Tag Archives: Vintage Femdom

FINAL THOUGHTS

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

MORE THAN WORDS

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

FOREVER

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

VINTAGE PULP MAGAZINES

I’m a huge fan of the sleazy, adventurous, slightly erotic, pulp magazines of the 1950’s, 60’s and 70’s. Especially the ones with strong, powerful and deadly Women on the cover. Some of these covers are genuine pieces of art, as far as I’m concerned. The stories inside range from Female Islands and Tribes, to Harem’s, Bordello’s, Femme Fatale’s and Madame’s, to Pirates, Man-Killers, Sex-Slaves and Nazi. Lots and lots of Nazi’s. The titles of these stories can be mouthwatering:

  • He Was Hostage Of The Orient’s Fabulous Female Brigade
  • Tortured Slave Of The Whip Goddesses
  • Trapped By The Slave Trading Nymphos Of The Nile
  • I Ran the Torture Gauntlet Of Those Blood-Crazed Amazons
  • The Berlin Nudes And Their Studio Of Torture
  • The Wild Raid Of The Lace Panty Commandos
  • Captive Of The All-Girl Ching Dao Jewel Ring
  • The Nazi She-Devil Who Killed For Kicks
  • Attacked By The Girl Pirates Of The Yangtze
  • The Teenage Nazi She-Wolves Of Berlin

She promised a paradise of love and freedom in the sun, but now we were Her slaves with our lives at stake …. That’s enough for the Nobel Prize in Literature if you ask me. Amazing covers, catchy titles and tag-lines allow us to escape the doubts, difficulties, hazards and impossibilities of finding a real & right Mistress in the 21st century. They inspire us to dream and fantasise of undiscovered islands, jungles and worlds where real Women rule.

C’EST LA VIE

‘My parents found me a boarding house in Rue Saint-Honoré. Madame Fouet, the landlady, lived on the ground floor. She was a strict Lady and there were many rules to follow. In for the night by nine, no female visitors allowed (no hanky-panky, She said), a neat and tidy room at all times and no music. She convinced my parents that it was in my best interest that She should be in charge of my monthly allowance. So She had me by the balls, because what are we without money? She ruled with a iron fist and I became Her slave, there’s no other word for it. Oh, She was a merciless disciplinarian, She really was. A Woman dominating a man, that was unheard of in the fifties. Even my friends refused to believe it. So I couldn’t tell my parents about it, even if I wanted to. I was Her property for five years. I graduated in ’59 and my dad wanted me to join the family business. So I said goodbye to Madame Fouet en returned home. I missed Her with every inch of my being and I was completely lost without Her. My life would never be the same and I have always been searching for someone that powerful and dominant.’
The nurse shook her head and said: You have such a vivid imagination, Mr. BrownNow, enough of this nonsense, let me take you to the Bingo game for a bit of real fun!
They would not listen, they’re not listening still
Perhaps they never will

BIRCHING

Foreigners in the past were amazed by the English addiction to flagellation. Mrs. Colet ran a famous whipping establishment (established about 1766) in Convent Garden for example and Mrs. Berkely (died in 1836) had one in Charlotte Street. The latter even designed the Berkley Horse (in 1828), an apparatus to flog gentlemen upon. [.] Her instruments of torture were more numerous than those of any other Governess. Her supply of birch was extensive, and kept in water, so that it was always green and pliant: she had shafts with a dozen whip thongs on each of them; a dozen different sizes of cat-o’-nine-tails, some with needle points worked into them; various kinds of thin bending canes; leather straps like coach traces; battledoors, made of thick sole-leather, with inch nails run through to docket, and currycomb tough hides rendered callous by many years flagellation. Holly brushes, furze brushes; a prickly evergreen, called butcher’s bush; and during the summer, a glass and China vases, filled with a constant supply of green nettles, with which she often restored the dead to life. Thus, at her shop, whoever went with plenty of money, could be birched, whipped, fustigated, scourged, needle-pricked, half-hung, holly-brushed, furze-brushed, butcher-brushed, stinging-nettled, curry-combed, phlebotomized, and tortured.

VINTAGE FEMDOM

Some will say that stains, scratches & a wagonload of dust on old photos is part of the vintage charm. But I don’t have a dust fetish, to be honest, so I like to clean them up a little bit. I’m not a fan of filters or anything; it’s all done by hand and one particle at the time. Without overdoing it and without ruining the overall feel of the photo.
These vintage photos are so beautiful, because there’s an innocence about them that I just love. Female Domination was so much simpler and straightforward back then. The Internet changed all that and it even changed you and me. Not just a little bit, but beyond recognition, I’m afraid. Anyway, these pictures were taken in the seventies and eighties, when the Ladies were in the prime of their beauty. A split second of divinity, so many years ago. Most of them are old and grey by now. Weird idea, isn’t it? So gather ye rosebuds while ye may.