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.