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’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.
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.
Mistress likes Her walks and last summer She took me on a never-ending marathon through the highlands. It was bloody hot and I honestly thought I would melt along the way. After hours and hours She finally decided to sit down for a while. She drank Her water by the gallon, but She didn’t even allow me to have a sip. She saw my agony and said: “Poor slave, you look thirsty. Come here, indulge yourself.” She didn’t gave me the water bottle though, She showed me Her armpit. I didn’t hesitate and went for it like a dehydrated St. Bernard. Her hot burning sweat tasted salty, but at the same time it was enormously refreshing. I took a long drink and emerged from Her armpit as new. She’s born near Lourdes, what can I say.
“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.
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.
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.