Monthly Archives: February 2021


Fanny Murray (1729-1778) was allegedly the most beautiful and undoubtedly the most famous courtesan of Her generation. Novels were dedicated to Her, songs and poems paid tribute to Her beauty, ships were named after Her, as were racehorses and even gin cocktails (Fanny Murray’s Pick-Me-Up for example, or a Fanny Murray’s Nettle Juice). The men in those days certainly knew how to put a Lady on a pedestal! Nowadays we pride ourselves for cleaning a Lady’s shoes with our tongue. We honestly think that’s the superlative of submissiveness and a true token of devotion. But then again: we live in a time where getting out of bed each morning is enough to earn the hero status, so it’s not really surprising that doing the absolute minimum is considered to be a huge achievement. Many of Fanny’s followers would shake their heads in disbelief. Not only did they use Her shoes as champagne glasses, according to a famous anecdote a couple of Her most devoted worshippers ate Her shoes in 1747. Sliced and fried in butter, to testify their affection for the Lady. Compared to that we’re all oafs, wouldn’t you say? So, a worn shoe please, sprinkled with parsley and vinegar on the side. Yummy!


My friends hooked me up on a blind date with a Girl called Chanel. She’s very bossy and demanding, they explained, right up your alley. Turned out She was actually somewhat shy and not bossy at all. Not at first anyway. We talked about family, our jobs, favorite dishes, books, movies and hobbies. Hers were shopping (what else), traveling, dancing, cooking and needlework.
Needlework? I sounded surprised. Do you mean embroidery and such?
She looked at me as if I’d just walked out of the Old Testament.
That’s one way of putting it, She slowly said.
Three hours later we ended up at Her place. I don’t know how She did it, man, but She talked me out of my clothes in no time and tied me to a St. Andrews Cross. Must have been the wine, I guess. She then took a long needle from a tray.
Let’s start with the nipples, shall we?
What do you mean!?!
Needlework, She said with a smile.
Ah …
I will also stick a few needles right through your balls, how awesome is that!
I ‘m not sure, I said hesitantly, does it hurt?
She shrugged Her shoulders: I don’t know, I don’t have a scrotum, do I? But not to worry, in case of an energy, I will sew you up.
Screw me up??
Yeah, that as well.


John? Is that you??
His face lit up like a Christmas tree, because he’d recognize that voice anywhere.
She offered Her hand and he kissed it passionately.
Buy Me a coffee, She said, for old time’s sake.
They talked for hours. About marriage, work, (grand)children, aches & pains and everything else under the sun (is it thirty years ago already, unbelievable).
You’re still well mannered, I see, She said, smiling approvingly.
Trained and drilled by the best, he smiled, touching Her hand affectionately.
That’s so sweet of you to say. I’m glad the others didn’t ruin everything I taught you.
I didn’t serve anyone but You, Madame.
She looked bewildered.
Are you serious? Thank God loyalty still exists in this world. So you haven’t been whipped, caned and tortured for more than thirty years then?
Gout & Rheumatism took care of that, Madame.
They laughed and She shook Her head.
I’m still a bit frazzled to be honest. You didn’t serve anyone but Me … how about that …
He smiled and touched Her hand once again.
I was already Your slave long before we ever met, Madame, he said, and I remained Your slave long after You’d gone. I was born to serve You … so I did.


Operations Manager Dick “The Bull” Adams was working late. Again. It was shortly after ten when he heard something.
Who’s there? Show yourself!
A Woman in a super-heroine costume stepped into the office.
Jesus Christ, he laughed, fell out of a comic book, did you? He looked at Her more closely: wait a minute … I know you, you are Daisy … Daisy … what was it? Duck?
Daisy Dawn, that’s it. Didn’t I sack you?
You did, that’s one of the reasons why I’m here.
He laughed out loud: Let me guess, stupid by day, super by night, is that it?
A flash of red and green knocked him off his chair and tore his clothes. She stood above him, hands on Her hips, smiling down on him like an evil Goddess. She lifted him off the ground with two fingers and threw him through the office like a discus with a dick. The next thing he knew, he was lying butt naked, on his back, on his desk.
W.what are You d.doing, he mumbled groggy.
I’m tying you to the desk, asshole! Then I’m going invite your employees to come over.
You … you c.can’t do that!
I’m already doing it.
Her rope was glowing gold and bright orange.
Is … is that the las-… the lasso o.of truth? he moaned.
Don’t be absurd, She said, you read way too much comic books.


Patricia worked in the local bakery where he used to buy his bread. He was smitten with Her right from the start and over the months, loaf after loaf, they became friends. She wanted to be a police officer, She said, just like Her daddy. And lo and behold, a short while later She joined the police academy. One day they went out for a coffee and She told him She was going to learn how to take-down and handcuff compliant and non-compliant subjects.
You’ll need someone to practice on, and I volunteer, he giggled.
To his astonishment, She accepted the offer and three days later the cuffs were on. At first it was a bit awkward, weird and uncomfortable, but things got better and it didn’t take long before She threw him around like a rag doll. Being forced to the ground and handcuffed over & over & over again was a wet dream come true. At some point he lay face down on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back.
Time for a drink, She said.
Hello, he laughed, what about me?
What about you? You’re arrested, so shut up.
Yes, Ma’am, he meekly said.
Ah, you’re such a good friend, She smiled. Next week I’m going to practice interrogation techniques on you. It’s going to get rough, but I’m sure you’ll love it.


How long did it take for you to dig the tunnel? the Female Police Detective asked.
Seven years, eight months, three weeks, four days and nineteen hours, Ma’am.
Right, right. And how long is the tunnel?
Almost six kilometers.
She paused for a moment, tapping Her fingers on the desk.
Why a tunnel?
Why?? Because my Wife is extremely dominant, demanding and ruthless. My marriage is a prison, that’s why. I had to escape.
But … you were not locked up in a dungeon, not chained to a wall, not wearing legs irons, right?
Of course not, he giggled.
You used the car to go to work and you were even allowed to hang out with your friends.
That is correct, once a month.
Once a month, there you go. So … you could have left whenever you wanted to … Taken the car and driven off into the sunset. Why a tunnel?
He looked bewildered, his mouth opening and closing, with nothing coming out. His tiny little brain tumbled ’round and ’round in his skull like laundry in a washer.
Yes, well … if you put it like that, he finally whispered.
Now you have to appear in court and will be sent to prison.
Dear God, he panicked, I hope not!
Your Wife is the judge, right?
She is, yes.
Yeah, you will be sent to prison. Time for a tunnel, I would say.