In the year of our Lord one thousand and twenty-four, a large fleet of Femdommes arrived, speedy vessels to the number of seventy-three. These strong and powerful Women invaded our land like stinging hornets and many a man was captured and taken away in chains. Fear struck in the hearts of the population, and gloom and sadness fell over the land. Female Legions landed on our shores later that year. Like savage wolves, they overran our country in all directions, forcing the men to flee their homes and villages to seek shelter in the mountains. Once they were kings, emperors and commanders, mighty men who ruled the world. Now the last of the free hid in caves and lived in great fear. A darkness fell upon the land and the men lamented bitterly over the terrible fate that would befall them. Their days of freedom were numbered, their life in slavery about to begin.
There was a button on Her website saying: don’t click here. I didn’t, but it became Pandora’s Button, so I returned to that page over and over again. It was a trap and I fell for it, because in the end I clicked the damned thing. A message popped up saying She demanded an apology. I wrote one immediately and thought that would be the end of it. Two hours later an email came in, saying She didn’t accept my apology and that She wanted to meet me face to face. I had to obey, because this was a real mail and a direct order. Three days later I kneeled down in front of Her. Not only was Mistress Valkyrie stunningly beautiful, She was also charming and elegant. She had a lovely sense of humor and was genuinely interested in the man behind the slave. And She certainly knew how to inflict pain on Her victims. Man, She was ruthless! She retired many years ago, but I’m still grateful to this day. Because if it hadn’t been for that button, I would probably still be a novice today.
My lower back was killing me and I couldn’t walk upright anymore. The guy at the hotel gave me the address of Lady Thai, a masseuse with healing powers. When I hunched into Her office She said: “Ah, it hurts back?” Three minutes later I was naked to the underwear and cuffed to a Andreas cross. Weird! But I was in so much pain, I was willing to try anything. She started whipping me, slowly at first but then faster and more vicious. I screamed my lungs out. She smiled the sweetest smile and said: “You like?” I told Her I didn’t, so She switched to one of the longest whips ever. That wasn’t what I meant, but She ducked away behind the language barrier and skinned me alive with that thing. “Now you cool, ok?” She threw three buckets of ice-cold water over me. And then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, She grabbed me by the balls and squeezed them into oranje juice. So when in pain, go to Thailand; these gorgeous Ladies will teach you a thing or two about suffering.
“This little cottage,” Hansel said triumphantly, “is made of chocolate and biscuits. You can eat it!” He bit down on the wall and a horrifying cracking sound filled the air. “Well, that’s one way of losing your milk teeth,” Gretel said. The cottage door opened and a Witch came out. Man, She was a knockout and Hansel’s cock swell up like a balloon. “We’re lost,” Hansel said, spitting molars in the process, “can you please help us?” The Witch invited them in and gave them pancakes with sugar, apples, and nuts. There was a large cage in the room and Gretel shivered: “I bet no one dares to enter that cage.” Hansel laughed and stepped into the cage. The door fell shut. “What did I tell you,” Gretel said, “easy does it.” The Witch chuckled and gave Gretel 20 silver coins. “What are you going to do with him,” Gretel asked. The Witch replied: “Train him, castrate him and sell him.” Tears ran down Hansel’s cheeks as he fell down on his knees. “Gretel please, I beg You.” Gretel looked at the coins and opened the cottage door: “See ya, bro.”
A slave is someone “who is legally owned by another person.” Scheiße, that means we’re not slaves after all. Servants at best, but certainly not slaves. Because what breaks the chains and sets us free, is the fact that keeping slaves is illegal. So there’s no such thing as legally owned by another person. We’re volunteers and we’re free to walk out whenever we want. We have the law on our side and surely there should be a law against that. We really should change it into something like this:
I once bought a large cardboard box with photo-albums and family documents at an auction. Thumbing through other people’s lives is a bit like trespassing, but I love history on grassroots level. And so birthdays, weddings, holidays and ageing people passed me by. Once they were full of life, now they were just nameless memories in a cardboard box. Then I opened album number six, called Rose. Who turned out to be an stunningly beautiful Mistress in Her time. I became intrigued and it took me months to find out a bit more about Her. According to a newspaper clipping, people came from far and near to visit Her dungeon. She was, the article said, a popular lifestyle Mistress who never gave up the belief that Women were born to rule over men. I wished I had known Her, even if just for a while, because She must have been an amazing person. So here’s to Lady Rose, who lived in the past, but believed in the future.
They took me to the valley, where the river meanders and snakes. Because, they said, I was going to be baptised. The Femdom way. I asked for a snorkel, but one of the Ladies grabbed me by the throat and I gargled instead. We stepped into the cold water and they grabbed my arms and with hands on top of my head, pushed me under water. They held me there till dusk (it seemed) and I finally emerged like the Loch Ness monster itself, gasping for air and crying out in a panic of fear. Up and down it went, with ridiculously short ‘ups’ and frighteningly long ‘downs.’ In the end I was nothing more than a breathing corps, no kidding. But then, after swallowing a pool or two, they had enough and I washed ashore like a piece of human wreckage. I was still struggling to get my breath and I asked if I could have some water. “He’s such a great sport,” they said. And dragged me back to the river.
“We all have our dirty little secrets, but most people don’t shout it from the rooftops. Submissive men are a different breed, these remarkable creatures will tell you their most inner dreams, fetishes and desires. At great length and in minute detail. They don’t say it in so many words, but they’re silently begging you to take advantage of that. So each piece of information is like a key on the piano of Dominance. Press that key and he will crumble and fall into obedience. However, playing his favourite tunes all day long is never a good idea. And it’s certainly not My definition of Female Supremacy. Economise, that’s My motto. Hope is such a powerful weapon and he will cling onto that like a drowning man onto a life belt. Even some casual act or comment on his favourite fetish fills his tank with blind obedience. Learning to play the piano, that’s all it takes.”
She didn’t want to know what I looked like, and yet we were about to meet on a blind date. “Don’t worry,” She said, “I can spot a submissive man a mile away.” So I went to this trendy bar and waited. Unlike so many other Women, She didn’t invade the place. On the contrary: She seeped in like a sinister fog. She spotted me immediately, elbowed Her way towards me, grabbed my shirt and dragged me outside and into the alley across the street. They came from nowhere and were everywhere: eight, nine, ten Women. I looked over my shoulders to see if there was any light in the tunnel, but there were at least five of them behind me as well. They all started kicking, kneeing, slapping and punching me at the same time and I disappeared into a whirlpool of violence and was sucked down by the quick currents of Female power. They kicked me repeatedly in the nuts and punched me in the guts, till I begged them to stop. They did, but they took my pants and left me there in my underwear. Damned kinky!
Elvira was a collegae of mine and She was blessed with a strong personality. She could be extremely stubborn, demanding and even ruthless at times. One day a male colleague played a prank on Her. She grabbed his hair, brutally yanked back his head and forced him to apologise. He whimpered and tears of pain glinted in his eyes. Her sister Sylvia came to work with us as well, but She was very shy and you hardly even noticed Her. Which is a dreadful thing to say, but true nonetheless. They both left the company a couple of years later, but I stayed in touch with Elvira. One day I decided to humor Her with my submissive tale. She said: “It’s not My cup of tea. If anything, I want a man to be strong and macho.” Damn, I certainly didn’t see that one coming! She smirked and said: “You should have gone for Sylvia. She met a submissive guy and She’s now his Mistress. Very strict and all.” True story. Still waters run deep, they say. And they’re right.
Male slaves on Femdom sites are a necessary evil. They hardly say anything and when they do open their mouths you wished they didn’t. A male slave doesn’t have to look handsome (the fatter the better one might say), his purpose in life is to be pathetic. He’s an extra in the greater scheme of things and a brainless object at best. That’s why men in bondage sites (except Men In Bondage) are far and few between. Sure, bondage is embedded in almost all Femdom sites, but it’s not a specific niche. The Lezdom world on the other hand is littered with ropes, cuffs and tapes. It’s a Garden of Eden for bondage lovers. It makes sense, doesn’t it. A Woman in bondage looks beautiful, a man in bondage looks like a rolled roast. So I’m very grateful that bondage in the Lezdom community is so popular. Time for a sex change, I guess 😋
According to the Elise Sutton “it is almost always the man who will introduce the Female Domination lifestyle to the Woman.” So, why travel to the far corners of the earth or secretly masturbate behind Her back, when your Mistress to be is already there? I know, the thought of raising the subject provokes anxiety and fear, doesn’t it? Don’t overdo it, that’s the key to unlock the door to Supremacy. Avoid the risk of burying Her in an avalanche of graphic details, longings and desires. Don’t tell Her She can nail your scrotum to the table or chase you around the house with a bullwhip all day long. That’s way too much, way too soon. And don’t smother all hope by showing Her your favourite websites. Believe me, there’s a time for everything and this is not the right time. Plant a seed and if it’s meant to grow it will. Be patient and give it time to ripen. She will get back to it when She’s ready. A light and casual talk about your submissive fantasies might well be enough to bring Her dormant dominant nature to the surface.
He found himself a room above the grocery store in a town called Freedom. He expected to be happy there, over the moon and on top of the world. But he wasn’t. He lived in constant fear, knowing a Femdom Squad would be in hot pursuit by now. These ruthless Women would chase him to the ends of the earth and return him to his Lady Owner. Like a runaway dog. He became afraid of his own shadow and he hardly went outside anymore. He just stared out of the window all day long and listened to the sounds in the street below. It was now three o’clock in the night. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the hours crept by. His thoughts drifted to the journey that had taken him down this path. Soothing thoughts. He failed to notice the moving shadows on the wall and the whispered conversation outside. It was going to be his last night in Freedom.
Dune Feet is all about amateur Girls squeezing, smothering, choking, kicking, trampling and slapping the crap out of their victims. Their approach is pretty straightforward and simple, but it works. The Girls are real knock-outs, in every meaning of the word, and I hang onto every word they say, although I don’t have a clue what they’re saying. Because they’re Russian and I’m not, you see. But Femdom has its own universal language and I do get the message. Dune Feet has over 5.600 clips online at Clips4Sale right now. And that’s not all, because of its two sister-sites: Dune Angels (feet and butt crush) and Dune Hands, which is all about hand smothering, chocking and more. But the pearl in the crown is Dune Feet itself of course. Damn, if only I were Russian 😉
The early suffragettes were booed off the stage, mocked, assaulted and imprisoned. In Colchester a mob smashed the windows of the hotel where Josephine Butler (1828-1906) was staying, and stones were hurled into Her room. They threatened to burn the place down unless Mrs. Butler was delivered to them. She fled through a back window and hid inside an unused warehouse, filled with empty bottles and broken glass: “I stood there in the darkness and alone, hearing some of the violent men tramping past.” These Women risked their lives and fought an impossible battle. And yet they won. Against all odds. They were truly courageous and I greatly admire them. Femdom today is caught in the gigantic fishing nets of the porn industry. It’s a million dollar business that attracts all kinds of people with all kinds of motives: some true, some false, some unscrupulous. Finding a way out of this slimy mess is a monumental challenge. I hope and pray that our Women today, like their ancestors, have the strength, courage and determination to rise to the challenge and lead us towards a better future. A Femdom future.
Mistress wanted me as Her pet at the Dèmonia Party in Paris, so I booked Her – and myself – a flight and a hotelroom for a couple of nights. Somehow She had a change of heart, because She’d brought a new slave along with Her and She told me to make myself scarce. Luckily we had arranged to meet several other Mistresses and slaves to do some sightseeing, so I enjoyed myself. In the early afternoon we went into a small restaurant near the Eiffel Tower. Mistress and Her new toy were sitting at one end of the table and I was sitting with the rest of the group at the other end, close to the door. The door opened and a beautiful Lady came in who had arranged to meet us there. She smiled at me and said: “Hello, what do we have here?” Mistress erupted from Her chair, crashing Her hand on the table: “He’s MINE!” You could hear a pin drop and even the waiters seemed frozen on the spot. You see, you don’t have to be in the spotlights all the time; You’re Her property till She says otherwise.
She shook Her head and shrugged Her shoulders: “I’m not sure if you’ve got the balls for this job.” My heart stopped beating for a second, but I was quick to reply: “I’ve got concrete balls, you can build a theme park on them. Believe me; I’m the right man for this job.” She sighed and got up from behind Her desk. So I got up as well, thinking it was all over. I reached out my hand to shake Hers, but She grabbed me by the balls and squeezed. I screamed like a Wiener Sängerknaben and danced up and down in pain. She let go of my balls and pushed me against the wall. “Spread ’em!” I was only halfway the spreading business when the first kick came in with a vengeance. I staggered through the room like a knocked-up boxer, but a second kick was already on its way. Smack dab in the middle! I howled like a wolf and a third devastating kick sent me flying across the room. I crashed down on the floor at Her feet. She looked down on me with contempt: “What did I tell you? No balls.”
“A slave is still a man and traces of stubbornness, pride and stupidity will linger underneath the surface for a long time. Forced Feminisation is a highly effective method to subdue the beast and to get rid of all that macho nonsense. Sissy lovers can’t wait, it’s their Girlie dream come true, but most men dread it. Moving from Dennis to Denise and from Harry to Harriet is highly degrading. Let alone switching from male to Female attire. He’s being thrown in at the deep end of Femininity and this time his manhood is not going to safe him. It’s a transformation on so many levels and far more effective than corporal punishment, I think. Look at him, he looks like a hippo in panties! Well, all men look like Mammoth’s dung to Me, so it’s not that make-up or a skirt makes them look ridiculous. They are ridiculous. The sooner they understand, the better.”
She sat there, hands on Her thighs, looking down on me. She pressed down hard on my arms with Her legs, Her crotch resting on my chin. I was completely beaten and helpless. She could hold me there for as long as She wanted and there was nothing I could do about it. The Female Domination palette is dazzlingly beautiful and yet I would trade it all for the Schoolgirl-Pin. It’s so powerful and so mesmerising. It’s a never-ending love-song really, and a treasure each picture like a priceless artefact. And the Schoolgirl-Pin opens the door to so much more, doesn’t it. She can smother you into a red herring, drown you in spit, slap you unconscious, remove your hair while She’s at it, tickle you to death or play pool with your balls. So to me the Schoolgirl-Pin is the most glorious, victorious and powerful humiliation ever. Priceless!
She looked at her wrist, although She stopped wearing a watch ages ago. “You’re late. Again.” He sighed and opened his mouth for a lengthy explanation, but Her words slashed through his vocal cords like a knife through butter. “Drop down your pants, Harold.” He looked baffled and had a got-run-over-by-a-freight-train look in his eyes. Sure, they’d played some kinky games before, but it was a bit too early in the day for that. He quickly snapped out of it though, shrugged his shoulders and dropped his pants. “Come and lay over My knees,” She said. He knew what was coming, but he decided to call Her bluff. Come on, She wasn’t really going through with this, was She? She was. She spanked him with all Her fury, using Her hand, a hairbrush and a paddle. He cried out for Her to stop, but She would not, it was time to teach him a lesson. Besides, there was something growing hard in his pants. So there you have it: it’s never too late to be in time for a harsh spanking.
Forty four-horse chariots entered the Hippodrome at the ancient Olympics and it took them almost fifteen minutes to cover the twelve double laps. Two stone pillars on the racecourse marked the turning point where the chariots had to make a 180-degree turn (23 turns during the race). These turns were extremely dangerous and deadly. Chariots smashed against the pillars or into each other, drivers got catapulted into the air and were trampled by the horses of the following chariot. During one of these brutal Olympic races, only one (out for forty) managed to cross the finishing line. Now, there are no Femdom Games, so we have to use our imagination. The gorgeous Mistresses in their chariots, four well-trained pony-boys, gleaming with oil. Of course, it would not be as violent as it once was, not with these beautiful Goddesses in the driver seat. But it would be competitive though! The cracking of the whip, the exhausted slaves, the dust flying up to heaven. No mercy would be asked, no quarter would be given. We would run like the wind for the honour of our Mistress.
Nanshakh is one of my all-time favourite artists, because he manages to capture my most treasured fantasies in images. I truly love the idea of uncompromising Women and natural born slaves. He shows us a world where Women rule and where men work, serve and suffer. There’s no room for cheap romances and the Women don’t drool over their slaves all the time. In that respect his work comes close to what the former Other World Kingdom (OWK) tried to achieve. His settings are fanciful, because we don’t work in quarries, suffer on galleys or rot in dungeons. Bummer! But right underneath that fanciful layer is the glorious beauty of real Female Power. Because Female Supremacy should not be about satisfying the (sexual) needs and fantasies of submissive men, it should be about slavery. Nanshakh’s world may not actually exist, but the place looks awfully familiar and recognisable. And I for one really feel at home there.
She looked at me with a mix of pity, scepticism and horror: “Are you actually willing to pay for this?? What are you: a newly discovered disease or something?” Now, that wasn’t a nice thing to say, was it? But I was quick to reply: “If so, I’m not contagious.” She giggled and shrugged Her shoulders: “Alright nutcase, show Me the money.” I did and – as promised – kneeled down in front of Her. She wore an ultra mini miniskirt and Her gorgeous legs were just inches away. It was all a bit awkward and uncomfortable, I admit that. “Tell Me a bit more about this Leg-Fetish thing,” She asked. Bless Her! Because that really broke the ice and I answered the question in great detail. After my hymn She looked at the money and frowned. “If it means that much to you, then this is just a tip, isn’t it?” Blimey, She was a quick learner! She made me empty my wallet in the hope (not the certainty) of getting permission to worship Her legs. Hence the saying: show me a leg and I’ll show You the money.
I borrowed Her car and wrecked it, that’s the long and short of it. The insurance company first gave me the runaround and then the finger, so I owed Her a hefty sum of money. Money that I didn’t have. So we choose debt slavery (aka debt bondage) to solve the matter. I signed several blank documents, because She would fill in the terms later. I had enough on my plate as it was, She said. I placed myself into slavery for a period of 15 months. She took control of my finances and forced me to live on scraps. And I had to work for Her of course. She was very understanding at first, but those days are long gone. She now uses all kinds of punishments and humiliations to keep me focused (Her words, not mine): from brutal face-slaps to thrashings, from eating from a dog bowl to pissing all over me. Each punishment comes with a price tag, so my debt only grows and repayment is impossible. I owe Her so much…
Mistress ordered me to make the dungeon soundproof. I didn’t like the sound of that, but Mistress was already soundproof to everything I had to say, so I kept my mouth shut and went to work. It took me a couple of backbreaking weeks, but Mistress was mighty pleased with the result and She immediately invited some friends to come and see. Sadistic Friends, I’m-ready-to-shit-my-pants kinda Friends. Question was: was the dungeon really soundproof? Mistress, being the clever dick She is, decided to put it to the test. So one slave went to the kitchen and a second one into the garden where they had to listen if they could hear anything. Bizarre really, because Mistress is always complaining that slaves don’t listen. Anyway, now all eyes & hands turned to me and I was stripped, strapped and covered with electrodes. And then the horror began. My word, the pain was absolutely unbearable and I screamed on top of my lungs. That pleased the Ladies tremendously and they pumped up the voltage. The dungeon turned out to be soundproof and my dick lightproof. Because it glowed like a red-hot poker for weeks.
“No, I’m not cruel. Not before breakfast anyway. I’m just trying to help you make the right decision. If you decide to be My slave, I will take control of each aspect of your life. You will be a puppet dangling from a string. Let’s call that option A, shall we? Option B: you don’t want to serve and obey Me. Yes, you’re absolutely free to choose that option, but I want you to think of the consequences. Because in that case I’m forced to publish the compromising pictures, and let us not forget: the even more compromising movie-clips. Everything will go online and your employer and all your friends will be notified. That’s only fair, I think, because it took so much time, energy and money to shoot all that stuff. Blackmail? Nah, that’s such a nasty word, wouldn’t you say? I’m not blackmailing you, I’m protecting you. Please don’t beg, not yet anyway, it won’t do you any good. Just think it over and I’ll be back in half an hour. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”
There will always be a next time, we say. But it’s not true, is it. Today’s certainties may well be gone tomorrow. So if you really want to explore your submissive dreams, then strike while the iron is hot. It took me years to get there, because I became a master at postponing things. Money was a perfect excuse, for example. I’d set my mind on a foreign Mistress who lived a thousand miles away. Going there, staying there for a couple of days and paying for the sessions; I convinced myself it wasn’t worth all that money. When money was no longer the issue, I bought myself some time by questioning my submissive feelings again. And when I ran out of questions, I used my work as a scapegoat. I wasted so much valuable time and I will regret that the rest of my life. Trust me: at the end of the day it’s not about being ready, it’s about being submissive.
Young Dommes really lived up to its name, because the site was all about young, dominant Girls. They showed us the future of Femdom and the next generation of Mistresses. I know, it takes an overdose of fantasy or a crazy amount of alcohol to actually believe in that, but I’ve always tried to see it that way. Call me a romantic, but in a way it’s true, isn’t it: today’s Mistresses will be gone tomorrow and a new generation will step in. So I’ve always enjoyed the young Femdom sites, fanciful as their content may be. Young Dommes had it’s pros, but it certainly had it’s cons as well. But that’s all water under the bridge now, because the site closed its doors for good. So here’s to Young Dommes (and Her sister site: Class 5B), for giving us a glimpse of the future.
I’m very fond of my fetishes, but sowing & crowing fetishes is not without a certain risk. Years ago my favourite artist and his band came to Europe and I decided to see their concert at the Stade de France, Paris. So I bought a ticket, flew to Paris and got myself a hotel. I went to the Stadium early, because I had field tickets and I wanted to find myself a nice spot. There were some 75.000 people that night and just minutes before the concert two Girls pushed their way through the crowd and stopped right in front of me. One of them was wearing a shiny, black jacket. I couldn’t keep my eyes of it and I prayed She would put Her arm around my throat and choke me to death. Absurd of course, because it’s quite unusual for people to do that at concerts. Or anywhere else for that matter. The concert? No idea, I have no recollection of any concert whatsoever. I was spellbound. So a fetish can literally make and break your day at the same time.
“Come here, slave.” Mistress Eve was standing near the fireplace, hands on Her hips, legs spread. I crawled the distance and looked up at Her. “Get inside,” She grinned and pushed my head between Her never-ending legs. The trap snapped shut and the squeeze was on. Thank God for being empty headed, otherwise She would have squeezed the brains out of my head. The wooden paddle landed on my ass and I wriggled like a snake with hives. Then the door opened and I heard footsteps approaching. “Let me help you with this,” a voice said. And I recognised that voice. It belonged to Lady Mia, also known as Merciless Mia. Well, She sure as hell lived up to Her name that day, because She smashed my innocent, defenceless ass into smithereens. And all this time my poor head was trapped in the vice of Female beauty. It nearly cost me my buttocks, but what a glorious punishment it was!
The sub in me is submerged. Fully submerged when I’m in the company of family & friends and at periscope depth for the rest of the day. Always on the lookout for traces of Femdom, that’s the meagre existence of an unowned slave. I have to keep my submissive personality on a short leash, because the outside world is still not ready for him. It’s sad but true: being a 24/7 slave doesn’t mean you’re actually free to be one. The daily grind won’t allow it and going to work wearing a slave collar is still a bad, bad idea. Instead we have to make do and mend with a few submissive hours a day. If we’re lucky. My outdoor personality went to school, goes to work and meets his friends. He’s a nice chap and he has grown on me over the years. But I do hope I’m allowed to say goodbye to him one day and emerge as a lifetime slave.
I hate liars, and yet I was the worst liar of them all, because my family and friends knew nothing about my submissive feelings. I was betraying their love and friendship and I hated that. I desperately wanted to come out of the submissive closet, but it took me years to find the strength. I finally did, and to my surprise and relief everyone was pretty relaxed about it. They don’t wholeheartedly support my submissive quest, though. To them Female Domination is a dangerous jungle where nothing is what it seems. But I’m fine with that, it keeps me grounded. But they’re also blessed with a good sense of humour. A couple of years ago for example, during the family Christmas celebrations, my niece gave me a pair of handcuffs. The joke was on me, but I loved my family to bits that evening. Funny thing really, they know the submissive me is there somewhere, hidden behind the facade, but they’ve never actually met him. And they probably never will.
I still remember each detail, as if it happened only yesterday. The wooden crates in the barn, the sweet smell of bulbs, the rays of sunlight sliding through the cracks, the dust particles dancing on the floor. We were about to play Cowboys & Indians and I told Sue I was a villain, a nasty piece of work, and that She would beat the crap out of me. Her words hit me with full force: “You always want to lose!” Time slowed down and sounds faded away. She’d caught me in the act, spoke the unspeakable, exposed me to the world. I avoided Her for days, because I was scared of facing Her again. I lay in the tall grass from dawn to dusk, staring at the blue summer sky. I needed an alias, a second personality, someone without these unexplainable feelings. I shaped and carved that personality till it fitted me like a glove. A scared, submissive boy stepped into the tall grass, a smart, confident lad came out, blessed with a sharp tongue and a quick sense of humour. From now on, no one would ever know who I really was.
I knew very little about Her, so I was quite surprised to learn that She was married and that there was a 24/7 slavegirl living in the house. I was exited about the latter, because She was living my dream and She could teach me the tricks of the trade. I arrived on a Friday afternoon and downstairs, in the dungeon, Mistress was still pummelling Her customers into submission. After the last one crawled away, the slavegirl came upstairs, pointed at me and said: “You there, follow Me.” So I followed Her downstairs to the dungeon. “I want this place spic and span within the hour.” I laughed. Surely we were one big submissive family, right? Wrong! She nearly slapped me unconscious and that shut me up and opened my eyes. Man, She was so impatient, demanding and utterly ruthless. It was a really rough hour, I assure you. The rest of the weekend I sat at Her feet like a little dog. A slave-girl is not one of us, my friend, She’s part of the Female elite. She’s a Woman and therefor superior to men. My ass can vouch for that, because I arrived with a cheeky smile and left with a mighty sore bottom.
Whatever Mistress orders you to do: don’t sigh, don’t roll your eyes, don’t hesitate, don’t make any weird sounds and above all: never ever question Her orders. Unless you want to stare at your testicles in a glass of water on the bedside table. Seriously: never question Her orders, because it implies that you know better. And that’s without doubt the most stupid mistake a slave can make. So if She orders you to worship Her socks, then dig in and go for it. It’s not a punishment, or a humiliation for that matter, it’s a privilege. She is divine and it doesn’t matter which liquids or smells She throws at you: embrace them as a gift from Heaven. She’s wearing these socks, they’re tightly wrapped around Her gorgeous feet, don’t ever forget that. It only works with Her socks though. I strongly discourage you to practise with your own socks. Did it was once and nearly had to puke. She’s a Goddess and you’re a skunk, it’s as simple as that.
When I was a wee bairn I used to write a lot of Femdom stories. I’d never actually seen (let alone met) a Mistress, so I had to imagine what She looked like. I daydreamed about each detail: Her hair, Her eyes, Her lovely smile and the beauty of Her legs. After a while I could picture Her in my head and She became the leading Mistress in all my childhood stories. Many years later I came across Mistress Vixen’s website for the very first time. A memorable moment, because I stopped breathing for several minutes (like a never-ending long-distance smother of some sorts). This was the Mistress of my stories! I couldn’t believe my eyes and had to pinch myself in the nuts. I could have sued Her for plagiarism 😉, but unfortunately I can’t print the lovely stuff that’s going on in my tiny brain, so I’m unable to proof it. So case closed, zipper open. Needless to say there’s no limit to my adoration for Her, because She already owned my ass before She became a Mistress. Miraculous! Sadly enough Her lovely website has been offline for more than a year now, but you can buy Her (new) clips at Desire Her and Her Store.
There’s so much more to jodhpurs than meets the pants. Because it’s not just about the jodhpurs, it’s the combination with riding boots and these gorgeous shirts and blouses (carry me away, folks!) that makes it so spectacular. Beautiful and elegant, that’s the right phrase. And I’m a real sucker for elegant. But there’s something ominous and powerful about elegant Ladies as well. Just take a look at the lovely pictures in the gallery below: you don’t want to mess with these Ladies, that’s for sure! And let’s not forget: jodhpurs hold the promise of (human) horse riding as well. The thought of being trained into a whinny stallion by such a Lady is already enough to order a bail of hay, I would say. Some links: Femme Fatale Films, The Equestrian Lady, The English Mansion, Riding Cult, Latin Beauties in High Heels, Femdomfoto and Human Ponies.
Getting smashed in the balls by Maria Sharapova, well, that’s certainly on my all-time favourite list after watching this short clip. Hearing Her speak English is already soooo sexy, let alone if She would demolish my balls in the process. It inspired me to fantasise about the Fembledon Championships. Driving these poor (or lucky) men nuts by ramming tennis balls in their scrotum, how cool would that be! A sort of long-distance ballbusting, also known as tennisball-busting. Service, backhand, forehand and of course our ultimate favourite: the smash. But there’s more to Fembledon than testicle terror. There are all kinds of stands where you can get food & drinks and there are several excellent workshops: Squeezing & Squashing or Domestic Femdom for Beginners for example. And there’s music as well. Smashing Pumpkins, who else.
I lived with Selma for almost three years and She could be demanding, shrewd and seductive at times. She knew my weak spots and She targeted them mercilessly whenever She wanted something. Bossy, that’s the word I was looking for. I didn’t realise it at the time, but She was in fact a natural born dominant. Her need to control was very real, I didn’t have to ask for it and I certainly didn’t have to pay for it; it came with the package. She never punished me or anything, though. She knew nothing about my submissive feelings and there were no BDSM toys in the house. She didn’t need all that, I guess, She knew way too well She could make me do anything by pushing the right buttons. There was more realism to Her authority than to all the stuff you see on Femdom websites. And yet I left Her in the hope of finding a real Mistress…. So the question is: how important are punishments and humiliations to us. Is being Bossy enough or not near enough?
Tom and I were walking down the street when we bumped into a dark-haired Girl. We were fourteen years old or so and She was a few years younger. “Look who we’ve got here,” She said. “Wanna fight, Tom? Come on, sissy, let’s fight.” It stopped Tom in his tracks and he looked mighty scared all of a sudden. I grinned, because I had no idea what was going on here. Her fury came without warning and She charged at me like a bull. She literally ran me over and I went down with a high-pitched scream. She grabbed my hair with Her left hand, rammed Her knee on my throat and punched me repeatedly in the stomach with Her right fist. Her eyes lashed out at Tom. “Sit down!” He fell down on his ass, like an uppercut boxer. I tried to fight my way out, but She almost choked me with Her knee. She pulled me up by my hair and grabbed Tom’s scalp in the process. And there we were: two brave young lads, helpless and on our knees. Unforgettable!
Being a 24/7 slave means Mistress is in charge of your beauty sleep as well. I’ve spend many a night on cold and unforgiving floors. Sleeping rough, so to speak. But you get used to it somehow, and otherwise you get so fucking tired after a while, you could sleep on a bed of nails. Sleeping with your hands cuffed behind your back is worse, to my opinion. Scratching your nose (or your balls for that matter) is out of the question for example. But then, against all odds, you drift off to sleep and within minutes you’re snoring like a sawmill gone crazy. Not good, not good at all! Mistress will get out of bed, pick up an antique chamber pot along the way and smash the damned thing on your skull. Rude awakening, one might say. And let there be no mistake, the next morning you have to be fresh as daisies again. A new, backbreaking day awaits you.
She walked into his shop, and his life, on a Friday morning. She was elegantly dressed in the finest leather and his heartbeat went straight above the city’s average. She chose a pair of gorgeous (and expensive) knee-boots and tried them on.
“Excellent choice, Madame, if I may say so.”
“You may. Now, come here and kneel down for Me.”
His voice sounded mighty frail: “I b.beg your pardon, Madame?”
Her eyes lashed out at him: “Do as you’re told. I want to know how it looks on these boots.”
“Yes Madame,” he squeaked and kneeled.
“Excellent! Very powerful. Now, I’m too kind, I know, so I’ll give you permission to buy these boots for Me. So now’s the time to thank Me.”
He bowed and murmured: “Thank You so much Madame, it’s an honour, thank You.”
“Very good. The shop is closed on Mondays?”
“It is, Madame.”
“It’s not. The shop will be open only for Me. Do I make Myself perfectly clear?”
His life would never be the same.
One of my favourite fantasies is the slave hunt. The men will try to outrun their destiny and the Ladies will hunt them down and bring them back to slavery. It takes a few essential ingredients to pull off a successful hunt though. Firstly you need enough space to move about. A back garden hunt is not a hunt, but a weeping willow run. You also need a few slaves who are eager to outsmart the Ladies. Because most of these guys will walk into the lion’s den voluntarily. No doubt with a big smile and a big dick. That’s not a hunt, that’s men having it their way. And thirdly: it has to be realistic. The men are on the run, so don’t expect them to surrender just because a Lady approaches. If he’s that kinda coward, he wouldn’t have done a runner in the first place. Force him to surrender, tie the bastard and drag him down the fields to the cage where he belongs, that’s the spirt. I guess that’s why a fine Femdom Hunt is so extremely rare.
Oh, the wonderful, horrible, lovely, agonising, breathtaking, dreadful, beautiful and intensely cruel things these Women do to us! Take our scrotum for instance, our citadel of joy, our slum of dirty talk, our horny nerve centre. Once upon a time a Mistress wrapped a rope round my family jewel box and attached a bucket to the rope. She poured some water in the bucket, which was already rather unpleasant for my boys. But it got worse, because after ten stretching minutes She added more water to the bucket. And more. Man, my balls almost touched my knees! But I praised myself lucky that She didn’t attach weights to my balls this time. The weights in itself are already horrifying, but She loved to kick them about. Ouch!!! They say the feeling of Ball Stretching Weights is totally indescribable. Well, no one’s going to argue with that, that’s for sure.
Yes, yes, whipping, caning, slapping or kicking can be pretty gruesome at times. But they’re not, what I would call, life threatening situations or anything like that. That changes once Mistress starts bagging the bastard. Because you see: people love oxygen and it’s fair to say they’re addicted to it. So depriving a slave from the love of his life is a hazardous business. It’s worse than pain, because all of a sudden it’s a struggle for survival. Your miserable faith is now in Her hands and it’s op to Her to decide whether or not you’ll live to breathe another day. It’s the ultimate form of power, wouldn’t you say. So think about that this week, when you’re putting your groceries in a plastic bag at the supermarket. That everyday and harmless looking bag can be a lethal weapon in the hands of your Mistress. Leaves you breathless, doesn’t it.
Is She a real Goddess? Of course not, you silly boy, do you honestly think She descended from Heaven? Plunged into mother earth like a comet? Of course not, She’s a human being, like you and me. Her friends and family are probably completely unaware of the fact that She whips & canes for a living. They all think She’s a dog trainer, which – when you think about it – is not that far from the truth. She’s only human and so She has Her worries, Her doubts and Her sad moments, like any of us. And every now and then She’s not in the mood to boss you around. Days when She wants you to be a friend more than a slave. But all this doesn’t mean we shouldn’t treat and worship Her like a Goddess, does it? To us She truly is divine and we should always devote ourselves to Her will. Each and every minute of the day and with every breath we take.
Quite unusual really, but Mistress used him as the pendulum of an enormous clock. He was suspended by his feet and several pulleys, levers and chains made his strapped body move from left to right. She had trained him to say ‘tic’ and ‘tac’ with each movement. “That’s his punishment for being late all the time,” She said. As you can see: being a slave is far from easy. Unless you have a pendulum fetish of course. Hanging upside down makes you feel completely helpless and vulnerable. You’re now a piece of meat in a Femdom slaughterhouse, one might say. You can’t move away from the whip, so each stroke counts. And your poor groin and ass are now fully exposed as well, which opens a whole world of opportunities. And misery. But the good news is: you can’t make any embarrassing mistakes or fuck it up otherwise. All you have to do is hang in there.
The difference between the on-all-fours ride and the shoulder-ride is of course speed. The former is like riding a snail, but the latter is about the trot, the canter, about double- and triple obstacles. Going like the wind, with flowing manes, that kind thing. Carrying the weight of beauty on your shoulders, with your head trapped between Her breathtaking legs, how awesome is that! Sure, it’s quite humiliating to run around open planes and fields like that, but at the same time it’s absolutely unforgettable. But marvellous as it may be, it can be an ordeal as well. It all depends on your Mistress. She can use the reigns to pull your head off, squeeze you to death with Her legs because you’re slowing down, or let the riding crop do all the talking. Giddy-up boy!
We beg for this and beg for that, beg for more and beg for less. We beg Her to punish us, and when She’s finally happy to oblige, we will beg Her to stop. That’s a lot of begging, wouldn’t you say? It becomes some sort of beg-ground music….uh…I mean background music (sorry about that). To me begging should be a trump card, only to be used when the tide is high: the I-can’t-take-it-no-more kinda begging. I love that moment, to be honest. When a plea for mercy is not some sort of submissive mantra, but when it comes straight from my heart. Now, I’m not saying I’d love to stare into the abyss of agony all the time; that would be killing for my epidermis. But it’s quite a magical and memorable moment when panic, fear, pain and suffering come together. Nothing makes a Mistress more powerful than during that agonising moment. Will She be merciful? Or will She whip that trump card in two?