sasha into a fit of hysteria. And so Ahh-Choo ate and slept in a dog house in the garden. Every morning he walked his Mistress to the train station, because She whipped, caned and tortured in a neighboring city. In the evening he would be waiting for Her again at the station. Each day, every day.
Then one day Mistress decided to donate all Her whips, clamps and dildos to the old folks home up the road (She had a dark sense of humor, man, what can we say), packed Her bags, drove to the airport and emigrated to Australia. Just like that.
Somehow She forgot all about Her human dog, so Ahh-Choo would sit at the train station all day, waiting for his Mistress to come home. And a year later, when the house got sold, he slept hither and thither. A hot dog seller named Carlos “The Hottest” Adams fed him, while Carla Morgan, who owned a soft drink shop opposite the station, watered him like a plant.
Believe it or not: Ahh-Choo is still alive and is still waiting for his Mistress at Hachikō Station (North Exit). Eleven years, eight months, two weeks and three days to be precise. Talking about loyalty! Please visit him if you’re in the area, OK? And don’t forget to bring some “Good Boy” Dog Snacks with you. They’re his favorites.


Do I like sailing?? Mistress, they call me Catamaran the 3rd, Lord of the Lakes, Dick on Deck, Prince of the High Seas! Look at my mast, look at that solid piece of happiness! Ready to be rigged and sail to new horizons and secret islands!!
Steady pirate, She smiled, don’t fall overboard.
I apologize, Mistress, I apologize, I got carried away by the northeasterly winds, was swept away by the tide of enthusiasm.
Glad to hear it, slave, because we’re going sailing today.
That’s just awes-
In a manner of speaking, of course …
His smile collapsed into a look of bewilderment. He opened his mou-
HUSH!!! I warn you, Captain Cock. One word from you and I’ll nail your tongue to a keel. Savvy? Good! Now, pants down and bend over.
He was visibly disappointed, but he obeyed (such a good boy) while She put on a harness with a strap-on dildo attached to it.
Now, let’s sail the Anal Canal, shall we? The wind is coming from the South at about 2-3 knots, wouldn’t you say, cadet?
He knew there would be hell to pay if he didn’t play along.
Aye, aye, Captain, he whispered.
She laughed sarcastically and sailed straight into his Stinker. She fucked him below decks, ploughed through his harbor with lightning speed. He screamed in agony and begged for parley. But that ship sailed a long time ago.


She wanted Her husband (aka Her slave) to turn the dilapidated barn into a luxurious guest house. To be honest, it would have been easier to turn a shopping cart into a Rolls Royce, but, as always, he had no saying in this. She was in charge and had him by the balls. Figuratively and, quite often, literally. So he did what he’d always done: he obeyed and worked his ass off. The barn was smelly, dirty, dusty and filled with spider webs and by the end of each day he’d gathered more dust than a broom in its heyday. But She, always the practical one, had just the solution for that: an old fashioned carpet beater! Handwoven and made from strong rattan reed. Yes, it’s scary sometimes with the things these Women come up with. Anyways, at the end of a hard days work, She would beat the crap out of him with that thing. Not because She wanted to punish him, but because She wanted to dust him thoroughly, meticulously, exhaustively, rigorously, methodically, painstakingly. After that She would hose him down in the backyard with the garden hose. Because he was not going to contaminate the shower with all sorts of creepy bacteria. No, sir! Not on Her watch!
Man, isn’t She one in a million?


He opened the front door and a Woman jabbed a needle into his arm. When he woke up he was naked and strapped to a rack.
Congratulations sir, and welcome to our state of the art Breeding Facility Valkyrie IV, a Woman said. You’re now officially a breeder!
I d.don’t understand, he said, still groggy.
Of course not, sir, that is why we have chosen you: you’re strong, healthy, equipped with a robust reproductive organ and you’re not exactly the brightest bulb in the box. In other words: you’re the ideal specimen to create a herd of slaves. Don’t worry, we have the technique to create male embryos only, so there’s no risk of contaminating the bright & the brilliant with your stupidity.
I … wait, wait … WHAT!! … No, no, no, I want to go home! Please!!!
And you will, sir, you will … in ten, twelve years from now.
That is impossible. I’m going to Paris next week to see the Eiffel Tow-
Calm down, sir. You’re livestock, we can do pretty much everything we want.
You don’t understand, he pleaded, I’m Fred, nicknamed “The Impotent”, I’m no-
Don’t worry about that, silly boy, our Girls can make an eunuch cum.
Absolutely not! I forbid it! My sperm is mine!
I suggest you take a long good look between your legs, sir, She snapped.
And lo and behold, his dick was hard as granite. It was the closest he would ever get to seeing the Eiffel Tower.


It was Sunday, so I handed over my pocket-money to Karin.
You don’t have a weekend job, do you?
That was a strange question, because She knew that perfectly well.
No … I said, with a tone of hesitation in my voice.
Well, that’s going to change, because this
(she waved the money in front of my face) is just a pittance. So here’s what we’ll do: find yourself a job for Saturdays and the holidays. I want to know where you’re going to work, for how many hours and how much I get paid. Now, if you behave exceptionally well and do exactly as I say, I’ll give you a few coins from time to time. 
And that was that, end of story. I ended up working in a grocery store from eight in the morning to six in the evening. My boss was a bad-tempered old man who complained a lot and worked a little. I didn’t really care; the tougher the day, the more rewarding it was. Amazing to see how a submissive brain is wired! Handing over my hard-earned money became the highlight of the week for me. I had to bow, give Her the money and thank Her for allowing me to work for Her. Man, I loved it so much.
I was Her working mule for two years and handed Her all the money. She never gave me a cent. I didn’t earn it, She said.


The “Fem Dommes Only” party takes place in June each year. We had no idea what was going on in there, because no men were allowed inside, not even eunuchs. So, was it some sort of danceparty? A kinky party with blindfolded male strippers perhaps? Or just another Totally Tupperware party? We had no clue. A reporter of the New York Days disguised himself as a Woman in order to infiltrate. He’s not been heard of since. So I was absolutely flabbergasted when Milady ordered me to join Her on the opening day! Oh, I was so exited! She had me collared and leashed and dragged me through a crowd of Women. Which was terribly intimidating, because they all glared at me as if they were about to eat me alive.
Then the tumult of a hundred different cries, all shouting at the top of their voices. Rotten tomatoes, get your toma-throws, roared a brunette. Ding, Dong, Fresh Dung, get your bucket full, called another. Spit-on-the-Spot, only tuppence, shouted a blonde Lady. Pee-n-a-Bottle, get your pee-ee-ee, bellowed one. Pick ’em out cheap here! Stinking eggs, shouted a Lady to Her utmost. Milady put me in a pillory and grabbed a microphone. Well Ladies, here he is: the future has arrived. This creature will be on display for the next three days. Let’s show him what a “Fem Dommes Only” party is all about, shall we?”
June 2071 – Party Perils – ISBN 2-67923-118564


All I want is your pin number, She said all flowery.
Yeah, well, and all I want is a blowjob. So, fuck off, Michelle. Let me go!!
I wasn’t going anywhere soon though, because She had me pinned to the floor. She moved on my face and smothered me shitless. I don’t know how long She sat there, but I gasped for air when She finally allowed me to breathe again.
Well? What is the first digit?
One…..I panted.
Excellent, now wh-
One…… thing is certain, I’m going to kick you a-
Hello darkness, my old friend. She sat hard and long on my face, till my head was about to explode. Then She moved back a little, just enough to struggle for a slither of oxygen.
It’s four, I gasped, I swear to God, it’s four.
And the second digit?
I … I always forget that o-
Daytime became nighttime again. And good old oxygen came with a number: IT’S ONE, IT’S ONE!
I hear you, man! Jesus, no need to get all excited, just breathe.
Please Michelle, please let me go. You can’t do this.
Hush! We’re almost there. Are you ready?
I opened my mouth and everything went pitch black again. Oxygen became a distant memory. And just when I was ready to write my will, She gave me the slightest chance of survival.
Six and two, I howled, I swear, I swear.
There you go! Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?


The submissive seeds have been there since the day you were born, hoping, dreaming and praying for a strict voice or a demanding look to flower and bloom. Don’t forget though, obeying a Woman (in real life of course, not on the infantile Internet) is extremely addictive and withdrawal from it is hard, if not impossible. The difficult period after deliberately disobeying a Lady or doing a runner, lasts about eight to twelve months. Common symptoms are: facial tics, obsessive masturbation or the inability to get an erection, loss of smell, loss of appetite, insomnia, feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, worthlessness, sudden hair loss, excessive hair growth in nose and ears, increased appetite or sudden weight loss, panic attacks, talking out loud to screens and pictures or an overwhelming feeling of guilt. The likelihood of relapse is, needless to say, very high. And even if one manages to survive the first year, that craving to obey will never fully disappear. It’s just waiting for the right conditions. The sound of boots on the pavement, a sarcastic laugh, a fetish attire, whether it be in real life, a movie or on television, can set a submissive soul ablaze. Hence the saying: once a loser, always a loser.


Guess the color of My underwear and win a prize, She laughed.
That’s easy, I answered enthusiastically, You are wearing the red, shiny nylon one.
Her smiled collapsed and Her eyes turned deadly.
You have been peeping at My ass again, haven’t you?
The trap snapped shut with brutal force.
I … I … I …  accidental-
Don’t lie to Me!
My face turned red (shiny and nylon) and I didn’t dare to look Her in the eye.
You’re right, I’m so sorry, Angela, I don’t know what go-
She slapped me in the face. Not extremely hard, but totally unexpected.
What did you call Me?
Miss Angela, of course, please forgive me, I apologize.
One hundred strokes for staring and one hundred for being rude!
One hundred … I stammered in disbelief.
No, one hundred + one hundred is ….
Two hundred, Miss Angela, I whispered.
What??? No, no, no, are you stupid or what! Now I have to add another hundred strokes to your punishment. So, one hundred strokes + one hundred strokes + one hundred strokes is …?
T.t.hree hundred? I answered hesitantly.
She shook Her head in disbelief and sighed: Unbelievable. One hundred strokes + one hundred strokes + one hundred strokes = a bloody red ass! See? It’s that simple.


A session with the Baltimore Bondage Babes (aka BaBoBa) can be life changing. Take Mr. Smith for example, who is now lying naked on the floor, gagged to the teeth and with enough rope around his body to rig a schooner. Drop dead blonde Nancy certainly knows Her way with ropes, that’s for sure. She’s sitting on the couch, heavenly legs crossed, eyes fixed on Her prey.
I’m not going to untie you, She says, because what’s the fun in that. Instead, I’m going to call the police and give them your address. How awkward and embarrassing is that, right? Your huge wet boner has a lot of explaining to do, Mr. Smith. Don’t worry, I will leave the front door ajar.
The poor man, in the meantime, is sweating like a turkey on Thanksgiving. He struggles with all his might, eyes as wide as frisbees. Mmmmmfffff, he gags, but without subtitles it’s impossible to know what he means by that.
God, it’s so sexy to see you in fear, Nancy says, placing Her High Heel on his head.
The police arrives 20 minutes later. And when we say police, we mean two beautiful Female Cops in shiny boots and fetish uniforms. They remove his gag, only the gag, and interrogate him. Because he’s not the victim, not to them anyway, he’s the culprit. They are absolutely merciless and Mr. Smith reaches a level of submission that he didn’t know existed.
The Baltimore Bondage Babes are different, adventurous and groundbreaking, what can we say.


Femdeum is like visiting a fameus department steure, like Harreuds in Leundeun, Sir Allan said, swirling the cognac in his glass. First, you cheuse a Lady: hairy, scary, breasted, legged, bleund, dark, leung hair, sheurt hair, peunytails, Latin, Asian; whateuver you fancy. Put your faveurite Lady in the basket and go to the second fleur for the haute couteure: shirts, skirts, dresses, shoes, beuts, leather, latex and seu feurth. Pick your fetish attire and go to the third fleur, where you’ll find Pains, Perils & Humilio’s. Ceurporal punishments, l’urine, feut fetish, human peunies, face-sitting, ceuck & ball teurture; you name it, you pain it. The Neughty Section is there as well, with ceunnilingeus, blowjeubs, handjeubs and other jeubs. Then go to the ceunter, pay for your items and Beub’s your euncle. You’ve picked your faveurite Lady in your faveurite couture and She will do exactly what you want. And seumehow, seumewhere, you’ve got this crazy idea that you are a treu seubmissive man and that Her will is leuw. Extreurdinary.


Silence! When I speak, you listen. I thought I whipped you often and brutal enough to know that by now. So, let Me get this straight: I gave you an evening off to have a drink in The Three Barrels and you ended up in bed with the bartender’s daughter. One orgasm lead to another and now you want My permission to get married and move to another manor. I must say, slave, I’m shocked. Not only by your lack of loyalty, but also by the swiftness of it all. So no, I’m not jumping with joy, to put it mildly. I haven’t even met the girl yet! She is dominant, I presume? NO?? Aha, I think I know what’s going on here! You want to be in charge again! That’s it, isn’t it? Leading the way with your dick in hand. You cheeky little bastard.
But, you know, I’m a reasonable and understanding Mistress, the marks on your back are living proof of that. So yes, I give you permission to marry this woman. But I won’t give you permission to move to another manor. She will live here with you on My land. She may be your wife, young man, but She will be My slave and My property. That’s My decision and that’s final!


He was my classmate, a bully and a predator. Big mouth, tiny dick, tiny brain, you know the type. One day he wanted to beat the shit out of me in the schoolyard. I didn’t hesitate and kicked him as hard as I could in his balls. He screamed in pain, fell to his knees, then flat on his face. I loved the feeling of power I had over him, so I placed my foot on his head and flexed my biceps for all to see. Those biceps changed his tune and my life. Because numerous boys, and even a few of the Girls, wanted to feel my biceps. I quickly realized I could make some money from this and demanded a gift. Almost all of them complied. Once they’d paid I would boss them around, calling them weaklings, sluts, sissies and losers. They loved it. It was amazing, surreal even, but I have many fond memories of that time. I clearly remember a much older Girl for example, who was so intimidated and shook like a leaf. Or that boy with the glasses and the braces, who had an orgasm in his pants when he kissed my biceps. Many of them came back for a second, third and even a fourth time and my biceps were in hot demand for a long, long time.


Is there anything more thrilling, more exiting, more heart-pounding than a slave hunt? Provided you do it the right way, of course. Holding a slave hunt in a garden the size of a postage stamp isn’t exactly the thrill of a lifetime. Think big, that’s the key. A large piece of forest (surrounded by water) for example. The slaves will get a head start of 15 minutes. Then the Mistresses will hunt them down on horseback (that line makes me shiver with delight … hunt them down on horseback … magnificent!). A slave has to kneel down immediately as soon as a Mistress hits him with a (bull)whip. His Captor writes Her initials with a marker on his forehead and directs him to a spot where he has to wait. He will be Her property for the rest of the weekend. Or longer, depending on Her mood. The first three slaves to be caught, will be send home. Because the aim of the hunt is to outsmart the Ladies for as long as possible, so no time for losers (aka: fakers). The last to be caught, will be rewarded. With what and how, is up to the Ladies of course. Which is always tricky, because Her reward may well be his nightmare. After the hunt the slaves are tied together by ropes around their necks and paraded around the field. Needless to say, all Ladies want to capture as many slaves as possible. There’s always a healthy (sometimes known as: unhealthy) rivalry between them, so the more knuckleheads captured, the more status.


I always think of happy things before I go to sleep. And to me, happiness means being bossed around, simple as that. And yes, I admit, I fantasize about celebrities as well. Can’t remember a time that I didn’t, to be honest. So close your eyes and let me show you around in dreamland.
There, on your left, is Emma Watson’s house. She’s all smiles and laughter, as long as you do exactly as She says. Don’t hesitate, don’t frown and for God’s sake, don’t argue, for She will raise Her wand at you. And trust me, being turned into a frog really sucks.
Over there, in the distance, is Gal Gadot’s Grotto. Last week She decided to teach me a lesson. I asked Her why, because I hadn’t done anything. Exactly, She said, and scissored me with Her beautiful legs until I passed out (aka fell asleep).
Over there? That’s Kristen Stewart’s land. She can break even the toughest of the toughest with Her killer smile, no kidding. Enter At Your Own Risk, the sign near the entrance says. ‘Nuff said.
And there … look at my finger … there … that’s Kate Beckinsale’s underworld. This Lady really sinks Her teeth into you and I’ve lost many a pint of blood over there. But then again, I’d give my life for Her, so who cares about a bit (aka bite) of blood. Buffy (the Vampire Slayer) used to live here as well, but She and Kate were constantly at each other’s throats. The whole neighborhood went down the drain. So Buffy moved to the other side of the valley. I often go there and tell Her I’m a vampire. Famous last words (aka: from apatite to epitaph).
There’s much more that I want to show you, man. So meet me again tonight in my imaginary world and wait for me at the junction, alright?


Repeat after Me, slave: I, slave Knucklehead the Idiot, do solemnly swear that I will obey all orders of my Mistress; that I support and defend the Superiority of Women and that I’m willing and ready to give up my nuts, my dick and my miserable life for Her, so help me God.
That’s rather a mouthful, Mistress, I wo-
She pushed the button and shocked his balls into madness. He screamed in pain and the words poured from his mouth: I, slave Knucklehead the Idiot, swear tha-
Do solemnly swear, She shocked.
Arrrghh! Do solemnly swear that I will obey all orders of my Mistress; that I defe-
Support and defend ….
Ahhhhh-ahhh!! Support and defend the Superiority of Women and that I’m willing to give u-
Willing and ready, She growled angrily, pushing the button repeatedly.
He jumped in pain: Jesu-u-u-us!! W.willing and ready to give up my b.balls, m-
Nu-u-u-u-u-u-u-uts. Willing and ready to give up my nuts, my dick and my miserable life for Her, so help me God.
Exactly! Don’t you ever forget it, slave.
No, Mistress, he said and his face beamed with relief. His ordeal was ove-
Now, let’s do one of Shakespeare’s plays, shall we? Only 14,701 words; it’s called “Comedy of Errors”. Here we go!


Once upon a time a Girl called Little Red Riding Boots was on Her way to see Her grandmother. And, as always, She met Mr. Wolf along the way.
Good-day, Riding Boots, said he. Whither away so early?
To granny, if you must know, sighed She.
He stared at Her boots and shook his head disapprovingly: These are not riding boots, Little Red!
One word for you, Wolf, She growled: fuck off.
He said something very, very naughty and disappeared into the trees. One hour later She arrived at the cottage. Her grandmother looked very strange.
Oh, grandmother, said She, what hairy arms you have!
It’s true, child, I look like woolly mammoth nowadays. Better call me Hairy Granny from now on.
But, grandmother, what big eyes you have!
Yes, I’ve been sniffing some coke, and I’m tripping all over the place.
Grandmother, what an enormous dick you have.”
All the better to fu-
Little Red Riding Boots grabbed the slithering dick with Her left- and a large butcher’s knife from Her basket with Her right hand. She pushed the knife underneath his scrotum.
Hello, Wolfie! She grinned. Look in My basket.
He obeyed and screamed in horror.
Jesus! Are these … testicles?
Very good! Ain’t they cute? They belong, or should I say belonged, to My other victims.
Wait a minute, wait a minute, said he, with renewed confidence, I know this tale and this is not how the story goes.
True, said She, but this is how your story ends.