As the members of the House know, it’s not allowed to debate on other questions than those appearing in the agenda. The probability or improbability of a Femdom Exit, or Fexit, is not in the agen- Order! Ordaaa! is not in the agenda, nore will it be. Mr. Duncan, be quiet! I know you feel strongly about this issue and I respect that. But I’m not having you shouting out. Get a grip on yourself man! We’re not, and I apologise to the Secretary of State for Human Pets & Cattle for my choice of words, we’re not animals. We’re all loyal subjects to Her Majesty and submissive towards all Women. Ordaaa! No, no! Order! Yes, the honourable gentleman from Northumberland is free to argue about this as much as he likes, but not in this House! Order! Ordaaaa! May I remind the honourable gentleman that the reign of Women has only just begun and they are not going to allow you, or anyone else for that matter, to withdrawal in some sort of free state. The idea is too absurd for words. Order! Ordaaaa! It will not happen, sir. Not today, not tomorrow, not at any time. No, no! Order! Mr. Duncan, whether you like it or not, Women are in charge and will be for centuries to come. You sir, are now a slave, get used to it and stop wasting everyone’s time. Ordaaaa! House of Commoners – April 2073.
She had Her husband tied to a chair and ball-gagged. He was drooling like a raging river.
Good, good, that’s a start. Let it all out, Harold!
He struggled frantically in his ropes and roared like a caged lion.
Good point, love it.
There’s a valuable lesson to be learned here today, Harold. You’re a slave, and slaves don’t live in a democracy. If you want to be heard, then go to the Speakers’ Corner in Hyde Park on Sunday. For the rest of the time, keep your trap shut and do as you’re told.
Sadly enough I can’t make a print of the fantasies and memories inside my head. But if it were technically possible, then my printed longings and desires would be frighteningly similar to Nanshakh’s artwork. When I was a kid I used to fantasise about Female warriors, Femdom continents and Femdom planets & galaxies. When I grew older I learned that Female Dominance (and male slavery) is less fanciful and imaginative and far more basic. Because there’s a big difference between a) being captured by the Amazons, spending years in the galleys and being sold on a slave market, and b) serving a professional Mistress for two hours in Her SM-room on Kings Road, London. Nanshakh’s exquisite work shows us the distant lands where all men are slaves. They are used and abused, traded and sold like pigs in the market. Wonderful places where no one gives a shit about his needs, his wishes and his limits. A world where male ego doesn’t even exist. And I for one thank God and Nanshakh for that.
When I got into the great yard I saw three Female Officer’s and about twenty male prisoners. When the triangle was brought out I began to shake from head to foot. It appeared that several had to be flogged; and to make matters worse, so far as I was concerned, a number had to undergo the punishment before me. When the first was strapped he began to shout and roar, but the lash was nevertheless administered without mercy. One after the other screamed and begged for forgiveness, but to no avail. Their backs presented the appearance of raw meat. My name was called at last, and I in turn begged to be spared, but they laughed in my face. I was strapped and the horrible beating began. The more I cried for mercy, the more severely was the lash felt. The Officer’s gave extra instructions to the flogger: Lower down, more to the right, or: try to hit that same spot again, only harder. At length I was released and marched slowly to my cell. On arriving there I fell down from exhaustion, and was scarcely be able to lie in bed for pain. Anno Domini 2154, Femdom Gaol, Chicago.
It’s very, very tiny, Mistress, I said.
Big Mistake! She slapped me hard in the face. And again. And yet again. Like being kissed by a sledgehammer.
Dogs don’t talk, do they, Pluto?
I kept stumm, didn’t even growl. She picked up a dog toy, showed it to me and tossed it across the room. I wagged my non-existing tail and waited.
I crawled like crazy and picked up the toy with …… my hand. Jesus, Snoopy! Seconds later She rammed Her boot on the back of my head, holding my face down to the floor. She grabbed my hair and trimmed it. I got the point.
I fetched the toy over and over again, brought it back and placed it right before Her feet.
Next time we’ll bring out the dog food, She said.
I hid my head under the couch and whined.
Yes, it was a deeply humiliating experience, but I was as happy as a dog with two tails.
Man, I was such a greenhorn when I met a Mistress for the first time. I believed virtually everything I saw on Internet, so my perception of reality was completely distorted. So naive, so gullible. At the same time I knew, that if I wanted to be taken seriously as a slave, I had to be a gentleman as well. Now, good manners are hard to find these days and never before in history people have been so outspoken, ill-mannered, complacent, demanding, rude and opinionated. Gentlemanlike behaviour is for fools and idiots. But is it? No Lady wants to waste Her time on a piece of Neanderthal or an ill-mannered yokel from Gods knows where. And most importantly: inappropriate behaviour reflects badly on your Mistress, leaving others to think that She does not know how to train a slave.
The good news is: chivalry didn’t die with the dinosaurs. More than that: opening a door for a Lady, being respectful, carrying Her bags, kissing Her hand, helping Her to Her seat, being honest, confident yet humble; all this should be compulsory. Don’t ask yourself if you got what is takes to be a good slave; just pipe down a bit, show some good manners and let your story begin.
Wow Mistress, I-
The second one was much harder and smacked my face to the right.
Only speak when spoken to, slave! I know you’re still a rookie, but we talked about this already. Now, patience is not one of my virtues, so shut up till I tell you otherwise.
I saw Her left hand flying in, but it was Her right that hit me. I’m not sure, but I thought I heard birds singing.
I didn’t give you permission to speak, did I?
Aha, the classic rhetorical questions! The famous find-any-excuse-to-smack-him-silly trap. Well, I wasn’t going to fall for it again, no sir! Do I really look that stupid?
Blimey!! The slaps flew in with lighting speed and brutal force: left, right, left, left, left, right, right, left, right, right! My head was spinning like laundry in a washing machine. Honest to God, She could decapitate a man with Her powerful slaps. This was only my second day of training, so I was learning things the hard way. But then again: is there any other way?