Category Archives: FETISH

LET IT RAIN

I see Lady Torrent roughly five times a year. If I’m lucky. Only during the autumn months and only on rainy days. However, the rain may be pouring down, but that does not necessarily mean She wants to see me. If She does, She will send me an email with the time and place where we will meet the next day. It’s not a request, it’s an order.
You see, I have a big fetish for Women in shiny raincoats. A shiny raincoat makes my cloud burst, if you know what I mean. Lady Torrent has me wrapped around Her finger because She has bought several gorgeous raincoats (with my money, needless to say).
Yesterday, we met in Soggy Forest, because She wanted me to be naked to the umbrella shaft. She had me collared and leashed, ordered me down on my knees and took me for a walk, aka a crawl. Crawling on moss and grass is quite lovely, crawling through thick mud, deep puddles and over rocks and fallen branches not so much. But Lady Torrent was, as always, willing to lend a firm hand. And foot. Meanwhile, the rain kept bucketing down.
Halfway through the crawl She ordered me to stand up, wrapped Her arm around my throat in a chokehold and squeezed the bejesus. The squeaking and crackling sound of Her PCV coat turned my dick into a full grown Redwood tree. The universe was now rotating around my cock. Or I was getting lightheaded. Probably the latter.
Seconds later Her riding crop rained down on my soaking wet skin.
Autumn Delight!
slave Larry

TEA & ROOFTOPS

He was Her husband. But he was also Her slave. They were very discreet about it though, nobody knew or suspected a thing. Until … two of Her closest friends dropped by for a visit. Everything went well at first; harmless chatter, tea & biscuits. But then, out of the blue, his Wife (aka his Mistress) looked at him and said: Come here, slave.
The stirring stopped and you could hear a tea leaf drop. He didn’t know where to look and his face turned bright red.
He’s My slave, She explained, almost apologetically. He obeys Me in everything, literally everything. It’s wonderful and I can heartily recommend it. She looked at Her husband again. Don’t be shy, pet. Come here. On your knees. There we go, that’s a good boy.
The Ladies looked at Her (and him) with new eyes … and started laughing. And jeering. It was utterly humiliating and he looked helpless and lost. But his Mistress was right (as always), there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Her. Furthermore, She was the boss and She could do with him as She pleased. It was, in other words, a perfect marriage.
She took off one of Her high-heeled shoes and pressed it against his face.
Hold it in place, She commanded.
The delicious aroma of Her shoe made him dizzy. Waves of delight overtook him and he moaned loudly. The Ladies shrieked and laughed. Their voices stumbled over each other. When did it start? And how? Had She trained him? Did She punish him? REALLY? How?
He could only listen to half of it because he was completely absorbed in his own world. And Her shoe. He was a slave, HER slave, and was now ready to shout it from the rooftops.

DOCTOR KNOWS BEST

You’re probably suffering from haemorrhoids, my doctor said.
I was flabbergasted: Haemorrhoids, doctor? In my ears??
Yes, well, the human body is a mysterious thing, what can I say. Your fingernails grow faster than your toenails, for example. Weird, right? If you lose a nail, it will grow back. But if you lose your penis, the word ‘handjob’ will be a distant memory. The penis doesn’t grow back, you see? Sure, you can superglue a cucumber between your legs, but it’s not the same, right?
I opened my mouth, but She slapped it shut.
Not interested! Now, let’s get to the bottom of those haemorrhoids. Take your pants down.
I did so reluctantly while She put on a strap-on harness with a big dildo in it.
I don’t understand, doctor, I said worriedly, that’s a … dildo.
It certainly looks like one, doesn’t it? She smiled. It is, in fact, a flexible tube with a highly sensitive camera in the tip.
I’ve never heard of that, I said.
Of course not, you’re an idiot. Now, bend over and spread your ass with your hands.
I felt something wet dripping on my ass. She thrust in the dildo with force and pumped the thing in and out as if She was drilling for oil. I screamed in agony. She literally fucked me senseless and when the dildo finally slid out of my ass, I could hardly stand up straight.
Good news, She said, no haemorrhoids whatsoever. There must be something wrong with your ears after all. How extraordinary. So, let me push a rod down your penis and see what happens.

FEMDOM HANDS

She grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the wall. She was much stronger than me, Sylvia was. I learned that the hard way, because I had been in this predicament many times before. I tried to stay away from Her as much as possible, but She was like a lioness, Sylvia was, always on the hunt for prey.
Open your mouth, She hissed.
I obeyed and She pushed two fingers into my mouth.
Move your teeth out of the way, or I’ll knock them out!
I panicked, I did, because where does one hide one’s teeth in an emergency situation like this? Still, sucking on Her fingers turned out to be an unexpected delight. And when She took them out of my mouth, I moaned a loud “n-o-o-o-o-o”.
Shut up and open your mouth, She barked.
She was never in a good mood, to be honest. Always agitated and always ready to pummel someone into submission. This time She stuffed Her whole hand into my mouth. I had to stop myself from gagging and I was drooling like a Saint Bernard in heat. She was quite unfamiliar with the word “mercy”, Sylvia was, so She took Her time. But finally, after God knows how long, She pulled Her hand out of my mouth and wiped it on my shirt.
Now thank Me!
Thank You, Sylvia, thank You so much, thank You!
She looked at me with Her cold, beautiful, predator eyes.
We’ll meet again, loser, be sure of that.
She’s such a lovely, wicked Angel, Sylvia is.

THE BANDANA

I hated the annual Team Building Activities at the office. Bonding is important, they said. Well, I preferred bondage, thank you very much. But n-o-o-o-o-o-o, we had to play beach volleyball in the dead of winter, dress up as pirates and sing sea shanties all fucking day or stand in a circle in a forest and tell each other what we didn’t like about each other. Great fun.
One day, we went canoeing. The wind was howling, there was foam on the water and the rain came bucketing down. Canoe versus cloudburst, Noah’s Flood Part II. No one had thought to bring a raincoat, so it was long and miserable day. In the late afternoon, after hours and hours of ‘outdoor fun’, and soaked to the bone, we ended up in some sort of cabin. There we had a nice meal and lots of wine. One of my Female colleagues became somewhat tipsy and put Her bandana over Her mouth. She pointed Her thumb and finger at me like a gun and said: Put your hands in the air. Right now!
And I did, without blinking an eye.
Such a good boy, She grinned, taking orders from a Woman.
What choice do I have, I said cheeky, You’re the boss.
Amazing what a fair quantity of red wine can do to the human tongue!
Very good, She laughed. You keep them hands up, mister.
Before this moment, She was a colleague, but now She was THE colleague, the dazzling Bandita with the Bandana! So there I was, hands in the air and with steam bursting through my zipper like a geyser. I was willing to sit like this all night, willing to paddle down Niagara Falls for Her.
I wonder if She still remembers it, too. Wonder if She, occasionally, tells the story of the canoe, the bandana and the colleague who had his arms up in the air for almost three hours.

KINKY CUISINE

A few weeks ago I found a recipe in a vintage Women’s Weekly magazine. It’s called Soup a la Lingerie. Easy to make and packed with flavour. The ingredients are:
  • a panty (preferably the one you’re currently wearing)
  • duct tape
  • handcuffs or rope
  • a bowl
  • a full bladder
  • an idiot, also known as a male creature
Now, tell the empty bottle, the idiot that is, to kneel down and cuff, or tie, his hands behind his back. It does not affect the taste of the soup, but it’s a nice addition. It’s like putting the kettle on, one might say. Next, take off your gorgeous panty and put it in a bowl. Squat over it and take a long hot piss. Soak that panty, drown it and let it suck up all the juice. Season it, if you like, with a bit of spit or a good old-fashioned fart. Tell the creature to open wide and stuff the soaked panty in his mouth. Wrap some duct tape around his head a few times to make sure that nothing goes to waste.
Let him simmer for about two to three hours. He’s been such a good boy (or not), he deserves it (or not). Pinch his nose from time to time if you want to put up the heat. You can also add certain naughty ingredients if you want. Faceslapping for example (aka stirring), carrots up his nose, broccoli in his ears (aka side dishes); anything goes. Well, that’s all for today on ‘Kinky Cuisine’.
Next time: roasted testicles in penis sauce.

LOVELY LEATHER

She had been a classmate of his for years, but he barely even noticed Her back then. Years later She started hanging out with a member of a notorious motorcycle gang. Well, so they said anyway. One day he saw Her walking down the street, dressed in tight leather. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life and he started following Her around. She immediately knew what was going on and waited for him to come around the corner. She pushed him against the wall and grabbed his hard-on by the horns. It literally sucked the air out of him. She threatened to tell Her boyfriend and he begged Her for mercy.
Here’s the deal, creep, She hissed. I want you to masturbate for Me each and every day.
Frightened, he obeyed for many years. But over time, he began to wonder what the hell he was doing. He had not seen Her since that afternoon, so there was nothing to worry about. He and his dick went their own way.
He was in a bar one day, waiting for his order, when someone came up behind him and locked an arm around his throat. An arm in a leather jacket. He didn’t have eyes on the back of his head, but he immediately knew who it was. Then a voice, Her voice, in his ear: You’re not cheating on Me, are you, creep?
No Ma’am, he squeaked in fear.
Good. Continue masturbating for Me until I tell you to stop. Do not disobey Me, fuck-face.
He never saw Her again, but he’s still masturbating with Her in mind. Never skips a day. Because She has not told him to stop.

TRIPLE-S SHOP

I started out as a boot-boy at Ingrid’s Boot Boutique (aka Ingrid’s Bootique) in Booth Lane, London. I loved every second of it, because, you know, Ladies boots are just beautiful. Then Madame Sandra opened a new shop, called the Triple-S Shop (aka the Shoe Shine Shop), in Shoe Lane, London. Boots in Booth Lane and shoes in Shoe Lane, I mean, what are the odds, right? Shortly after the opening of the Triple-S Shop, Lady Ingrid gave me the boot and handed me over to Madame Sandra for free. For FREE! I mean …. really?
So I became one of Madame Sandra’s shoeshiners and I have been slaving for Her ever since. The shop is lovely, with five boxes (aka shoeboxes) on each side. We, the Shoe-Shine-Slaves that is, wear a pink uniform with the Triple-S logo on the front. And back. Each slave has a shoe cleaning box with shoe polishes and different brushes. And let’s not forget our tongue, which is always in demand with the customers. We work eight hours a day, six days a week. And that’s a lot of tongue and an awful lot of saliva, believe me! Madame Sandra is strict, demanding and not easily satisfied. Patience and empathy are not, I repeat NOT, Her strong suit. But you can say the same thing about the customers, I guess. Strange but true, Women have a short fuse when it comes to shoe cleaning. And make no mistake: they will let you know (and feel) when they are not satisfied. Still, licking these gorgeous shoes while being spanked on the bottom is quite an addictive cocktail. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Shoeshine Bob

THE FACESITTING DETECTIVE

It’s easy, as far as I’m concerned: their only goal in life should be to obey Women, work for Women and suffer for Women. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. No ifs, buts or maybes. Simple as that. Sadly enough however, the murky, male world is filled to the brim with egoism, bullshit, laziness, ignorance, arrogance and stupidity. So men are bound to commit crimes, consciously or unconsciously. Not necessarily heinous crimes, but crimes nonetheless. Now, I’m a Lady Detective and I don’t always do things by the book. Well, almost never to be exact. Observation, deduction, research, knowledge of the law, attention to detail and, most of all, time consuming interviews and interrogations are such a waste of time, money and energy, wouldn’t you agree? I don’t have the patience and the right temperament for that. Quick, cheap & simple, that’s My motto. I believe in intuition, gut feeling and the simple fact that we need oxygen to survive. Take away the oxygen and the confessions come marching in. Many a man shits his pants by the thought of My airtight buttocks and confesses immediately. But it can even get weirder. Hundreds and hundreds of them confess to crimes they did not commit! There’s always a queue waiting outside, it’s just mind-boggling. All because they want to suffer beneath My gorgeous ass! Men are weird and awkward creatures, what can I say.
July 2096,  Miss Tanya – Law & Disorder.

HEARTBREAK

She left him for his best friend. Ouch! Then, without batting an eyelid, She came to the house to divide the things they owned. Really, was there no limit to Her wickedness! He opened his mouth to give Her piece of his mind, but his words never saw the light of the day. Because She took Her jacket off and he saw Her mouthwatering, dick-ticking, mind-boggling shiny blouse. Years ago he had told Her about his fetish for shiny clothes. She had not taken it very well, to say the least, and had given him the telephone number of a psychiatrist. And now this!!!
I want to split things up fairly between us, She said with Her non-negotiable voice, so 98% for Me, 2% for you. I get the assets, you get the debts. It’s that simple. I’m not the one with a tiny penis, Fred, so don’t give Me that look or I’ll run you over in the parking lot.
Her voice sounded far away and he couldn’t hear half of what She said. Please let my eyes feast a little longer, he thought, before She walks away for good. He couldn’t stop staring at Her dazzling blouse and he didn’t notice the growing stain in his pants. She did, of course. He was so easy to manipulate, She thought, and She almost felt sorry for him.
But She didn’t.

DON’T LOOK, DON’T TOUCH

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.

PEEPER-THE-PEE

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.

FEMDOM SMOTHER

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 CONNOISSEUR

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.
Online?
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.

SWEAT FETISH

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.

THE TALE OF TAILS

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.

DENTAL FEMDOM

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.

ONE KISS AWAY

You’ve been staring at My feet for months now, She said, I think you’re ready to kiss them.
He wriggled nervously in his chair: No, haha, thank You. Yes, You have beauti- but no, no, haha.
He was a quiet man, a bachelor and a passionate bookkeeper. He lived in a small house with four goldfish, named Ollie, Mollie, Hollie and Fred. He lived a perfect life and never asked for more. But then he met Lady Grace and everything changed. Even his scrotum, which had been in lockdown since early childhood, was now boiling and steaming like a geyser.
Kneel down, that’s all there is to it, She said.
Oh, heavens above, he blushed, no, I would never do that, never ever.
She crossed Her legs and dangled Her heel from Her foot.
Are you sure? She asked with a teasing smile.
His eyes were glued to Her foot and he was breathing heavily. Turned out his “never-ever” lasted only 27 seconds, then he slid off his chair onto the floor and crawled to Her feet.
That’s better. You may address Me as Princess Ingrid. And now I want you to beg for permission to worship My feet.
Oh God, p.please Princess, I humbly ask Your permission to kiss Your feet. I beg You.
She smiled down on him. He had no idea he was just ten centimeters away from a new, everlasting addiction, and just one kiss away from a life in slavery.

SCRAMBLED EGGS

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

LADIES IN JODHPURS

You are new here, young man?
He turend around and saw Her standing there. She looked stunning in Her black riding boots, jodhpurs and white shirt.
Yes, Miss, I’m one of the new volunteers. Brushing the horse-
And you didn’t bother to introduce yourself to Me properly?
His face turned red. I … I … You … actually I … no one …
She silenced him with a wave of Her hand. You’re a very lucky young man, you know. Because I have plenty of time on My hands today to show you the ropes and teach you a few valuable lessons. So that this won’t happen again.
He was very thankful and eager to learn, he said. That changed when She ordered him to drop his pants. Are you crazy, he screamed, and: fuck off, I’m out of here. That changed as well after a devastating kick to the groin.
What’s going on here! a Female voice said. A second Lady in jodhpurs entered the stable.
He was still salvaging his balls, but there was enough adrenaline in his voice to hose the stable. For God’s sake, help me!! This bitch is dangerous! Please, help me!
I’ll help you alright, ungrateful young rascal, the Lady hissed. Tie him to the door, Anna, while I fetch the riding crops.
You can’t do this, he screamed, I’m a volunteer.
So are we, Anna said, and smashed his face against the stable door. We won’t charge you anything, so stop whining, this is a free ride.

FEMDOM HORSE

I’m in the woods, picking wild flowers. Or masturbating, or whatever. I’m in the woods, that’s all that matters. All of a sudden a Woman comes galloping down the hill. Well, Her horse is, of course. Don’t ask me why, but I start to run. Guilty conscience for having a boner perhaps, I don’t know. My lungs are burning, my heart is pounding and sweat is pouring down my face. But I’m no match for Her horse of course. The Woman jumps off the horse onto me and wrestles me to the ground. She overpowers me with ease, ties my hands, and ropes me to the horse. I’m now forced to run and stumble behind Her brown mare. It doesn’t take long before I trip over a branch and fall on my face.
Stop! I scream, like a midget with vertigo.
She looks over Her shoulder, grins and spurs Her horse to go faster. She drags me through green pastures and still waters, hills and hamlets, dirt and puddles. I’m all mud and boner, one might say. At sunset She ties me to a cactus, hand feeds me and knocks me unconscious. I don’t know it yet, but She lives at the far end of the world. It will take us at least a year to get there. It’s the wettest dream come true. I’m Her prisoner and She will take me across countries and continents, in a never-ending parade of Female Power. Her captive and Her trophy for all to see.

HD-2020

Matt is chosen to be Human Doormat 2020 at the Femdom Estate! While the Ladies will use him to wipe their feet, he will wipe his tears of happiness. Because it really means the world to him. He has been practising and preparing for this for many, many years. He’s not like all those idiots who think they excel in everything Mistress throws at them. Gardener, cleaner, mechanic, carpenter, painter, technician, writer, all in one? Shut up, no way! Doing one task at the time is already way beyond the capability of most men. And even then! Ask a slave to clean the bathroom and the Lady probably has to do it all over again after the knucklehead has gone home. Matt instead, focuses on one job, one fetish, one calling or whatever you wanna call it. Being a doormat is all about trampling and, if necessary, cleaning the boots, shoes, sneakers and pumps with his tongue. He always has to be on top of his game, because Mistresses don’t talk to  doormats, you know. Few people do, actually. Anyways, his tongue always has to be ready to shift into second gear. No one orders him to, he just knows. You see, that’s the difference between an experienced doormat and a cheap, amateur one.

CROSSED LEGS

He swore he wouldn’t come back. I didn’t try to stop him, because we’ve been through this a hundred times or more. I knew he’d be back, because he’s too weak and too addicted to go through with it and leave. And sure enough, within weeks he was back to his own self. Grovelling in front of Me, begging Me to forgive him. All because he’s a slave to My long and smooth legs. It takes a mini-skirt or a pair of shorts to turn this respectable, successful and confident man into stammering mess. My legs make him utterly powerless and the more he stares at them, the weaker he becomes. Crossing My legs makes his penis swell up and get extra thick. Oh, how I love the power I have over him. Sometimes he’s allowed to touch, kiss and worship My legs … sometimes not. That’s the way it is. So yeah, I knew he’d be back. And each time he does, the price will go up. Yes, he has to pay a hefty sum to see My legs. He’s now in the phase of selling things to get money, bless him. He has sold his bedroom TV, his laptop, his books and CD’s; all because he wants to worship My legs. He’s caught in My trap and I will cross My legs and dangle My feet in front of his face till he’s ready to sell his last shirt.

HUMAN PONY

He was on all fours, blindfolded and had a bit in his mouth. Suddenly he felt Her weight on his back. She took the reins and said: Come on, boy! She applied some pressure with Her legs and he started to crawl. The crop lashed against his ass as She pulled the reins.
Steady! I did’t ask you to gallop, didn’t I.
He slowed down. He couldn’t see a hand in front of his face, but all it took was a light pressure from the reins to know which way to go. Well, and the relentless lashing of the crop, of course. She was a petite type of Lady, but crawling with Her on his back was pretty exhausting. His knees were almost killing him.
Let’s trot, She said, applying pressure with Her legs. Put some backbone into it, Jolly Jumper.
He did his utmost, but the crop told him he wasn’t going fast enough. He breathed heavily and drooled like a mad dog. Eventually he became so exhausted and simply collapsed on the ground.
Who the fuck told you it’s time to take a nap?
He hoped it was a rhetoric question, because he couldn’t talk. Or neigh.
She got up, pulled his blindfold off and showed him a pair of spurs with huge five-spiked rowels. He nearly fainted.
This will wake you up! Come on, horsie, time to train the passage, the piaffe and the pirouette.

LICK-ABLE & KICK-ABLE

Mr. Jones had been a shoe salesman at Lawson’s Ladies Shoes & Boots for more than fifteen years. It suited him well, because he didn’t have the brains or the bravado to open his own shop. There are leaders and there are followers, he used to say, and he followed the leader. His place was on the fitting stool or, more preferable, on his knees in front of the customers. Nowadays customers were more outspoken, impatient and demanding than ever. Even physical sometimes. He remembered a long blonde Lady who grabbed him by the ear and slapped him in the face for being clumsy. Or the brunette who tried on a pair of boots, ordered him to lick them, as She watched Herself in the mirror to see how it looked. She tried six pair of boots before She found the most lick-able ones. Not to mention the Asian Lady who kicked him in the balls to see which boots were the most kickable. After forty-seven kicks She decided on a pair of knee-high lack boots with silver heels. The silver metal gave the heels a unique glow, and the combination with the deep black gave it a magical effect. Mr. Jones was smitten by Her. So much so, that he knelt before Her and begged Her to be his Mistress. She gave him the boot.

SLAVE TO HER OUTFIT

It’s not Her clothes that make Her dominant; it’s Her personality, the tone of Her voice and Her demanding eyes. In other words: a Mistress in rags is still a Mistress. She’s a Woman and She must be obeyed at all times. On the other hand, as Princess Beverly so rightly put it in one of Her clips: sometimes guys will buy a Financial Domination clip, just based on something you’re wearing. She’s 100% right, as far as I’m concerned, because I’m always on the lookout for something shiny. Just a glimpse of a satin blouse, a PVC skirt, nylon shorts, leather gloves or a wet-look jacket are enough to brighten up the day. Once upon a time one of my colleagues came to work wearing a short, leather skirt. Man, I couldn’t think of anything else for the rest of the day. And night. She had tried it on in a shop somewhere, had looked at Herself in the mirror and bought it. Sadly enough She wore it only once, and yet it changed everything. Because I would never be able to look at Her again with the same eyes. She would always be The Girl With The Leather Skirt. I was willing to walk through a brick wall for Her, I really was. So to quote Princess Beverly one more time: I can make you do anything, based on My outfit. So very, very, very true.

GLOVE FETISH

♬ All you need is Gloves (rata-dadada)
All you need is Gloves (rata-dadada)
All you need is Gloves, Gloves
Gloves is all you need ♬

Hats (for men) and gloves (for Women) are out of fashion nowadays. Yeah, yeah, I know, what about mittens, right? Well, fuck mittens, because that’s like saying thermal underwear is the same as lingerie. Sadly enough the real deal gloves are not part of a Lady’s everyday wardrobe anymore. And that’s a real shame, because a Woman with gloves is a masterpiece in itself, I would say. Gloves are elegant, sexy, mesmerising, sensual and intimidating at the same time. I recall my aunt Rebecca wearing gloves. The soft, leather gloves adapted perfectly to the shape of Her hand and it was impossible to take my eyes off them. I was not the easiest kid in the world (to put it mildly), but aunt Rebecca made me eat out of Her (gloved) hand. It did not go unnoticed in the family and I was teased and made fun of. I didn’t care a bit, because everyone now looked up to Her. She had control over me and was praised for it, how awesome was that!
I don’t know how you do it, Rebecca, my mother sighed, he’s as gentle as a lamb with you. You must have magical powers.
I smiled inside, because my aunt didn’t have magical powers, of course. She had gloves.

PARTY FEET

You are so unobservant, She said, can’t you see My feet are tired??
I crawled towards Her, apologised for my selfish behaviour and started massaging Her feet. The top, the ankle and sole, each and every toe and the space between the toes. What a treat!
That’s better, She said, now worship My divine feet with your lips and tongue.
I didn’t need any further encouragement and began kissing and licking Her feet. The warmth of Her skin and the smell of Her feet overpowered me and I licked as if my life depended on it. Words failed to describe the beauty of it all. People were watching and, no doubt, taking pictures, but we were at a Fetish party for goodness sake, so I couldn’t care less.
Open your mouth!
I obeyed and She pushed Her foot deep into my mouth. My head was spinning as I sucked on Her foot. She pushed Her foot even deeper in my throat, making me gag uncontrollably. My jaw started to hurt, but She mercilessly face fucked me with Her foot. She finally pulled it out and Her foot was covered in saliva. She put Her foot on my face and rubbed it dry. She got up from Her chair and ordered me to kiss Her hand and thank Her. And then She disappeared into the party crowd.
Who on earth was that, one of my friends asked.
I have no idea, I said, never seen Her before in my entire life.

FEMDOM SOCKS

There were ten guys in the room; on their knees, hands behind their back. I was surprised to see them fully clothed, but as Mistress Deborah explained so pointedly: ‘they are not here to fuck, they are here to sock.’ Words of wisdom, because these guys were sock fetishists, so into worn, smelly and sweaty socks. Mistress Deborah grabbed a bucket and stuffed a stinky sock in their mouths. You and I take a cup of tea and a cookie, they take a sock.
You, She said, pointing at me, come here and smell.
She really knocked my socks off with that, but I was firm and resolute: No, thank You, Mistress Deborah, I’m a reporter, not a participant.
Get down on your fucking knees, or I’ll put your balls in a blender.
So much for a peptalk! I fell down like a tree, buried my nose in Her socks and inhaled with all my might. Holy Moses, the Great Stink had returned! Her socks smelled like sweat & sewer and the stench was quite overwhelming.
Come on, She growled, put your socks up!
I was too attached to my balls, so I sniffed like a wild hound.
Twenty or so minutes later I stood outside (beyond the reach of any blender) and told Her She had not heard the last of this!
She laughed, gave me the finger and told put to put a sock in it.

THE BUTTOCKS

Be careful with what you’re saying, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t tell your Mistress She has a magnificent piece of ass, for example. Some Ladies don’t mind, others will nail your rude, filthy and disrespectful tongue to the old oak tree. Cows have asses, for goodness sake, so treat carefully and choose your words wisely. There are many synonyms for the word ass; from mild to wild and from innocent to crude. The French word derrière sounds rather elegant, but I should avoid words like hams, rotter, stinkpot or crapper if I were you. Anyways, once upon a time I came face to ass (pardon my French) with a rear exit of exceptional beauty. The owner wiggled Her mesmerising buttocks in front of my face and my dick almost exploded. She ordered me to crawl behind Her and led me through the room, with my eyes glued to Her back pack. I would have given Her anything for sixty seconds of worship. It was not to be, because She pulled up Her panty and shorts and went into the bathroom. Why, my dick and I cried, why, why? Because, She giggled from behind the closed bathroom door, you’re an asshole!

MISS SALIVA

Victoria Saliva (aka Victoria Falls) is without doubt one of the most famous spitting Ladies around, so I didn’t hesitate when I saw Her mouthwatering advertisement the other day. I mean, come on: a Spit-In in Spit-alfields, that’s literally a wet dream come true! So I travelled to London to meet Her at last. There were seven saliva slaves waiting within spitting distance of each other, all willing to pay the hefty fee. But boy was it worth it! Her spit is stunningly proportioned, ripe, full body, intense and with an inner-core of creamy, highly extracted strawberry fruit. Some of us got spat in the face, others in the mouth. Sometimes She spat on the dirty floor and then we growled and pushed like wild animals in order to lick it up. We didn’t stand a chance though, because there was a guy from Northumberland (or: North-humble-land, as he used to say) with an ass as big as a tumble dryer, and he pushed everyone out of the way. After half an hour or so, Miss Saliva looked me in the eye and asked me where I was from. I didn’t expect that at all, so my mouth moved, but no words came out. Spit it out, boy! She demanded. So confusing!

CHÂTEAU L’URINE

Château L’Urine, located in the Gironde Department, France, is the holy sanctuary of Grand Cru Piss (pardon my French). Thousands upon thousands of bottles of excellent vintages of the finest Ladies in the world are stored there in underground cellars. Excellence comes with a price, though. A 2011 Mistress Leak sells for $75, a 2012 Domina Drench for $125 and a 2008 Madame Wee-Wee for $170. Pee-products of popular and influential Ladies are in high demand. A 2017 Mistress Tangent (pic 8) for example sells for $250. Bottles of Her vintage year 2014 are extremely rare and are sold for more than $500 at auction. A 2011 Lady Flood and a 2007 NeedaPee of Miss Rebekah Dee (pics 3 and 14) are also very rare and expensive. They’re collectors items and can go for as much as $650 per bottle. The most expensive bottle at the Château is the 2015 Mistress Eleise (the one to the left and pic 10). It’s the last bottle of that glorious vintage year in the world and both Christie’s and Sotheby’s want to auction it. It will sell for an estimated $4,500 or more. It’ll cost you the world, but it will taste like Heaven.

LEG FETISH

Legs are legs and feet are feet, thank you very much. In other words: I love feet, but I’m obsessed with legs. You see the difference? Gorgeous legs make me vulnerable, desperate, gullible, speechless and sky-high submissive. It’s pathetic, I know, and I often tell myself to stop being such a wimp, but I won’t listen. Because legs  are so wonderful, so powerful and so mesmerising. I’ve studied them as long as I can remember (did a lotta legwork, so the speak), studied them as if they were fragments of the lost tomb of Cleopatra. Take the shape of the knee for example. A knee can fuck up or lift up the beauty of a leg entirely. And don’t get me started on ankles, mate! I could write a book on that alone! A beautiful leg is a delicate balance between the upper- en lower leg, the knee, ankle, the muscles and the smoothness of the skin. The loser’s truth is that I find it impossible not to stare and even more impossible to control my dick. That thing rises in my pants like a volcano that’s ready to rumble. In short; legs are my Glory-Glory-Hallelujah fetish, my Winner-Takes-It-All desire, my All-Time-Greatest-Hits longing.

KISS HER FEET

When She comes home, he will greet Her and kiss Her feet. She doesn’t have to say anything; he’s a well-trained slave and he knows what to do. And when to do it.
This simple gesture of respect, obedience and devotion reinforces Her absolute power over him and his submission to Her. It puts him in his place, because in order to kiss Her fet, he has to kneel down, get down on his belly even, with his head almost to the floor. It’s such a beautiful and powerful symbol of Her supremacy.
One day the mighty Byzantine general Flavius Belisarius (500-565 AD) prostrated himself at the feet of his Wife Antonina. He kissed and licked the soles of Her feet with his tongue, crying that She was his reason for living and that he would be Her faithful slave, instead of Her Lord and Master. Now, if a general knows how to honour a Lady, so can we. So show some respect.

ALL THINGS BIG & SMALL

What the freak is that, She said, pointing at his penis.
This, Mistress? This is Goliath.
Goliath? My dear boy, that’s a deformed nipple of some sorts. I wonder what it looks like on a cold winter’s morning. You need a search-party then, I suppose. Tell me, do you use tweezers to masturbate?
No, Mistress, he chuckled. 
I’ve never seen anything like it, it looks like something nasty from outer space. You’re not alien, are you?
No, no, no!
Just asking. I assume you’re still a virgin then? 
No, Mistr-
Are you kidding Me? Sweet Jesus, that’s just freakish. Who on eart- Ah, wait a minute: they loved to be tickled. That’s it, isn’t it? 
Yes, Mistress, he said with a sour face, because Mistress is always right, even if She’s wrong.
I knew i- WOW, look, look; its moving. That’s so gross. Please pull up your pants, slave, will you? I’ve had enough horror for one day. Man, it looks like a slimy carrot, absolutely disgusting. Anyway, time for you to set the table. What do we have for dinner, Colossus?
Carrots, Mistress.

THE SHOE SNIFFER

I spy with my little eye …..
He jumped up from the cellar floor and swiftly turned around, as if stung by a bee. His eyes almost popped out of his head and he screamed higher than the Wiener Sängerknaben.
What are you doing, you pervert? Are you seriously sniffing your sister’s shoes?
She was filming the whole scene with Her cellphone camera.
No, absolutely not …. I was …..I….was clea-
Oh, shut up, wacko. Get down on your knees now!
Fuck you, he yelled. But there was panic in his voice.
She shrugged Her shoulders: Youtube it is then.
No, wait! Shit! OK, OK, look, I’m on my knees. Happy now?
She grabbed a roll of duct tape from a shelf and ordered him to hold the shoe to his face. She wrapped the duct tape four times around his head, securing the shoe to his face. She took Her phone and started filming again.
Look at him! Sniffing his sister’s shoe. How sick is that! Take a long inhale …. very good ….. and again …… hahaha. You’re such a pathetic loser.
She saw tears welling up in his eyes, which made this day even more special. She had him by the balls and She wasn’t planning on letting him go anytime soon. Hell no!

FETISH MAGNITUDE SCALE

I’m a bit of a fetish collector, to be honest. You name it, I fetish. The impact of these Fetishes varies between 1 and 9 on the Fetish Magnitude Scale. A magnitude 1 to 3 fetish sends shivers down my spine and ripples down my dick. But that’s about it, so it’s all rather innocent and harmless. On the other end of that scale however, is a magnitude-9 fetish, and that’s a whole different kettle of fish all together. A mag-9 shakes the fillings from my teeth and turns my testicles into castanets.
They say a real fetish is an Achilles heel, and I totally agree with that. That’s why I always kept my fetish cards close to my chest, so that no one knew how vulnerable I really was. Because knowing all about these weaknesses is pure power in the lovely wrong hands. On the other hand: it’s nearly impossible for an outsider to grasp the magnitude (hehe, nice one) of a mag-9 fetish. So even if I’d shout it from the rooftops, they’ll still think I’m exaggerating or lying to my teeth. Still, I feel blessed and fortunate to have these breath-taking, heart-breaking, earth-shaking fetishes!