Author Archives: slavej


He had dinner in Sandra’s Sushi Bar and drinks in Bloody Mary’s Cocktail Bar. He drank one too many and went home singing “The Wild Rover”. Then he came across a place called The Armbar and decided to go in. An armbar, he learned, was an unique experience unlike anything he had ever tried before. And that for just $250 an hour!
That’s like giving it away for free, he sheered enthusiastically. Give me a double portion!
And so he met Barbara, a wonderful young Lady with deep blue eyes, blond hair and a killer smile. She told him to lay down on his back. You’re my kinda girl, he laughed and started singing again (“Happy Days Are Here Again”). She put one leg across his chest, the other across his face, grabbed his wrist and secured his arm between Her legs. She applied some pressure and he produced some screams. The Happy Days came crumbling down. He tried to fight himself out of Her grip, but he didn’t stand a chance.
Don’t fight it, She said, embrace it!
It hurts!!! he wailed, tapping out in a hurry. The pain was excruciating and he feared She would break his elbow.
The door opened and a second Lady entered the room.
Meet Barbarella, Barbara said, She will take care of your other arm.
No, no, no, he panicked, that’s not -ah-ah-ah!! OK! OK! If you insist!
It was an experience of a lifetime alright, but not something he would ever want to go through again. No, nay, never. No, nay, never, no more!


She grabbed him by the ear and dragged him out the front door to the corner of Flora & Fauna Street. It was midnight, but the heat was still hanging over the city. She tied his arms and legs and pointed at the garbage heap.
Lie down or I’ll push you.
He knew all too well that there was no point in begging or pleading. So he obeyed.
I told you to take the garbage out, She explained with a harsh tone in Her voice. Not once, but twice. You didn’t do it. Well, if you’re not willing to take the garbage out, then you’re out tonight with the garbage.
And off She went.
The stench of rotting trash was overwhelming and hundreds of thick black flies swarmed around his naked body. He felt utterly miserable and dirty, like a skunk with a guilt complex. At one point an old lady walked by with her dog. She asked what he was doing and he explained. Meanwhile, her dog took a pee all over him. Poodle Piss. It was a long and awful night.
Just before sunrise She untied him and took him to the garden. There She rinsed him thoroughly with the garden hose. Twice. Cold water of course.
Now, go the shower and clean yourself up, She said. Then you have just enough time to put the garbage out.


Sasha started working for us on a Monday morning and Her desk was opposite mine. She was beautiful in a mysterious way and there was definitely something dangerous lurking behind Her smile. Then we shook hands and I literally fell in love with Her in a matter of seconds. It felt like being pushed off a cliff, it really did. I think She knew, there and then, what a weakling I was and how easy it would be to make me dance to Her tune. She didn’t hesitate and within hours She had me on a short leash. She knew exactly what to say to push my buttons and it was impossible to refuse Her anything. If I tried She would pout and make me feel guilty. I worked late to finish Her work, lied for Her, bought Her clothes and paid Her rent. I even fumbled with Her assessments so She would get a raise.
Sometimes She humiliated me, be it in a playful way, in front of our colleagues. Asking me if I would do anything for Her. Telling them I was such an obedient boy.
She quit Her job within a year. I felt gutted, but luckily it didn’t mean the end of our friendship. At least that’s what I thought. But on Her last day of work She looked at me with cold eyes and said: Before you ask, I’m not interested in keeping in touch with you. You are boring. 
All this happened many years ago, but I still remember the smell of Her perfume, still hear the echoes of Her voice. In case you’re wondering if you ever met a Femme Fatale; trust me, you would know. Because you’ll never forget.


The Woman looked at him from top to bottom and shook Her head.
Oh dear, She said to his Wife, I see what you mean.
He frowned: do we know each other?
She slapped him hard across the face, making his brain shift like cargo in a ship. He was shocked and ready to say something rude, bu-
Meet Lady Anja, his Wife said. I’ve told Her we’ve been experimenting with D/s and such. She’s here to give us some advice.
He looked at the Woman with new eyes, rubbing his hand over his cheek: Well, what kind of bloody advice i-
She kicked him viciously hard in the groin, sending his balls through the ceiling and into the upstairs bedroom. He doubled up in pain.
Jesus Christ, Woman, he screamed in sheer agony, I’m not a real slave and my Wife is no-
Lady Anja grabbed him by the throat and stopped his words in their tracks.
This is more serious than I thought, She growled. Alice, dear, can you fetch the big, black bag from My car, please? It’s time to act. Also known as: it’s time to torture.
N-o-o-o-o, he panicked, all I want is to listen to some music!
Don’t you worry about that, She grinned, I give you a beautiful symphony of Hurt, Pain & Suffering. It’s an instant hit, trust Me.


All I ever wanted in life was a serious relationship with a lifestyle Mistress. I honestly thought it would be easy to find someone like that, I really did. Men had a reputation of being self-centred (especially in bed), being ill mannered and for cheating and lying all the time. I was and did none of that, I just wanted to serve and obey. It should have been easy. But it was not. Because for every genuine Mistress there were at least three hundred slaves. If not more. Still, I met, served and obeyed some of these wonderful Ladies. Not as a lover or a boyfriend, but as one of many slaves and admirers. Sure, I always hoped for more, but a the same time I got much more than I deserved. I’m grateful for everything and if I could do my life over again, I would do it exactly the same way. Because I was what I was and I couldn’t go without. Finding a real-deal Mistress is much harder nowadays, because the fundamental ideas, values and principles of Female Domination are melting faster than the glaciers. Femdom has become a soap, a weird comedy in which the slaves have more class, style and intelligence than the Women who are supposed to lead them. I know, you probably think that I’m a sorry old fool who thinks that everything was better in the past. Well, some things were, some things not. Femdom was. So save it, before it’s too late.
Frank V. (March 1934-August 2021)


It was Christmas morning and everything was covered in a thick white blanket of snow. The whole village was still fast asleep when the doorbell rang. Tom bolted upright in bed, startled and somewhat confused.
Jesus Christ, he murmered. It was Christmas after all.
He ran downstairs as fast as he could because the bell kept ringing. He flung the front door wide open … and there She was, his Mistress, dressed as Santa. Her sleigh was in front of the house and the naked sleigh slaves looked like frozen poles. North Poles, needless to say.
Mistress! What a surpr-
She pushed him aside like a rag doll.
M-e-e-e-e-e-e-rrrrrr-y Christmas, She thundered. She grabbed his hair and dragged him through the hall. Santa has brought you a very special present, My boy! She showed him a strap-on dildo in the shape of a Christmas tree. Flickering lights and all.
Shut your mouth and open your ass. NOW!
He moaned, dropped his pants and bend over.
Let’s bring the spirit of Christmas to you and your biggie bum! She bellowed.
She fucked him all over and forced him to sing “Jingle Bells”. All the way. She kept at it for twenty long minutes, pulled the thing out and left him for pegged on the floor.
Have a holly jolly Christmas, My lad, She howled, it’s time for Me to GO-HO-HO.


It’s a hot summer day and sunlight streams through the cracks in the barn wall. The barn is two stories high and covered in dust, mouse droppings, cobwebs and God knows what else. It’s not a place for kids to play, but we do it anyway. I have a creative imagination and always come up with the best games to play. Today it’s going to be Cops & Robbers. And, as always, I want to be on the losing side of things. So Sue is the cop, I am the villian.
You’re going to arrest me, I say, force me to the ground and sit on top of me as long as you can.
There’s a silence. And then …
You always want to lose!!!
The tone of Her voice knocks the air right out of me. Her words have uncovered a secret that should have remained in the shadows. I deny it passionately and run with my tail between my legs. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for hours. What if She tells Her mother … What if Her mother tells my mother … What if they put me in some sort of hospital …
I’m just eight years old and I don’t know why I want to lose. Don’t know why I want Her to humiliate me. I only know I do. I need to keep my submissive cards closer to my chest, that’s for sure. No one must suspect a thing. And with that last thought I sink into a dreamless sleep.
Five words. Five simple words that would change my life for decades to come.


I’m a strong supporter of equality between men and Women, She said soothingly. In education, society, at work, you name it, I support it.
What about equality in marriage, he growled.
It’s an illusion, dearest, and you know it. You say sell – I say buy; you say drive – I say fly; you say spend – I say save; do you know what I mean? We cannot resolve it by majority vote, so someone has to decide. And that someone is Me.
She paused and smiled.
You are like clay in My hands, sweetheart, and you know it. You are weak, I am strong; that’s the long and short of it. And I have the key to your chastity cage. Minor detail.
She giggled and seemed to revel in the beauty and perfection of it.
It’s My duty, She continued, to protect you from doing stupid things. Which is a full-time job, I might add. The chastity cage, the harsh rules and even harsher punishments are all there to keep you out of harms way. They are tokens of My affection.
It’s a brutal way of showing affection, he muttered.
Love hurts, handsome.
We are all born equal, he said with the stubbornness of a child.
Yes … but you’re a man, a fool, a halfwit, a moron, an idiot. You are inferior, I am superior. It’s just a fact of life. So yes, I’m all for equality, darling, as long as I’m in charge.


How long have You been a pig farmer? He asked, watching the pigs in the sty.
For a long time already, She smiled.
He nodded and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief.
Anyway, he said, over the last twelve months, several men have gone missing after last been seen in this area. Have you seen any of these men, by any chance, Madame? Tim Habberly (Oink! one of the pigs shouted), Adam Calypso (Oink! another one screamed), Harry Frontella (Oink!), Tim Lobster (Oink!), Freddy Chappel (Oink!), Augustus Ha
I could do with a cup of tea, She calmly said, do you care to join me, sir?
He looked a bit taken aback. Tea … yes … yes … thank You.
She threw some herbs into a cauldron and placed it on a fire.
We let this brew for a good few minutes and then you can tell Me all about the missing pi- men, the missing men.
He frowned and wondered. But it was simply too hot for sleuthing and he let it pass.
She poured the tea and handed him a cup.
This, She smiled, is a life changer.
I drink to that, Madame.
And so he did. Minutes later his body began to twitch and jerk violently. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. His body made cracking noises, his ears lengthened and his face became a snout. He turned into a pig.
Welcome to My herd, the Witch laughed, and put him in the pigsty with the others.
He understood everything She said, but he could not speak. All he could do was grunt and wiggle his tail.


He wasn’t thinking (easy), wasn’t talking (difficult), wasn’t paying attention (as usual). So it took a while before he realised that they were looking at him.
not exactly a carpenter, he heard his Mistress say, give him a box of nails and you have to explain the hammer.
They laughed.
Thanks for letting Me borrow him for two weeks, Lady Rain said with a wicked smile.
BORROW ?!? He was ready to shout, shout and let it all out, but managed to control himself. His eyes were screaming like a heavy metal band and his heart was about to get a ticket for speeding. Please, not Lady Rain! He was terrified of Her! She hated men, hated dicks and She absolutely hated men with dicks. His eyes sought refuge by his Mistress. Surely She would protect him!
You’re more than welcome, dear, She said, do with him as you wish. He’s all yours.
WHAT! He couldn’t believe his ears! This wa-
I’ll try not to damage him, Lady Rain grinned. Well, not too much, anyway.
He couldn’t file a complaint, organise a demonstration, or start a signature campaign. He was simply powerless to do anything about it. And so She took him home. And the cane Rained down on him like a flood of Biblical proportions. No mercy, no quarter, no surrender. She was everything he feared She would be. Only worse. Much worse.


Women loitering around in the area??
Yes sir, Detective Chief Inspector Kickz said. Armed and dangerous Women. They’ll knock on the door and talk their way into the house. A gas safety check, a visit from the Waste Education Team, a carbon monoxide emergency, you get the picture. Once inside, one of them pulls out a gun and holds the victim at gunpoint. The other one ties him up and gags him with a worn panty.
Wow, he said with a fast growing dick, that sounds aweso- … sorry, sorry, I mean awful.
Sir! This is not a laughing matter, Detective Sergeant Slep snapped.
I know, I know, I’m sor-
We would like to come inside for a minute, DCI Kickz said, pushing him aside.
Ho! He screamed. What are you doing? Come back here! 
He hurried into the living room and came face to face with the barrel of a gun.
You gotta be kidding me, he said flabbergasted.
“They will talk their way into the house”… DCI Kickz grinned.
Well, well, what do we have here …
DS Slep pointed at the desktop picture of a Woman sitting on a man’s face.
It’s my brother’s computer, he quickly said.
DCI Kickz laughed and pointed at the bulge in his pants: Is that your brother’s as well?
They zip-tied him, forced a panty into his mouth and robbed him blind. They took their time, left with the loot and came back for more. Thrice.
Throughout the ordeal his cock remained rock solid.


Good morning, slaves.
GOOD MORNING, MANAGING DIRECTOR, the men replied in unison.
Our company has ‘Rules & Regulations’ to ensure order and discipline on the work floor. And what does our FCH (Femdom Company Handbook) say about touching oneself and fiddling with one’s privates during work time?
WORK FIRST, PENIS LATER, they yelled as one man.
Correct. But there’s always someone who doesn’t understand … Isn’t that right, slave 228-P-12?
I’m s.sorry, Managing Director, a pale looking slave whispered.
Oh, you’re going to be sorry allright. We’ll give you something to remember for days to come. Each time you sit down. She smiled and turned towards Miss Winter (Manager Web & Whip) and Miss Summer (Assistant Manager Sales & Slaps). Strap him to the bench, Ladies.
He was stripped, strapped and ready to go.
Slave 228-P-12, the Managing Director said, you are sentenced to 150 strokes with the lash and 100 strokes with the cane. There will be no mercy and no stopping.
She looked at the faces before Her and a deadly silence fell on the men.
We don’t like repeat offenders, She slowly said. As a matter of fact: we despise them. If this piece of shit is caught again for the same offence, he will be …?
CASTRATED, the slaves cheered.
They all laughed. All but one.


When I was in my mid-teens we welcomed two new teachers to our school. The geography teacher was a very sweet guy. But he was young, inexperienced and had no idea how to keep order. Which lead to chaos and mayhem in the classroom. After two months or so he tried to tighten up on discipline, but that ship had sailed already. He didn’t stand a chance and after three months he threw the towel and left for good.
The new history teacher, however, turned out to be a tyrant. He scolded us over the silliest things and we were not allowed to talk or move without his permission. Man, we were all so scared of him. He loosened the reins a bit after a couple of months and he turned out to be a relaxed and funny guy. If history taught Me anything, it’s that My history teacher was right: it’s much easier to relax after a strict start then to tighten up after being over indulgent. This same general rule applies for training your husband, a newbie slave or anyone else with a dick. Be strict, demanding, impatient, unforgiving and hard to impress in the beginning stages. Show him who’s boss on a grand scale and inspire so much fear that he’s ready to shit himself. Don’t hold back; knock yourself out. Or him. After merciless comes mercy, not the other way around. Remember that.
Lady Vortex de Esméralda


Claudio Assholio is, as we all know, one of the most influential Fetish Sound Artists in history. His first album, called Knee Boots, was released on LP and cassette in 1981. The sound of approaching boots (side A), getting louder and louder, versus the sound of retreating boots (side B), fading into the distance, would be his hallmark for years to come. Red Boots was released in 1984, followed by White Boots in 1986. Same concept, different boots. But the breakthrough came with the release of the album Black Boots (on LP and CD) in 1993, which sold over 35 million copies worldwide. Then the boots were taken off (the single No Boots was released in the summer of 1994) and feet emerged. The CD Feet First was released in 1999, Cold Feet in 2000 and Tired Feet was released three years later. Silent Feet, Holy Feet came out in November 2008 and is still considered to be one of the greatest Christmas sounds albums of all time. Assholio’s first Face-Slapping album, called Slap Happy, marked the beginning of a new phase and a new sound with slaps on the left- (side A) and slaps on the right cheek (side B). Bitch-Slap followed in 2013 and sold over 28 million copies. His latest album will be released early next year and is all about kneeing men in the groin. The double album is called Wounded Knee. He may be an asshole, but he’s a fucking legend, man.


You wanted to meet, greet and obey an Asian Mistress, even if it was just once, even if it was only for one or two hours. It was, you said, what you’d been dreaming of for so long. Usually there’s a huge discrepancy between what men say, what they are and what they do, but you flew all the way to Asia to meet Me. So eager and I hadn’t even trained you yet! Your eyes almost drowned in submission and you obeyed willingly, passionately and zealously. But I’m more dangerous than quicksand; did no one ever tell you that? I’m seductive and irresistible, mesmerizing and intoxicating, immoral and destructive. You can not simply hire Me for one or tho hours and then toss Me aside like a piece of garbage! Who do you think you are? Or better said: what do you think I am? So … I’m going to train you vigorously, mercilessly and relentlessly. You will breathe only for Me and you’ll rather die than disobey Me. Don’t worry, I’m highly experienced and utterly ruthless. I could make a T-Rex eat from my hand like a kitten, so you are no challenge for Me. I honestly don’t care where you live, what you do and what you’re material status is; you’re Mine and from now on I will be in your dreams, thoughts, fantasies and nightmares. Twenty-four seven.


It was a Sunday afternoon and I was on my way to the local cinema to watch a Female Vampire movie. Erection guaranteed! I took a short cut through the woods and reached the pedestrian bridge half an hour later. Three Girls were standing right in front of the bridge, blocking the path.
I’m going to the cinema, I said, hoping that would open the gates of Sesame.
This is a tollbooth, one of them said, you’ll need to pay in order to pass.
Nuh-uh, I said firmly. I have just enough money to buy a ticket.
Do the math, kid. There are three of us and you are alone. We could strip you and send you home naked … or tie you to a tree and leave you there for the night. Is that what you want?
In hindsight it sounded fan-tas-tic, but I was still a bit young for that, so I shook my head.
Alright then, give me the money.
I protested vigorously as they closed upon me. They were older, faster, stronger, so what could I do? Tears welled up in my eyes as I gave in and handed over the money.
Here, She said, I give you 50 cents to buy an ice scream.
She stepped aside so I could pass.
It’s not fair, I sobbed.
Hey kiddo.
I turned around.
You will remember this for the rest of your life. Trust Me, that’s worth more than a cinema ticket.
Turned out She was right.


I have never removed a copyright watermark from a picture in my life. And I sure as hell never added the name of my blog to an image that was not mine to begin with. Because, let’s be clear: I didn’t hire the photographer, I didn’t pay the make-up artist, I didn’t hire the models or anyone else who was involved. I didn’t sort through the photos and decide which ones to keep, I didn’t watermark them, didn’t upload them … I didn’t do all that, so removing the watermark from a picture and claiming it to be mine is just despicable. I mean, Jesus Christ, it takes one hell of a stinking gutter to produce assholes like that.
She stared at him open-mouthed.
Well, well, She slowly said. A bit rough around the edges but a fine specimen indeed.
I apologise Mistress, he giggled, I got carried away.
It’s fine, don’t worry about it. So … slave! I’m going to entrust you with a special task. From now on, you will add the watermark of My website to all My pictures. I’m sure there are tools that can add a watermark to multiple images at once. But I forbid you to use them! Above all, it has to be a labour of love. You’re going to do it one at the time, so that you can relish in My power over you.
You see, it was not about doing it the easy way. It was about doing it the honest way.


Nostradamus stared into water for hours on end and saw the future. Bit weird, but there you go. Now, I for one am very interested if and when I’m going to be bossed around again. So I took a bowl of water and tried it myself. It didn’t work. If anything the water made me want to pee. So I turned to the next best thing and stared at my dick for six hours straight. Man, what an apparatus; what a friend to have on a cold and lonely night! That said, my ding-a-ling turned out to be a lousy glass ball, because it held no prophecies concerning kicks, slaps, spits, whips, canes, cages or what not. I turned to reading tealeaves instead. Put the tealeaves in a cup, poured some hot water, swirled it three times while singing “Tea for Two” and studied the contents intensely. Nothing. To me the leaves looked like squashed ants and clearly there is no future in that. Next I consulted a fortune teller. Cost me a small fortune but he couldn’t tell me anything exciting about my future. Then I drove nine hours straight and read the palm of my hand underneath a palm tree. You know, hoping it would bring good luck. It didn’t. All I saw was a lot of sweat and a small splinter. It was all very disappointing. So! Not at the mercy of a Lady anytime soon, but at the mercy of time once again.


The Halloween theme was “Deadly Femmepires” and the party took place in an abandoned underground military facility. Jim decided to go as vampire hunter Van Helsing, complete with hat, boots and duster coat. The party was really nice; spooky atmosphere, great music, lovely people, lively dance floor. At one point a Lady came up to him, leaned over and sniffed.
Mmmm, She whispered approvingly, blood type AB … My favorite.
You guessed it right, he grinned. Awesome fangs by the way, couldn’t tell that they were fake.
She hissed and walked away.
The music abruptly stopped at midnight. One of the Ladies jumped on the man standing next to Jim and forced him to the floor. What a great performance, Jim thought, and started to applaud. Then a Woman flew at the throat of the guy standing right in front of him. His body twitched and shook and blood splattered everywhere. Men went down like flies and suddenly reality sank in.
Jim screamed and ran in fear. The bunker was enormous and he ran through a maze of corridors, down narrow staircases, through rooms, halls and offices until he reached a dead-end. The lights in the corridor were dim and flickering. He was panting, his heart was racing and he was sweating profusely. God, what a nightmare. He turned around and there She was, the AB-Blood-Type-Bitch, standing right behind him.
Where are you going? She smiled. The party has just begun.
Please, he begged, I wanna go home.
One more drink, She said, licking Her fangs. You have My word.


I met Shirley Holmes (Sherlock’s younger sister) in the spring of 1891 at the Eccentric Club in Soho, London. She had long dark hair, a gorgeous face and an amazing smile. I bowed and kissed Her hand while Her blue green eyes took a walk all over me.
That you are gullible, ignorant and not particular intelligent is of course obvious, She said.
I beg your par-
She slapped me twice. Not hard, but twice.
Do NOT interrupt Me! She paused a moment. Now then. You were born in a shed with two cows, one of which was lame …  you broke your arm when you were five years old … mother a seamstress, father an accountant. You like kippers, not sprats. Beans, not carrots. Sherry, not port.
I stood there with my mouth open wide, because She was bang-bang-bang-bang on.
How on eart-
She punched me hard on the mouth. My head was spining, my teeth falling. But before I could say anything She grabbed my hand, turned it over and stared at the palm.
Ah! The calloused hand shows signs of lifelong manual labor. Masturbation, I presume. You are the possessor of a fine dick, which I should describe roughly as being larger than a matchstick and smaller than a flagpole.
How dare Y-
She kicked me in the shins and I howled.
Take him to My dungeon in Baker Street, She said to a big man standing in the corner. There’s something fishy about him. Mackerel perhaps. Cod maybe.
I was never to be heard from again.


What is it with you and your obsession with boots? My colleague Sakia laughed.
Your boots, I added.
Charmer, She mocked. So, tell Me then, what’s the deal?
Well … You look absolutely stunning in boots, Saskia, You really do. And the sound! God … the sound of Your boots on the floor is the most beautiful music ever written. Mozart, Beethoven and Bach are just scribblers compared to that magnificent sound. It’s a heavenly duet, a stunning serenade, a thrilling symphony.
Is it now … She slowly said. Be that as it may, John, but from now you will pay a € 20 fine each time I catch you staring at My boots.
Saskia! That’s stupid!
Nope. It’s fair.
I said things like “absurd”, “not in your wildest dreams” and “never”, but yielded in the end. Needless to say.
Thank God She a) worked only three days a week b) worked on a different floor c) didn’t wear boots all the time. It saved me from bankruptcy, because I couldn’t stop staring.
After a while She lost interest and it slowly petered out. Years later I convinced myself it was just a bit of harmless fun. But was it really? I paid every fine, and I was fined a lot. Never argued, never hesitated, never refused. And She took it, She took it all, and never gave it back. Not one euro cent. Thank God for that! Because- between you and me- I found it all extremely exciting.


The six of us stood there, naked to the dick, waiting for our name to be called. Five veterans and one nervous breakdown. Yeap, that was me alright. I was still such a novice and I had no idea what to expect. Then my name tumbled down the stairs and my heart skipped a beat. I trembled myself up the stairs and kneeled down in front of a whole bunch of Mistresses. Man, it was so intimidating and I desperately tried to hide behind my dick. They asked me about my limits and what my experience level was.
No limits and no experience whatsoever, I answered with a slight tremor in my voice.
They laughed with an appetite and before I knew what was happening, I got swept away in a flood of contracting orders.
Come here, novice, one of them ordered, and kiss My feet.
Where the hell are you going, a second Mistress said, come here so I can have a good look at you.
On your back slave, a third one barked, I’m going to sit on your face.
They played me like the cheapest banjo in the business. Getting angrier with every minute that passed, because in my eagerness to please, I disobeyed them all.
This is certainly not a good start, an Asian Mistress said with a wicked smile, and you’re going to pay dearly for this.
My longest night was about to begin.


My name is Flint and I’m the founder of the Sydney Self-Flagellation Society. Because, you know, the Internet is choc-a-bloc with brats nowadays. Girls in their twenties who talk, act and think like five year olds: it’s bonkers and definitely not my cup of pee (aka tea). So yeah, it’s hard to find a decent Mistress nowadays, mate. And we have needs too, you know. I personally don’t give a toss about cuddles, comforting arms or listening ears. I do, however, love a fine whipping from time to time. Which is easier said than done without a skilled Mistress to do the honours. So I came up with the idea of self-flagellation. It’s cheap, you don’t have to wait in line and you’re not dependent on others to make you happy. Makes your dick tick like a rocket on a launchpad, doesn’t it, fella? Sure thing! Now, our Self-Flagellation season runs from April to October, when the members (more than 200) meet each Friday evening here in the main hall. We offer talks, demonstrations, games and what not. The highlight of the evening is, of course, when everyone whips himself into a frenzy. I know, without Women it’s all a bit higgledy-piggledy perhaps, but it’s better than nothing, right? So join us if you live in the area, mate. You’re more than welcome!


More often than not, submissive men are stuck in their old habits, despite trying to be a good slave. They call Me for help, because I’m a Problem Solver, also known as The Mad Motivator from Manchester. I don’t care if they’re inexperienced, selfish, ignorant or stupid: you name it, I cane it. No, I do not negotiate with creatures who think (occasionally) and talk (continuously). To Me a male slave is just a big lump of meat and the road to true obedience starts with a bruised ass. I will discipline and punish regardless if they like it or not. Push them to their limits and beyond. That’s when the moaning, groaning and begging starts. It’s such a wonderful feeling to turn a big, strong man into a sobbing little bitch. Sometimes tears, genuine tears, run down their face. I’m not aiming for it, but I love it when it happens. The creature is now willing to do whatever I demand him to do. God, that’s such a thrill. Tears are wonderful, but they do not signal the end of the session though. He’s on the path to redemption, the painful path of becoming a better slave and it’s My job to beat him in the right direction. His training, ordeal, punishment, living hell or whatever you want to call it, stops when I want it to stop.
Madame More.


Listen! You’re a barren and exposed landscape; a lowlife piece of tundra without a defence line. She can squash you like a bug, no question about it. Fighting Her is like battling the storm of the century with an umbrella. But! But you have a trump card up your sleeve, my friend, only to be used in desperate situations. Yes, I’m talking about begging. Use it wisely though and don’t overdue it. Don’t go begging for whips and canes, for feet and bums, for slaps and kicks, for skirts and boots. It’s not a bloody mantra, you know! If you beg all the time and for everything, it loses its meaning and your pleas for mercy are just as silly as peeing against the wind. Begging is an art, waiting for that rare moment to shine. It’s a small bottle filled with a magic potion. And no refill! Do you know what I’m saying? So you have to choose your moments very carefully, because once the potion is gone, it’s gone. Begging, and I mean truly begging for mercy, is one of the most wonderful and unforgettable moments in a slave’s life. Suddenly it’s no longer a game, no longer a choreographed dance between your limits and Her wishes. No sir! You have now come face to face with the raw and real power She has over you. Beggars believe, doesn’t it?


The duel between Bill “Coconuts” Branson, undoubtedly the most notorious outlaw of his time, and Tilly the Tit (a niece of Billy the Kid), was witnessed by hundreds of spectators. It was noon, the sun was hot, the sand dry and the salon empty. Tilly shot the gun out of Bill’s hand and then, without blinking an eye, shot his hat from his head. Bill was not happy (he seldom was, to be honest) and came charging at Her like an angry bull. She could have shot him point-blank, but didn’t. Instead She lashed out and punched him hard on the nose, jammed Her fingers into his eyes and kicked him hard between the legs (aka: from coconuts to peanuts). Bill went down like a sack of potatoes and Tilly grabbed Her lasso and reduced him to an oversized roulade.
From now on, I’m the Boss down here, Tilly said to the crowd. If you have a problem with that, then leave. I’ll give you a one day’s head start. If I catch you, and I will, I will cut off your balls and feed them to the pigs. If you’re a woman, I’ll sell you to a whorehouse. You have My word.
She looked down on Bill, who was still in real pain.
And you, She smiled, I’m going to keep you as My pet.
Legend has it that Tilly hasn’t aged a day and still runs the town with an iron fist.


I wasn’t focused on one particular Mistress, to be honest. Because the best facesitting Lady is not by definition the best disciplinarian. And the best ballbusting Princess is perhaps not the best humiliator. Do you know what I mean? I wanted to meet them all! So I dove in on the deep end and booked a session with a professional Mistress. It was spec-tac-u-lar and a wet dream come true. What a way to start a submissive journey! I was rea-
I want you to come to My house this Saturday at 10am sharp, She said. I need someone to clean the place and that someone is you.
Like being run over by a lawnmower, do you get my drift? My shoes and I stared at Her open mouthed, my tiny little brain all over the place, my heart pumping like a maniac. She was kidding, right? She knew nothing of me! On the other hand: She hadn’t asked me, She had ordered me. And that was a big difference for a guy li-
Have I misjudged you? She asked with a tone of disbelief.
No, Mistress, of course not, I hastily said, I’m just lost for words! I would be thrilled and honoured, thank You so much!
So, there you have it: I went in a one timer, came out a life timer.
July 2003, slave michael, Northampton, UK


There are several rules of thumb when it comes to clothespins. For example: the thinner the skin, the more unpleasant. Or: the closer together, the more agony. And the most important one: taking them off, hurts more than putting them on. With that in mind, let the fun begin. Now, use enough clothespins to start a laundry business. Put them on his arms, legs, chest, back, nipples, scrotum, ears, nose, tongue and wherever there’s space left. The more, the merrier, that’s the spirit. Let the pins simmer for a while and stir them from time to time. He’ll love that. Or not. Sure, you can remove them one after the other … but ask yourself this: do you break up a jigsaw puzzle piece by piece? Do you know what I mean? Just grab a riding crop and flick them off! It’s much more fun and if you miss ONE, you hit HIM! So cool! Or, and now we’re getting somewhere, attach the clothespins to a thin piece of rope. Removing them is now the easiest thing in the world! Just grab the rope and yank them all off at once! Trust me, he’ll love it. Or not. And, as a final touch, rubbing, squeezing and pinching the tortured skin only adds more joy to the agony.
And that concludes today’s lesson. Next week: how to iron a laundry slave.


The Ladies spoke Czech with each other, so I didn’t understand a word of what they were saying. That didn’t mean I had a day off, or something luxurious like that. Don’t listen but always pay attention, they used to say, slapping me across the face to drive the point home. Anyway, all went well in the beginning. There was a lot of laughter and I, well I was all dick & no brains. Then one of the Ladies looked at me, frowned, grabbed my left ear and turned it like an organ grinder turning the crank and making music. And in this case, I was making the music.
A-h-a-a-a-h, Mistress! My e-a-a-a-r!!!
Are you deaf? She shouted.
I probably would be after this, but I couldn’t say that, could I? Then the other Lady joined the fun and grabbed my right ear. They pulled my ears from left to right and up and down.
Have you not been listening?
Forg-i-i-ve me, Mistress … I didn’t underst-a-a-a-a-a-nd!!
He didn’t understand … the bloody nerve … well, I hope you know what a tug of war is!
They went full throttle and were seriously trying to pull my ears off. I screamed hard and they pulled harder. I do not know who won this brutal tug of ears, I only know who lost. I learned my lesson though; since then I am all ears.


Sending a slave to school to be educated, is like trying to teach an orangutan to sing an aria, or a cactus to run the marathon. Male creatures are below zero, empty vessels frozen in ignorance. The love of their life is their own penis, do I need to say more? Besides, there’s always a risk- however small- that one or two of them will develop a primitive brain of some sorts. They would learn to despise their lot in life, leading to revolutionary sentiments, or, God forbid, resistance, uproar and revolt against the superiority of Women. So no, slaves are not meant to think for themselves, they’re meant to work, obey, serve and suffer. If anything, we should drill them even harder to achieve the highest levels of obedience, efficiency and willingness. A slave doesn’t care if the Nile is wet, that the gestation period of an elephant is 22 months or that the average height for a man in the Netherlands is 186 cm (6’1 ft). He doesn’t care. He’s a simpleton, a mop with a dick, a talking scrotum. A primitive, with primitive needs and wants. He wants to chew and gnaw on boots, wants to be slapped around and wants to swallow spit and piss by the gallon. Let’s keep him simple, for everyone’s sake.
August 2167, Brisbane, Australia – Women’s Convention


I was shocked when he told me about his submissive feelings. I thought I knew him through and through and then, in the blink of an eye, my whole life was in turmoil. I felt betrayed, does that make sense? But after many talks (and a lot of wine) I agreed to play the role of Mistress on five consecutive Saturdays. The first three were a complete disaster, because I honestly didn’t know what to say, let alone what to do. And his whole demeanour changed, I hated that! He was no longer the man I fell in love with, but someone I’d never seen before! We had agreed not to talk about it during the week: no suggestions, no requests, no advice. Thank God for that, because I was well aware I sucked at this.
And then the anger came. All this nonsense about obedience and doing everything for me! Yeah sure! So on the fourth Saturday I ordered him to clean the bathroom. Once finished, I inspected the work and told him I was not satisfied. I ordered him to do it again. To my astonishment he did; the walls, floor, tiles and shower, as if nothing had happened. So I inspected his work again and sneered: “Do you call this cleaning? Do it again and do it properly this time.” And so he did, without a word of complaint. Christ, he even thanked me for it! And then, surely but slowly, it dawned on me: I didn’t need to worry about his suggestions, his ideas and whether or not he liked it. Who the hell was he in the scheme of things? That’s how it all started.
Mistress Selene


I can clearly remember the sunlight filtering through the leaves and the smell of freshly cut grass. But I can also remember a feeling of fear and panic, because Karin scissored me with Her legs. This was not the first time, certainly not, but it was by far the worst time. Because She was livid and squeezed the bejesus out of me. The pain was excruciating and something popped in my neck, I’m sure of that. I screamed like a pig.
Don’t move and shut your mouth, She growled.
I obeyed immediately and She loosened up a bit. She was waiting for Lisa, who was chasing after Robin. I honestly can’t remember what we’d done wrong, but it must have been something pretty awful. We waited for about ten minutes for Lisa to return.
Sorry Karin, he got away, Lisa said. She grinned and looked down on me: I see you had more luck.
She kicked me against my back.
Karin is stronger than me, I screamed in panic.
That made them double up with laughter. But Karin’s anger wasn’t over yet. She tightened Her grip a bit, terrifying me almost into a fit.
Did I tell you to speak?
N-o-o-o-o-o, I yelped.
It’s just a small patch of grass underneath a tree. But to me it’s much more than that. Because in spite of the humiliation- or should I say: because of the humiliation- every inch of it is engraved in my memory.


An incoming text message woke him up from a deep sleep.
Come to My house AT ONCE!! Come by bicycle!!!!!
He frowned. Why on earth did he have to use his bike?? Then he heard the rain pattering against the window and the penny dropped. Wicked, wicked Lady! Her message sounded urgent, so he jumped out of bed like an acrobatic flea, grabbed his clothes, his rain suit and a towel (She hated dripping slaves, man, She really did).
It wasn’t raining, it was bucketing down. The night was stormy as well and he had to be careful not to be blown over. By the time he got to Her house, he was panting like a marathon runner with hemorrhoids. He went to the shed, took off his rain gear, dried his hair, face and hands with the towel and knocked on the backdoor.
You took your time, She thundered with a lot of headwind.
I’m so sorry, Mi-
Yeah, yeah, I heard it all before. Get your lazy ass inside, get the dustpan & brush and sweep that up. She pointed at the few grains of sugar on the kitchen floor. He didn’t frown (wise), didn’t raise his eyebrows (wise too) and didn’t ask (wise again); he grabbed the dustpan & brush and swept the floor. It took him less than twenty seconds.
Good! Now, get out and go home. I’m tired and I want to go to bed. Move it!


She flew all the way from Prague to do a movie in my hometown. She wanted me to accompany Her as Her toy, private secretary, slap-around, onlooker, devotee, pet and moron. Yeah baby, I’m a Jack of all trades! The movie was about one Mistress and no less than seven slaves. I suggested the title Frostbite and the seven Dwarfs, but if looks could kill, I would have died on the spot. Anyways, She introduced Herself to the slaves, who stood side-by-side, naked to the dick. Right on that moment someone walked in and asked Her something.
I’ll be right back, She said to the talking dicks, left the dungeon and forgot all about the little fellows (small potatoes, you know). She returned one and a half hour later with make-up on, hair done and dressed in a gorgeous leather outfit. The dwarfs hadn’t moved an inch.
Oh my God, are you still here? She laughed in surprise and delight.
Then She took the reigns and dominated these guys with ease, precision, confidence and professionalism. She was a puppet Mistress who pulled all the strings; a conductor who conducted a symphony orchestra to create a masterpiece. I was truly in awe and mighty waves of submission rolled over me. So there you have it: it doesn’t matter if it’s one or one hundred slaves, a skilled Mistress is always in charge.


Come here slave.
He looked up from his dick and crawled to Her.
You’re really in love with your penis, aren’t you? She shook Her head in disbelief. Well, let’s see if we can take that admiration to the next level.
He felt a glow of happiness spread all over his face. Was She really going to take a picture of his monumental cock, print it, frame it and hang it on Her bedroom wall? Had that day finally come?
She unlocked his chastity cage, ordered him to masturbate like a rabbit and cum in a plastic cup. He almost teared up from happiness, because it wasn’t even the end of the year yet! He was a man, not blessed with an abundance of brain cells and completely oblivious of what was coming. He embraced his dick as if it were a long lost friend and filled the cup in no time.
Such a good boy, She smiled. Now, drink it.
He looked shocked and stared at the thick, white, jelly-like substance in his cup.
C.can I have a diet coke instead, Mistress?
Shall I put your dick in the toaster, slave?
Man, She can be so persuasive!
He shivered, swallowed it down and gagged several times.
Thank you Mistress, that was a real treat.
Glad you liked it slave, She smiled, we’ll do it again tomorrow.


The Lady examined his skin as if it were a papyrus scroll.
She shook Her head: the skin lays over your body like a depleted field. A barren landscape of dust and dirt, that’s what it is. It’s dry, it’s dull and missing its glow. And … wait, wait … hold on … oh no, there’s no skin circulation anymore!!
Jesus Christ, he panicked, no circulation??
Sir, we have to act quickly, before things get out of hand. Lay face down on the table and spread your arms. That’s it, lovely. I need to strap your arms and head, because desperate times call for desperate measures. Normally I would use a body brush or scrubbe-
Stop blathering, Woman, he screamed, DO something.
A cold front moved into Her eyes and She lashed out with Her nails. She dug Her nails deep into his skin and dragged them down. Sometimes agonizing slowly, sometimes with lightning speed. He screamed, wriggled and fought in agony. But She was just getting warmed up and went full throttle on his back, arms and legs. Then She unstrapped him and had him turn over.
Save me, he cried. Save my epidermis!
She nodded, climbed up the table and sat on his chest.
This is going to hurt a bit, She said. She pierced Her sharp nails into his face and scratched the skin of his cheeks. Blood trickled down from the deep cuts. He howled in pain.
Don’t you worry, She said, your skin will be soft, smooth and healthy again in no time.


Are you a bit of a gambling man? She asked.
That was weird, he’d just told Her about his mortgage, the alimony and his gambling debts.
As I ju-
I bet you are. Well, I believe in luck, in destiny, in numbers. So I will think of a number between one and ten. Guess it right and glory, glory hallelujah.
He had no idea what She was talking about: Three?
THREE?? Why on earth would it be three??  She shook Her head. Absurd! Try again!
He looked bewildered and confused: F.five?
She doubled up with laughter. Five! Hilarious. If you had guessed it right, then I would have paid all your debts. But now … well, now you leave Me with no other choice then to fire you.
WHAT!! He ejected from his chair like a human cannonball. WHY? You can’t do this to me, Angela! Without an income I will be destitute within weeks.
Man, don’t be so overdramatic. Alright, Jesus!, you can keep your job. On one condition.
He was overjoyed: Thank You so much! And yes, of course, name it!
From now on you will be My slave.
W.what?? His smile crumbled and fell.
You heard Me!
I … I … don’t understand … w.what does that mea-
Alright John, goodbye! Have a good life.
Stop! Stop! OK … I will … you know … do it.
Do what exactly, John? Shout it as loud as you can! NOW!!!!
She smiled. That’s right. Your number is up.


A Woman sitting on a man’s shoulders … that’s just a bit of harmless fun, right? That’s what I thought, anyway. That changed on a sunny day at the local park, when Patricia sat down on my shoulders. She locked Her feet behind my back and squeezed Her legs together.
What are you waiting for! Move!
I giggled and before long I was sweating like a melting glacier.
Come on, She groaned, slapping me across the head, FASTER!
She grabbed my hair and pulled.
Horses don’t talk! So shut up and move!
She tightened Her grip on my head and I walked the bejesus.
Stop, stop!
I obeyed immediatlely, panting to breathe.
Do you want Me to replace you? Is that it? I’m pretty sure there are plenty of guys who would love to take your place. Is that what you want?
No, Patricia, I panicked.
She slapped me on the back of my head.
What did I say about talking horses? Mm?
I opened my mouth, but wisely closed it again.
Better! Now, prove yourself worthy to Me.
And off we went. Left, right, uphill, downhill and always faster, faster, faster. She slapped me, pulled my hair and almost killed me with Her strong legs. I was sure I would faint from exhaustion, but somehow I survived the ordeal. She was not my Mistress, nor would She ever be, but She gave me one hell of a ride that day!


I did (and still do) lots and lots of family research to find out more about my ancestors. Some were successful and quite wealthy, others ended up in the workhouse. Some lived a long life, many others died young. Some were sentenced to jail (for petty theft mostly), one was flogged and died in prison and one of my ancestors was hanged for murder in February 1803. Some received the Yad Vashem title of “Righteous Among the Nations” for helping Jewish families during WW2, several family members died in Nazi concentration camps, while someone else in the family was sentenced to jail by a war tribunal for collaborating with the Nazis. One brother joined Napoleon’s Grand Armée and died during Napoleon’s catastrophic invasion of Russia; while the other brother fought against Napoleon at Waterloo. Many of them were born, got married and died in the same village, others crossed the Atlantic Ocean and found a new home in America. A view of my ancestors became locally famous, others nationally, and at least one of them became world famous: Mata Hari. It’s such an honour to be related to Her, it really is. I often wonder, as I go through the stories of my ancestors, if somewhere, somehow, Female Domination played a (tiny) role in their life as well. Because who knows, maybe I’m not the first to embrace the superiority of Women. Maybe it’s all in the family.


Can you believe it? Jessy, my youngest, turned eighteen last week. Man, time goes so fast! So I wanted to get her something special to commemorate this milestone. I thought about an Orbit-Around-The-Earth-Experience in a spacecraft or an Around-The-World-In-Eighty-Ways travel voucher. But in the end I settled for something she will enjoy for years to come. If not the rest of her life! You probably guessed it already: I decided to give Her a slave. A friend of mine was willing to sell one of Hers, but you know, there’s always a risk of wear and tear and who knows what bad habits he may have picked up! Second hand is second hand, no matter what. And sure, yes, of course you can teach an old slave new tricks, but it’s such a strain on the whipping arm. The lass is a bit too young for that, I think. So I got one directly from the Breeding Facility. He’s a 25-year old blank slate, you might say, healthy, vaccinated, very active and playful and eager to learn. Jessy has decided to call him James, which has a nice old-fashioned ring to it, I think.
She’s very chuffed with him and immediately started with his training. She might be young, but she’s very strict, very ruthless and extremely demanding.
Like mother, like daughter.
Lady Alice, July 2099


On the road betwixt Sherbourne and Shaftesbury the coach was held up by a masked rider. Sir Duncan, special advisor to the King, stuck his head out of the coach-window.
Why are we stopping? Thee there on the horse, who are thou!
I am thy worst nightmare, a Woman’s voice said, step out of the coach, all of thee.
Four flabbergasted men stepped out with their hands up.
I’m all dick, Sir Duncan murmured. Sorry, sorry, I mean ears. I’m all ears.
Out with thy purses, She demanded.
And if we refuse, the tall man asked.
The Lady pointed the blunderbuss at him: Then thee shall kicketh the bucket the present day.
They immediately dropped their purses.
Thee has stolen so much more than my purse, Sir Duncan blushed.
She smiled, but ignored him.
Drop thy pants, all of thee. Now!
Not in a million years, the bald man screamed.
The blunderbuss roared into life and a bullet ploughed through his hair.
Woman, the fat man lamented, has’t thee nay mercy?
I have no more of that dull commodity than thee has’t, She growled.
She threw their trousers in the bushes, tied Her victims back to back on the stagecoach horses and drove them into the next town, where many people gathered and cheered. The Lady let Her horse prance and drove off into the night.



I was somewhat strapped for cash that season. And then I met a guy called Bill who said he was willing to pay for My pee. I thought he was kidding, but sure enough, he showed up with the cash and paid me $25 for a filled urine container. That’s how it all started. I created a website called Peeper-The-Pee and started peeing on an industrial scale. I didn’t take long before I was peeing all over the country. And beyond. The key to My success is My integrity, My honesty and thousands upon thousands of liters of water. No sir, I don’t sell the urine of My partner, My brother, My aunt, My dogs or whatnot; what I pee, is what you get. And I know; a lot of Women are cutting corners with this and laugh at Me for being so honest. Well, all I can say to them is: piss off and let Me pee in peace (aka pees).
Being a professional pee-er is not as simple as you may think. I drink huge quantities of water and I constantly need to pee. Which makes driving a car, shopping or a walk along the boulevard perilous undertakings. And I don’t go about with a bag filled with urine-containers, thank you very much. Yesterday I went for a drink with My mother. And sure enough, I had to pee. I flushed the toilet, shook My head and sighed: I’m literally flushing money down the toilet.


A picture is worth a thousand words, they say, and I wholeheartedly agree with that. Because a picture allows us to dream, imagine and wonder what happens next. Look at the top picture of this post, for example. That’s not just a Schoolgirl-pin POV snapshot, my friend, that’s a triumph, a masterpiece! My dick and I can stare at that picture for hours on end, without a minute’s pause, no kidding. Make a poster of it, sell it, worship it, lovely!
The lovely Mistress Katja, sitting on top of you, pinning you down to the ground. Her golden hair, hanging down Her breast, Her sexy, shiny lips and Her eyes, Her beautiful eyes, looking down on you with disdain. She can enslave you for life with that powerful gaze. Her strong legs in jeans, pressing down on your chest and arms. One more stupid word from you and She will push Her exquisite bottom onto your face and hold it there till you pass out. So you better lay still and don’t say a fucking word, asshole.
You see? All that from one, single picture, a split second of Power & Beauty, one unforgettable moment of Female Superiority.


I was on my knees in front of Her, my eyes down to the floor. I had been around a time or two, but this mature, amateur Lady made me shiver in fear and admiration. Everything about Her was powerful; Her piercing eyes, Her personality and the tone of Her voice left no doubt that She expected to be obeyed. And She didn’t need a whip for that.
Her black, shiny boots came into view in front of me. My heart was racing and my mouth was dry. Then She put Her finger under my chin and forced me to look at Her.
It was nothing really, just a slight movement of Her hand, a mere trickle in the scheme of things, a painless touch in the world of Dominance and submission. But to me it was just breathtaking and I was in awe of the beauty of the moment. Huge waves of submission swept over me, dragging me under. All it took was an index finger and the tiniest bit of pressure to reach the Glory of Female Power and the Heavens of slavery.
What are you, She asked with a commanding tone of voice.
I’m Your slave, Mistress, I whispered, spiralling down in the vortex of Her eyes.
That’s right, She said.


You don’t remember us bringing you to this cabin last night? I’m not really surprised, you had way too much to drink. Four bottles too much, to be precise. No, I don’t have the keys to the handcuffs, I’m sorry. Alice has them. She will be here in an hour or so. I know, I know, you think She’s a stupid cunt, you said so many times. She was furious when I told Her you said that. I shouldn’t have, I realize that, but one thing led to another, you know how it goes. Anyway, She wants to have a word with you. And “having a word” equals torture, of course. Excuse me? Why? Well, because She’s an amateur Dominatri- Sorry? You didn’t know? Seriously? Oh boy, well, you’re in for a painful surprise then. Rumor has it She’s quite a talent. Yes, whips, canes, clamps; enough equipment to shit yourself like an elephant with diarrhea. Trust me, you will hate Her even more after today. Don’t worry, you will survive … Wait! I take that back. I’m not sure you’re going to survive. Ha-ha, I’m just teasing you, man! On the other hand … we’re just twenty meters away from Dead Man’s Creek … I do hope that’s not a bad omen.


A Woman was not allowed to attend university, to vote (suffrage), divorce Her husband, open a Bank account or sign a legal document without Her husband’s approval. And if that was not enough, a husband was legally allowed to rape and beat his Wife. In the 19th and early 20th century Women stood up against this male-dominated society that had been in place for 4,000 years. The men were not amused. They mocked and ridiculed these Women, assaulted and beat them. In Colchester a mob smashed the windows of the hotel where Josephine Butler was staying, and stones were hurled into Her room. They threatened to burn the place down unless Mrs. Butler was delivered to them. She fled through a back window and hid inside an unused warehouse: I stood there in the darkness and alone, hearing some of the violent men tramping past. Others were imprisoned and force-fed by inserting a tube through their nostrils and shoving it down into the stomach. Militant suffragettes smashed the windows of hundreds of shops, planted bombs, and burned down cricket- and horse-racing pavilions. Suffragette Emily Davison threw herself under King George V’s horse in the 1913 Epsom Derby race. She died of Her injuries. It was, quite literally, a battle of the sexes.
So, where will you stand when Women try to seize power? Will you try to stop them, sit idly by or are you willing to fight and suffer for their cause?


Once upon a time a Mistress adopted a human dog named Ahh-Choo (aka Gesundheit), because She wanted a dog to protect the property. He was not allowed in the house of course, because that would send Sissy Slave Sasha into a fit of hysteria. And so Ahh-Choo ate and slept in a dog house in the garden. Every morning he walked his Mistress to the train station, because She whipped, caned and tortured in a neighboring city. In the evening he would be waiting for Her again at the station. Each day, every day.
Then one day Mistress decided to donate all Her whips, clamps and dildos to the old folks home up the road (She had a dark sense of humor, man, what can we say), packed Her bags, drove to the airport and emigrated to Australia. Just like that.
Somehow She forgot all about Her human dog, so Ahh-Choo would sit at the train station all day, waiting for his Mistress to come home. And a year later, when the house got sold, he slept hither and thither. A hot dog seller named Carlos “The Hottest” Adams fed him, while Carla Morgan, who owned a soft drink shop opposite the station, watered him like a plant.
Believe it or not: Ahh-Choo is still alive and is still waiting for his Mistress at Hachikō Station (North Exit). Eleven years, eight months, two weeks and three days to be precise. Talking about loyalty! Please visit him if you’re in the area, OK? And don’t forget to bring some “Good Boy” Dog Snacks with you. They’re his favorites.


Do I like sailing?? Mistress, they call me Catamaran the 3rd, Lord of the Lakes, Dick on Deck, Prince of the High Seas! Look at my mast, look at that solid piece of happiness! Ready to be rigged and sail to new horizons and secret islands!!
Steady pirate, She smiled, don’t fall overboard.
I apologize, Mistress, I apologize, I got carried away by the northeasterly winds, was swept away by the tide of enthusiasm.
Glad to hear it, slave, because we’re going sailing today.
That’s just awes-
In a manner of speaking, of course …
His smile collapsed into a look of bewilderment. He opened his mou-
HUSH!!! I warn you, Captain Cock. One word from you and I’ll nail your tongue to a keel. Savvy? Good! Now, pants down and bend over.
He was visibly disappointed, but he obeyed (such a good boy) while She put on a harness with a strap-on dildo attached to it.
Now, let’s sail the Anal Canal, shall we? The wind is coming from the South at about 2-3 knots, wouldn’t you say, cadet?
He knew there would be hell to pay if he didn’t play along.
Aye, aye, Captain, he whispered.
She laughed sarcastically and sailed straight into his Stinker. She fucked him below decks, ploughed through his harbor with lightning speed. He screamed in agony and begged for parley. But that ship sailed a long time ago.


She wanted Her husband (aka Her slave) to turn the dilapidated barn into a luxurious guest house. To be honest, it would have been easier to turn a shopping cart into a Rolls Royce, but, as always, he had no saying in this. She was in charge and had him by the balls. Figuratively and, quite often, literally. So he did what he’d always done: he obeyed and worked his ass off. The barn was smelly, dirty, dusty and filled with spider webs and by the end of each day he’d gathered more dust than a broom in its heyday. But She, always the practical one, had just the solution for that: an old fashioned carpet beater! Handwoven and made from strong rattan reed. Yes, it’s scary sometimes with the things these Women come up with. Anyways, at the end of a hard days work, She would beat the crap out of him with that thing. Not because She wanted to punish him, but because She wanted to dust him thoroughly, meticulously, exhaustively, rigorously, methodically, painstakingly. After that She would hose him down in the backyard with the garden hose. Because he was not going to contaminate the shower with all sorts of creepy bacteria. No, sir! Not on Her watch!
Man, isn’t She one in a million?


He opened the front door and a Woman jabbed a needle into his arm. When he woke up he was naked and strapped to a rack.
Congratulations sir, and welcome to our state of the art Breeding Facility Valkyrie IV, a Woman said. You’re now officially a breeder!
I d.don’t understand, he said, still groggy.
Of course not, sir, that is why we have chosen you: you’re strong, healthy, equipped with a robust reproductive organ and you’re not exactly the brightest bulb in the box. In other words: you’re the ideal specimen to create a herd of slaves. Don’t worry, we have the technique to create male embryos only, so there’s no risk of contaminating the bright & the brilliant with your stupidity.
I … wait, wait … WHAT!! … No, no, no, I want to go home! Please!!!
And you will, sir, you will … in ten, twelve years from now.
That is impossible. I’m going to Paris next week to see the Eiffel Tow-
Calm down, sir. You’re livestock, we can do pretty much everything we want.
You don’t understand, he pleaded, I’m Fred, nicknamed “The Impotent”, I’m no-
Don’t worry about that, silly boy, our Girls can make an eunuch cum.
Absolutely not! I forbid it! My sperm is mine!
I suggest you take a long good look between your legs, sir, She snapped.
And lo and behold, his dick was hard as granite. It was the closest he would ever get to seeing the Eiffel Tower.


It was Sunday, so I handed over my pocket-money to Karin.
You don’t have a weekend job, do you?
That was a strange question, because She knew that perfectly well.
No … I said, with a tone of hesitation in my voice.
Well, that’s going to change, because this
(she waved the money in front of my face) is just a pittance. So here’s what we’ll do: find yourself a job for Saturdays and the holidays. I want to know where you’re going to work, for how many hours and how much I get paid. Now, if you behave exceptionally well and do exactly as I say, I’ll give you a few coins from time to time. 
And that was that, end of story. I ended up working in a grocery store from eight in the morning to six in the evening. My boss was a bad-tempered old man who complained a lot and worked a little. I didn’t really care; the tougher the day, the more rewarding it was. Amazing to see how a submissive brain is wired! Handing over my hard-earned money became the highlight of the week for me. I had to bow, give Her the money and thank Her for allowing me to work for Her. Man, I loved it so much.
I was Her working mule for two years and handed Her all the money. She never gave me a cent. I didn’t earn it, She said.


The “Fem Dommes Only” party takes place in June each year. We had no idea what was going on in there, because no men were allowed inside, not even eunuchs. So, was it some sort of danceparty? A kinky party with blindfolded male strippers perhaps? Or just another Totally Tupperware party? We had no clue. A reporter of the New York Days disguised himself as a Woman in order to infiltrate. He’s not been heard of since. So I was absolutely flabbergasted when Milady ordered me to join Her on the opening day! Oh, I was so exited! She had me collared and leashed and dragged me through a crowd of Women. Which was terribly intimidating, because they all glared at me as if they were about to eat me alive.
Then the tumult of a hundred different cries, all shouting at the top of their voices. Rotten tomatoes, get your toma-throws, roared a brunette. Ding, Dong, Fresh Dung, get your bucket full, called another. Spit-on-the-Spot, only tuppence, shouted a blonde Lady. Pee-n-a-Bottle, get your pee-ee-ee, bellowed one. Pick ’em out cheap here! Stinking eggs, shouted a Lady to Her utmost. Milady put me in a pillory and grabbed a microphone. Well Ladies, here he is: the future has arrived. This creature will be on display for the next three days. Let’s show him what a “Fem Dommes Only” party is all about, shall we?”
June 2071 – Party Perils – ISBN 2-67923-118564


All I want is your pin number, She said all flowery.
Yeah, well, and all I want is a blowjob. So, fuck off, Michelle. Let me go!!
I wasn’t going anywhere soon though, because She had me pinned to the floor. She moved on my face and smothered me shitless. I don’t know how long She sat there, but I gasped for air when She finally allowed me to breathe again.
Well? What is the first digit?
One…..I panted.
Excellent, now wh-
One…… thing is certain, I’m going to kick you a-
Hello darkness, my old friend. She sat hard and long on my face, till my head was about to explode. Then She moved back a little, just enough to struggle for a slither of oxygen.
It’s four, I gasped, I swear to God, it’s four.
And the second digit?
I … I always forget that o-
Daytime became nighttime again. And good old oxygen came with a number: IT’S ONE, IT’S ONE!
I hear you, man! Jesus, no need to get all excited, just breathe.
Please Michelle, please let me go. You can’t do this.
Hush! We’re almost there. Are you ready?
I opened my mouth and everything went pitch black again. Oxygen became a distant memory. And just when I was ready to write my will, She gave me the slightest chance of survival.
Six and two, I howled, I swear, I swear.
There you go! Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?


The submissive seeds have been there since the day you were born, hoping, dreaming and praying for a strict voice or a demanding look to flower and bloom. Don’t forget though, obeying a Woman (in real life of course, not on the infantile Internet) is extremely addictive and withdrawal from it is hard, if not impossible. The difficult period after deliberately disobeying a Lady or doing a runner, lasts about eight to twelve months. Common symptoms are: facial tics, obsessive masturbation or the inability to get an erection, loss of smell, loss of appetite, insomnia, feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, worthlessness, sudden hair loss, excessive hair growth in nose and ears, increased appetite or sudden weight loss, panic attacks, talking out loud to screens and pictures or an overwhelming feeling of guilt. The likelihood of relapse is, needless to say, very high. And even if one manages to survive the first year, that craving to obey will never fully disappear. It’s just waiting for the right conditions. The sound of boots on the pavement, a sarcastic laugh, a fetish attire, whether it be in real life, a movie or on television, can set a submissive soul ablaze. Hence the saying: once a loser, always a loser.


Guess the color of My underwear and win a prize, She laughed.
That’s easy, I answered enthusiastically, You are wearing the red, shiny nylon one.
Her smiled collapsed and Her eyes turned deadly.
You have been peeping at My ass again, haven’t you?
The trap snapped shut with brutal force.
I … I … I …  accidental-
Don’t lie to Me!
My face turned red (shiny and nylon) and I didn’t dare to look Her in the eye.
You’re right, I’m so sorry, Angela, I don’t know what go-
She slapped me in the face. Not extremely hard, but totally unexpected.
What did you call Me?
Miss Angela, of course, please forgive me, I apologize.
One hundred strokes for staring and one hundred for being rude!
One hundred … I stammered in disbelief.
No, one hundred + one hundred is ….
Two hundred, Miss Angela, I whispered.
What??? No, no, no, are you stupid or what! Now I have to add another hundred strokes to your punishment. So, one hundred strokes + one hundred strokes + one hundred strokes is …?
T.t.hree hundred? I answered hesitantly.
She shook Her head in disbelief and sighed: Unbelievable. One hundred strokes + one hundred strokes + one hundred strokes = a bloody red ass! See? It’s that simple.


A session with the Baltimore Bondage Babes (aka BaBoBa) can be life changing. Take Mr. Smith for example, who is now lying naked on the floor, gagged to the teeth and with enough rope around his body to rig a schooner. Drop dead blonde Nancy certainly knows Her way with ropes, that’s for sure. She’s sitting on the couch, heavenly legs crossed, eyes fixed on Her prey.
I’m not going to untie you, She says, because what’s the fun in that. Instead, I’m going to call the police and give them your address. How awkward and embarrassing is that, right? Your huge wet boner has a lot of explaining to do, Mr. Smith. Don’t worry, I will leave the front door ajar.
The poor man, in the meantime, is sweating like a turkey on Thanksgiving. He struggles with all his might, eyes as wide as frisbees. Mmmmmfffff, he gags, but without subtitles it’s impossible to know what he means by that.
God, it’s so sexy to see you in fear, Nancy says, placing Her High Heel on his head.
The police arrives 20 minutes later. And when we say police, we mean two beautiful Female Cops in shiny boots and fetish uniforms. They remove his gag, only the gag, and interrogate him. Because he’s not the victim, not to them anyway, he’s the culprit. They are absolutely merciless and Mr. Smith reaches a level of submission that he didn’t know existed.
The Baltimore Bondage Babes are different, adventurous and groundbreaking, what can we say.


Femdeum is like visiting a fameus department steure, like Harreuds in Leundeun, Sir Allan said, swirling the cognac in his glass. First, you cheuse a Lady: hairy, scary, breasted, legged, bleund, dark, leung hair, sheurt hair, peunytails, Latin, Asian; whateuver you fancy. Put your faveurite Lady in the basket and go to the second fleur for the haute couteure: shirts, skirts, dresses, shoes, beuts, leather, latex and seu feurth. Pick your fetish attire and go to the third fleur, where you’ll find Pains, Perils & Humilio’s. Ceurporal punishments, l’urine, feut fetish, human peunies, face-sitting, ceuck & ball teurture; you name it, you pain it. The Neughty Section is there as well, with ceunnilingeus, blowjeubs, handjeubs and other jeubs. Then go to the ceunter, pay for your items and Beub’s your euncle. You’ve picked your faveurite Lady in your faveurite couture and She will do exactly what you want. And seumehow, seumewhere, you’ve got this crazy idea that you are a treu seubmissive man and that Her will is leuw. Extreurdinary.


Silence! When I speak, you listen. I thought I whipped you often and brutal enough to know that by now. So, let Me get this straight: I gave you an evening off to have a drink in The Three Barrels and you ended up in bed with the bartender’s daughter. One orgasm lead to another and now you want My permission to get married and move to another manor. I must say, slave, I’m shocked. Not only by your lack of loyalty, but also by the swiftness of it all. So no, I’m not jumping with joy, to put it mildly. I haven’t even met the girl yet! She is dominant, I presume? NO?? Aha, I think I know what’s going on here! You want to be in charge again! That’s it, isn’t it? Leading the way with your dick in hand. You cheeky little bastard.
But, you know, I’m a reasonable and understanding Mistress, the marks on your back are living proof of that. So yes, I give you permission to marry this woman. But I won’t give you permission to move to another manor. She will live here with you on My land. She may be your wife, young man, but She will be My slave and My property. That’s My decision and that’s final!


He was my classmate, a bully and a predator. Big mouth, tiny dick, tiny brain, you know the type. One day he wanted to beat the shit out of me in the schoolyard. I didn’t hesitate and kicked him as hard as I could in his balls. He screamed in pain, fell to his knees, then flat on his face. I loved the feeling of power I had over him, so I placed my foot on his head and flexed my biceps for all to see. Those biceps changed his tune and my life. Because numerous boys, and even a few of the Girls, wanted to feel my biceps. I quickly realized I could make some money from this and demanded a gift. Almost all of them complied. Once they’d paid I would boss them around, calling them weaklings, sluts, sissies and losers. They loved it. It was amazing, surreal even, but I have many fond memories of that time. I clearly remember a much older Girl for example, who was so intimidated and shook like a leaf. Or that boy with the glasses and the braces, who had an orgasm in his pants when he kissed my biceps. Many of them came back for a second, third and even a fourth time and my biceps were in hot demand for a long, long time.


Is there anything more thrilling, more exiting, more heart-pounding than a slave hunt? Provided you do it the right way, of course. Holding a slave hunt in a garden the size of a postage stamp isn’t exactly the thrill of a lifetime. Think big, that’s the key. A large piece of forest (surrounded by water) for example. The slaves will get a head start of 15 minutes. Then the Mistresses will hunt them down on horseback (that line makes me shiver with delight … hunt them down on horseback … magnificent!). A slave has to kneel down immediately as soon as a Mistress hits him with a (bull)whip. His Captor writes Her initials with a marker on his forehead and directs him to a spot where he has to wait. He will be Her property for the rest of the weekend. Or longer, depending on Her mood. The first three slaves to be caught, will be send home. Because the aim of the hunt is to outsmart the Ladies for as long as possible, so no time for losers (aka: fakers). The last to be caught, will be rewarded. With what and how, is up to the Ladies of course. Which is always tricky, because Her reward may well be his nightmare. After the hunt the slaves are tied together by ropes around their necks and paraded around the field. Needless to say, all Ladies want to capture as many slaves as possible. There’s always a healthy (sometimes known as: unhealthy) rivalry between them, so the more knuckleheads captured, the more status.


I always think of happy things before I go to sleep. And to me, happiness means being bossed around, simple as that. And yes, I admit, I fantasize about celebrities as well. Can’t remember a time that I didn’t, to be honest. So close your eyes and let me show you around in dreamland.
There, on your left, is Emma Watson’s house. She’s all smiles and laughter, as long as you do exactly as She says. Don’t hesitate, don’t frown and for God’s sake, don’t argue, for She will raise Her wand at you. And trust me, being turned into a frog really sucks.
Over there, in the distance, is Gal Gadot’s Grotto. Last week She decided to teach me a lesson. I asked Her why, because I hadn’t done anything. Exactly, She said, and scissored me with Her beautiful legs until I passed out (aka fell asleep).
Over there? That’s Kristen Stewart’s land. She can break even the toughest of the toughest with Her killer smile, no kidding. Enter At Your Own Risk, the sign near the entrance says. ‘Nuff said.
And there … look at my finger … there … that’s Kate Beckinsale’s underworld. This Lady really sinks Her teeth into you and I’ve lost many a pint of blood over there. But then again, I’d give my life for Her, so who cares about a bit (aka bite) of blood. Buffy (the Vampire Slayer) used to live here as well, but She and Kate were constantly at each other’s throats. The whole neighborhood went down the drain. So Buffy moved to the other side of the valley. I often go there and tell Her I’m a vampire. Famous last words (aka: from apatite to epitaph).
There’s much more that I want to show you, man. So meet me again tonight in my imaginary world and wait for me at the junction, alright?


Repeat after Me, slave: I, slave Knucklehead the Idiot, do solemnly swear that I will obey all orders of my Mistress; that I support and defend the Superiority of Women and that I’m willing and ready to give up my nuts, my dick and my miserable life for Her, so help me God.
That’s rather a mouthful, Mistress, I wo-
She pushed the button and shocked his balls into madness. He screamed in pain and the words poured from his mouth: I, slave Knucklehead the Idiot, swear tha-
Do solemnly swear, She shocked.
Arrrghh! Do solemnly swear that I will obey all orders of my Mistress; that I defe-
Support and defend ….
Ahhhhh-ahhh!! Support and defend the Superiority of Women and that I’m willing to give u-
Willing and ready, She growled angrily, pushing the button repeatedly.
He jumped in pain: Jesu-u-u-us!! W.willing and ready to give up my b.balls, m-
Nu-u-u-u-u-u-u-uts. Willing and ready to give up my nuts, my dick and my miserable life for Her, so help me God.
Exactly! Don’t you ever forget it, slave.
No, Mistress, he said and his face beamed with relief. His ordeal was ove-
Now, let’s do one of Shakespeare’s plays, shall we? Only 14,701 words; it’s called “Comedy of Errors”. Here we go!


Once upon a time a Girl called Little Red Riding Boots was on Her way to see Her grandmother. And, as always, She met Mr. Wolf along the way.
Good-day, Riding Boots, said he. Whither away so early?
To granny, if you must know, sighed She.
He stared at Her boots and shook his head disapprovingly: These are not riding boots, Little Red!
One word for you, Wolf, She growled: fuck off.
He said something very, very naughty and disappeared into the trees. One hour later She arrived at the cottage. Her grandmother looked very strange.
Oh, grandmother, said She, what hairy arms you have!
It’s true, child, I look like woolly mammoth nowadays. Better call me Hairy Granny from now on.
But, grandmother, what big eyes you have!
Yes, I’ve been sniffing some coke, and I’m tripping all over the place.
Grandmother, what an enormous dick you have.”
All the better to fu-
Little Red Riding Boots grabbed the slithering dick with Her left- and a large butcher’s knife from Her basket with Her right hand. She pushed the knife underneath his scrotum.
Hello, Wolfie! She grinned. Look in My basket.
He obeyed and screamed in horror.
Jesus! Are these … testicles?
Very good! Ain’t they cute? They belong, or should I say belonged, to My other victims.
Wait a minute, wait a minute, said he, with renewed confidence, I know this tale and this is not how the story goes.
True, said She, but this is how your story ends.


He took me down to the cellar and showed me a rack filled with wooden wine boxes.
I’m not a wine collector, he explained, sliding the lid of a box, I collect worn panties.
And lo and behold, inside the box was a plastic zip bag with a panty.
I have collected 217 panties already; Lady Anja, Queen Ti (aka Tea), Goddess Sasha, Mistress Ilse, Lady Marion, their panties are all here.
Explain to me how it works, I asked intrigued.
It’s a Birthday Box kinda thing, if you know what I mean. All boxes are labeled with a date. Today it’s Mistress Kate’s birthday for example, so during the day I will watch some of Her clips or look at a bunch of pictures. I’m putting the kettle on, so to speak. I’m warming up. And then, between eight or nine this evening, I will open Her sealed bag and take three long sniffs.
That’s it? Three sniffs?
One must not overdo it, you know, he explained. After that, I sing Happy Birthday for Her.
No, in the cellar.
Right, right. But … let me get this straight, you don’t touch the panties.
Of course not! Jesus, are you nuts? A worn panty means more to me than all the money in the world. So I handle them delicately and gracefully. Fresh, Fruity & Smelly, that’s the threesome I’m looking for. My goal is to have a collection of 365+1 panties. One for each day.


In short, Milady, we demand shorter workdays, decent wages, less stressful working conditions, full weekends off, better bathing facilities, nutritious meals and new beds. Oh, and an iPad.
Lady Lock had been listening with open mouth.
This is a Hard Labor Camp, you do know that, don’t you, slave?
Of course, Milady, of course. But we want to be heard, You see.
You want to be heard …
Actually, we DEMAND to be heard, Milady.
OK, slave, if you demand to be heard, then by God, you shall be heard.
Are You … are You teasing me now, Milady?
I’m not, slave. Your screams of pain and mercy shall be heard, I guarantee you that!
I understand, Milady, he quickly said, this is not the right moment. I’ll come ba-
Your screams shall be heard throughout the entire state, over the hills and across the seas. You will scream till your voice is gone, beg till you go not tears to cry.
I apologize, Milady, he said soothingly, I’ve crossed the line, I realize that now. Forgive me my behavior, I’m really, really sorry. But can we at least talk about free lotion, Milady? I have a very sensitive skin that gets dry very quickly.
We have not heard from him since.


They’d tortured him for days to get information, but he didn’t say a word. Then a gorgeous blond Lady with glossy lips, smokey eyes and killer legs stepped into the interrogation room. Thank God his dick couldn’t speak, because that bloody thing was ready to spill the beans.
I see you’re getting hard for Me, She said, let’s hope you’re also willing to die for Me.
She stood behind him, put a plastic bag over his head and squeezed it tight around his neck. He was tied to a chair, couldn’t move a muscle. The bag was expanding in and out, as he struggled for oxygen. He panicked and his eyes almost popped out of his head. He was about to lose consciousness. She let him breathe a few seconds and bagged him again. And again ….. and again. And yet again. She was a skilled and experienced torturer & interrogator and She allowed him just enough air to survive. It took Her less than fifteen minutes to break him. He told Her everything She wanted to know. And more. In the end She had to gag him to make him shut up.
A plastic bag costs a penny and is worth a million, She said. And you can’t argue with that.


You live and work on My land, care for the animals and help maintain the estate. Eighty percent of what you grow and harvest is Mine, the rest is yours. But, in all honesty, everything you own and everything you produce actually belongs to Me. I can take whatever I want. Instead of money, you can earn certain privileges. The privilege to be in the same room with Me, for example. Or the privilege to clean My boots, drive Me to town, be whipped by Me personally … Those things are more valuable than all the money in the world, don’t you think?
You are not allowed to leave the estate without My permission. And even then, you are not allowed to leave for more than eight hours. Sexual relationships with Women, or men for that matter, are strictly forbidden. Should I, in the unlikely event, allow you to marry someone from another estate, then you must pay me a hefty fine. Which is impossible, since you are not allowed to earn any money.
Of course, you can always try to run away. I would strongly advise against it though, since you’re penniless and don’t have any papers that show you’re a free man. Trust Me, people will avoid you like the plague and no one will help you. On the contrary, they will notify Me right away and I will sent the bloodhounds after you. Your are mine, you better get used to the idea.
November 2118, Sarah Clarke – A New Beginning


I could fetch a good price for you at the market, Sasha said.
He’d been smitten with Her from the moment he saw Her. Of course, She was way out of his league, he knew that. But when She’d invited him for tea, he had eagerly accepted the invitation.
He giggled: Flower Market? Fish Market? Flea Mark-
Slave Market.
Wow!!! Well, in case you didn’t know, slavery was abolish-
Slaves to Women.
He shifted nervously on his chair. Let’s enjoy our Earl Grey, shall we?
So, you don’t want to be sold?
He shook his head, slightly irritated.
Well, you’re worth quite a bit of money, so you will have to compensate Me for My loss.
Sasha! Drop it!
She snapped Her fingers. The door flew open and ten Women burst into the room.
Beat him up and cage him, Sasha commanded.
Stop!!! Jesus, what’s wrong with you! OK, I will compensate you. I’ll give you $50. Happy now?
Don’t be absurd. The price is $75.000.
WHAT!!! I’m not worth that kinda money!!
Take him downstairs, Ladies, and torture him.
Please, Sasha, please don’t do this to me. I beg you!
See? You’re a natural born submissive! I haven’t even started yet and you’re already begging!
Poor lad. He went from Earl Grey to Gray Early in a matter of minutes.


According to many, the relationship between Mistress and slave is based on sexual attraction. She’s in charge, but She also listens to his needs (a daily blowjob for example) and respects his limits. So, at the end of the day, when all is mildly whipped and lovingly slapped, he is the puppet-master and She’s the puppet. Call me a primitive, but I believe in the simple and accurate definition of the word slave: someone who is the property of another person and is forced to work and obey. Come on, She doesn’t need our permission to punish us! And She sure as hell doesn’t need to take our limits into consideration. She can use and abuse us to Her heart’s content. Take our money, and our nuts while She’s at it, put our dick in the nick for months on end, sell us to the highest bidder or donate us to a vivisectionist. And what are we going to do about all this? File a complaint? For what? For being a slave? We chose the path of submission ourselves, no one forced us. So embrace it, regardless of how painful, humiliating, confusing it can be. Regardless of how much we dislike certain things. If you want to be a slave, then act like one. No limits, no restrictions, no rights, no way out. Anything less has nothing to do with slavery.


In the year 125 BC, the Romans captured the Warrior Queen Allovera, who was said to be the most beautiful Woman in the world. It made Anus Contanus, a guard in one of Rome’s most notorious prisons, very nervous, because the cells were downright filthy. Not worthy of any Woman, let alone a Queen. So he ordered Nilfisk, a Danish slave, to take the push-up position on the floor. Anus grabbed him by the ankles and moved him around, while Nilfisk sucked up all the cobwebs, ants, cockroaches, fleas and mouse droppings with his mouth. Then they cleaned everything with water and brought perfume, flowers and soft cushions to lay in the cells. Queen Allovera arrived the next day and was marched to Her cell by general Aprillis Maius. After he’d left, Anus went to Her cell, knocked on the door, awaited Her response, and went in. Her beauty literally took his breath away. Her face was gorgeous, Her skin flawless, Her eyes mesmerizing and Her dress exquisite. He pulled himself together, because there was nothing he could do to change Her faith. It was out of his ha-
Will you help Me to escape from this place?
His legs buckled and he fell to his knees. Yes, Your Majesty, he whispered.
Submit to My will and obey Me without question?
Yes, Your Majesty.
Give Me power over your miserable life and your painful death?
Yes, Your Majesty.
Very well, I hereby take you as My slave.
Just like that.


I visited The Drain today, the shelter for dismissed, unowned and unwanted slaves. It’s a sad place, man, because most of these guys are addicted: to leather, panties, feet, spit, boots, heels, latex, piss, slaps, kicks, rubber; you name it, they crave it. These addictions will only grow stronger and stronger in time, we all know that. They will never go away or get better. Most of the guys down here try to make the best of the situation. Bill for example, part-time carpenter and full-time masochist, has turned to self flagellation; Fred bought a pair of boots and licks them like lollipops; Jordan slaps himself to sleep and ballbusting lover Tom is constantly trying to kick himself in the groin. Others fall back into old habits, like excessive masturbating.
Some save money to move away, but someone like Phil for example is still financially drained by his former Mistress and his salary goes straight into Her account. These men are damaged goods and their future looks rather bleak at the moment. But there’s always hope, as Anthony explained to me: I’m hopeful that a strict Mistress will find me eventually. I’m down on my luck right now, so the dream of servitude is my most precious procession.
T. Rondel – April 2096.


I’m not satisfied, She said (which made sense, because She wasn’t easily satisfied to begin with), you will write 500 lines saying:

It is the best of times, it is the worst of times,
(depending which side of the whip you’re on)
it is the age of Female wisdom,
it is the age of male foolishness.

I was exited and set off to work with a boner in my pants. Good old gullible me. Reality set in after the first page: this was going to be a monumentally boring task. My hand hurt like the Dickens, because I held the pen too tightly. The handwriting slanted from from upper- to lowercase and from to left to right, like a drunk on a bike. It was a monstrous task and it took forever. In the end I handed Her a stack of papers (written in blood, sweat and tears). She hardly even looked at them, but gave them to one of Her slaves instead.
Go through it with a fine-tooth comb, She ordered, and find everything that is incorrect. You will be rewarded for each mistake you find.
Nice touch!
She looked at me with a sadistic smile. The next time I will not be so nice, slave.
Thank You Mistress, I whispered, for teaching me a lesson.
I meant every word of it, because this simple and tedious task turned out to be a most effective punishment. She could double, triple, quadruple the amount of lines in a heartbeat. And that knowledge humbled me in a way I never imagined.


I will do everything for You, You know that, he said.
Really? Everything? She smiled teasingly.
Whatever You say I will do for You. I swear, Milady.
Alright then, clean My sweaty armpits.
He didn’t hesitate and dived in like a dehydrated dog in the desert. The smell of Her armpit was sour, salty and hot.
Take some deep breaths, She instructed. That’s it. Go on, I didn’t tell you to stop, did I? Savour the aroma and flavour. Good boy!
He loved it when She talked like that.
Go on then, lick them clean, show Me how obedient you are. 
He moaned as his tongue touched Her soft skin. Her sweat was so juicy, Her odor so intense; he licked and rubbed his nose in. He was working up a sweat, one might say.
What do you think of My armpits, slave?
You have the most magnificent, glorious, supreme and awesome armpits I’ve ever seen, Milady, he whispered.
That’s correct, My pet. Don’t ever forget it.


♬ Her hand with the rope goes round and round
Round and round, round and round
Her hand with the rope goes round and round
All around his scrotum ♬

Lisa wrapped the rope around his cock and his balls five times, tied it off and pulled the loose end of the rope. She had already slapped, kicked, kneed, squeezed, clamped, caged and tortured the mangled remains of his manhood, so one pull was enough to make him moan in agony. And that was music to Her ears. She tied his hands behind his back and a short whipcord around his ankles. She grinned and started to drag him around the house like a dog on a leash. He tried to follow Her as fast as he could, but the whipcord only allowed him to take small steps.
Don’t be so goddamn lazy, She snapped, get a move on!
She tugged the rope hard. He gasped for air and screamed in pain. His balls turned from dark-red to purple and then into blue. Fascinating stuff.
She yanked him down the stairs, into the garden. He begged for mercy, begged Her to slow down, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Instead, She pulled the rope even harder. So much power, just by using a simple piece of rope. She loved it!
Please, Mistress, please not so hard, you’re castrating me!
She stopped and turned around with a big smile on Her face: Now, there’s a thought!


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.


Victoria “Bone-Crusher” Adams was an experienced boxer. Joe “The Dick” Brown was not. The only ring he’d ever been in, was the Ring of Brodgar, a Neolithic stone circle. And yet, this loudmouthed dumb-ass challenged Victoria to a match. He was going to whoop Her ass, he said, show Her who’s boss. Is there anything more embarrassing than a loudmouth with an empty brain?
And so he stepped into the ring, all pumped up and ready to rumble. There was another Woman in the ring and he immediately punched Her in the face. The referee pulled him away: That’s the Ring Girl, you idiot! The bell hasn’t even rung yet, so calm down.
Victoria looked drop dead gorgeous, as always, in Her black, shiny, boxing shorts. The bell rang and Joe stormed at Her like a bad-tempered bull. He hit, hit, and hit …. nothing but air. Then Victoria landed a right hook, a short right lead, a hard left to the body and a solid straight jab to his nose. Ouch! She hit him again, this time with a flawless uppercut. Joe literally flew through the ring like a Frisbee on the beach. He was knocked out cold, man, just a heap of skin and bones on the canvas. Victoria stood over him, placed Her foot on his chest and showed us Her gorgeous muscles. What a Knockout!


When I saw the vacancy for a house slave, I immediately applied. Because who wouldn’t want to serve the gorgeous Mistress Emma, right? The application procedure consisted of four stages and after successfully completing all rounds, I reached the final along with three others. It was November and already quite chilly, but She wanted to meet me at the pond in the park.
Always listen very carefully, She explained, and obey Me unconditionally and immediately, without question or hesitation. Are you ready for the final test?
Yes, Mistress, I whispered.
Alright. Jump into the water and swim across the pond.
I admit, I had been trembling with awe, but I still had the clarity of mind to take my wallet and keys out of my pocket and put them on the grass. You see, not all men are idiots! Then, without further ado, I jumped in. Jesus Christ, the water was cold! My clothes pulled me down and I had to swim hard to get to the other side. And back. I came out of the water like a drowned rat. She looked at me in amazement and disbelief and told me to go home.
I didn’t get the job. In Her own words: I told you to swim across the pond, I never said anything about keeping your clothes on. One of the other slaves was smart enough to take them off.
Honestly, that never even crossed my mind.


In the year of our Lord two thousand and ninety-nine, dire portents appeared over our land. They consisted of immense whirlwinds and flashes of lightning, and fiery dragons were seen flying in the air. Fear struck in our hearts, and gloom and sadness fell over the land. Now the cloud was very black, and the storm would come upon us very sharp. In the beginning of June a large fleet of Femdommes arrived, speedy vessels to the number of seventy-three. These strong and powerful Women invaded our land like fearful wolves and overran our country in all directions. Terror rode triumphantly on a pale horse through our streets and broke into every house. Many a man was captured and taken away in chains. They drove them out naked and loaded with insults. The rest of the men fled their homes and hid in the forests and mountains for days. Once they were kings, generals and commanders, mighty men who ruled the world. Now the last of the free hid in caves and lived in great fear. They lamented bitterly over the terrible fate that would befall them. For they knew that the days of freedom were numbered and that a life in slavery was about to begin. Male Chronicles – The Beginning Of The End.


There is a time to sleep and a time to slap; a time for Me to give a beating and a time for you to take a beating, a time for whipping and a time for wining (preferably white); a time to give Me your money and a time to take your money. So there you have it: there is a time for everything. Wasting My precious time is unforgivable and will be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. So you get ten seconds to take off your clothes, for example. And make no mistake, I will be counting backwards: 10-9-8-7… If you can’t do it within that time-frame, you will be punished. Twenty strokes with the cane, to be precise. No, I don’t care if you’ve had a similar beating half an hour ago. Time waits for no one, slave, and certainly not for you. Thirty minutes to clean the windows in and out, eight minutes to clean the toilet, ten to clean the shower. I will check everything meticulously and if it doesn’t meet My requirements, you will be punished. Not tomorrow or the day after that, but immediately. Because there’s no time like the present. In the unlikely event that I want you to masturbate and cum for Me, you get one minute to get it done (aka out). Don’t look so shocked, slave. Trust Me, you’ll get used to it … in time.


The Queen dislikes men and surrounds Herself with hundreds of trustworthy, hard-working Females who are at Her beck and call. These are not ordinary housemaids though; they’re all armed to the teeth, dangerous and ready to kick some ass. Men are used for breeding purposes only and are not allowed to carry a weapon. Most of them are not even allowed to live in the palace. They live in nearby villages and hang around the palace walls all day long.
In times of shortage the guys inside the palace are thrown out as well, because they’re just another mouth to feed. And yet, in spite of everything, each and everyone of them is willing and eager to die for the Queen. Which is just as well, because that’s exactly what happens to the (un)lucky one who is chosen to have sex with Her. Immediately after spitting his seed, She cuts off his penis and leaves him to die. Rough sex, man.
No, no, you can’t meet the Queen, are you kidding! I’ve described a bee colony to you. She’s a bee Queen, you see. Funny isn’t it: there’s more Female Domination going on in one single bee hive than in 200,000 years of humanity. Fuck bee .. uh … me.


I get horn- … uh … aroused when I see a Woman with a ponytail, he blushed.
There’s no shame in that, the Female therapist smiled, it’s called trichophilia.
Oh, my God, he panicked, is it dangerous? Contagious perhaps? Is it curable?
She looked at him with new eyes and a mighty appetite.
Describe to Me what happens when you see a ponytail.
I get all dizzy and I lose the will to think, he whispered. It makes me feel so, So, SO submissive. And … well, yes, there’s something mighty happening between my legs as well. Terribly embarrassing when I’m in public or with friends.
This is more serious than I thought, She said with a heavy sigh and enough drama to start a TV series. It’s going to take a lot of sessions and a lot of money to get results.
Money is not the problem, he sobbed.
If I were a man, She thought, I would get a hard-on right here, right now.
All this happened seven years ago and he’s still in therapy. She always wears a ponytail, so She’s not really curing him, She’s feeding his fetish. She has complete power over him and drains him emotionally and financially. Mercy? No, man, She has no mercy whatsoever. She has a ponytail.


Hello, my name is Bob, I’m a slave to my Wife.
Hello, Bob, Carl said, welcome to the “Bruised & Battered” meeting of Anonymous Slaves. We gather weekly to listen, share, support and help. Does your Wife know you’re here?
No, She thinks I’m in the pub, getting blind drunk.
Nice one, dude, one of the group members said.
Does She humiliate you?
She does. On my knees all day, licking Her feet, smelling Her socks, having panty’s stuffed into my mouth, forced pee dri-
Oh, sweet Jesus, Sissy-She screamed in horror, no more, no more!
Sissy, sweetheart, Carl calmly said, I know it’s horrible, but let’s listen to Bob, shall we?
Of course, of course! Poor thing!
What about punishments, Bob?
Whips, canes, slaps, kicks, electr-
The BITCH, someone shouted. Please don’t tell me She controls your money as well …
She does, Bob sighed.
I’m sick and tired of these Women, a big bearded man growled. We should go over there and confront Her! That’s what we should do!
Hear, hear! We are men and we stand our ground.
We stand together.
We stand together on the ground!
Exactly! We are here to help! Let’s do it!
My brothers …. Bob reluctantly said, tried that once …
What happened?
She enslaved them both.
The room suddenly went deadly quiet and nothing moved for several minutes. There was an undeniable sense of fear in the room.
Well, good luck and all the best, man, Carl finally whispered, keep us posted, OK?


My parents never went away on holidays or anything. Everyone went abroad, we stayed put. So I explored the neighborhood all on my own and one day I came across, what looked like, an enormous wilderness smack dab in the middle of my hometown. It was in fact an old city park called Westerhout (created in 1726). It was only 16 hectares, which is roughly 22 soccer fields or 29 American football fields. Bigger than my garden, but smaller than the Amazon jungle. Funny you mentioned the Amazon, man, because I was pretty convinced that the Amazons, the Warrior Women of the ancient world, lived in this man-made jungle somewhere. So I went off the paths and into the trees in the hope that they would capture me and keep me as their slave. Each day I went home disappointed, but the next day I was back. And the next … and the day after that. I wanted it so badly and I was willing to give my life (or toys, maybe that’s more realistic) trying to achieve it. Poor, poor, silly me. I didn’t know the difference between a park, a forest and a jungle, but I did know that Women were superior and that I was born to submit myself to their will. The park still exists, but the Amazons left a long time ago.
I think.


Thing is, his roommate Elsa said, I’m going to be a professional Mistress, a Dominatrix.
Get outta here! You mean whipping people?
Whipping, caning, slapping, pegging; you name, you get it.
I thought you were more into embroidery and such. But what about your study?
Don’t worry about that. But listen, I’m looking for someone to practice on.
Don’t look at me, he hurriedly said, I’m not into this stuff.
Fine, fine. Then I will cut your balls off in your sleep, okay?
What?? That’s not funny, Elsa!
I’m not laughing, John!
And so he became Her lab rat, there’s no other word for it. She took his wallet, credit-cards and passport, just to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. She had him by the uncut balls, one might say. She quickly turned him into a 24/7 slave and he became as meek as a lamb. Which sounds so much better than: he became scared shitless. He cleaned, cooked, shopped, washed, suffered, screamed and begged from dusk till dawn. She had an insatiable hunger for power and She loved to dominate, torture and humiliate him. She did it, She said, because She was still learning and practicing. But according to John’s bruised & battered ass that was complete nonsense. She was a graduate cum laude right from the start.


Jingle balls, jingle balls
Jingle all the way!
Oh what fun it is to squeeze them every single day

May the miracle of Christmas bring you joy and happiness, slave. And pain, of course. Now, listen up, you empty sock, I’ve been thinking about a Christmas present for you. Isn’t that sweet?
He smiled and opened his mouth.
Shut the fuck up, She snapped, or I’ll knock you unconscious!
His mouth fell shut and he heard Her sigh.
So, a Christmas present. I wish I could give you a brain, that would be cool, wouldn’t it? From a hamster or so, nothing fancy. Just something to fill up the vast emptiness between your ears.
She shook Her head.
No such luck. Or what about a bigger dick! That’s priority number 1, I would say, because that thing between your legs … I mean, that’s just an embarrassment. And these – She grabbed him by the balls and squeezed them hard – what the fuck are these?
He danced up and down in pain: My b-a-a-a-a-l-l-s! Please, aargh!
What’s the matter with you! Can’t you be a little more Christmas-y? Come on then, let’s do a singsong: Jingle Balls, Jingle Balls, Jingle all the way …
She squeezed his balls even harder and dug Her sharp nails into the weak flesh.
I’m waiting Christmas boy, let me hear you!!
Jesus, so much for a Silent Night, man.


Queen Emma was seated on Her throne at Gudinna Palace, which was filled to capacity.
Oh, most powerful Queen of the world, an eunuch proclaimed with a high-pitched voice, most brilliant in wealth and achievement among all Mistresses and Female Leaders of our time, famed and feared for the pains, miseries, sufferings and cruelties You have inflicted on Your male subjects, and the fear which You have instilled into the hearts of the unfaithful and rebellious asshol- excuse me, I mean: unfaithful and rebellious males.
Yes, only the Kingdom to the North had refused to bow to Her. The war between the two lasted until Queen Emma’s complete victory at Tallskog.
The defeated King prostrated himself before Her: I, Colossus III, King of Cocks, Count of Castrates, Lord of Losers, Earl of Everything, Knight of Nothing, surrender Myself to Your command, Your Highness, for I am vanquished and I am, from this day forward, Your humble slave and property. Most willingly and most faithfully, shall I obey Your commands, for Thou are the Owner of my body and my soul and I am the owned.
Everything went silent and you could hear a pin drop. The silence lasted for five never-ending, nerve-wrecking, nail-biting minutes, till the slain King trembled in fear and was ready to shit himself. Then Queen Emma moved Her foot forward and Her new pet kissed Her feet, Her knees and Her hands. Palace Paper, December 2134 AD.


They tortured me for days on end, but my lips were zipped & sealed. Then they dragged me into a dentist room and strapped me into a chair. I looked at the terrifying hooks and drills and I was ready to shit myself.
My name is Brenda, a Female dentist said, also known as “Brutal Brenda” or “the Mad Dentist From Hell”. I’m here to cause you unimaginable pain an-
St-o-o-o-o-op! I screamed. Have mercy on me and my teeth!!! I’ll tell you everything!!
And so I did: I revealed the names of the resistance group AFM (anti-Femdom Movement), the storage facilities, hideouts, meeting places, safe houses; the whole bloody package.
Well, I’m glad we’ve got that out of the way, She said. We’ve got plenty of time left, so open wide and let’s take a proper look at your teeth.
No, no, please don’t hurt me, I begged.
Of course not, you silly man, we’re not animals! Now open wide … that’s it …  don’t be afraid … a little bit wider … there we go.
She locked a mouth spreader into my mouth. She even didn’t bother to see if I had any cavities, man, She just picked up the drill and turned it on.
Thing is, She said with a cold look in Her eyes, I love to torture people, it’s my favourite hobby. So this is going to hurt.