Every Friday Her Ladyship visits the Ritz for afternoon tea. Leaving Harold, the senior male servant, in charge of the house. But look at him! Standing there in front of Laura’s desk with his hands behind his back like a schoolboy. Laura is a mere kitchen maid, for God’s sake, so why on earth is Harold trembling?
Laura carefully studies the notes in Her ledger. You’re still giving Me hard time, Harold, She sighs. And I don’t understand why. Yes, I have you complete in My power and yes, all your hard earned money goes into My account. But what’s the big deal? It’s not the end of the world, is it?
This has to stop, he says with restrained anger in his voice, I can’t take it anymore.
She closes the ledger and nods in understanding. You’re right, you’re right. Let’s tell Her Ladyship the truth – that I caught you sniffing My panties. Get it over with. I can always give Her your filmed confession of course, but I think it’s best you tell Her personally. Come clean, get fired and spend the rest of your li-
Stop, please … he whispers. He looks so powerless and lost, so beaten and crushed. He swallows his pride and says: I apologise for my behaviour, it … it won’t happen again.
That’s correct, because who’s in charge here, Harold?
You are, Madame.
See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, get the fuck back to work and send in My next victim.
Twelve, pale looking, servants are waiting in line in the hallway. The Housekeeper is waiting (caught gossiping about Her Ladyship), the Valet (just for being a dick) and the Coachman (caught kissing the Parlourmaid). The Under Butler is waiting for his turn (caught masturbating on the job) and, the biggest catch of all, the Gamekeeper (who writes naughty – very, very naughty – stories in his free time).
Flies caught in Her web, helpless and completely at Her mercy.


He opened his birthday present and immediately teared up when he saw the dog collar.
Am I getting a dog? Ohhhh, I have been dreaming of that since I was a wee boy. Is it a terrier? A spaniel perhaps? A poodle? A bulldog? Please tell me, darling, please! Does it have a name yet?? Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, what’s in a name, right? Ohhhh, I’m so exited, I can’t stop talking. You should have gagged me first, haha. You claw like a grumpy lioness, rule like a strict Governess … but underneath that facade of Female greatness and power, You’re such a sweet Woman. Bless You, darling, for making me so happy. Please, don’t hold me in suspension any longer! Where is it, where is the dog!
She looked at him as if he were a fossil of prehistoric times.
It’s in the room ….
IN THE ROOM!!!!!! he screamed.
He jumped off the couch like a flea with an itch. He kneeled down and looked under the couch, looked behind the big flower pots, under the cushions, behind the curtains, in the drawers.
Come here, you empty bag, She said. Give Me the collar and kneel down in front of Me.
Oh my God, he whispered in panic, You’re not sitting on the poor thing, are You, darling?
She ignored him and put the collar on his neck and attached a leash to the collar.
There you go! That’s My doggy. Say: WOOF.
The truth sank in with all its might. Unbelief en disappointment dripped from his face. Woof, he said, without a trace of enthusiasm.
Do that again and I have you neutered at the vets, She sneered.
WOOF, WOOF, he barked, jumping up and down and wagging his dick.
That’s better, She smiled. Now, it’s your birthday, soooooo …. how about some dog food!


The Femdom Pilgrimage is mandatory once every five years for all unowned slaves. The length of the journey is 1,000 miles (1,609 kilometres) and has to be completed on foot (the aid of any vehicle is prohibited). The slaves carry a Pilgrim Passport with them to be stamped (and checked!) several times a day. The many hostels, inns and lodgings along the route are run by Women. Don’t be surprised if you have to eat from the floor, sleep on a bed of nails, being smothered to sleep and slapped awake, because these lovely and hospitable hosts will stop at nothing to make your stay as uncomfortable as possible. Bless them! Sleeping rough is a criminal offence and will be dealt with appropriately and severely. And trust me, you don’t want to get in trouble with the Pilgrim Police! Yes, they are everywhere and they will check your documents again and again. And if they want you to clean their boots in the meantime, then do so without hesitation.
But let’s not dwell on that, just think of all the beautiful shrines you can visit along the way! The Temple of the Holy Boot for example or the Anal Altar, and, not to forget, the Urine Fountains, where pilgrims flock to quench their thirst.
I love the Pilgrimage, I really do. Because It’s such a beautiful way to live the dream of slavery to its fullest. I’m not just doing it because I have to, I’m doing it out of admiration for all Women. Yes, the paths can be steep and slippery, the weather can be foul and walking long distances can be exhausting … but that’s how it’s supposed to be! The journey should be challenging and humbling, so that we can become better slaves.
June 2176 – john


He rolled over the floor in pain, squealing like a pig, got to his knees and crawled to the door.
Where the hell do you think you’re going? Mistress Amanda hissed.
I … I am leaving, he sobbed, please … I … I’ve had enough.
She grabbed him by his hair and dragged him back.
You leave when I tell you to leave. She pulled him up like a sack of potatoes and pushed him against the wall. I only kneed you once, for God’s sake! ONCE! Are you for real? You told Me you are an experienced ballbusting slave. Was that a lie?
I’ve watched hundreds of ballbusting movies, he screamed in panic.
She slapped him across the face and he collapsed back on the floor, wailing like a wild animal. He grovelled in front of Her and pressed his face against Her feet.
Please Mistress, I beg You, please let me go ….
I’ve met My fair share of losers and clowns over the years, She said with utter contempt, but you are definitely one of the worst. Get out, you wimp, and don’t come back!
Thank You, he scried like a little boy, thank You so much.
Five hours later he posted a video on his channel and told his followers about his ballbusting session. He proclaimed himself to be a hero, because the Lady had kicked and kneed his balls for several hours, he said … But he did not feel a thing, he claimed … His gullible followers lapped it up without question. “There is no one like you,” one of his admirers wrote.
God, if only that were true.


My daughter Givmia da Whippa turned 19 last week. Unbelievable, time goes faster than a race chariot in the Circus Maximus. But what do you give to someone who has everything? I talked about it with some friends and in the end I decided to buy Her a slave. There are plenty of slaves in the house of course, but they are all mine. So this is going to be Her very first slave (the first of many to come in the future, no doubt). It really is a special moment in a young Woman’s life, because we all remember our first slave, right? Anyway, I bought him from a good friend who owns a Slave Farm located on the Via Domitia. She told me that the creature was born into slavery, neutered, in pristine condition and that he had a brain the size of a pea. Seriously, what more can a Lady ask for?
My daughter was chuffed to bits with Her present and immediately started slapping him around. So cute. But I advised Her to take it easy in the beginning. Command him with Your voice, I suggested, and do not chastise the Jupiter out him for not doing it right. Not yet. That time will come. Patience first, pain later. So praise him when he listens to Your commands or exhibits good behaviour. Make him willing to work, suffer and die for You. Not for fear of punishment, but because he worships You. Remember, I said, an eager and a well-trained slave is a joy forever.
I could tell She was disappointed, because Her hands were itching to smack the crap out of him. Mama, She pouted, what’s the point of having a dungeon if I can’t fully enjoy it?
Ah, the impatience of youth.


He was Her husband. But he was also Her slave. They were very discreet about it though, nobody knew or suspected a thing. Until … two of Her closest friends dropped by for a visit. Everything went well at first; harmless chatter, tea & biscuits. But then, out of the blue, his Wife (aka his Mistress) looked at him and said: Come here, slave.
The stirring stopped and you could hear a tea leaf drop. He didn’t know where to look and his face turned bright red.
He’s My slave, She explained, almost apologetically. He obeys Me in everything, literally everything. It’s wonderful and I can heartily recommend it. She looked at Her husband again. Don’t be shy, pet. Come here. On your knees. There we go, that’s a good boy.
The Ladies looked at Her (and him) with new eyes … and started laughing. And jeering. It was utterly humiliating and he looked helpless and lost. But his Mistress was right (as always), there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Her. Furthermore, She was the boss and She could do with him as She pleased. It was, in other words, a perfect marriage.
She took off one of Her high-heeled shoes and pressed it against his face.
Hold it in place, She commanded.
The delicious aroma of Her shoe made him dizzy. Waves of delight overtook him and he moaned loudly. The Ladies shrieked and laughed. Their voices stumbled over each other. When did it start? And how? Had She trained him? Did She punish him? REALLY? How?
He could only listen to half of it because he was completely absorbed in his own world. And Her shoe. He was a slave, HER slave, and was now ready to shout it from the rooftops.


Do Your worst, count Ralph said.
You can’t handle My worst, escort Dominatrix Misumi Hukinata smiled. She was Japanese and blessed with a body of a Goddess. The count was one of Her regular clients. He was rich as Croesus and submissive to the bone. Which was, She thought, a match made in Heaven. What a catch!
Do Your worst, he repeated, because he was a man of very few words.
So She put him in shackles, took him to the centuries-old dungeons beneath the castle (his castle) and locked him up in one of the cells.
He has been Her prisoner now for twelve years, eight months, three weeks and six days. He receives one hour per day of yard time and is allowed to go out once every six months and do whatever he wants to do. Visit friends, family, travel outside the district, whatever. He could run away if he wanted to. But he never does. He always returns to Her, always returns so his dark and damp cell and his life in slavery. Because what is wealth compared to Her beauty? What is freedom compared to Her delicious hunger for power? And, frankly, he doesn’t have much choice. Not anymore. Because She seized his bank accounts and is now Countess of the Castle. Literally, because he signed the transfer papers.
Does he live a meagre existence? Yes, he does. Does he live in a world of hurt, humiliation and suffering? Very much so, yes. But you know what? He’s living the life he has been dreaming of.
And that’s more, much more, than most of us can say.


It’s your lucky day, slave, because I have some exiting news to share with you.
He knew what She was going to say. Oh yes, he did! This young, heartless Bitch had blackmailed him for three years! You would not believe the things She had done to him. Not to mention all the money She took from him! It had been a living hell, but it was almost over now. She was in Her final year and She would be leaving school to take a job somewhere. She would be someone else’s nightmare. Thank you, goodbye and fuck off. She was about to tell him that he was a free man again. Free at last! Thank God Almighty; he would be free at last!
You are My first slave, She smiled, and I’ve done a marvellous job, if I may say so Myself. I’ve turned you into an obedient and submissive servant. Is that not so, slave?
Yes, Princess, he whispered.
Correct. And I think it would be a real pity if all My hard work went to waste. Besides, it’s rather selfish to keep all the fun to Myself.
He had no idea what She was talking about, but he smelt a rat. A big one. Something was clearly amiss and his dick cowered behind his zipper.
So! I’m going to pass the information I have on you to My successor. Her name is Nancy and She’s a nasty piece of work.
N-o-o-o-o-o, he screamed in horror, Princess, please don’t do that. Please have mercy on me!!
Pet, you’re a natural!! No, no, you’re far too precious and far too generous. Besides, in spite of all your grumbling, I think you quite like being a slave. Ain’t that right, headmaster?


On 31 March the enormous siege towers were wheeled against the north wall of the city of Kalanbash ad Hattenfrat and after days of fierce fighting the attackers breached the walls and stormed into the city. The victorious emperor Alfred (aka Big Al) was a cruel, depraved, sadistic tyrant and he ordered his troops to ransack and loot the city, enslave the young and kill the old. He was a nasty piece of work, what can I say. Within hours the victors, including Alfred himself, were dripping with blood from head to foot. After a hard day’s work he returned to his huge tent (477 m² in 67 separate rooms). His wife Elma was not pleased, not pleased at all.
I told you to be home at six o’clock, She fumed, and you decided to ignore Me!
I’m so sorry sweetie pie, he said all shy and timid, but I had such a love-
Shut your mouth! I’m not interested in your lame excuses. 
Pumpkin! I’m the emperor!
So? I’m the Goddess. Or did that slip your mind? Mmm?
N-no, of course not, he whispered.
Good! Pants down and bend over.
Elma, please!! What will the men think of me!
What did you just call Me?
The threat in Her voice was unmistakable.
Goddess Elma, I’m sorry, I meant Goddess.
I don’t care about your soldiers, do you hear? I can parade you through the city on a leash and no one would dare to say anything. Because behind every great man is a Woman with a whip. Don’t ever forget that.
Kalanbash ad Hattenfrat, July 1099


You’re probably suffering from haemorrhoids, my doctor said.
I was flabbergasted: Haemorrhoids, doctor? In my ears??
Yes, well, the human body is a mysterious thing, what can I say. Your fingernails grow faster than your toenails, for example. Weird, right? If you lose a nail, it will grow back. But if you lose your penis, the word ‘handjob’ will be a distant memory. The penis doesn’t grow back, you see? Sure, you can superglue a cucumber between your legs, but it’s not the same, right?
I opened my mouth, but She slapped it shut.
Not interested! Now, let’s get to the bottom of those haemorrhoids. Take your pants down.
I did so reluctantly while She put on a strap-on harness with a big dildo in it.
I don’t understand, doctor, I said worriedly, that’s a … dildo.
It certainly looks like one, doesn’t it? She smiled. It is, in fact, a flexible tube with a highly sensitive camera in the tip.
I’ve never heard of that, I said.
Of course not, you’re an idiot. Now, bend over and spread your ass with your hands.
I felt something wet dripping on my ass. She thrust in the dildo with force and pumped the thing in and out as if She was drilling for oil. I screamed in agony. She literally fucked me senseless and when the dildo finally slid out of my ass, I could hardly stand up straight.
Good news, She said, no haemorrhoids whatsoever. There must be something wrong with your ears after all. How extraordinary. So, let me push a rod down your penis and see what happens.


On National Slave Shearing Day the entire male population gets a haircut. This happens twice a year; once in autumn and once in spring. Those who refuse will be fined £3,000 for their first refusal and £10,000 for the second. If it happens again they will be charged and have to appear in court. No exceptions, no mercy. The shearing takes place in town halls, indoor sports arena’s, barns, on the village square and so on.
I’m not a Shearing Day enthusiast, to be honest. On the contrary, I find it utterly degrading. It starts as soon as we arrive, when our hair is checked for lice and nits. Those with lice will be lashed to smithereens. It does not really help with the lice, but everyone feels better afterwards. Well, everyone except one, of course.
And then the shearing itself! Sweet Jesus, what an ordeal! This is shearing on an industrial scale and the Female Shearers work long hours. They are sick and tired of all that hair and they want it over and done with as quickly as possible. So no, not all of them are cruelty free and compassionate! Far from it. Sometimes it’s more a slaughterhouse than anything else and you are lucky to leave with your ears still attached. Forget fringe haircuts, mohawks, undercuts or medium length haircuts. They’re not into that at all, man! So at the end of the day, when all is clipped & cropped, we all end up- bald as snooker balls- on the snooker table of Female Superiority.
September 2097, slave harold


The annual Company Chess Tournament was open to anyone who wished to play. Winners moved onto the next round, losers were out of the tournament. I joined and won one match after the other. Then I had to play Elvira in the semi-finals. We were good friends and I knew all too well that She would stop at nothing to win. I didn’t worry about it though, because I was one of the favourites to win the tournament. She called me the night before the match, begging me to take it easy with Her. ‘You’re such a magnificent player,’ She said. And I, pawn Gullible the 1st, didn’t smell a rat and gave Her my word.
She came in that day, wearing a metallic mini dress and red heels. My eyes almost popped out of my head and my dick pounded on my zipper like a madman in solitary confinement. This was so unfair! She knew all about my obsession with legs and now She had me in Her trap. The bloody Woman!
You look a bit pale, She grinned, are you feeling alright?
I opened my mouth to give Her a piece of my mind, but She rubbed Her gorgeous legs against mine and my words vaporised. I sat there like a fully clothed penis, unable to move and unable to utter a sound.
She opened with the Queens Gambit (what else) and I accepted (of course).
How do you like My dress? She whispered. It makes My legs look beautiful, wouldn’t you agree? I put it on especially for you, as a ‘thank-you’ for being so kind to Me.
And I knew, there and then, that I was a sitting chess duck. I lost the game in 21 moves. She didn’t beat me, She destroyed me. And boy, did She rub it in every chance She got! Mocking me in a never-ending verbal victory-pose.
You see? You don’t necessarily need to have a dildo up your ass to know that you’re a loser.


I was going to move thousands of miles away from where I lived, so My personal slave became redundant. He had served Me for over ten years, so what to do with such a loyal individual? In My opinion we have a certain responsibility towards these creatures and we should not walk away from that. It’s part of being Divine, I guess. So yes, I wanted to do the right thing for him. However, the next Slave Auction would not take place for at least six months and I honestly couldn’t wait that long. Donating him to a vivisectionist was of course an option, but I immediately dismissed that thought, because I hate cruelty to animals. That sounds strange perhaps, because I nailed his scrotum to the floorboards the other day. But that was not cruelty, that was fun. Well, for Me it was anyway. So I contacted Monique’s Slave Boutique (for all Your Dominant needs and pleasures) and asked if She was interested in a secondhand slave, but She was already full to capacity. And then I got a call from an acquaintance of mine who was interested and asked me if She could borrow him for a couple of days. You know, take him for a test ride, that sort of thing. Five days later we signed the transfer deed. A good deed, indeed!
No, I did not talk with him about it! What on earth has he got to do with anything? He’s a 24/7 slave, for God’s sake! And I’m a lifestyle Mistress, not the chairwoman of a debate club. Furthermore, he is a man, so the empty box between his ears is not exactly a powerhouse, if you know what I mean. Besides, the only power in My house is Female Power.
Lady Laura


A husband must always respect, and constantly fear his Wife. A useful tool in this is undoubtedly the cattle prod. Pookie didn’t know what it was at first. Poor thing. He put on his Albert Einstein look, studied the prod as if it was an object from another galaxy and wondered if it was some sort of paint sprayer device. Nope, I certainly didn’t marry him for his intelligence, that’s for sure. Wished the Creator had given these creatures at least the beginning of a brain. Nothing fancy, a brain the size of a duck would already have been marvellous. But no such luck. Didn’t marry him for his Dinky Toy Dick either, by the way, but we’ll talk about that some other time.
Anyways, I ordered him on hands and knees, his ass facing Me and gave him a jolt with the cattle prod. Long enough to send his haemorrhoids up to his throat. He jumped up from the floor and screamed like a pig on its way to the slaughterhouse. I knew I had found My new favourite tool.
Snookums turned out to be a quick learner and is terrified of that thing. So I use it daily! Around half past three in the afternoon snuggles puts the tea kettle on the stove and I put the cattle prod on the table. When he comes in with the tea, you can hear the cups rattling on the tray. So cute. It’s one of those things that makes it all worthwhile, I guess. Fear is such an excellent motivator and there’s something romantic about a husband who’s ready to shit himself with fright.
Lady Ingrid


There will always be protesters and rioters, Special Instructor Evelyn said, there will always be creatures who brake the rules and cause mayhem.
I can’t wait to get My hands on the bastards, recruit Sylvia hissed.
Now, now, S.I. Evelyn hushed, please have some respect for the opposite sex.
The class burst out in laughter and S.I. Evelyn had to wipe the tears from Her face.
God, I should have been a comedian, She giggled.
The Femdom Police recruits will be required to attend a 30-week training academy. They will learn martial arts, like hand-to-hand combat, fist-to-chin, knee-to-groin, foot-to-face, teeth-out-mouth, kick-da-shin and snap-da-finger for example. They will learn how to interrogate and how to torture, how to whip and how to humiliate.
The average man thinks only of himself, S.I. Evelyn continued. We gave them a Communal Masturbation Center, gave them a Testicle-Tennis-Table, took headshots of their penis, enlarged them to poster size (the photo that is, not the penis) so that they could hang it in their room … But no, it was not enough to please the wildebeests. They wanted more, because that’s what being a brainless dick is all about.
The recruits cheered and clapped.
Each and everyone of them has a choice: submit to our will and be a good boy, or be a stubborn asshole and pay the prize. So being a Femdom Police Officer is all about being ruthless, unforgiving and brutal. It’s not our job to mediate, it’s our job to crush anyone who challenges us.
The entire class rose to their feet in a standing ovation.
Valencia, Spain, July 2119


She grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the wall. She was much stronger than me, Sylvia was. I learned that the hard way, because I had been in this predicament many times before. I tried to stay away from Her as much as possible, but She was like a lioness, Sylvia was, always on the hunt for prey.
Open your mouth, She hissed.
I obeyed and She pushed two fingers into my mouth.
Move your teeth out of the way, or I’ll knock them out!
I panicked, I did, because where does one hide one’s teeth in an emergency situation like this? Still, sucking on Her fingers turned out to be an unexpected delight. And when She took them out of my mouth, I moaned a loud “n-o-o-o-o-o”.
Shut up and open your mouth, She barked.
She was never in a good mood, to be honest. Always agitated and always ready to pummel someone into submission. This time She stuffed Her whole hand into my mouth. I had to stop myself from gagging and I was drooling like a Saint Bernard in heat. She was quite unfamiliar with the word “mercy”, Sylvia was, so She took Her time. But finally, after God knows how long, She pulled Her hand out of my mouth and wiped it on my shirt.
Now thank Me!
Thank You, Sylvia, thank You so much, thank You!
She looked at me with Her cold, beautiful, predator eyes.
We’ll meet again, loser, be sure of that.
She’s such a lovely, wicked Angel, Sylvia is.


Come on let’s fist again
like we did last summer
Ye-e-eah, let’s fist again
like we did last year
that fist kept coming
Yeah, let’s fist again
fistin’ time is here
Heeee, and round and round
and in and out it go-o-o-oes again
Oh baby, make Me know you love it soooooo
And then:
Come on let’s fist again
like we did last summer
et cetera


I’ve always wanted to submit myself to the will of one or more Women. It felt as natural as breathing and all I ever wanted to be was a 24/7 slave. My thoughts, dreams and fantasies excited me and I masturbated multiple times per day thinking about it. But at the same time, I never felt the desire to be romantically or sexually involved with a Mistress. I was more into candle-wax than candlelight, you could say. But finding a lifestyle Mistress was not easy, to put it mildly, so I started visiting professional Mistresses. Met some lovely Ladies, learned an awful lot and had some great sessions! But, you know, they whipped me as long as I paid them to whip me, which was a far cry from the lifestyle I was longing for.
And then I met Mistress Angela at a Fetish Party in Amsterdam. She was unlike any Woman I’d ever met before. So elegant, so charismatic, so confident, so strong and so powerful! She said what She meant and meant what She said. Furthermore, She was lesbian. She didn’t hate men or anything, but they were simply irrelevant to Her. Useful as slaves, nothing more. Which was, as you can imagine, music to my ears. A lesbian Mistress, why didn’t I think of that! She took me under Her wing, also known as: She crushed me under Her boot. Everything about Her was pure (and still is) and Her contempt for me was very real (and still is). It has been magical ever since.
‘I don’t understand you,’ one of my friends said, ‘it will never be more than this.’
To which I shrugged my soldiers and said: ‘It can never be better than this.’
slave james


I hated the annual Team Building Activities at the office. Bonding is important, they said. Well, I preferred bondage, thank you very much. But n-o-o-o-o-o-o, we had to play beach volleyball in the dead of winter, dress up as pirates and sing sea shanties all fucking day or stand in a circle in a forest and tell each other what we didn’t like about each other. Great fun.
One day, we went canoeing. The wind was howling, there was foam on the water and the rain came bucketing down. Canoe versus cloudburst, Noah’s Flood Part II. No one had thought to bring a raincoat, so it was long and miserable day. In the late afternoon, after hours and hours of ‘outdoor fun’, and soaked to the bone, we ended up in some sort of cabin. There we had a nice meal and lots of wine. One of my Female colleagues became somewhat tipsy and put Her bandana over Her mouth. She pointed Her thumb and finger at me like a gun and said: Put your hands in the air. Right now!
And I did, without blinking an eye.
Such a good boy, She grinned, taking orders from a Woman.
What choice do I have, I said cheeky, You’re the boss.
Amazing what a fair quantity of red wine can do to the human tongue!
Very good, She laughed. You keep them hands up, mister.
Before this moment, She was a colleague, but now She was THE colleague, the dazzling Bandita with the Bandana! So there I was, hands in the air and with steam bursting through my zipper like a geyser. I was willing to sit like this all night, willing to paddle down Niagara Falls for Her.
I wonder if She still remembers it, too. Wonder if She, occasionally, tells the story of the canoe, the bandana and the colleague who had his arms up in the air for almost three hours.


I was heading to my car, when a van pulled up alongside me. Doors flew open and two Women sprang out and attacked me. I tried to fight them off, but I didn’t stand a chance. A quite sobering conclusion, but it’s the truth. They zip-tied my hands behind my back, pulled a sack over my head and bundled me into the back of the van. After about an hour or so the car suddenly stopped. I was forced down a narrow corridor and into a room. I was pushed against the wall and then they cut my clothes off! ALL my clothes!!! This was far more realistic than I expected and I must admit I was quite a bit overwhelmed. I was slapped, kicked, choked, trampled, insulted, whipped and spat on. Towards the end they forced me to the floor, pissed all over me and left me lying there for at least an hour. They returned into the room, untied me and ordered me to put on the clothes they brought with them. Which was easier said than done, because I couldn’t see a thing with the sack still over my head. The clothes turned out to be way too small for me and it was near impossible to squeeze myself in! They took me to the van and drove me to the outskirts of town, kicked me out, removed the sack and drove off into the night.
I never got a good look at my kidnappers and would not recognize them in broad daylight. I was exhausted, hungry, stank of sweat and urine, looked like an adult in children’s clothes and I had a long walk ahead of me. I didn’t care. I headed home whistling and smiling the entire way.


After about three quarters of an hour we came to a clearing in the forest. The Ladies told me to take off my clothes, but allowed me to keep my boxers on. They tied me to a tree, because that’s what trees are for. I had to suppress a giggle, because they put on gloves. Gloves? It was sweltering hot outside! But I kept my cool and looked at them like it was the most natural thing in the world. They told me to wait there (very funny) and disappeared among the trees. Ten minutes later they returned with a bunch of stinging nettles, which made my not-a-worry-in-the-world smile melt like a glacier.
Ladies, please, I panicked, these things sting like crazy!
(Which shows there’s nothing going on between my ears.)
They laughed and whacked me across the face. And then the battle of the nettle began. They whipped the bloody things across my arms, my chest and legs. Within seconds my skin started itching and burning. I screamed, but they threatened to stuff nettles in my mouth, so I snapped shut. They pulled my boxers down, dropped one handful- two hands full- three hands full of nettles in the crotch and pulled it up again. Jesus Christ! Like sticking your scrotum in fresh lava! One of the Ladies firmly rubbed Her hand over my Vesuvius (well … ) and I wriggled in misery. They untied me and forced me to run through a huge field of nettles.
Chop, chop, we haven’t got all day! That’s it! And again! Faster, faster!
God, how I longed for the winter!


A few weeks ago I found a recipe in a vintage Women’s Weekly magazine. It’s called Soup a la Lingerie. Easy to make and packed with flavour. The ingredients are:
  • a panty (preferably the one you’re currently wearing)
  • duct tape
  • handcuffs or rope
  • a bowl
  • a full bladder
  • an idiot, also known as a male creature
Now, tell the empty bottle, the idiot that is, to kneel down and cuff, or tie, his hands behind his back. It does not affect the taste of the soup, but it’s a nice addition. It’s like putting the kettle on, one might say. Next, take off your gorgeous panty and put it in a bowl. Squat over it and take a long hot piss. Soak that panty, drown it and let it suck up all the juice. Season it, if you like, with a bit of spit or a good old-fashioned fart. Tell the creature to open wide and stuff the soaked panty in his mouth. Wrap some duct tape around his head a few times to make sure that nothing goes to waste.
Let him simmer for about two to three hours. He’s been such a good boy (or not), he deserves it (or not). Pinch his nose from time to time if you want to put up the heat. You can also add certain naughty ingredients if you want. Faceslapping for example (aka stirring), carrots up his nose, broccoli in his ears (aka side dishes); anything goes. Well, that’s all for today on ‘Kinky Cuisine’.
Next time: roasted testicles in penis sauce.


I bought the secondhand book because of the handwritten inscription inside. It read:
Slave, April 16, 14:00, Brither-str. 14-III. Come alone and bring this book. Mistress A.
I knew, of course, that the message was meant for some else. I didn’t know any Mistress A. Also, the message could be years old for all I knew. Still, I was intrigued. So I visited Brither Street a couple of times and saw the house from the outside. I became a bit obsessed and I decided I wouldn’t be stopped by the mere technicality that I hadn’t met this Mistress before. Act innocent, I said to myself, and pretend to be a complete and utter moron. Which was, as you can imagine, easy enough.
April 16th came with stomach pains and I rang the doorbell precisely at two. There was a buzzing sound and the door opened. I was stunned, because I didn’t believe that would actually happen. I went up the stairs and noticed that one of the doors was open. I hesitantly stepped inside.
I felt a sharp pain in my neck and turned around quickly. There was a nurse standing behind me, dressed in a short, latex uniform. She was holding a syringe in Her gloved hand.
Jesus, I screamed. You scared the shit out of me. What did you d-
I injected you with a strong sedative, She said. You better sit down.
Why shou-
My legs gave way and I slumped into a chair. The room was spinning round and round.
Was it the word “slave” that made your dick tick like a gigantic sperm bomb, She giggled, or was it the word “Mistress?” Both perhaps. Anyway, you will be taken to the City of Femme, where you’ll spend the rest of your life in slavery.
Don’t be absurd!! I laughed hysterically. Read my lips: I’m not, repeat NOT, going.
I went.


Once upon a time a prince went into the dark and haunted woods of Paroldo. After three hours he reached the cabin of the Witch.
I’m looking for a potion that turns a Woman into a lifestyle Dominant, he shyly whispered.
Interesting, the Witch hissed, a challenge!
She paced up and down, mumbling to Herself. The prince held his breath and tongue.
Two tablespoons of bear-snot, some dragon blood, cinnamon of course, 20 grams of cow’s bladder, one … no, let’s make that two hands of rat’s ass, one rabbit ear, a handful of nettles, a pinch of salt, some vinegar and … a cucumber perhaps? … yes, why not, we only live once …
She threw everything in the cauldron that was bubbling and smoking over the fire.
THEN! She shrieked, cackling with laughter, a special touch: My saliva.
She gargled and spat into the cauldron, grabbed a ladle and stirred it.
Clockwise and anticlockwise, She mumbled, that’s the trick.
It boiled and steamed for almost an hour. Then She took the red hot cauldron off the fire with Her bare hands and placed it on the ground.
Will it actually work, She whispered, or ….
She took the ladle and drank the boiling liquid like ice-tea. Nothing happened.
More nettles perhaps, She pondered, or is it the dragon blood …
I can come back some other time if you wan-
Know thou place, toad to be! She thundered. Don’t make Me whip you unconscious and crush you underneath My boots! 
The prince rubbed his hands together and smiled: Can I have five bottles of that potion, please?


Screaming, constable? What do you mean by that?
Well … like: “AHHH-H-H-H”, he said, with a nervous tremor in his voice. He found it hard to breathe and impossible to think clearly because he had never seen such a beautiful Lady before in his life. Her eyes were intense and powerful, Her skin flawless and Her smile irresistible. Her leather dress accentuated Her dazzling figure and there was an undeniable, and quite appealing, air of authority and confidence about Her.
A tormented cry of pain echoed through the building.
Sweet Jesus Christ! What was that! He shouted and his eyes almost popped out of his head.
Calm now, She soothed, that was not a cry of pain, it was a cry of pleasure. Come, follow Me.
She took him by the hand like a child and lead him into a room filled with cages, chains, whips and strange looking furniture. There was a naked fellow in there, covered in marks and strapped to some sort of bench.
Hello Inspector Barnaby, he said, smiling from ear to ear, this is awesome man!
The Lady squeezed his hand: See? What did I  tell you. Are you ready to give it a try, constable?
Try??? No, no, not in a millio-
Oh, but you are! I can see it in your eyes. I will be here with you, every single step of the way. I would be very, very disappointed if you said no. Are you going to do that, constable? Are you really going to disappoint Me??
No … Ma’am, of … of course not, he whispered meekly.
That’s the spirit! Now, let’s get to the bottom, your bottom, of those screams, shall we?


People are very, Very, VEry, VERy, VERY sensitive nowadays and even submissive creatures demand to be treated with respect. Now, I never had a high opinion of men in the first place, but this is a new and unprecedented level of stupidity. A demanding slave is an oxymoron, a contradiction in terms. You’re either demanding or a slave, but you can’t be both. If you think I’m being rude or disrespectful, then I suggest you take a long hard look in the mirror, because you are not a slave. Not even the beginning of a slave. To Me, a slave is like toilet paper – useful at certain times of the day, but ‘respect’ is not the word that comes to mind while wiping My bottom.
And please, for the love of God, don’t tell Me you’re one of those tiresome creatures who demands to be heard! If so, may I suggest you join a choir? Go into politics? Train a parrot? Find a job as a railway station announcer? ‘Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please, the train from God-knows-where is now arriving at platform nummer two’. 
Let’s be honest, in the grand scheme of things you’re an insect, a broom with testicles, a fart gone wrong, an empty vase, an afterthought, one of evolution most dreadful mistakes. Why the hell would I want to listen to your boring stories? Call a sex chat line. Or go and see a therapist, while you’re at it. But whatever you do, leave Me out of it. I’m a Mistress for God’s sake, not an extension of the Wailing Wall. So no, I don’t have to convince you that I’m a real Mistress; you have to convince Me that you’re a real slave.
Lady Blunt


I never knew when, or even if, there would be a next time. Sometimes She wanted to see me daily, sometimes a couple of times a month and sometimes not at all for long periods of time. The dreadful uncertainty was a wicked touch and a torment in itself. She was an old-school disciplinarian and a passionate believer in Female Superiority. Her word was law and Her authority was beyond all doubt. She was twelve years older than me, and, needless to say, at least twelve-hundred times wiser. She was a beautiful, elegant and sophisticated Lady who never raised voice. Because, She explained: ‘if you can’t control yourself, then how can you possibly control a slave.’ She also never asked whether or not I enjoyed the harsh training sessions. She once said: ‘Don’t ask how the session was for you; ask how it was for Me.’ What made it so special and memorable was the ease and casualness of it all: She led, I followed; She punished, I suffered; She ruled, I obeyed. God, life can be so simple sometimes. I served and suffered for Her for many years and yet I could hardly sleep the night before a meeting (aka beating). I also often stammered and blushed, because I felt so small and insignificant in Her presence. I couldn’t know it back then, but She belonged to the fast dying breed of genuine lifestyle Mistresses and I will always be grateful that I had the privilege of knowing Her.
slave james


His wife was all for equality (She said), didn’t believe in domineering (She claimed) and was always willing to listen (She asserted). However, She handled all the money and his salary went straight into Her account. So he had to ask for money if he wanted to buy something. Sometimes he was lucky, sometimes he wasn’t. Questioning Her decisions was tantamount to insult. So he kept his mouth shut. Well, he tried anyway.
I am too good for this world, She said one day, because I have decided to give you pocket money. $50 a week, how does that sound?
He couldn’t believe his ears: Wow!! That sounds grea-
That’s the gross allowance, of course. This figure is reduced by a charge of $15 a week for the work I put in behind the scenes. Which leaves a sum of $35 a week.
Well … … OK … … yes, yes, tha–
I also have to charge you for board. Meals, clothes, electricity, gas; it all has to be paid for somehow. So, $18 a week for board. Which leaves a sum of $17 a week. Happy?
He opened his mouth in protest, but She slapped it shut.
Don’t interrupt Me! Where was I? Oh yes, you also have to pay Me a reasonable sum of $15 a week, which goes straight into My clothing account. You don’t want your lovely Wife wearing rags, do you? No, you don’t! So, it leaves you with a net allowance of €2 a week.
He couldn’t believe his ears (part II): That’s not even enough to buy a pair of socks!
Alright, She sneered, if you don’t wan-
No, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was ungrateful of me. I apologise.
Jeez, Harold, She said, shaking Her head, I can’t believe how greedy you are sometimes.


She had been a classmate of his for years, but he barely even noticed Her back then. Years later She started hanging out with a member of a notorious motorcycle gang. Well, so they said anyway. One day he saw Her walking down the street, dressed in tight leather. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life and he started following Her around. She immediately knew what was going on and waited for him to come around the corner. She pushed him against the wall and grabbed his hard-on by the horns. It literally sucked the air out of him. She threatened to tell Her boyfriend and he begged Her for mercy.
Here’s the deal, creep, She hissed. I want you to masturbate for Me each and every day.
Frightened, he obeyed for many years. But over time, he began to wonder what the hell he was doing. He had not seen Her since that afternoon, so there was nothing to worry about. He and his dick went their own way.
He was in a bar one day, waiting for his order, when someone came up behind him and locked an arm around his throat. An arm in a leather jacket. He didn’t have eyes on the back of his head, but he immediately knew who it was. Then a voice, Her voice, in his ear: You’re not cheating on Me, are you, creep?
No Ma’am, he squeaked in fear.
Good. Continue masturbating for Me until I tell you to stop. Do not disobey Me, fuck-face.
He never saw Her again, but he’s still masturbating with Her in mind. Never skips a day. Because She has not told him to stop.


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.