Femdom Daily

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Femdom Daily
It’s six o’clock in the morning and we servants gather in the hall. Lady Emma rarely gets out of bed before 09:30, but here we are, at this godforsaken hour, just in case an early-morning-miracle happens. We are all naked, because, as Lady Emma so elegantly puts it- pigs don’t wear pants. Well, you can’t argue with that, can you.
This cottage , Hänsel said, is made of chocolate and biscuits . He broke off a bit of the roof and took an enormous bite. A horrifying cracking sound followed. Well, that’s one way of losing your baby teeth , Gretel said. The cottage door opened and a Witch came out. Man, She was a knockout! Hänsel’s dick rose to the occasion and was ready to launch itself in orbit around the moon. We’re a bit lost , he quikly said, spitting molars in the process. The Witch licked Her lips like a predator looking at her prey. Come in, She said, with a serpentine smile, all will be hell …. oops, I am so sorry, I mean: well. All will be well, that’s the spirit! Hänsel took Gretel by the hand and they went in. There was a large cage in the room.
She left him for his best friend. Ouch! Then, without batting an eyelid, She came to the house to divide the things they owned. Really, was there no limit to Her wickedness! He opened his mouth to give Her piece of his mind, but his words never saw the light of the day. Because She took Her jacket off and he saw Her mouthwatering, dick-ticking, mind-boggling shiny blouse. Years ago he had told Her about his fetish for shiny clothes. She had not taken it very well, to say the least, and had given him the telephone number of a psychiatrist. And now this!!! I want to split things up fairly between us, She said with Her non-negotiable voice, so 98% for Me, 2% for you. I get the assets, you get the debts. It’s that simple. I’m not the one with a tiny penis, Fred, so don’t give Me that look or I’ll run you over in the parking lot. Her voice sounded far away and he couldn’t hear half of what She said. Please let my eyes feast a little longer, he thought, before She walks away for good. He couldn’t stop staring at Her dazzling blouse and he didn’t notice the growing stain in his pants. She did, of course. He was so easy to manipulate, She thought, and She almost felt sorry for him.
The sky was completely dark and in front of me were six fiery pits, filled with hundreds of thousands of naked men, many of whom were weeping and gnashing their teeth.
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WOMEN RULE – ANYTIME, ANYPLACE, ANYWHERE
I started out as a boot-boy at Ingrid’s Boot Boutique (aka Ingrid’s Bootique) in Booth Lane, London. I loved every second of it, because, you know, Ladies boots are just beautiful. Then Madame Sandra opened a new shop, called the Triple-S Shop (aka the Shoe Shine Shop), in Shoe Lane, London. Boots in Booth Lane and shoes in Shoe Lane, I mean, what are the odds, right? Shortly after the opening of the Triple-S Shop, Lady Ingrid gave me the boot and handed me over to Madame Sandra for free. For FREE! I mean …. really? So I became one of Madame Sandra’s shoeshiners and I have been slaving for Her ever since. The shop is lovely, with five boxes (aka shoeboxes) on each side. We, the Shoe-Shine-Slaves that is, wear a pink uniform with the Triple-S logo on the front. And back. Each slave has a shoe cleaning box with shoe polishes and different brushes. And let’s not forget our tongue, which is always in demand with the customers. We work eight hours a day, six days a week. And that’s a lot of tongue and an awful lot of saliva, believe me! Madame Sandra is strict, demanding and not easily satisfied. Patience and empathy are not, I repeat NOT, Her strong suit. But you can say the same thing about the customers, I guess. Strange but true, Women have a short fuse when it comes to shoe cleaning. And make no mistake: they will let you know (and feel) when they are not satisfied. Still, licking these gorgeous shoes while being spanked on the bottom is quite an addictive cocktail. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Shoeshine Bob
One day Eve came up to me and challenged me to a fight. She was the first, and as it turned out, the only Girl to ever do so. I was a bit lost for words at first, but then it dawned on me. I was the strongest boy in the class and She was a judoka (and a fine one from what I heard), so somehow it made sense. I accepted the challenge and we went to the nearby park, with several classmates following close behind. The first to win five games would be champion. I wasn’t worried or anxious, but I took the fight seriously. This was about prestige and I was not planning on handing out any gifts. And yet She took me by surprise in the first two rounds. Within minutes I was 2-0 down (a vicious arm-bar and a brutal rear choke). I won the third by twisting Her arm behind Her back. Yes! I was back in business! In the fourth She threw me to the ground, wrapped Her arm around my neck and pinned me down. It felt like I was stuck in concrete and was forced to tap out. I was 3-1 down and my classmates cheered and clapped. The bastards. Next I managed to throw Her to the ground and land on top of Her. This was going to be easy! But then She wrapped Her legs around my torso and clasped Her ankles together. Like getting strangled by a two-legged python. I tried to fight myself out of Her grip, but She was too strong. I was forced to tap out and everyone was cheering Her. She smiled triumphantly. In the sixth I landed on my back and She pinned me down- and decided the match- in a classic schoolgirl-pin. She beat me 5-1 and in front of my classmates. Ouch! I was no longer the strongest kid in the class, nor would I ever be again.
I’m confident in the belief that there is truly such a thing as living again, and that the living spring from the dead Plato
The truth of the matter is, Her habit opens my floodgates of submission, simple as that. On a Biblical scale, one might say, and it gives Her a level of power that is not from this world. So I’ve been going to confession for ten years now. Twice a month, like clockwork. She wants it that way. It makes perfect sense, though, because I have a dirty mind (which is a joy forever, by the way) so it adds up pretty quickly over the course of time. I don’t know much about Her, to be honest. Don’t know if She’s married, don’t know is She has children or not, don’t even know Her name. She calls Herself Sister Mercy, but that’s not Her real name, is it? And yet, this mysterious Lady controls my bankaccount, my chastity dick, my career and what not. She puts me in a hypnotic trance and I am powerless to disobey Her. She never raises Her voice, only the rod. Oh yes! She strongly believes in penance & pain and She will stop at nothing to tame the beast inside me. She’s an Angel, be it a brutal one. I’m grateful for Her help, I really am, and my ass is grateful it has a fortnight to recover. One thing though …. She’s very open about the sins of lust and always wants to know if I fantasised about Her. It may sound strange, but I find it difficult to talk about such things in front of a nun. Although She is no more a nun, than I am a priest, of course. I’m not that naive. But to me She is, and always will be, a Divine creature from a Higher Dimension.
In spite of the successful Female Uprising and the crushing defeat of the male armies in the battle at Kohi Tra, there are still male creatures who are in denial of what happened. Villains who still believe this is a man’s world and who see themselves as heroes and demigods. They are clearly suffering from mental health illnesses and fantasy disorders. We, Superior Women, have a duty of care towards these delusional creatures. So we arrest them and take them to Bethlem Hall, the most notorious asylum in the land. Easy to get in, hard to get out, because it is not for the male patient to decide when to get discharged. No sir! Some of them will be detained indefinitely. I know, I know, some people say these men need a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, a willing ear and a few kind words. Yeah, screw all that, it’s not a nursing home, for God’s sake! The Bethlem Bitches are not interested in boring stories and lame excuses. Trust Me, they’ve heard it all before. Instead of giving compassion and empathy, they give the bastards shock therapy. Voltage fun! Electro wands, stimulators, electro penis bands & pads, electro clamps and even electro urethral sounds that go all the way up the penis and boils the testicles like eggs. But here is the remarkable thing: some of these weirdos love it! Crying for mercy with a rock hard penis is quite a common thing, I was told. April 2117 – Dorothy Messing: Behind the Walls of Bethlem Hall
The Femdom Fair is a classic fair with bumper cars, a Ferris wheel, a roller coaster, a carousel and all the other stuff. There’s a yummy, yummy candy floss machine, a popcorn cart and the ice-cream stand is just opposite the You-Scream tent. Oh yes, besides the classic rides and attractions, there’s a lot Femdom-themed stuff to enjoy as well. There’s a Slap-the-Chap for example, a Saliva-Sucker , a Whip-the-Wimp and a Coconut-Cry , where Ladies throw coconuts at a man’s nuts. Testicles are very popular at the fair, always have been, always will be. So there’s a Kick-a-Dick as well, a Balls-in-a-Bucket , a Pluck-the-Cock and a Whack-the-Wanker . But the mother of all miseries is of course the Yodel-Ay-Ee-Ooo Striker , where Women hit a man’s scrotum with a classic mallet. When the testicles hit each other, they produce a distinctive high-pitched sound of castrates in the making. Absolutely hysterical! And a fair is not a fair without animals, of course. So there’s a Dogs-Obstacle-Course , a Human-Horse-Race , a Pig-on-the-Spit , a Slam-the-Snout and there’s even a replica of a Ducking Stool . That contraption has nothing to do with Donald Duck, or any other duck or animal for that matter, but it’s awesome to watch! There’s really something for everyone to enjoy: a Cripple-Nipple , a Choke-a-Bloke , a Slave-Shooting-Gallery (recreational guns of course) and did I already mention the Human-Cannonballs ? Their screams, fading away into the distance; so hilarious! So, if you want to have a g-r-r-r-r-eat time, come join us at the Femdom Fair!
O, thee foolish and blindeth men Thee disobedient and rebellious servants Thee shall be damned to eternal flames of pain
Sasha started working for us on a Monday morning and Her desk was opposite mine. She was beautiful in a mysterious way and there was definitely something dangerous lurking behind Her smile. Then we shook hands and I literally fell in love with Her in a matter of seconds. It felt like being pushed off a cliff, it really did. I think She knew, there and then, what a weakling I was and how easy it would be to make me dance to Her tune. She didn’t hesitate and within hours She had me on a short leash. She knew exactly what to say to push my buttons and it was impossible to refuse Her anything. If I tried She would pout and make me feel guilty. I worked late to finish Her work, lied for Her, bought Her clothes and paid Her rent. I even fumbled with Her assessments so She would get a raise. Sometimes She humiliated me, be it in a playful way, in front of our colleagues. Asking me if I would do anything for Her. Telling them I was such an obedient boy. She quit Her job within a year. I felt gutted, but luckily it didn’t mean the end of our friendship. At least that’s what I thought. But on Her last day of work She looked at me with cold eyes and said: Before you ask, I’m not interested in keeping in touch with you. You are boring. All this happened many years ago, but I still remember the smell of Her perfume, still hear the echoes of Her voice. In case you’re wondering if you ever met a Femme Fatale; trust me, you would know. Because you’ll never forget.
Claudio Assholio is, as we all know, one of the most influential Fetish Sound Artists in history. His first album, called Knee Boots , was released on LP and cassette in 1981. The sound of approaching boots (side A), getting louder and louder, versus the sound of retreating boots (side B), fading into the distance, would be his hallmark for years to come. Red Boots was released in 1984, followed by White Boots in 1986. Same concept, different boots. But the breakthrough came with the release of the album Black Boots (on LP and CD) in 1993, which sold over 35 million copies worldwide. Then the boots were taken off (the single No Boots was released in the summer of 1994) and feet emerged. The CD Feet First was released in 1999, Cold Feet in 2000 and Tired Feet was released three years later. Silent Feet, Holy Feet came out in November 2008 and is still considered to be one of the greatest Christmas sounds albums of all time. Assholio’s first Face-Slapping album, called Slap Happy , marked the beginning of a new phase and a new sound with slaps on the left- (side A) and slaps on the right cheek (side B). Bitch-Slap followed in 2013 and sold over 28 million copies. His latest album will be released early next year and is all about kneeing men in the groin. The double album is called Wounded Knee . He may be an asshole, but he’s a fucking legend, man.
You wanted to meet, greet and obey an Asian Mistress, even if it was just once, even if it was only for one or two hours. It was, you said, what you’d been dreaming of for so long. Usually there’s a huge discrepancy between what men say, what they are and what they do, but you flew all the way to Asia to meet Me. So eager and I hadn’t even trained you yet! Your eyes almost drowned in submission and you obeyed willingly, passionately and zealously. But I’m more dangerous than quicksand; did no one ever tell you that? I’m seductive and irresistible, mesmerizing and intoxicating, immoral and destructive. You can not simply hire Me for one or tho hours and then toss Me aside like a piece of garbage! Who do you think you are? Or better said: what do you think I am? So … I’m going to train you vigorously, mercilessly and relentlessly. You will breathe only for Me and you’ll rather die than disobey Me. Don’t worry, I’m highly experienced and utterly ruthless. I could make a T-Rex eat from my hand like a kitten, so you are no challenge for Me. I honestly don’t care where you live, what you do and what you’re material status is; you’re Mine and from now on I will be in your dreams, thoughts, fantasies and nightmares. Twenty-four seven.
Nostradamus stared into water for hours on end and saw the future. Bit weird, but there you go. Now, I for one am very interested if and when I’m going to be bossed around again. So I took a bowl of water and tried it myself. It didn’t work. If anything the water made me want to pee. So I turned to the next best thing and stared at my dick for six hours straight. Man, what an apparatus; what a friend to have on a cold and lonely night! That said, my ding-a-ling turned out to be a lousy glass ball, because it held no prophecies concerning kicks, slaps, spits, whips, canes, cages or what not. I turned to reading tealeaves instead. Put the tealeaves in a cup, poured some hot water, swirled it three times while singing “Tea for Two” and studied the contents intensely. Nothing. To me the leaves looked like squashed ants and clearly there is no future in that. Next I consulted a fortune teller. Cost me a small fortune but he couldn’t tell me anything exciting about my future. Then I drove nine hours straight and read the palm of my hand underneath a palm tree. You know, hoping it would bring good luck. It didn’t. All I saw was a lot of sweat and a small splinter. It was all very disappointing. So! Not at the mercy of a Lady anytime soon, but at the mercy of time once again.
My name is Flint and I’m the founder of the Sydney Self-Flagellation Society . Because, you know, the Internet is choc-a-bloc with brats nowadays. Girls in their twenties who talk, act and think like five year olds: it’s bonkers and definitely not my cup of pee (aka tea). So yeah, it’s hard to find a decent Mistress nowadays, mate. And we have needs too, you know. I personally don’t give a toss about cuddles, comforting arms or listening ears. I do, however, love a fine whipping from time to time. Which is easier said than done without a skilled Mistress to do the honours. So I came up with the idea of self-flagellation. It’s cheap, you don’t have to wait in line and you’re not dependent on others to make you happy. Makes your dick tick like a rocket on a launchpad, doesn’t it, fella? Sure thing! Now, our Self-Flagellation season runs from April to October, when the members (more than 200) meet each Friday evening here in the main hall. We offer talks, demonstrations, games and what not. The highlight of the evening is, of course, when everyone whips himself into a frenzy. I know, without Women it’s all a bit higgledy-piggledy perhaps, but it’s better than nothing, right? So join us if you live in the area, mate. You’re more than welcome!
More often than not, submissive men are stuck in their old habits, despite trying to be a good slave. They call Me for help, because I’m a Problem Solver, also known as The Mad Motivator from Manchester . I don’t care if they’re inexperienced, selfish, ignorant or stupid: you name it, I cane it. No, I do not negotiate with creatures who think (occasionally) and talk (continuously). To Me a male slave is just a big lump of meat and the road to true obedience starts with a bruised ass. I will discipline and punish regardless if they like it or not. Push them to their limits and beyond. That’s when the moaning, groaning and begging starts. It’s such a wonderful feeling to turn a big, strong man into a sobbing little bitch. Sometimes tears, genuine tears, run down their face. I’m not aiming for it, but I love it when it happens. The creature is now willing to do whatever I demand him to do. God, that’s such a thrill. Tears are wonderful, but they do not signal the end of the session though. He’s on the path to redemption, the painful path of becoming a better slave and it’s My job to beat him in the right direction. His training, ordeal, punishment, living hell or whatever you want to call it, stops when I want it to stop. Madame More.
Listen! You’re a barren and exposed landscape; a lowlife piece of tundra without a defence line. She can squash you like a bug, no question about it. Fighting Her is like battling the storm of the century with an umbrella. But! But you have a trump card up your sleeve, my friend, only to be used in desperate situations. Yes, I’m talking about begging. Use it wisely though and don’t overdue it. Don’t go begging for whips and canes, for feet and bums, for slaps and kicks, for skirts and boots. It’s not a bloody mantra, you know! If you beg all the time and for everything, it loses its meaning and your pleas for mercy are just as silly as peeing against the wind. Begging is an art, waiting for that rare moment to shine. It’s a small bottle filled with a magic potion. And no refill! Do you know what I’m saying? So you have to choose your moments very carefully, because once the potion is gone, it’s gone. Begging, and I mean truly begging for mercy, is one of the most wonderful and unforgettable moments in a slave’s life. Suddenly it’s no longer a game, no longer a choreographed dance between your limits and Her wishes. No sir! You have now come face to face with the raw and real power She has over you. Beggars believe, doesn’t it?
I did (and still do) lots and lots of family research to find out more about my ancestors. Some were successful and quite wealthy, others ended up in the workhouse. Some lived a long life, many others died young. Some were sentenced to jail (for petty theft mostly), one was flogged and died in prison and one of m
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