True story: once upon a time a man flew from Seattle to Prague (8.400 kilometres, via Frankfurt in 14 hours time). He rented a car at the airport and drove through the countryside and small villages. It took him more than two and a half hours to cover the 167 kilometres. He parked the car outside the weathered white walls and the entrance gate to the feared and famed Other World Kingdom (aka OWK). One of the Ladies of the OWK was waiting for him inside, just fifty meters away as the crow flies. She would be his Mistress and train him for the next five days. He’d been waiting for this day for what seemed like forever, and now it was finally here! He sat there in his car, staring at the entrance gate. His heart was racing, he was breathing heavily and waves of panic rushed over him. Nothing moved, no birds, no dogs, no people, not even a breeze. As if the world was holding its breath. Then, after half an hour of fear and suffering, he started the car, drove back to Prague and returned to Seattle that same evening. Dreams can get you somewhere, but fear will get you nowhere. Don’t be the man from Seattle.
Well, well, She said, looking at Frank, there you are. Are you hiding from Me, you piece o-
Frank ran like a chicken, but She was much faster. She grabbed his fingers and twisted them like a wet towel. She pushed him down on the ground and put Her foot on his neck.
Harry ran at Her, like an amateur knight without a horse. Or sword. She grabbed his hair and brought him down to his knees in one fell swoop. I stood frozen to the ground, trying to take it all in. Frank lay motionless on his belly and Harry was on his knees, begging Her to spare his scalp. She looked at me.
Do you want some as well?
I shook my head.
Alright then. Go over there and stand with your nose against the wall.
I could have made a run for it, but the gravitational pull of Her power was stronger than my fear. So I obeyed. Minutes later Frank and Harry’s noses joined me.
Look at you, She chuckled, so pathetic. Huey, Dewey and Louie! Stay there and don’t turn around. I warn you!
I don’t know how long we stood there, but at least half an hour. When I finally had the nerve to look, She was long gone. So I couldn’t ask Her to marry me.
Legs are legs and feet are feet, thank you very much. In other words: I love feet, but I’m obsessed with legs. You see the difference? Gorgeous legs make me vulnerable, desperate, gullible, speechless and sky-high submissive. It’s pathetic, I know, and I often tell myself to stop being such a wimp, but I won’t listen. Because legs are so wonderful, so powerful and so mesmerising. I’ve studied them as long as I can remember (did a lotta legwork, so the speak), studied them as if they were fragments of the lost tomb of Cleopatra. Take the shape of the knee for example. A knee can fuck up or lift up the beauty of a leg entirely. And don’t get me started on ankles, mate! I could write a book on that alone! A beautiful leg is a delicate balance between the upper- en lower leg, the knee, ankle, the muscles and the smoothness of the skin. The loser’s truth is that I find it impossible not to stare and even more impossible to control my dick. That thing rises in my pants like a volcano that’s ready to rumble. In short; legs are my Glory-Glory-Hallelujah fetish, my Winner-Takes-It-All desire, my All-Time-Greatest-Hits longing.
I’m sure you did all kinds of things for your Mistress and fulfilled many tasks, one of the Ladies said. Can you name something you’re particularly proud of?
Big Mac looked bewildered, like a rabbit in the headlights. His mouth moved, but there was no sound. I always get very nervous in situations like this, so I began to sweat all over.
Come on, slave, the Lady said encouragingly, just name one thing you’re proud of.
Silence fell like a ton of bricks. And then a nervous giggle escaped me; it flew from my lips like a tweeting bird. All eyes turned to me and my giggle died a sudden death. If looks could kill, I would be living in an urn right now. They said nothing, but boy, I dearly paid for it later that evening. So whatever happens, do not, I repeat do NOT giggle.
Roman emperor Brutus Maximus was and enormous asshole who made Nero look like a choirboy. In the year 523 A.D. he ordered his troops to attack Persia, just for the fun of it. The lunatic. Persia was ruled by Queen Hot-Yummy the 3rd and She led an army of five hundred thousand boners ….. uh … I apologise, I mean five hundred thousand soldiers into battle. Not only was She the most beautiful Queen from here to Venus and back, She was also a strategic mastermind. Brutus met his Waterloo in the Battle of Susa and was captured alive. Back then they would throw you off a cliff or to the lions, or something drastic like that, but Queen Hot-Yummy the 3rd had other plans. She kept Brutus in a cage and used him as a human footstool in front of Queens, Emperors, Generals and dignitary. He was mocked and ridiculed, but somehow he willingly committed himself to a life of slavery. And that was a good thing, because he remained Her footstool for the rest of his miserable life. From mighty emperor to a piece of IKEA furniture, how about that.
Five years ago a Female slave catcher was seen in the town of Hamelin. Her shiny long coat from heel to head, was half of black and half of red. And She Herself was tall and thin, with sharp blue eyes, each like a pin. Light loose hair, the smoothest skin and lips where smiles went out and in.
She promised to free the town of runaway slaves who hid in cellars, barns, attics and alleys. She would use Her secret charm to draw out all slaves beneath the sun, that creep or crawl or walk or run. All She wanted in return was a meal, a bath and a bed in the best hotel in town. The town folk agreed. And so She went into a fitting room and returned wearing a dazzling attire. Shiny gold boots embraced Her beautiful slender legs and a short, shiny, black dress accentuated the gentle curves of Her body. She pulled out an old, weathered megaphone and went out into the street. Surrender, and you will worship My beautiful body every day. Immediately the gullible slaves crept out from everywhere and gathered round Her. She led them to the Weser River and into a new-build prison. In the months that followed She sold each and everyone of them on slave-markets. Hence the saying: it’s easier to fool a slave than a rodent.
The Victory Pose comes with a variety of forms & flavours and they all taste heavenly. She can place Her victorious foot on your 1) chest, 2) throat, 3) face 4) scrotum, 5) back 6) butt or 7) neck. With or without flexed muscles, in- or outdoors. She can also (8) stuff Her foot in your mouth or flex Her muscles while 9) sitting on your chest or 10) face. They’re all delicious, and I will dedicate a post to each and every one of them. The Victory Pose is not a punishment of course, it’s a humiliation. A couple of years ago a Female colleague of mine kicked a tennis ball in my scrotum. Accidentally, She claimed, but that’s what they all say, don’t they? Anyways, I fell down on my knees, wiggle-wiggle-wiggled a bit, then the lights went out and I fell on my snout. I rolled on my back and seconds later She placed Her victorious foot on my chest and said:
And they call us the weaker sex.
Everyone laughed and I tried to get up.
Where do you think you’re going? Want another one?
There was an undertone of seriousness in Her voice and I gave in and lay motionless on the floor.
You told us your husband was your slave!
She laughed and rolled Her eyes.
In a manner of speaking, you idiot! Mistresses and slaves? Come on, grow up!
Well, talking about a straight knock-out! But the worst was yet to come, because one day She told me about Sylvia’s new boyfriend. He turned out to be submissive as well and he’d asked Sylvia to be his Mistress. She was willing to try and it was Sylvia, who turned out to be a natural born dominant!! That guy is now Her 24/7 slave.
True story. True bummer.
What did you just say?
Jeepers, talking about a short term memory! Well, I said, turn left on the next cor-
No, no, no. How did you call Me?
Call you?? I didn’t call you anything. Wha-
Are you sure?
Yes…. I was really flabbergasted.
She shrugged Her shoulders. OK, suit yourself.
Crazy tourists! I walked for an hour or so, bought myself an ice-cream and sat down on a bench by the water. And then, in a split second, everything came to a standstill. Oh my God, I called Her Mistress! I jumped up and sprinted to Heaven. But its doors were closed. On Holiday, a sign said. Bloody hell.
And they’re off, Ladies & gentlemen! Idiot in the middle with Lady Elsa’s Scrotum close behind and Silly Boy is followed by Bag-O’-Shit with Rocking Horse, driven by Madame Cindy, running hard a few heads away. Here comes Mistress Nikki’s Nightmare, neck and neck with Lady Jane’s Eunuch. Goddess Anja’s Idiot is struggling to keep up on the inside, pushing Rocking Horse out of the way. Nikki’s Nightmare is now leading by a nose. Bag-O’-Shit, driven by Baroness Barbara, is trading spots with Countess Carla’s Silly Boy, in the middle of the pack. Idiot is at the back now. And here come’s Lady Elsa’s Scrotum on the outside, running like the wind, passing Nightmare and Eunuch. They’re rounding the corner for the final approach. Everyone is getting up from their seats. Elsa’s Scrotum and Nikki’s Nightmare are now pulling away from the pack. Holy Moses, look at them going! Testicles sweeping from left to right, like castanets gone crazy. The others can’t keep up, they simply can’t keep up. Lady Elsa is skinning Her Scrotum with Her whip. She’s neck and neck with Nikki’s Nightmare …. Elsa’s Scrotum, Nikki’s Nightmare …. Fifty meters to go, the roar of the crowd is deafening … And it’s Elsa’s Scrotum who’s won the Prix d’Amérique 2021!!! What a race and what a nightmare for Mistress Nikki.
The rite to passage at the age of 18, is a transition from boy to man, from masturbation to chastity, from freedom to slavery. The ritual takes place in the month of September, at midnight, on a full moon. The youngsters are forced to crawl between two rows of Mistresses with long, leather paddles. After crawling the gauntlet they’re tied to the whipping-post. Now the real initiation begins. It starts with a soft leather paddle, followed by a 40-strand rubber flogger and then into the darkness of the night with a 4-lash leather whip, the cat-o’-nine-tails and the feared bullwhip. Some of these lads will not make a sound, others moan, groan and scream. After the whipping the chaps are forced to crawl the gauntlet again. This second run is more intens, brutal and cruel than the first one. Some 50 percent of the boys will be castrated, and the other half will spend their days in chastity. In the last stage of the ritual the newborn slaves are branded with a hot iron. It’s a painful, but necessary procedure. They’re now real slaves and ready for a life in servitude. March 2092 – Rites To Passage, Lady Jane, ISBN 923-4-11-724033-0.
The room is filled with boxes, children’s toys, an old chest of drawers and other pieces of furniture. It was a SM-room once, equipped with hundreds of whips, canes & chains, a torture rack, a spanking horse, the St. Andrew’s cross, several cages and much more. The iron rings in the wall are still there to tell the tale. A tale of male slavery, pain, suffering, humiliation and adoration. Her worshippers came from far and wide: not only from London, but from all over Britain, mainland Europe and even a few from America. They travelled all the way to serve and worship Her in this very same room. Some were just passing through, never to be heard of again. Others came back over and over again and some of them became Her property. God, She loved to dominate men! They would fall at Her feet, so weak, so helpless, and they would obey Her blindly. Who wouldn’t want to be worshipped like that! So many years ago, it feels like it has been someone else’s life. Yes, once upon a time She was a Mistress of many, now She’s a mother of three.
He heard Her footsteps coming up the stairs.
Harold, are you in the bathroom?
Talking to the mirror again, are we?
What was it this time? Female Domination on planet X? Nipple torture in ancient Greek?
Cock and Ball Torture, if You really must know.
Ah, that old yawn! Your famous CBT speech! Standing ovation, no doubt, Harold?
He giggled. She was such a good sport.
I want you to come downstairs, so hurry up. Bring a hammer and a box of nails, will you?
This simple gesture of respect, obedience and devotion reinforces Her absolute power over him and his submission to Her. It puts him in his place, because in order to kiss Her fet, he has to kneel down, get down on his belly even, with his head almost to the floor. It’s such a beautiful and powerful symbol of Her supremacy.
One day the mighty Byzantine general Flavius Belisarius (500-565 AD) prostrated himself at the feet of his Wife Antonina. He kissed and licked the soles of Her feet with his tongue, crying that She was his reason for living and that he would be Her faithful slave, instead of Her Lord and Master. Now, if a general knows how to honour a Lady, so can we. So show some respect.
Breaking a loud-mouthed, obnoxious guy into submission is such a rewarding and gratifying experience, it really is. Some try to fight back, like in a bad Hollywood movie. So cute! And so pathetic. To remove that last thick, stubborn layer of male pride, that’s My favourite part of the training. So bring Me a man and I’ll give you a slave.
Mmmm, a bit sensitive here and there. We need to keep an eye on that. Now, pants down.
I did so and my dick jumped out like a Jack-in-the-box.
Jesus!!! We’ve got a jumper!!
She pushed a red button on the wall and an alarm sounded. Nurses ran into the room immediately. They grabbed my arms and legs and strapped me to a bed with long, leather restraints. I screamed all over the place, because one of them punched me repeatedly in the groin. But it helped, my dick gave in and backed down.
One of the nurses took charge of the situation. She looked down on me and said: I’m so sorry, but we have to remove it.
W.what? Rem.move what?
Your balls, your penis, everything. The Law of Femdom Clinics, Act 2018, Section 212 states that all jumpers must be removed without exception.
I didn’t know, I pleaded. Please believe me, I didn’t know!!
Of course you didn’t. Now relax and let the anaesthetic do its work.
No! Please stop, not my penis-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s
Appearances can be deceiving they say, and in this case, it was true. She was thin and petite, and much shorter in statue than me. I can clearly remember the first time She scissored me to sleep. Man alive, as if my head was stuck in a vice! I could hear a cracking sound in my neck and feared She was going to squeeze my brains out of my ears.
Ca…n…’t b.b-reathe, I squeaked.
I know, She giggled, isn’t it fun?
My head looked like a enormous jawbreaker (quite an appropriate name, under the circumstances), turning from pink to red, to purple. I was absolutely powerless to stop it, because not even an escape artist could escape this one. She could put me to sleep, or finish me off in the process. My life was literally in Her hands (aka between Her legs). Breathtaking!
She grabbed me by the balls and twisted them viciously. Like sticking your nuts in a mixer.
Selma-ah-ah-aa. I danced up and down like a frog on a hot plate.
Next time you’ll do as you’re told, won’t you?
Yes, yes, I give you my wo-aaa-ord.
She squeezed even harder and my voice reached the high C. She was more deadly than a demolition squad, no question about it.
Don’t let it happen again, She hissed.
She let go of my balls. I fell down on my knees and sobbed in pain.
My ancestors turned in their graves.
As the members of the House know, it’s not allowed to debate on other questions than those appearing in the agenda. The probability or improbability of a Femdom Exit, or Fexit, is not in the agen- Order! Ordaaa! is not in the agenda, nore will it be. Mr. Duncan, be quiet! I know you feel strongly about this issue and I respect that. But I’m not having you shouting out. Get a grip on yourself man! We’re not, and I apologise to the Secretary of State for Human Pets & Cattle for my choice of words, we’re not animals. We’re all loyal subjects to Her Majesty and submissive towards all Women. Ordaaa! No, no! Order! Yes, the honourable gentleman from Northumberland is free to argue about this as much as he likes, but not in this House! Order! Ordaaaa! May I remind the honourable gentleman that the reign of Women has only just begun and they are not going to allow you, or anyone else for that matter, to withdrawal in some sort of free state. The idea is too absurd for words. Order! Ordaaaa! It will not happen, sir. Not today, not tomorrow, not at any time. No, no! Order! Mr. Duncan, whether you like it or not, Women are in charge and will be for centuries to come. You sir, are now a slave, get used to it and stop wasting everyone’s time. Ordaaaa! House of Commoners – April 2073.
She had Her husband tied to a chair and ball-gagged. He was drooling like a raging river.
Good, good, that’s a start. Let it all out, Harold!
He struggled frantically in his ropes and roared like a caged lion.
Good point, love it.
There’s a valuable lesson to be learned here today, Harold. You’re a slave, and slaves don’t live in a democracy. If you want to be heard, then go to the Speakers’ Corner in Hyde Park on Sunday. For the rest of the time, keep your trap shut and do as you’re told.
Sadly enough I can’t make a print of the fantasies and memories inside my head. But if it were technically possible, then my printed longings and desires would be frighteningly similar to Nanshakh’s artwork. When I was a kid I used to fantasise about Female warriors, Femdom continents and Femdom planets & galaxies. When I grew older I learned that Female Dominance (and male slavery) is less fanciful and imaginative and far more basic. Because there’s a big difference between a) being captured by the Amazons, spending years in the galleys and being sold on a slave market, and b) serving a professional Mistress for two hours in Her SM-room on Kings Road, London. Nanshakh’s exquisite work shows us the distant lands where all men are slaves. They are used and abused, traded and sold like pigs in the market. Wonderful places where no one gives a shit about his needs, his wishes and his limits. A world where male ego doesn’t even exist. And I for one thank God and Nanshakh for that.
When I got into the great yard I saw three Female Officer’s and about twenty male prisoners. When the triangle was brought out I began to shake from head to foot. It appeared that several had to be flogged; and to make matters worse, so far as I was concerned, a number had to undergo the punishment before me. When the first was strapped he began to shout and roar, but the lash was nevertheless administered without mercy. One after the other screamed and begged for forgiveness, but to no avail. Their backs presented the appearance of raw meat. My name was called at last, and I in turn begged to be spared, but they laughed in my face. I was strapped and the horrible beating began. The more I cried for mercy, the more severely was the lash felt. The Officer’s gave extra instructions to the flogger: Lower down, more to the right, or: try to hit that same spot again, only harder. At length I was released and marched slowly to my cell. On arriving there I fell down from exhaustion, and was scarcely be able to lie in bed for pain. Anno Domini 2154, Femdom Gaol, Chicago.
It’s very, very tiny, Mistress, I said.
Big Mistake! She slapped me hard in the face. And again. And yet again. Like being kissed by a sledgehammer.
Dogs don’t talk, do they, Pluto?
I kept stumm, didn’t even growl. She picked up a dog toy, showed it to me and tossed it across the room. I wagged my non-existing tail and waited.
I crawled like crazy and picked up the toy with …… my hand. Jesus, Snoopy! Seconds later She rammed Her boot on the back of my head, holding my face down to the floor. She grabbed my hair and trimmed it. I got the point.
I fetched the toy over and over again, brought it back and placed it right before Her feet.
Next time we’ll bring out the dog food, She said.
I hid my head under the couch and whined.
Yes, it was a deeply humiliating experience, but I was as happy as a dog with two tails.
Man, I was such a greenhorn when I met a Mistress for the first time. I believed virtually everything I saw on Internet, so my perception of reality was completely distorted. So naive, so gullible. At the same time I knew, that if I wanted to be taken seriously as a slave, I had to be a gentleman as well. Now, good manners are hard to find these days and never before in history people have been so outspoken, ill-mannered, complacent, demanding, rude and opinionated. Gentlemanlike behaviour is for fools and idiots. But is it? No Lady wants to waste Her time on a piece of Neanderthal or an ill-mannered yokel from Gods knows where. And most importantly: inappropriate behaviour reflects badly on your Mistress, leaving others to think that She does not know how to train a slave.
The good news is: chivalry didn’t die with the dinosaurs. More than that: opening a door for a Lady, being respectful, carrying Her bags, kissing Her hand, helping Her to Her seat, being honest, confident yet humble; all this should be compulsory. Don’t ask yourself if you got what is takes to be a good slave; just pipe down a bit, show some good manners and let your story begin.
Wow Mistress, I-
The second one was much harder and smacked my face to the right.
Only speak when spoken to, slave! I know you’re still a rookie, but we talked about this already. Now, patience is not one of my virtues, so shut up till I tell you otherwise.
I saw Her left hand flying in, but it was Her right that hit me. I’m not sure, but I thought I heard birds singing.
I didn’t give you permission to speak, did I?
Aha, the classic rhetorical questions! The famous find-any-excuse-to-smack-him-silly trap. Well, I wasn’t going to fall for it again, no sir! Do I really look that stupid?
Blimey!! The slaps flew in with lighting speed and brutal force: left, right, left, left, left, right, right, left, right, right! My head was spinning like laundry in a washing machine. Honest to God, She could decapitate a man with Her powerful slaps. This was only my second day of training, so I was learning things the hard way. But then again: is there any other way?
The school regime is very strict and disciplinarian. As Miss Cane so eloquently put it: of course you’re allowed to make a mistake, but you will be brutally punished for it. Hear, hear, my bruised and battered ass would say. It’s not just the ass that’s in jeopardy though! Your hands, the soles of your feet, your hair and your ears are all used to discipline you. Sticks can teach a good slave, as the ancient Chinese used to say.
Still, in spite of everything, I’m happy to be here. Because of the Headmistress, you see. She’s so stunning and I hope I will be Her slave and property one day. But, as She explained: If I take you under My wing, its because I want it, not because you want it. Words of wisdom, but then again: once a teacher …..
This, Mistress? This is Goliath.
Goliath? My dear boy, that’s a deformed nipple of some sorts. I wonder what it looks like on a cold winter’s morning. You need a search-party then, I suppose. Tell me, do you use tweezers to masturbate?
No, no, no!
Just asking. I assume you’re still a virgin then?
Are you kidding Me? Sweet Jesus, that’s just freakish. Who on eart- Ah, wait a minute: they loved to be tickled. That’s it, isn’t it?
Yes, Mistress, he said with a sour face, because Mistress is always right, even if She’s wrong.
I knew i- WOW, look, look; its moving. That’s so gross. Please pull up your pants, slave, will you? I’ve had enough horror for one day. Man, it looks like a slimy carrot, absolutely disgusting. Anyway, time for you to set the table. What do we have for dinner, Colossus?
Femdom is …. an awful lot of cleaning, I would say. Because I had a heartfelt relationship with detergents, dusters and scrubbing brushes for a long time. At the OWK I cleaned a bathroom floor once with a toothbrush (because serving a Mistress is not about making your life easier, is it boy). Every now and then the Mistress and Her cigarette came in to check up on me. She would drop some ash on the floor and slap me silly for being such a lousy cleaner. Hehe, a bit of humour never hurt anyone. Well, that’s not true, because She almost slapped me unconscious, but you know what I mean.
I cleaned everything: floors, windows, doors, bathrooms, bedrooms, refrigerators, bookshelves, cars, bikes and what not. Once finished, She would inspect everything meticulously. Without saying a word. Which was as nerve-racking as walking a tightrope across Niagara Falls. My heart beat the big drum and my teeth rattled like castanets. And then, finally, Her voice cut through the silence like a slashing blade: Slave! Come here! Sometimes She was satisfied and other times She was (certainly) not. And then I had to do it all over again. Still, I loved cleaning, loved the hard work and loved making myself useful, because that’s what being a slave is all about, really.
The invention of sliced bread, the wheel and the Internet changed human society forever. Be that as it may, but I honestly think the Remote Control Cock Shock Ring should be added to this list. Well, a short version that is, because the name is much too long. Training a slave is a time consuming business. It takes weeks to get through his thick skull and it often feels like flogging a dead horse. It’s exhausting and quite frustrating at times. This lovely piece of kit changes all that. All that needs to be done is to push the button and watch the magic happen. And I assure you: the results are astonishing. From slow brain to fast learner in a jiffy! It’s miraculous! I love to see the panic in his eyes and hear the hysteria in his voice as he begs Me to stop. Yeah, if only ….. He has to squirm and suffer, because it teaches him how to obey blindly. And this device is just what the doctor ordered. Shockingly good, I would say.
He jumped up from the cellar floor and swiftly turned around, as if stung by a bee. His eyes almost popped out of his head and he screamed higher than the Wiener Sängerknaben.
What are you doing, you pervert? Are you seriously sniffing your sister’s shoes?
She was filming the whole scene with Her cellphone camera.
No, absolutely not …. I was …..I….was clea-
Oh, shut up, wacko. Get down on your knees now!
Fuck you, he yelled. But there was panic in his voice.
She shrugged Her shoulders: Youtube it is then.
No, wait! Shit! OK, OK, look, I’m on my knees. Happy now?
She grabbed a roll of duct tape from a shelf and ordered him to hold the shoe to his face. She wrapped the duct tape four times around his head, securing the shoe to his face. She took Her phone and started filming again.
Look at him! Sniffing his sister’s shoe. How sick is that! Take a long inhale …. very good ….. and again …… hahaha. You’re such a pathetic loser.
She saw tears welling up in his eyes, which made this day even more special. She had him by the balls and She wasn’t planning on letting him go anytime soon. Hell no!
I didn’t believe him at first and told him to leave me alone. But then he started begging me, and I mean really begging me. So in the end I removed the bubblegum from my mouth and gave it to him. He took it in his mouth and his eyes lit up with excitement. ‘This is so delicious, I can taste you now’, he shivered. And so he became addicted, which made him persistent, pathetic and vulnerable at the same time. He became like wax in my hands; I made him follow me around the schoolyard like a puppy, spat in his mouth and made him pay for the gum. The grand finale was when I told him to kneel down in front of me while the girls of my class were watching. They ridiculed and mocked him, pushed him and slapped him on the back of his head. He didn’t budge. I ignored him for the most part and he just sat there, with his forehead touching my hand. A couple of times I told him to open wide and I leaned over with the gum between my teeth. His eyes were begging Me, but then I started chewing again. The girls all laughed. So many years ago, but I remember it as if it happened only yesterday.
This tiny little GIF is a symphony of beauty and Female power, as far as I’m concerned, and I can watch it endlessly. Which is not difficult, because it’s a GIF and these things go on and on and on about it. But seriously: Miss Belle, one of Britain’s most beautiful models, looking absolutely gorgeous, as always, sexy boots, breathtaking legs; what more can a man ask for? She’s so relaxed, so complete in control, as if it takes no effort at all to make a grown man howl in pain. She’s more powerful than a hurricane with a temper and all it takes is a lovely knee and a fragile scrotum and it’s goodnight Irene. I know, not every knee to the groin is a castrater per se, but when it hits with pinpoint accuracy, you will go down faster than the Titanic.
The last time I got kneed in the groin was at Prague airport, I clearly remember that. The Mistress was so kind to drive me there and She gave me three bye-bye knees to the scrotum in the departure hall. The first one was allright, the second and third made me sound like a castrate on holiday. Nothing beats da power and beauty of a Ladies’ knee, hell no!
Of course, sir. Is that all for you today?
And a thrashing, please.
Certainly sir. Soft, medium or hard?
Medium is fine.
Very well sir, you can go downstairs. Madame Ouch will be there in a minute.
Sweet! Madame Ouch Herself would take care of me! She was born in another galaxy, because Her beauty was not from this world. She could rip your eyes from their sockets just by looking at you. Love blinds you, they say. Well, you can bet you bruised & battered ass it does!
You again, She smiled, you have a big appetite. Take off your clothes, you know the drill.
She tied my wrists and ankles to the St. Andrew’s Cross, which had a huge impact on the lumpia between my legs.
Medium? Really? She mocked.
Forgive me, Mistress Ouch, I said, blushing from ear to ear, I’m a coward, what can I say.
Went for a hard beating a couple of weeks ago and couldn’t sit for days afterwards. My backside looked like a battlefield, it was crazy. So I settled for medium this time, thank you very much. The beating was short (as always), but intense. A bit like your sex-life, I would imagine. But it refreshed my body and invigorated my tired muscles. And most importantly, it reminded me of my place in the bigger scheme of things. I went back upstairs where they handed me my food. I’ll soon be back for more, because this was certainly not a Fu Yung Bye.
All that bashing & thrashing, wipping & caning; is that really necessary? And the short answer to that is: yes. Because boys will be boys, men will be men and all that kinda stuff. You see, men are like water: they follow the path of least resistance. In other words: even the most dedicated slave has a tendency to laziness and cuts corners whenever possible. So bashing his brains in every once in a while is a wakeup call and an act of kindness. And you know what they say about a punishment: it’s not a real punishment until you’re crying real tears. Still, it’s necessary, because you have to know (and feel) what will happen to you if you cross the line or don’t follow Her orders. Being Her sub is all about obedience, respect and fear, my friend. Fear for Her wrath is motivator, a inspiration, a medicine for laziness and a cure for sloppiness.
I’ve always been fortunate enough to meet the right Girls at the right time. And these Girls, unintentionally perhaps, influenced my submissive life greatly. Sue was the first. She was always a bit edgy and short-tempered. An active volcano, one might say: always ready to rumble and smother you with molten lava. We had no idea where Her anger came from, but when it came, it came with brutal force. She fought ferociously, and boys, including older boys, ran with the tail between their legs. And rightfully so, because Sue didn’t just twist your arm; She dislocated your shoulder. I was the tallest boy in the neighbourhood and therefore hard to beat. Still She won half the time, not because I lost deliberately or anything, absolutely not. There was really no need for that; one moment of slackness and She would kick your ass. The pinnacle of humiliation was (and still is) the Schoolgirl-Pin: sitting on top of Her victims, pinning them down to the ground. Sometimes She would force you to submit over and over again, smothering you with Her hands or stuffing grass into your mouth. Oh, beautiful, unforgettable days!
In the end we lost track of each other, because that’s how life works sometimes. So here’s to Sue and the unparalleled beauty of the Schoolgirl-Pin.
Corporal punishment is not a punishment at all for a masochist. If anything: it’s a treat, a reward for bad behaviour. That won’t do, will it? So if you need to punish a man, then take control over the sausage between his legs, because most slaves are madly in love with their own wiener. Herds of them will attach a photo of their ding-a-ling to a slave application. Quite disgusting, but there you go. I tend to ignore those applications all together, because I want a slave, not someone who’s obsessed with his own scrotum.
A most adequate tool to tame the beast between his legs is a chastity device. Put his dick in the nick and power is yours. From now on he has to earn each orgasm. Each mistake will be punished and don’t be too squeamish about it. Be ruthless if you have to, because he loves being in this predicament. Trust Me: the longer his pickle is locked up, the more submissive and obedient he becomes. Besides: no matter where he is or what he does, he will be reminded of the fact that you’re the one who holds the key to his happiness. So lock him up and lock him down, because that’s more effective than a thrashing.
Some will say that stains, scratches & a wagonload of dust on old photos is part of the vintage charm. But I don’t have a dust fetish, to be honest, so I like to clean them up a little bit. I’m not a fan of filters or anything; it’s all done by hand and one particle at the time. Without overdoing it and without ruining the overall feel of the photo.
These vintage photos are so beautiful, because there’s an innocence about them that I just love. Female Domination was so much simpler and straightforward back then. The Internet changed all that and it even changed you and me. Not just a little bit, but beyond recognition, I’m afraid. Anyway, these pictures were taken in the seventies and eighties, when the Ladies were in the prime of their beauty. A split second of divinity, so many years ago. Most of them are old and grey by now. Weird idea, isn’t it? So gather ye rosebuds while ye may.
I’m a bit of a fetish collector, to be honest. You name it, I fetish. The impact of these Fetishes varies between 1 and 9 on the Fetish Magnitude Scale. A magnitude 1 to 3 fetish sends shivers down my spine and ripples down my dick. But that’s about it, so it’s all rather innocent and harmless. On the other end of that scale however, is a magnitude-9 fetish, and that’s a whole different kettle of fish all together. A mag-9 shakes the fillings from my teeth and turns my testicles into castanets.
They say a real fetish is an Achilles heel, and I totally agree with that. That’s why I always kept my fetish cards close to my chest, so that no one knew how vulnerable I really was. Because knowing all about these weaknesses is pure power in the lovely wrong hands. On the other hand: it’s nearly impossible for an outsider to grasp the magnitude (hehe, nice one) of a mag-9 fetish. So even if I’d shout it from the rooftops, they’ll still think I’m exaggerating or lying to my teeth. Still, I feel blessed and fortunate to have these breath-taking, heart-breaking, earth-shaking fetishes!
I say to you, my friends, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. A dream that one day Women will rise up and take power till the end of time. I hope and pray that one day a man will only be judged by his obedience and servitude towards Women. Oh hail, oh hail Female Supremacy! I have a dream that one day men will crawl the hilltops of the Midlands and the mighty Rockies, the heightening Mount Kilimanjaro and the snowcapped peaks of the Himalaya to serve and obey the Almighty Women. Halleluja! So let male slavery ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let it ring from the mighty mountains of New York and the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. Blessed Ladies, let male slavery ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, so that we can finally say: slaves, slaves, great God a-mighty, we’re slaves at last.
This blog is about my fantasies, fetishes, personal stories, vintage stuff and about the uncharted and unexplored possibilities of Female Supremacy. No hidden links to pay-sites, no popups or other nuisances. Just a plain and simple blog. So all aboard, Ladies and gentlemen, let’s visit the wonderful world of Female Superiority.