Category Archives: FETISH


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.


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?


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.


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.


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.


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.


He missed the train by a whisker, so he called his boss and told him was going to be late. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. Because suddenly ten, fifteen, twenty Women of the FPS (Female Police Squad) raided the platform. Man, they looked hot in their uniforms and his dick sprang to attention as they approached.
Freeze! Get down on the ground!
Whoever they were looking for was in big trouble! He looked around to see who was standing nearby. It was nerve-wrecking and exiting at the same time.
You sir, in the red T-shirt, get down on the ground.
ME??? he asked, pointing at his red T-shirt.
Yes you!! Get down NOW!
He was complete in shock. He was an accountant for Christ’s sake!
This has to be a mistake, he pleaded, I didn’t do anything.
But he went down on the ground anyway, because he was absolutely terrified. Moments later they were all over him, jamming their knees into his back. He was slapped and handcuffed and one of them pulled a hessian sack over his head. They dragged him down the platform and down a flight of stairs.
Please, he begged, You’ve got the wrong man.
They punched him hard and told him to shut up. They drove him away with sirens blaring.
The life of a commuter is no bed of roses, man, hello no!


Being at the fetish party in Paris was a thrilling experience and a feast for the eyes. So many people and so many gorgeous outfits! And then, in the sixth hour, I saw this divine apparition, dressed in a long, shiny black, habit. Of all the uniforms in the land, this is by far the most powerful one. My heart was racing, my lungs were burning. Flee for your life, I thought, don’t look, don’t look, for you will be swept away! But it was already too late, my eyes were glued on Her. I stood there for the rest of the night, like a salt pillar with a granite dick.
Quite strange, because I did not see the inside of  church until I was sixteen years old. So God knows why I’m so obsessed with nuns uniforms; but I really am. And I know: buying a box of condoms doesn’t make me the world’s greatest lover, and putting on a habit doesn’t make Her a nun. And yet … that uniform gives Her a level of authority and power that’s not from this world.
Truth is, I was way too salty and intimidated to say something to Her Holiness in Paris and I’ve not seen a fetish nun since. But I’m hoping and I’m praying, literally praying, for it every day.
So much for for being an atheist, right?


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


He rounded a corner and ran into two Female police officers. Man, they looked incredibly sexy in their uniforms; it gave them an intimidating air of authority. He loved it and his dick rocketed to life. They were not friendly though. No, sir! One of them grabbed him by the shirt, pushed him against a lantern post and put Her hand between his legs. He made a high-pitched sound and gasped for air.
Just as I thought, She said, he’s got a boner.
God help us, the other one said, and She made it sound as if he was a highly contagious disease.
Sir, we are the Penis Police and the The Law on Boners, Act 2019, Section 311-a clearly states that erections are forbidden in public transport, parks, on the streets, at sports venues, etcetera.
He growled. How the hell should I know tha-
She silenced him by squeezing his balls. His testicles were now boiling and his dick was ready for a lift-off.
Feel it, Angela, this is a bad one.
The other one dived in.
Jesus! That’s at least a $500 fine, but it’s more likely to be $1000.
He protested and was arrested for having a) boner b) an attitude c) a dick in the first place. He was fined and sentenced to six months in the Penis Correctional Penitentiary at Fort Dick.


Monday, January 21. According to an anonymous inside source (Mr. Snow, 472-C Lancaster Street, London) the Girls at London University College have taken command of the school. He claims that male teachers and students are blackmailed, bullied and used as slaves!
Headmaster Collins dismissed all claims as silly pranks. These accusations are absolutely false, ungrounded and fabricated, he said. He was missing his front teeth, had a black eye, a bloody nose, and a collar around his neck. Which was a bit odd, but a hype perhaps. Behind him stood a Schoolgirl in an absolutely lovely school-uniform. She had Her hand on the headmaster’s shoulder, which seemed to make him somewhat nervous, as if he was afraid to be rebuked. That must have been the light playing tricks on the mind, no doubt. Then we heard a terrible scream, but the headmaster was quick to explain that it was an owl gone crazy. There was sweat on his forehead and his eyelids were twitching, but that was probably a hobby of some sorts.
Time’s up, the Girl said firmly, and I admired Her for looking after the headmaster so well.
You must be very, very proud of Her, I said.
Proud is a word, the headmaster answered mysteriously. He sounded hoarse. Probably an oncoming flu, or something like that. So rest assure, dear readers, everything’s fine at London University College, nothing to worry about. Tim Sharp – London Chronicle. 


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.


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.


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.


♬ 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.


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.


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.


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!


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.


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.


The beautiful, yet intimidating, nurse slapped me in the face, forced Her fingers down my throat, grabbed my nipples and tried to remove them altogether. I howled like a wolf.
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


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.


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!


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!