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…
He had a wonderful night with his foreign colleagues and some of them joined him in his hotel room later on, where they drank a lot of water. Or was it Vodka? Anyway, they drank it like water. He was now sitting behind the little desk, trying to survive the unbearable daylight. There was a knock on the door and the maid entered. “What a terrible mess,” She snapped. He almost laughed, but his headache told him not to. He got up from his chair and was just about to say something uplifting, when She slapped him brutally hard in his face. His knees buckled and his head almost exploded. “What the f-” She second slap was even harder and he staggered through the room. “You’ve got one hour to clean it up,” She hissed. She kicked him in the groin and down he went. He lay sobbing on the floor as She grabbed his hear and pulled his head back violently. “I don’t need whips, canes or ropes to make you obey, you little piece of shit. I tear you apart with my bare hands.” Maid in Heaven, you see.
Sounds stupid I guess, but I shrink to the size of a mouse whenever I see a fetish nun’s outfit. Sadly enough I’ve never met one in real life, which is an unforgivable sin in itself, I would say. Thank God my dirty mind is a joy forever, so there She is: a beautiful nun in a long, shiny habit. She has ordered me to come to Her Chapel of Pain for confession twice a month. She’s so sereen and understanding and Her soft voice encourages me to confess to everything. And I do! After confession comes pain, because only through suffering comes absolution, She says. Sister Mercy punishes without, and the pain is almost unbearable. But my screams and cries are a song of Solomon to Her and my tears are merely living proof of a sinful life. I’m down on my knees in front of Her, sobbing, shivering and covered with marks. She orders me to kiss the hand that punished me and I worship it like a holy relic. She’s a divine Angel, She really is. Ah, if only….
It was late, the streets were deserted and I walked as fast as I could. And then, out of the blue really, these Women were all over me. Two minutes later I sat on the pavement with my hands cuffed behind my back. Three Female Cops looked down on me and I must say their shiny uniforms caused an all rise event between my legs. Now, I’m rather pathetic when it comes down to uniforms. Putting on a nurse uniform doesn’t make you a nurse, they say. But somehow I fail to see that. Santa Claus has that same effect on me. I know it’s Fred, the guy living at 67-C, but with his suit and beard he really is Santa Claus. So to me these Girls were real cops and they could arrest, interrogate or imprison me. In this case they fined me for speeding. Which was ridiculous, because I was on foot! But I was way too intimidated to go into that. So they dragged me to a cash-machine, took my wallet and my card out and ordered me to give them the pin code. I obeyed without hesitation and ended up paying $500 for race-walking. Don’t let it happen again they said and disappeared into the night.
She wants you to go twice a year, because She cares for your health, She says. Which is rather odd, because She’s bashing your brains in on a daily basis and almost skins you alive with Her bullwhip. That however, stimulates the blood circulation, She says. She’s funny, what can I say. Going to the Clinic isn’t though. Them bloody nurses will turn you inside out and your dick, balls and nipples are in constant danger. They’ll also be drilling down your anus with terrifying interments. It’s an ass for goodness sake, not a copper mine! Screaming for mercy doesn’t help; it delights them. Yeah, a nurse uniform humbles & crumbles and it makes you feel like a duck in a medical shooting gallery. The last time you left the Clinic with bowed legs and a fucked up scrotum. That’s not healthy, is it? If anything, it’s a one way ticket to Lourdes.