Monthly Archives: July 2020


Karin, do you take this piece of shi- I apologise: do You take this man to be Your lawfully wedded slave, to love, guide, punish and humiliate him as long as You shall live. If so say I do.
I do.
john, do you take this lovely Lady to be your lawfully wedded Mistress, to love, to obey, comfort and honour Her, surrendering yourself to Her alone as long as you shall live. If so say I do, you lucky swine.
I do.
Now Karin! Grab john’s ear and repeat after me.
I Karin take thee, john, to be My loyal servant, My devoted slave and My brainless punchbag, from this day forward, to use and abuse, to whip and to cane, to kick and to slap, till death do us part. I pledge to you My guidance, My cruelty, My short-temperedness and My unstoppable need for Power.
Now john, look up to your Lady Owner and repeat after me.
I john are taken by thee, Karin, to be my Mistress, my Lady Owner and Goddess, to obey and to worship from this day forward, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. I pledge to You my obedience, my loyalty, my patience, all my earthy goods, including the Märklin train-set.
Karin, place and lock the collar around john’s neck and throw away the key.
By the authority given to me by Her Majesty, I now pronounce you man and Wife. You may now whip the groom.


I don’t care how you do it, but you’re going to create a shrine in your house. An altar of adoration, a sacred place of worship. A shrine dedicated to your favourite Mistress for example, your favourite actress or one of your favourite fetishes. Even your favourite comic book character will do. Because let’s face it, boy, the chances of you ever even seeing, let alone serving a Mistress in real life are a million to one. Optimistically speaking.
We giggled and elbowed each other.
Anything goes, as long as the object of your affection makes you feel small and your dick feel big. A shrine can be anything, from a few pictures on the wall, a statue or figurine on a stand, the worn shoes of a Lady on a pedestal, to a decorated wall with framed pictures, an entire room with an altar, candles and whatnots. Next, place 100 slips of paper in a box. Fifty of the slips are marked 1 hour, thirty are marked 30 minutes and twenty are marked 15 minutes (additional: add to ten of them the words allowed to cum). This will decide how long your worship service will be that day. Because you will be at your shrine every day without fail. So, get to work and send me a picture when you’re finished!
A buzz filled the hall as we discussed what to create and who we would worship.


One upon a time there was a Greek philosopher named Aristotle (384-322 BC). He had a brain the size of a Greek island and a dick the size of an Olympic swimming pool. He was the tutor of Alexander the Great, who had a crush on a Lady called Phyllis. Aristotle was not amused: do you want to be great in bed, he asked, or great on the battlefield? A tricky dick question and Alexander decided to go for the battlefield. Alexander the Great Idiot, one might say.
Now it was Phyllis’ turn to be pissed. She decided to seduce Aristotle and teach him a lesson. One day She walked by barefooted, which was the equivalent back then of making a porn movie. Aristotle was smitten with Her and begged Her to have sex with him. Not a romantic dinner, not a walk along the beach at sunset, not a good conversation about psychology or the latest iPhone, no sir! Just wham-bam: Phyllis, I wanna fuck You. The brute.
On one condition, Ari, Phyllis said, you will come to my chamber crawling on hand and foot, in order to carry Me like a horse. 
Aristotle obeyed, put on saddle and bridle and went on all fours. She grabbed a whip and spurred him on with a vengeance. The members of the court watched in awe and admiration, as Phyllis humiliated this great man.
Come on, full throttle, Aristotle! She demanded.
And from that moment on, dear children, everyone called him Aristhrottle.


Lay still, Becky snapped.
Jack whined, but obeyed, because Michelle, Eveline and Suze were standing around him and they were ready to kick the shit out of him. Again.
I was a mere spectator, watching from a distance. Dry mouth, wet dick; that was me. Becky removed Her shoes, stepped on Jack’s face and muffled his groans with Her bare feet. She moved Her feet to an fro and I could hear his smothered screams and the snot in his nose moving around. She allowed him to breathe three breaths, then stepped back on his face again with a wicked smile. Oh God, how I wished it was me! Becky shifted Her weight to one leg, and no doubt Jack’s dentist rubbed his hands in glee. Jack however had other things on his mind, because he was in desperate need of oxygen again. He clutched at Her legs and She had to spread Her arms for balance. Michelle and Eveline grabbed Her hands. Becky allowed him to breathe and he squealed like a pig. Tears of a) happiness b) agony c) both rolled down his face.
Before that day, I didn’t know what jealousy was. Turned out I was a quick learner.


Good old insomnia, the doctor said with a wry smile, what would we do without it!
Sleep, I guess, he yawned.
Exactly! Now, let’s see, She sighed, thumbing through the papers, you used sleeping tablets, drank a river of Sleeptime Tea, threw away $250 on a  bottle of sleeping oil, took yoga classes and went to a sleep coach. Who, you wrote, fell asleep during the session. You’re on a strict diet, stopped smoking, stopped drinking and you had no sex in seven years. You stopped living altogether, one might say. And still sleepless?
Yes, Ma’am.
Well, you’ve come to the right place, sir. The Femdom Sleep Clinic has a worldwide reputation for putting people to sleep. So, you’ve got your pyjamas on … She paused and looked at them with new eyes … Bambi pyjamas, seriously, sir? Oh well, whatever gets you through the night, right? Now, I will put your head between My legs … don’t worry, sir, it will be fine. You just close your eyes and think of happy things. 
She started to squeeze Her legs together and his eyes popped open again.
My neck!
Yes, sir, that’s correct, that is your neck. She squeezed Her legs tighter and tighter. His face became as red as a tomato. He struggled, but his body started to feel so heavy and everything became blurry. He lost consciousness and slept like a baby. Just like the doctor ordered.


The six of us gathered at the park, exactly as Mistress had ordered. She gave each of us a spoon and an egg.
Now, place the spoon in your mouth and the egg in the spoon. Keep your hands behind your back during the race. If you drop the egg, you’re out. The first to reach that tree over there will be the winner. And the winner, numbnuts, is allowed to worship My gorgeous feet!
We looked at each other with murder in our eyes, because Her feet are worth dying for.
Are you ready spoons? GO!!!
I walked slowly, eyes focussed on the egg, wiggling like a duck with a cucumber up its ass. But slave Burt went like a bullet out of a gun. Jesus, the man was in a hurry! I accelerated, but he was hard to keep up with. The others were already way behind us and it was now a neck and neck between me and that rotten egg just ahead of me. We almost sprinted to the finish line, but he was just too fast and he reached the finish line with sixteen lengths to spare over me. May have been seventeen lenghts, eighteen even, but who cares. He was now blessed with the honour of worshipping Her gorgeous feet, while all I could do was suck on my stinking egg.


A good old-fashioned dungeon cell has thicker-than-dick walls, heavy doors and restricted light windows. The cell is freezing cold, damp and unhygienic. No furniture, except a wooden bunk and a bucket. If you are lucky. A cage is a different kettle of fish altogether. A cage is an elegant and sturdy piece of furniture which looks good in a bedroom, study, hallway or living-room. Put a glass top on it and use it as a one-of-a-kind coffee-table. Sweet! Invite your friends to come and watch this caged hound (that would be you, by the way), this bruised and battered piece of Neanderthal (you again, I’m afraid), this still life of stupidity (wait, wait …. yeah, that’s you again, I’m sorry). A caged slave is a piece of furniture and a piece of shit in one, one might say. If he has to stay in there for 23-hours a day, then so be it. Who is he to complaint? It’s nice and warm in the living-room, he can watch (or listen to) the television and, most important of all, he has a room with a view. He can look at his Mistress and worship Her with his eyes. Unless She covers the cage with a Good Night Caged Asshole Cover, of course. In that case (aka in that cage) he can’t see shit.