Pauline was a great looking Girl: blond, smooth skin, perky breasts, a gorgeous smile and not an inch of fat on Her body. I met Her at a birthday party, where She beat everyone who challenged Her to an arm-wrestling match. Boys, Girls, men and Women; She crushed them all. Which was bizarre, because Her body didn’t do biceps, if you know what I mean. I honestly thought it was a prank, some sort of hidden camera shit, or something like that. But in the end I could not restrain myself and decided to challenge Her and teach Her a lesson. I started aggressively and went full throttle immediately, but it was like pushing against a brick wall. She didn’t flinch and Her face was as calm as a pond on a windless day. My arm began to hurt and the strength melted away. And then it was all over. My hand smashed on the table with a powerful bang and everyone cheered. I was flabbergasted and immediately agreed to do the other arm. Well, we all make mistakes and mine lasted less than a second. It was Go-Baff-Over, only much faster. I had the honour of meeting Her several times after that and had at least ten rematches against Her. I didn’t stand a change and the result was always the same.
Rose at six, opened the shutters, cleaned the fireplaces, lighted the kitchen fire, boiled the water and took it to Lady Ilsa. Swept & dusted the rooms and the hall, laid the cloth and got breakfast up. Cleaned three pairs of boots, stripped the beds, did the washstands and tidied the bathroom & bedrooms and made the beds. Cleared & washed the breakfast plates and cups away. Cleaned & rubbed up the table silver. Cleaned the kitchen and scrubbed the floor on my knees. Walked to Lady Isabel’s mansion, who lives 5 miles away, and gave Her a letter from Milady. Waited for the reply and hurried back. Laid table for lunch. Scrubbed the hall & steps on my knees. Cleared away luncheon. Picked & gutted two ducks and roasted them. Scrubbed the pantry on my knees and scoured the tables. Scrubbed round the house and cleaned the window sills. Laid the table for dinner. Cleared & washed away dinner plates, bowls, table silver, glasses etc. Served tea at nine for Milady and Her friends. Cleaned the privy, passage & scullery floor on my knees and cleaned the sink down. Cleared & washed the cups and glasses away. To bed at eleven, too tired to take off my uniform. Tomorrow it will start all over again, and yet I consider myself to be the luckiest sissy slave on the planet. April 1873 – Longfeet Hall, Derbyshire.
♬ All you need is Gloves (rata-dadada)
All you need is Gloves (rata-dadada)
All you need is Gloves, Gloves
Gloves is all you need ♬
Hats (for men) and gloves (for Women) are out of fashion nowadays. Yeah, yeah, I know, what about mittens, right? Well, fuck mittens, because that’s like saying thermal underwear is the same as lingerie. Sadly enough the real deal gloves are not part of a Lady’s everyday wardrobe anymore. And that’s a real shame, because a Woman with gloves is a masterpiece in itself, I would say. Gloves are elegant, sexy, mesmerising, sensual and intimidating at the same time. I recall my aunt Rebecca wearing gloves. The soft, leather gloves adapted perfectly to the shape of Her hand and it was impossible to take my eyes off them. I was not the easiest kid in the world (to put it mildly), but aunt Rebecca made me eat out of Her (gloved) hand. It did not go unnoticed in the family and I was teased and made fun of. I didn’t care a bit, because everyone now looked up to Her. She had control over me and was praised for it, how awesome was that!
I don’t know how you do it, Rebecca, my mother sighed, he’s as gentle as a lamb with you. You must have magical powers.
I smiled inside, because my aunt didn’t have magical powers, of course. She had gloves.
He produced a prehistoric argggh sound, because She squeezed the bejesus out of him. She had an arm around his throat and leg scissored his kidneys through his ass. She’d introduced Herself as Sue (how do you do) and She’d told him She collected donations for a pet shelter in Antartica.
Fifty, he rasped, fifty dol- dollars.
Each syllable came with a squeeze.
Gghhh! I mean one … one hun- hundred dolla-a-a-a-rs.
One hundred? Sir, you are kidding Me, right??
She tightened Her grip around his throat and the poor fellow was struggling for dear life. He could feel the bones in his neck shifting and cracking. He waved his arms up and down as if he was guiding in a plane. She gave him some breathing space.
I…I give You three … arggh … four hun- hundred dol- dollars …
She let him go and helped him up.
I thank you on behalf of the pets in Antartica, sir! Most people give two to five dollars, so you are a true hero. You will be on My shortlist of most generous donors and you have not seen the last of Me yet, sir! I wish you good day. Happy breathing, sir!
Seriously, She could castrate a man with Her voice. He ran down the stairs as fast as he could.
Yes, sugar, he said with a honey-sweet voice.
Don’t sugar Me, Harold! Did you take the garbage out?
Now, that was a bit unfair, wasn’t it? She’d ordered him to clean the bathroom first and he was still busy doing that! But he was definitely not, repeat not, going to argue with Her, because he was too attached to his testicles.
No, I’m so sorry, I will d-
She hushed him with a finger and took him outside. She ordered him to lay down on top of the garbage that was already there and tied his hands behind his back and his ankles to his wrists. He was, one might say, a bundle of joy and happiness.
Night, night, tied, tight, She said, and left him there to rot.
It was still hot outside and the stench of the garbage was almost unbearable. Swarms of flies circled around him. Dreadful business. An old Lady walked by with a dog. She said She felt sorry for him, but that didn’t stop Her dog from taking a piss at him.
Miracles do happen now and then, because Bill has booked a session with Me! Hilly Billy was a classmate of mine in high school. Now, every class has at least one asshole, loudmouth or bully, and Bill fit that bill. He prayed on the weak and vulnerable (such a hero) and everyone was scared of him. Like so many bullies, he was not the brightest bulb in the box. For example: he was absolutely convinced that Captain America was a real person living in Boston, that Europe was a city in Asia and that Jesus was born in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. He hated everyone who was different from him. And yet, this piece of human wreckage turns out to have submissive feelings as well, because he will be My slave tomorrow between 2pm and 4pm! What are the odds! I’m sure he didn’t recognise Me on My website pictures, but I sure as hell recognised him! He’d send Me a picture of his dick (how typical) and a picture of his empty head. He hasn’t changed a bit; he’s still a creep. God, I can’t wait to lay My hands on him. Sure, sure, I’m a professional Mistress and I treat all my customers with care and respect. But everyone is entitled to have at least one off day every five years, right? Well, I have mine tomorrow.
Sir? Is this house number 44?
He looked up in pee and nodded.
Oops, She giggled, wrong number, Girls. We need to go to number 44-1.
They all looked down on him with new eyes. One of them bent down to him.
We will not charge you anything, OK? But the next time we will not be so lenient! Do I make myself clear?
He nodded fiercely.
Later that evening, after cleaning up and scrubbing the floor, he sat down on the couch. His ass was still on fire, but what puzzled him the most was the huge erection in his pants. He couldn’t wait for the doorbell to ring again, to be honest.