The annual fair is a Women Only kinda thing, you know. God knows what they do in there, but they come from all over the country, so it must be something special. So I was really rattled when Milady took me there on the opening day. Man, I’ve never seen so many Women in one place, terribly intimidating! Milady had me collared and leashed and dragged me through an ocean of breasts. I began to hear loud voices. “Rotten tomatoes, get your toma-throws!” And: “Ding Dung! Fresh dung, get your bucket full!” Another voice cried: “Spit-on-da-Spot, only tuppence.” And: “Pee-n-a-Bottle, get your pee-ee-ee.” Milady took me to a pillory and ordered me to place my head & hands in there. She locked it with a padlock, grabbed a microphone and said: “Well Ladies, as you can see: the future has arrived! This creature will be on display for the next three days. Let’s show him what the annual fair is all about, shall we?”
It sounds almost idyllic, doesn’t it. Like a lovely Asian Garden where people meditate in peace. Yeah well, screw all that: the lotus lock is in fact an extremely painful hold. True story: it was summer and my former Girlfriend and I were sunbathing in the park. I can’t remember what I said, but it must have been something cheeky, because seconds later She was sitting on my back, holding me in a lotus lock. I didn’t ask for mercy, I screamed on top of my lungs. I’m sure everyone within a 25 mile radius heard me. Because I was genuinely scared She would dislocate my arms without realising it. Thankfully She loosened Her grip a bit and laughed: “Quite comfortable, isn’t it?” HELL NO!! “Yes, yes,” I whimpered. She kept me in this agonising position for half an hour, forcing me to beg, graze like a cow and She even “persuaded” me to sing a song. Which turned out to be far more effective than any rain dance, by the way. How She loved to be in pole position! God knows why I didn’t ask Her to marry me there and then.
There are so many businesswomen, so I truly hope it’s just a matter of time before one of them sees the potential of employing 24/7 submissive men. Dedicated and loyal men who’re willing to work long hours for a minimum wage. No motivational sessions, no one-on-one talks about work ethics or personal perils, no time-consuming meetings, no monthlong holidays, no expensive workshops to keep the workforce happy. Just take a look at the pics of Mistress Eleise de Lacy (Femme Fatale Films) for example. Even of you don’t have any imagination at all; Her pictures are worth a thousand words. She may well be a natural born dominant, but She’s a natural born office manager as well! I for one would immediately apply for a job at a Female-Led-Company and sign each (blank) paper that they put in front of me. And please don’t tell me I’m alone in this. So forgive me for being so impatient; but what on earth are these Women waiting for?
No, it’s not there, but it should be there: the perfect Chinese restaurant. Picture the scene: you’re still unowned, so Wip-Ling-Dic (or something like that) is the answer to all your submissive prayers. You go there at least once a week, because you’re always hungry for more. When it’s your turn you say: “Can I have a Fu-Yung-Hai and a whipping, please?” One of the Girls takes you downstairs where some of the most gorgeous Asian Ladies are waiting for you. Booted, leathered up, skilled, ruthless pearls of the Orient. They will greet, cuff and whip you to smithereens. No way in the world you’re gonna ask them to stop, because suffering for them is the ultimate reward. After the beating they’ll hand you your food and you disappear into the lazy Sunday afternoon. But you’ll be back, this was certainly not a Fu-Yung-Bye.
There is a similarity, I think, between NASA scientists and unowned slaves. The former is searching for life in the universe, the latter is searching for dominant life on planet earth. The difference between the two is that NASA claims it will find alien life within the next ten to twenty years, while most slaves are forced to wander through the wilderness alone and unowned till Kingdom come. They have to settle for Femdom scraps, little bits and pieces that brighten up a submissive day. An arrogant look, a pair of lovely boots, a bitchy remark, a cheeky joke; anything will do. These insignificant moments set in motion a chain of thoughts and dreams that propels them to other worlds, far away in the galaxy, where Women rule and men are slaves. So maybe we should put our submissive faith in NASA, because who knows what matriarchal surprises the universe has in store for us.
The party was in full swing and we had to scream to make ourselves heard. Not the best place for a cosy conversation, but we tried. At one point Ingrid told me Her mother was a vegetarian. That was still quite rare in those days, so I said I’d love to meet Her mom. She raised an eyebrow or two and said: “Really? Didn’t know you were into that.” Two days later I went home with Her. Her mother looked at me from head to toe and walked around me like a shark with an appetite. Which was a bit strange for a vegetarian, I thought. Her father had a very sad look on his face. He shook my hand and whispered: “I admire your courage.” He sat down again, very carefully and with great difficulty, as if his ass was on fire. “Haemorrhoids, sir?”, I asked sympathetically. They took me upstairs and Her mother told me to take off my pants. I began to realise something was amiss, but I didn’t want to look like an idiot, so I dropped my pants as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her mother gave me a long, painful and merciless beating. Halfway the ordeal I looked at Ingrid and whimpered: “Disciplinarian, not vegetarian.”
I write extensively about my ancestors (on a different site), honouring each of them with a personal page that tells the story of their life. Some were rich, others ended up in the workhouse, some went to prison (for petty thieving mostly), one was send to the gallows. One brother joined Napoleon’s Grand Armée and died during the retreat from Moscow in 1812, the other brother fought against Napoleon at Waterloo. Quite a few emigrated to America and some of my ancestors became famous, like the well-known spy Mata Hari. So cool to be related to Her!! But I often wonder, as I go through their stories, if somewhere, somehow Female Domination played a role in their life as well. Because Femdom is not new, you’ll find traces of it in books, manuscripts and diaries throughout history. As Thomas Platter wrote in 1599: The good [English] wives often beat their men. And as Susan Brockway stated in 1725: “He gave Mary Gardner money to fetch a penny-worth of rods, [..] for us to whip him to make him a good boy.” So who knows, maybe I’m not the first to embrace the superiority of Women, maybe it’s a family tradition.
I hate my birthdays and celebrating that I’m a year (c)older has never been my thing. One birthday Eve invited me to have some tea with Her in a coffeeshop. I saw no harm in that, we’d been friends for years and she knew my story, birthdays and Femdom included. It was awfully crowded in there, but we managed to squeeze in and had a lovely chat together. And then, after 15 minutes or so, the whole place went deadly quiet. You could hear a pin drop. I looked around me and realised I was the only bloke in there. The Women were all staring at me and then they got up from their seats. It was all very surreal. Hands grabbed me and dragged me to a room behind the shop. They threw me down on the floor and started kicking the crap out of me. Man, they gave me the kicking of a lifetime! Then they stopped and sang “He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” for me. “Happy Birth-kicks,” Eve smiled, “hope you like your present.”
Victoria Saliva is without doubt one of the most famous spitting Ladies around, so I didn’t hesitate when I saw Her mouthwatering ad the other day. I mean: a Spit-In, that was truly a wet dream come true! So I travelled to Spit-alfields in London to meet Her at last. There were over thirty saliva slaves waiting in line, all ready to pay the hefty fee to get in. 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. Grand Cru Spit, priceless and addictive! Lady Saliva also played a Spit-Snap game with us. She sprinkled Her spit randomly around and it was our task to catch it with our mouth before it splashed onto the floor. A guy from Northumberland (or: North-humble-land, as he used to say) won the contest and got a free Saliva Shower. Well, it was more a flood, to be honest. Hence Her nickname: Victoria Falls.
I wore heavy shackles and was carried through the streets in an open cart. A great mass of people had gathered, some of them leaning out of windows, from rooftops, and standing on each other’s shoulders. They were shouting and raised their fists at me. It took us more than five hours to reach the old prison. They dragged me inside where I was forced to stand on a platform in front of the Female Prison Guards. “This creature,” one of them said, “is also known as fuckfemdom and he’s the brainchild behind the notorious anti-Femdom blog called FemDamn. He will be flogged thrice a day and put to hard labour.” They brought me to a room where one of the guards shaved my head. They took my hair, but with it my dignity as well, because I felt naked, exposed and utterly humiliated. I looked like a bowling ball with ears, it was horrible. But worse, far worse, was to follow. I had challenged the Superiority of Women and lost. Not only did they capture, expose and imprison me, they were about to make my life a misery as well.
August 2016: “This is mistress Elise also known as Chacha. Thank you all for your concern. I appreciate those who used to follow my clip store would like answers. Last May I tragically lost my fiancé and wasn’t able to work for many months. I won’t go into detail but due to the circumstances I decided to have all of my content taken down from the Internet. I wanted people to respect this instead of posting my clips on free sites. I left my modelling site up as that’s a part of my life that everyone knew about. Only certain people knew about my domination and that’s the way I wanted to keep it, however, people can be extremely disloyal nowadays and shared my business with others. A few months ago I decided I missed what I enjoyed and did best, which was being a dominatrix, so I decided to return back to private sessions only. I am asking now that people have understanding of this tragic event in my life and respect my wishes to not be spread over the Internet. If you would like to contact me for a private session my email address is firstname.lastname@example.org. If you just want to be nosey then you have your answers now so please leave it there.” Mistress Elise.
Ass worship and ass-cleaning are two very different things, as far as I’m concerned. The former is about devotion, the latter about maintenance. Admiring the night sky or travelling into deep space, that kinda thing. Now, most of us love the idea of having to worship a Lady’s gluteus maximus. Going backstage, so to speak. Becoming a derrière devotee, a back end boy. However, becoming a brownnose is certainly not everyone’s cup of tea. That’s why some slaves dread the arse, buttocks, fundament, rear, tail, can, behind, bum. Because it’s such a thin, thin line between worshipping and cleaning the whoopie cakes, you know. It all depends on the amount of toiletpaper in the house. Most Mistress want you to dig in and stop whining about it. They honestly don’t give a shit.