I’m a huge fan of Mistress Whiplash, always have been, always will be. Her movies are a snapshot of daily life, moulded in a little story, seasoned with a bit of humour. It’s something you can identify with, because it’s never over the top, never cartoonesque. I’ve collected a lot of Femdom movies over the years, but these are the ones I can watch over and over again. She’s a natural, down to earth and a breath of fresh air in so many ways. And a huge inspiration as well; I often use Her pics and clips whenever I want to write something about the battle of the sexes, schoolgirl-pins, head-scissors etc. But let there be no mistake about it: She knows how to make you suffer. She can dampen the daylights while sitting on your face, make one’s eyes pop out of his head with gorgeous strong legs or kick your balls against the ceiling. Now, that’s the holy trinity of Femdom: a squeeze, a sit & a kick. In short: Mistress Whiplash, one of Britain’s finest!
Take Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603) for example. No, She was not a Dominatrix and yet She had more power than all modern-day Mistresses combined. She was intelligent, strong willed, open to debate, but unforgiving and ruthless to anyone who stood in Her way. As a Swiss visitor observed: “they [the English people] love their Queen, but fear her mightily”. Anyway, one day the earl of Oxford broke wind as he bowed down in front of Her. Mortified, he fled the court immediately and did not return for seven years! Seven years of shame, of self-abuse, of embarrassment. But finally, after seven long years, he was ready to face Her again. As he entered the court, the Queen greeted him cheerfully with the words: “My lord, I had forgotten the fart.” True story. A good sense of humour is an invaluable ingredient between Mistress and slave. Without it, it’s just a grim, desolate and uninhabitable relationship.
Men gave us wars that engulfed entire generations. They gave us money that enslaved millions upon millions. They gave us religion and the justification to conquer, kill, rape and plunder in the name of God. They gave us greed and the license to wipe out life on the planet on an industrial scale. And they gave us the carefully designed myth that Women are inferior. For centuries buying a cow and marrying a Woman meant exactly the same thing: they became the property of a man and he was free to (mist)treat them as he saw fit. I truly hope that one day Women will hold us responsible for all this. It’s no use pointing the finger at presidents, generals and businessmen; we’re all guilty. Because what sacrifices do we really make to promote the Female cause, uh? I believe in collective guilt, because accepting the blame means accepting the consequences and the changes that come with it. Call it a fantasy or a naive idea if you want, but I like to think it’s the hope for tomorrow.
Mistress will take care of you, don’t worry. Should you put on some weight here and there for example, then rest assure: Mistress knows exactly the right thing to do. It’s truly heartwarming to see how She forces you into sit-ups & push-ups (She may even sit on your back to keep you focussed), how She demolishes your biceps and triceps, your shoulders and back (hence the word backbreaking). And it doesn’t stop there, oh no! She will whip the dead skin cells of your back, stimulate the blood circulation between your legs by knocking your balls about and increase your lung capacity by smothering you into dizziness. So no, you silly boy, She doesn’t whip, pummel and thrash you into misery because She wants punish you. Hell no! She does all that to help you, isn’t that sweet? Please remember that the next time She smacks your through the room.
“I deeply apologise,” he sobbed. His arms waved through the air like sails of a windmill. His head was trapped between Her legs and She could clearly see the despair in his eyes. She loved to see him like this, so helpless, so scared. He whimpered: “please don’t choke me to death.” She laughed. “Famous last words, uh?” His eyes nearly popped out of his head as panic drenched his voice: “I will do whatever You want.” She smirked and said: “I know you will, buttercup, but for how long, that’s the question.” He didn’t think (he seldom did, as a matter of fact): “a week!” She frowned and anger slipped into Her eyes. “One stupid week? Are you serious?” He panicked: “a month!” She shook Her head and tapped Her finger on his forehead with each and every word: “do you know what I think, pumpkin? I think you should sleep on it for a while.” She took a squeeze at him and his cries for mercy slipped away into darkness.
No, Perfect Villainess is not just another Smoking Fetish site, it’s much more than that. It’s about Femme Fatales, guns, shiny gloves and dazzling outfits as well. There’s even a touch of Femdom in it, because these Ladies are lethal to the bone. When I was asked to review the site, I promised myself to do a professional job. For once. So I logged in and picked one of Miss Irina’s galleries. Watching Her, pointing a gun at me or blowing smoke in my face was like walking into a knock-out before the bell rang for the first round. My professionalism disappeared without a trace and I never saw it again. I WOW-ed from one gallery to another, like an addict with a limp. Elegant Ladies like Irina, Alice, Eva or Sophie or Letizia (to name a few), will literally take your breath away. Or blow your head off, depending which gallery you’re in. Perfect Villainess opened its doors in January 2015 and has over 22.000 smoking hot pictures (1066×1600 pixels) online right now. More beauty is added once a week. You can either download the pictures separately or go for the zip file. The site is easy to navigate and you can use the tags to find your Fetishes. Easy does it. So visit Perfect Villainess to see more.
“Raising a family became more important than raising My voice, that’s the long and short of it. And everyone told Me it’s a Lady’s prerogative to dismiss a slave upon retirement. So telling the world that we’re natural born dominants, but when push comes to shove it’s all a male fantasy? Come on, Female Supremacy should not be that shallow, we can do better than that. If men really mean that little to us, then why own them in the first place. Call Me over-responsible if you like, but I did it My way. I put a lot of time and effort in organising a slave-auction; wrote a profile of each slave and contacted potential new Owners. The auction itself was inspiring and innovative. All slaves were sold (they had to pay the auction price, needless to say) and so their life in servitude continued. And the slaves? Well, it was hard for them, no question about it, but a good slave will always obey. Besides, the prospect of becoming free and unowned again petrified them to the core. So no, male slavery should not end because we had a change of heart. We have a choice and it’s up to us to do the right thing.”
Mr. Nitty was a grumpy old greengrocer. He loathed his customers, especially the womenfolk. Tit terror, he used to call it. One day he was about to close his shop, when seven Women stormed in. They all wore face-masks, like 18th century robbers. They jelled and screamed and ordered him to kneel down. The sound of their voices was deafening and their face masks scared the bejesus out of him. One of them grabbed an onion and stuffed it in his mouth. “There are a lot of complaints about you, Mister Nitty-Witty, and that has to stop. This is just a warning, next time we’ll shove a cucumber up your ass.” His eyes nearly popped out of his head. God, not my cucumbers, he thought, they are of excellent quality! They slapped him several times and one of them kicked him in the groin. But he got the message alright and he became a very humble and polite man. And so you see; there’s a servant in all of us, all it takes is a bit of encouragement.
The movie was about a Femdom Estate where men were kept as slaves. There was also a castration scene in it, and the film director decided to put my balls on the line. So they cuffed me to the Saint Andrew’s Cross and Mistress Trimmer came in with a sword and a 16″ castrator. Camera’s were rolling as She approached me. She said: “I like My trophies, slave. I’m not going to leave without one.” I must say, I played the panic-stricken victim awfully well and cried: “Please Mistress, I’m really attached to them.” She laughed: “But for how long, uh?” She took my balls in Her hand and juggled them around. “Now, which one do you want to keep: Laurel or Hardy, Tom or Jerry, Dum or Dummer?” I pleaded and begged but She moved the unforgiving jaws of the castrator around my left ball. There was a moment of silence and then the film director shouted: “And…CUT!”
Thank God the Femdom Elections are not about Political Parties, but about choosing the right Ladies for a Femdom Government. According to the latest polls 69.2 percent of the voters opted for The Hunteress to lead the Department for Discipline. What more can an ass ask for, right? Mistress Jo, with a staggering 82.6 percent of the votes, is heading to run the Department for Prisons and Correctional Institutions. Her pets have lobbied and campaigned around the clock and no doubt She will flog them silly in all gratefulness. Mistress Arella is way ahead in the polls as Her Majesty’s Treasury. But She’s also in a neck-and-neck race with Madame Catarina, Mistress Eleise, Mistress Sidonia and at least seven other candidates to become Queen of the Femdom Government. Whatever the outcome, we are exited, thankful and overjoyed. Because a community without a hierarchy is like traveling through space without a TomTom. We need these Women to lead the way, not to the stars perhaps, but to the future.
One of my all-time favourite punishments is, what I like to call the hiding-on-the-backseat punishment. You’re on hands and knees or flat down on your belly, with Mistress sitting on your back, facing your pathetic ass. The full weight of Her authority is pressing down on you and that’s an incredibly sexy feeling. She’s not a happy Lady, though. Not at all! Somewhere, somehow you’ve fucked it up again and She’s ready to give you a piece of Her mind. The hard way, obviously. So She picks up a long, unforgiving paddle and starts beating the drum. It’s not too bad at first, but She keeps going on and on about it, till you wriggle like an eel in a bucket with snot. She’s only getting warmed up, my friend, and you’ll have to carry that weight of beauty and pain for a long, long time. You lucky swine!
My parents quarrelled eight days a week and when they got tired of quarrelling with each other, they quarrelled with me. I was about ten years old when I started writing stories, because it gave me a chance to escape the daily madness. I didn’t move a muscle, but I discovered Atlantis and El Dorado and travelled through space and time. And even at that stage in life, strong and powerful Women played a central role in everything I wrote. I was never submissive in my stories, I fought like a lion, did everything to escape, but the outcome was always the same: I was forced to submit myself to the will of Women. I guess that’s why I love roleplaying so much, because it allows you to say and do things you wouldn’t, couldn’t and certainly shouldn’t do normally. These powerful Women are waiting for you on distant islands, in temples and prisons or just around the corner were you live. Getting there is easy, it only takes one question: what if…