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, 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.
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.
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.
Mmmm, a bit sensitive here and there. We need to keep an eye on that. Now, pants down.
I did so and my dick jumped out like a Jack-in-the-box.
Jesus!!! We’ve got a jumper!!
She pushed a red button on the wall and an alarm sounded. Nurses ran into the room immediately. They grabbed my arms and legs and strapped me to a bed with long, leather restraints. I screamed all over the place, because one of them punched me repeatedly in the groin. But it helped, my dick gave in and backed down.
One of the nurses took charge of the situation. She looked down on me and said: I’m so sorry, but we have to remove it.
W.what? Rem.move what?
Your balls, your penis, everything. The Law of Femdom Clinics, Act 2018, Section 212 states that all jumpers must be removed without exception.
I didn’t know, I pleaded. Please believe me, I didn’t know!!
Of course you didn’t. Now relax and let the anaesthetic do its work.
No! Please stop, not my penis-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s
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, no, no!
Just asking. I assume you’re still a virgin then?
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?
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!
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!