Natural Authority

You might think that a young woman wearing a rabbit-themed onesie would be somewhat lacking in authority? But you'd be wrong. Especially when that same young woman is carrying a whip!

Of course, the presence of her manly boyfriend might also have something to do with it!










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Whip Household

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In the great Gynarchy of Barbaria, many ordinary households have a whip hanging outside the front door as a proud indication that they are a slave-owning household and that said slave is very much subject to the WHIP! Here we see one young woman entering her front door to indeed reveal a porch-slave inside - a slave whom she makes kiss-greet her feet as she enters the hallway. The poor porch-slave obeys his pretty mistress, not least because he has been schooled to do so by the WHIP! A young woman approaches the front door of her typical Gynarchy household As soon as she opens the door, we can see her household porch-footslave inside She stops in front of him in order to humiliate him and have her feet kiss-respected by him She first extends her right, sneakered foot towards his menial mouth... ...swiftly followed by her left! The humble porch-slave, no doubt well-schooled by the WHIP, obeys his pretty mistress! He respectfully kisses her feet... ...BOTH of them! Meanwhile, she looks d...
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She Doesn't Care

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‘Shine my shoes, slave!’ All this customer-mistress, quite rightly, cares about is the state of her shoes. She doesn’t care about: The state of my slave tongue What her shoes taste like The fact that she isn’t wearing socks The fact that I am permanently and uncomfortably immured in this wall Likewise, my only concern is to do a good job on her shoes, and to thus avoid the sting of the municipal authority’s lash!  Stern and aloof, this middle-aged customer mistress only cares about one thing... ...namely, the state of her SHOES! And rightly so, for the wellbeing of her SHOES is more important than the wellbeing of my TONGUE! I'm just a SLAVE! I am obliged to look directly at her VEINY FOOTSKIN... ...as the esteemed customer-mistress isn't wearing any SOCKS or STOCKINGS I am reminded that every BLEMISH in her FEET is worth more than me! Her SHOES taste VILE... ...as SHOES always do! But it is a vile taste I am accustomed to... ...after years  of humbly lickshining...
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The Indentured Footservant

Part 1 – A new life Roger sat nervously in the back of the limousine observing the sights of Jakarta as the car sped through the streets of the Indonesian capital. The uniformed chauffeur was a heavily-built black man in his early 30s. The car had been sent to meet him at the airport. The chauffeur wasn't saying much, and so Roger decided he would break the ice with, what he thought, was a fairly innocuous question: 'Have we far to go?’ The smartly dressed chauffeur paused for a moment before replying in a thick West African accent: 'I suggest you keep quiet, slave, and learn to speak only when you are spoken to by your betters.' Roger's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Slave! It was the first time ever in his life he had been called a ‘slave’, and it was a somewhat ominous development. He was, after all, as he understood it, going to be a household servant – not a ‘slave’. But how had he come to this humble position at the age of 45? He thought back through t...
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