Exactly! Your top quality room has no bathroom, no toilet, no flatscreen, no minibar no nothing. Your day starts at 06:00 sharp with some face-slaps, fitness with nipple-torture and a shower of piss. Hard labor and a brutal whipping in the afternoon, followed by a Strap-On Invasion in the evening. One of the Ladies will then smother you to sleep. Any questions so far, sir?
Good, good, excellent. Now, let’s talk about sleeping. You’ll either sleep tightly tied to the rack by your wrists and ankles, in the standing cell or hanging upside down from the staircase. Like a giant bat, one might say. Isn’t that hilarious?
Of course you do. Now, you get your passport back after paying a ransom of $750. Before you open your mouth: shut up. It’s a pittance, no need to go on and on about it. So, I wish you a very unpleasant and painful stay, sir, and I hope you will visit our hotel again in the future. NEXT!!
Blimey, he didn’t see that one coming! His mouth fell open and his pants fell down.
Ohhhh! I apologise Mistr- … uh … Madame? Milady? Empress? Duchess? Baroness? Queen?
Nah, don’t like that at all.
Man, he was caught in a fucking nightmare. These beautiful and honourable titles distinguished the Mighty & Powerful from the braindead pricks. Surely you could not address such a Lady with Betsy, Agatha, Theodora, Molly or Dolly! Let alone with sweetie-pie, doll or babycakes.
Triple shit, what the fuck was the world coming to! Damn you first names! But, you know, he was a slave and slaves were not allowed to think for themselves. Besides, he was the proud owner of a pair of testicles, and he wanted to keep it that way, thank you very much.
Ask Me what My first name is, pet.
What is Your first name, he asked without any enthusiasm whatsoever.
The door opened and a second Mistress entered the room. The Ladies talked a bit, then the newcomer pointed at the slave: Who do we have here?
That’s My husband, Mistress Summer said with a sweet smile, I love him to bits.
She is elegant, sophisticated and educated. She drives a pair of horses like a charioteer, is at home on a race course or the deck of a fast yacht. She is a power at the theater or the Opera; and none is more brilliant at a dinner party. She dresses with taste, class and style and stops men in their tracks. When She walks everyone follows, when She speaks everyone listens. And obeys. Her voice is calm, direct and powerful. She never shouts, because showing anger is unladylike, and, more importantly, a sign of weakness. When a Lady loses control over Herself, She will effectively lose control over Her slaves. Women are the upper-class of society, which means that Women should always be an example for their slave. Superiority means high quality leadership and high standards. Always. She can be persuasive and manipulative, a seductive huntress who always gets Her prey. She has enslaved hundreds, if not thousands, of men. It’s not even a challenge, because most men are eager to submit. They accept their submissive position and are proud of it. Women are born to rule, just as men are born to submit. It’s not a choice, it’s a fact of life.
If I win, Mistress Angela said, I will pick a punishment for you. In the unlikely event that you win, you can pick any punishment you like. How’s that?
I smelled a rat, I didn’t like it.
I like it, Mistress, I said with a pokerface.
She won the first three in a row, which resulted into severals kick in the groin, nipple torture and bastinado. Bloody hell, we had just started and I was bruised and battered already. But then I started to win. Not once, not twice, but over and over again. So foot-worship joined the fun, facesitting, ponyplay, ass-worship and much more. I started to love this game.
I’m starting to hate this game, She said with a clear threat in Her voice.
It’s a game of luck, Mistress, I panicked.
She drew a card: three of diamonds. I began to sweat like a waterfall in spring. I drew mine: Queen of hearts. If looks could kill, I would be living in an urn right now.
Quite strange, because I did not see the inside of church until I was sixteen years old. So God knows why I’m so obsessed with nuns uniforms; but I really am. And I know: buying a box of condoms doesn’t make me the world’s greatest lover, and putting on a habit doesn’t make Her a nun. And yet … that uniform gives Her a level of authority and power that’s not from this world.
Truth is, I was way too salty and intimidated to say something to Her Holiness in Paris and I’ve not seen a fetish nun since. But I’m hoping and I’m praying, literally praying, for it every day.
So much for for being an atheist, right?