I was beyond tired. My arms and legs were heavy, everything looked out of focus and and I couldn’t talk coherently. “Must go,” I mumbled. I tried to get up, but it was impossible. My ex-Girlfriend didn’t seem particularly worried. On the contrary: She smiled and looked amused. I broke up with Her six months ago and promised Her that we would stay friends. It didn’t work out that way. It rarely ever does. This was my first visit since the break-up. “Take some more wine,” She said and laughed out loud. The dark truth seeped in through the mist: there was something in the wine that dulled my senses and made me drowsy! “No one turns Me down,” She growled. “You’re going to spend the weekend in My dungeon, you little piece of shit. And I promise you your life and dick will never be the same after that.” She grabbed my powerless hands and cuffed me. Words stumbled over my lips: “You c.can’t do tha.at.” She slapped me across the face and said: “In case you didn’t notice, I’m already doing it.”
There’s only one bridge from the mainland to Area 51½ and the far end of the bridge is fenced off. But that doesn’t stop my guide and me from crossing the river in a small boat. Some say the place is haunted, others say it’s a UFO hotspot. But my guide assures me it’s a Femdom Area. He’s probably as mad as a hatter, because there’s nothing there. No roads, no villages, nothing but wilderness. But then, after several backbreaking hours, we reach the top of a steep hill. Down below us in the valley are several buildings. The place is buzzing with workers and chopping, hammering and sawing sounds fill the air. The area is guarded by booted Women, many of them with male dogs on a leash. This is going to be the first Femdom City in the world, my guide tells me. I am more than willing to believe him now, so I will say goodbye to my friends tonight and return to the building site tomorrow. I will surrender myself to these Ladies and work my ass off for them. Because I’m no longer interested in today, I want to be part of tomorrow.
The doorbell rang at two in the afternoon. It was a hot summer’s day and there was not a worry in sight. I opened the door and came face to face with an incoming fist that sent me back to where I came from. I landend on my back and three seconds later a blonde nymph sat down on my chest and jammed the barrel of a gun in my mouth. I almost choked, but She forced the gun deeper into my throat. There’s no way She could have heard my dick slither and slide through my pants. And yet, She looked over Her shoulder and put Her hand on my groin. “Well, well, someone’s enjoying himself down here.” She stared down into my eyes. “You love powerful Women?” I moaned some sort of yes. She smiled and pulled the gun from my mouth: “Any last wishes?” My voice wavered: “A long and happy life?” She shoved the barrel back in my mouth. Her eyes were cold, Her smile was deadly: “Nah, won’t do.”
I came to work at Uptown Alley in 1843, when I was fourteen years old. There were cooks and under cooks, butlers and under butlers, valets and boot boys, a ground- house and gatekeeper, 1st and 2nd footmen and many others. The estate was owned by the Severus sisters: Athena, Bellona, Andraste and Victoria. They ran the place with an iron fist. But was it not Mrs. Beeton who said: “The functions of the Mistress resemble those of the general of an army or the manager of a great business concern.” I will never forget my place, but in my hearts of hearts I worship them. I would fight a violent mob or walk through fire for them. They are so strict and elegant, so understanding and unforgiving. They’re Angels from the heavens above and they give meaning to my life. No doubt I will serve them till I die. I just wished I could be here forever. But long after I’m gone I will be born again, in a different time and a different life. Then I will write about the wonderful life they’ve given me. Not on paper, no. But on something new that connects people from all over the world. John – October 1892.
A Vampire party in Hoia Baciu Forest, the most haunted forest in the world, how cool is that! There’s a magnificent underground palace over there, with long corridors and candlelit rooms. It was an exclusive party, with 50 neatly dressed guys and 12 beautiful Ladies, armed with impressive fangs. We had a lovely time and we all counted down to midnight. Then, exactly on the stroke of midnight, the Ladies attacked the guy standing next to them. Bodies twisted and jolted and there was blood everywhere. The special effects were awesome, how on earth did they do that! It was a performance worthy of an Oscar. But then I heard terrifying screams of pain and everyone fled the room. Then it dawned on me. These Women were not going for the Oscar, they were going for the kill! I ran into the adjoining room, but one of the Women appeared out of nowhere and threw me on the floor. She landed on top of me and held me down with Her body. “Please, make me Your slave forever,” I begged, “I’m willing to die for You.” She made a hissing sound and showed me Her terrifying fangs: “How can a Girl say no to that.”
There were seven Rembrandt’s with tits waiting for me at the atelier. They told me to take off my clothes and then they tied my hands behind my back. That was a bit awkward and I looked at Eve, but She gave me the oopsy-daisy-forgot-to-mention kinda look. Once my hands were tied, things went downhill rapidly. They clamped my nipples and gagged me. My ankles went in a spreader and my testicles in a humbler. Picasso’s Fiasco, so to speak. I stood there for hours and was not allowed to move an inch. “Move one more time and I will cut off your ear,” one of the Van Gogh’s said. They painted as if Sotheby’s was waiting for them. They took a lot of pictures as well. “You will model for us for as long as we want, or you will go viral on the Internet,” they said. I wasn’t in the best position to argue, so I kept my gag shut. I’m not an idiot, you know. “You’re such an idiot,” Eve said and took another picture.
The place was packed to the rafters and the atmosphere was intens. It was a boneyard really, because we all walked about with an enormous boner in our trousers. We screamed and cheered like schoolgirls when Brutallica finally entered the stage. Man, they looked so hot in their leather outfits and boots. The first song was Anus Volcanos, followed by awesome hits like: Whipped Scream, Rubberella and Groin Down The River. We jumped up and down like frogs on a hot plate, it was magnificent. Halfway the concert four lucky bastards were pulled out of the audience to join Brutallica on stage. The Girls didn’t beat around the bush and immediately started beating the crap out of them. Stretchers came and went and one of the knuckleheads was hoisted into the air by his ankles. He hung upside down like a hunting trophy. The band played on: Fresh Meat, Bullwhip Blues and Foot In Snout. After three encores they positioned themselves right in front of the crowd and started pissing all over them. I managed to touch one of their boots and I haven’t washed my hand ever since.
Why I took the job? Three reasons: I was broke, homeless and hungry. And then She came along, with Her soft voice and deep blue eyes. She was so understanding, so patient. She offered me this job and told me She would take care of me. And I? I fell for it hook, line and sinker. The first months were a nightmare, a hellish nightmare of pain and suffering. Because She believes in strict discipline and She can make me beg and cry for mercy. She’s the Countess of countless punishments and She expects to be obeyed at all times. Serving Her is a fulltime job and She doesn’t do weekends or holidays. But you know what? There’s an incredible beauty in this brutality, a beauty I’ve never experienced before. It took me a long time to see it, but now that I do I can’t live without it. I am perhaps a victim of Her beauty, a prisoner of pain, but She gives meaning to my life. This is what I was born to do.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.”
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.
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.”
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.
“Item no. 43 says he will serve a Lady when he’s in the mood for it. Now, we can’t have that, Ladies. So who’s in the mood to flog him silly. Do I hear 100 lashes? 100 lashes bid, 125 – 150 – now 175, now 175, will you give Me 175? You Madame? No? Going once, going twice, sold for 150 lashes.” There’s a baldheaded slave sitting in front of Her and She knocks the gavel on his head. “Item no. 44 is a disturbing lot. A male pig, because he’s telling porkies all the time. Moreover he’s lazy, sloppy and has a tendency of being late. This item needs a firm hand and a merciless attitude. Do I hear 200 strokes with the cane? 200 strokes bid, 250, 300, now 350, 400, 450, now 500, now 500, will you give Me 500? Thank you, 500 bid, 550 on My left, now 600, 600 on the front row here, now 650, now 650, will you give Me 650? Anyone? 650? Going, going, gone for 600 strokes.” The gavel hammers down on the slave’s head and echo’s of emptiness resonate through the room. You see, that’s how simple Femdom should be.
“The difficulty with dominant Women is, Your Honor, that they contradict themselves. According to them a man is a brainless dick at best. Pardon my French, Your Honor. And yet they want these men to be excellent gardeners, cleaners, cooks, chauffeurs as well. Now, one can’t be both, Your Honor, one can’t be a microbe and a nerd at the same time. These Ladies are searching for gold in a pile of shit. Pardon my Stench…I mean French, Your Honor. Yes, the accused agreed to do the job. However, not because he had the necessary skills, but because he feared another punishment. There’s only so much an ass can take, Your Honor, and this asshole could take no more. His Lady ordered him to renew the bathroom, not to demolish the house in the process. Which he did. The accused feels very bad about that and is willing to pay for the damage. But a public flogging, as the aggrieved demands, is a Medieval outrage.” Judge Lady Noose agreed, the accused had to pay for the damage, but was not to be flogged in public. The lawyer however was fined $5000 for being a smart-ass. He objected furiously and told the judge it was ridiculous. Again She agreed and fined him for $10.000.
“So you visit a Lady’s wish-list and choose-click-buy. That’s not my definition of making an effort, slaves. That’s buying your way out. Surely there’s more to slavery than that! So you will go on a Femdom Pilgrimage, covering 280 kilometers in seven days. No, I’m not talking about bunch of guys dressed in shackles and chains, scaring the bejesus out of villagers and squirrels alike. Femdom already succumbs under the weight of being all about Porn, so please let’s not make it worse than it already is. Your pilgrimage is about dignity and pride, about penance and homage. We want it to go viral on social media, not in an embarrassing way, but in a dignified and positive way. Easy then? Not so much, slaves. Because you’ll be wearing a hair shirt underneath your clothes. A shirt made of sack cloth that’ll chafe your flesh to bits. So there’s something in it for all: you’re paying homage to superior Women, and at the same time, unseen to onlookers, you’re truly suffering the distance.”
“I could be the bartender, Milady,” I suggested. She smirked and said: “You’re a bit to clumsy for that, wouldn’t you say, slave? On the other hand…” And there I was, on the floor, cocooned in ropes, with a funnel in my mouth. Milady had made it very clear that under no circumstances I was allowed to drop the funnel or spill a drop. There were 20 Ladies that night and they all needed a pee from time to time. Some of them came back to flush the funnel over and over again, like high-heeled waterfalls. My jaws began to ace after a while, but I hang in there with the skin of my teeth. All these Golden Delicious Showers, it was a soaking wet humiliation made in heaven. There was only one downside as far as I was concerned: they kept taking a piss at me for hours on end and finally my bladder was about to burst. I needed a pee.
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.
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?”
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 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.