Greetings, sister dominants. My name is Lady Sonia. When my dear friend, Mistress Adelina phoned to ask me if I would honour her publication with a recollection of something concerning one of my cars, I was thrilled. Instantly, one particular incident sprang to memory. After I'd assured her that the honour would be mine, we'd chatted for a bit, (during which time she had to pause for several moments to beat bloody-hell out of the foot-slave beneath her desk for some minor transgression), we'd set up a future, get-together date, then said our very temporary goodbyes.
I'd then rung for my dicta-boy (as I call him), and set about having him take down the following incident, which occurred after a defeat at a local auto-show. I still say the competition was fixed. The Rolls that won my adversary her top-honours award was not nearly as pristine as my Jaguar. The way that the young, male judge' lowered his eyes for her, and the smug little look she gave him as she took the (submissively-offered) ribbon, left no doubt to me that he was obviously her personal plaything. I've seen that look on a male before, and have certainly used the look she gave him. Both many times.
In any event, I was furious all the way back home. Every one of my slaves had. in all fairness, worked very hard to prep my beloved, expensive car for the competition.
But males, tome, are merely slaves. Regardless of how hard they work, they're still slaves. I'd made up my mind that the first one I got my hands on was in for it. He would cringe beneath the brunt of my anger over my wronging. I was so angry that I figured I'd need several slaves' worth of venting, in fact. But that first one was going to be oh-so-sweet.