You begged for it, didn’t you? She warned you, but your dick wouldn’t listen. And so you gave Her the login codes to LinkedIn, Twitter and Facebook and the email accounts and phone-numbers of your parents, friends, brothers, uncles, nephew’s, nieces and colleague’s. And tons of compromising photos and clips of yourself. A bit like digging your own grave, wasn’t it? She posted five photos on Her website and you were forced to pay to have them taken down. You loved it, because it was unlikely that anyone of your friends knew about this website. Then She posted the next set of photos. And the next. The tempo went up. As did the price. You wavered and begged Her to slow down. She opened your Facebook account and wrote: Who wants to know my secret? You paid quickly. This wasn’t a game, or at least not the game you thought it was. The thing was, She had many, many slaves, She lost count. Ruining your life was just in a day’s work. So you obeyed when She demanded new and more compromising photos and clips. She had you by the balls, and there was nothing you could do about it. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you? As long as She had complete and total control over you.
There is a similarity, I think, between NASA scientists and unowned slaves. The former is searching for alien life in the universe, the latter is searching for dominant life on planet earth. The difference between the two is that NASA hopes to find life in the cosmos within the next ten to twenty years, while most slaves will never-ever-ever serve a Mistress in real life. They’re destined to remain unnoticed and unowned till the end of time. Their time, that is. They have to settle for Femdom scraps, little bits and pieces that brighten up a submissive day. A Lady in shiny boots in the supermarket, a Young Goddess in leather pants on Main street, an arrogant look, a bitchy remark, a cheap movie-clip on the Internet; anything will do. These insignificant moments set in motion a chain of thoughts, dreams and longings that propels them to other worlds, lightyears away from this dreary place called earth. Far away in the universe are planets where Women rule and men are slaves, where Femdom is a fact of life and not an earthly fantasy for the highest bidder. So maybe we should put our submissive faith in NASA, because who knows what matriarchal surprises the universe has in store for us.
He turend around and saw Her standing there. She looked stunning in Her black riding boots, jodhpurs and white shirt.
Yes, Miss, I’m one of the new volunteers. Brushing the horse-
And you didn’t bother to introduce yourself to Me properly?
His face turned red. I … I … You … actually I … no one …
She silenced him with a wave of Her hand. You’re a very lucky young man, you know. Because I have plenty of time on My hands today to show you the ropes and teach you a few valuable lessons. So that this won’t happen again.
He was very thankful and eager to learn, he said. That changed when She ordered him to drop his pants. Are you crazy, he screamed, and: fuck off, I’m out of here. That changed as well after a devastating kick to the groin.
What’s going on here! a Female voice said. A second Lady in jodhpurs entered the stable.
He was still salvaging his balls, but there was enough adrenaline in his voice to hose the stable. For God’s sake, help me!! This bitch is dangerous! Please, help me!
I’ll help you alright, ungrateful young rascal, the Lady hissed. Tie him to the door, Anna, while I fetch the riding crops.
You can’t do this, he screamed, I’m a volunteer.
So are we, Anna said, and smashed his face against the stable door. We won’t charge you anything, so stop whining, this is a free ride.
Her words caused some laughter in the crowd.
It’s not a conscious choice, She continued, something urges him to do so. Another example: your slave is constantly horny. All too common among men, I would say. So the hypnotist puts the suggestion in his mind that he can’t get an erection until his Wife gives him permission. That’s it, from hardware to software in the blink of an eye. You can make his penis as lifeless as an ancient burial site. One more example: he will be spanked at 17:00 hours. Each day, every day. Not by You, not by anyone else. There’s no one there, and yet stroke after stroke brands his bottom. The possibilities are endless! So bring out your slaves and let’s get to work!
Yes, Miss, he said. He tried to sound humble and sincere, but it was hard not to laugh. Because he was sentenced to 8 strokes, how hilarious was that! That was not a punishment, that was just a tickle! Stupid Women!
It’s the 15th today, She said, looking at the CFC (Cruel Femdom Calendar), which means 8 times 15, is 120 strokes.
Wait a minute, wait a minute, he panicked, what do You mean? No, no, that’s not fair! No one said anything about this-times-that!
Oh dear, She giggled. What should we do? Call the police?
They said 8 strokes, he persisted.
Don’t push your luck, Dick!, She snapped, before I double it.
He backed down immediately: I’m sorry, Miss.
Right! Now, let’s see who’s available right now. She ran Her finger through a list of names. Here we go: Lady Beatrice, better known as: The Butcher from Baltimore, is available … and … let Me see … Mistress Slaughter, also know as: The Liquidator from Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, can also see you right now. Ah, and Lady Winny, better known as Winny the Whipper.
I … I would li-
You go straight down the hall to the second door on your left. They hate funny slaves, by the way. So good luck with that! Men In Peril Magazine – November 2088.
Now, now, She said, tapping Her finger playfully on my nose, don’t be so jealous. Mark is a friend, not My boyfriend.
Yeah well …., I said grumpy.
She smiled and looked at me with new eyes. She studied my face intensely, as if She’d just found a secret compartment in a chest of drawers.
Now then, She said, you want to be My slave, is that correct?
Yes, Karin, I whispered.
I’ve always dreamed of having a slave, did you know that? Well, multiple slaves, really.
I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, because this moment was as fragile as porcelain. One false move or one stupid word and this glorious bubble would burst.
I’m not sure, of course, but I think I’m a very demanding, pretty cruel and merciless Mistress, hehe. Be very careful what you wish for.
I’m ready to serve You, Karin, I said with a hoarse and trembling voice.
Sweet God, was this really happening, was my dream about to come true?
The daydream exploded into reality and my ears filled with the noise of the school canteen.
Stop staring at Me, you creep, Karin sneered. She was sitting at a table opposite mine, and if looks could kill, I would be living in an urn right now.
Imagine doing all that in the summer heat or, even worse, in a muddy field with deep puddles!
Sometimes they use stimuli, which, I think, is a fancy word for torture devices. Last week for example, we were forced to jump up and down with clamps on our nipples. Man, that hurt! The week before that we were forced to do a five-kilometer run over rugged terrain with rough hemp ropes tied around our balls.
They want to keep us fit and healthy, they say. Which is funny, because they use their whips freely and there are more scars, scratches and impact craters on my back then on the fucking moon! I’m not allowed to say that oud loud of course, because before you know it I’m forced to do 100 bullwhipped push-ups, 200 face-slapped sit-ups and 150 ballbusting jumps!
Phil was 18 years old, and yet his father hired an old-school Governess to beat some sense into the lad. The boy was livid and told Governess Emma bluntly to go ✗#$℥ Herself. She was not impressed. Turning a man, any man, into a slave, was a rescue mission and an act of kindness, She believed. It took Her less than three hours to break him in and transform him from a self-centered, arrogant, primitive and downright stupid piece of dick, to a tamed and obedient young man. But She knew: one swallow does not a summer make, so She had to stay alert and train him vigorously for the next six months. Each day, every day, from six in the morning to eight in the evening. Breakfast on the floor at seven, luncheon underneath Her pumps at noon and dinner in a bowl at six in the evening. She was not the friendly, encouraging, stimulating and supportive kind of Governess and patience was most certainly not Her second, third, fourth or even Her fifth name. Fresh, stubborn meat needed to be whipped, kicked and slapped into slave position, much like a blacksmith hammered iron into shape. It was not harsh, cruel or inhumane, it was necessary. Because, as Her mother used to say: power teacheth Women how to rule; pain teacheth men how to obey.