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…