It is of great importance that the slave arrives at my house at the arranged time for the personal audience to begin. Being late is a punishable offence, but arriving early is totally unacceptable! James had seen some of my photographs in a previous issue of Cruella and had eventually plucked up the courage to write to me. I was pleased to note that he arrived at my large secluded country house on time. I opened the front door and instructed him to follow me through to the lounge, where we had a coffee and an informal chat to make sure that he was completely at ease. I do not allow anything to spoil my fun as I extract my pleasure!
I decided that today I would be a "Riding Mistress," so I went to my dressing-room and selected a pair of skin-tight jodhpurs (no panties of course), and a handmade leather quarter cup bra, to thrust out my large nipples and to allow my firm round breasts to bounce and sway as I walked and moved. I chose a see-through, very low-cut white silk blouse, and completed my outfit with a pair of black thigh boots with six inch spike heels.
I returned to the lounge, and when we had finished our coffee I stood and instructed him to follow me through the door and into my dungeon, where I picked up my favourite riding crop and ordered him to strip naked for me!

Out of pure boredom and a surplus of money, seven rich American and English businessmen founded
a "working" camp, which consisted of Negroes who had been sold by their tribes for a few dollars.
They put themselves and their lives into the hands of these young, white sadists, to enable their tribe and their families to live a life of comfort.
The ladies are even worse than the men, sparing the Negroes no mercy. While the trainers demand relatively sensible exercises, the spoiled daughters and young wives entertain themselves by forcing their helpless victims to crawl through the mud and arranging races in scorching heat.
Mounted on horseback, the ladies watch, dressed only in bikinis or swimming costumes, driving the men on with their whips and betting which one would break down first.
The ladies sip cool drinks, whilst making the "soldiers" lick the sand from their boots with their parched tongues.
The ladies also loved to use their riding-whips on their mounts, alternating between sinking the whip into the soft coats of their horses and into the skin of a totally exhausted Negro.
Even though the trainers were terrible, they were harmless in comparison with the
ladies. A famous writer once noted: "It takes a while until the weaker sex is driven to cruelty, but once they have crossed the line, there is no stopping them."
Each lady had a division of 12 men, with whom she could do whatever she wanted,
and who were completely at her mercy.

Our journal has managed to find a 26 year old lady in the most elegant circles of prostitution,
who is known as a REAL Domina, and who can only be paid by very well off gentleman because of her unrivalled beauty and her endless wealth of ideas. It was rumoured that one night with this woman cost 10,000 German Marks.
Our editor met this woman - we will call her Gabi - after a lot of difficulties, in a luxurious villa on the outskirts of Munich. The property was protected by two watch-dogs and the door was only opened after I had rung the bell three times, by a plump house-keeper with greasy hair and thick glasses. "Madam will see you in her work-out room in the basement!" she greeted me in a nasal tone of voice.
The mysterious beauty was sitting on a bench with weights and dumbbells in a modern work-out room, with all sorts of machines, gadgets, and a whirl-pool.
10,000 Marks for this more than perfect woman was certainly not enough, that was quite clear.
She was wearing an incredibly low- cut Aerobic-suit, and her curves were even more emphasised by a tight belt. Her endlessly long legs were covered by fishnet tights, which is an unusual outfit for working out, but a charming one.
Her naturally blonde hair was dyed black, very much to my surprise.
She was about 6ft tall, had a very fit body, and her large almond-shaped eyes gave her face a fascinating look in combination with her high cheekbones!
After having exchanged greetings I instantly got to the point:

Laura had never had any problems about inflicting pain. It was her duty to cause discomfort since
males so often failed to remain on their toes and needed frequent encouragement, sometimes severe encouragement. That had been her attitude during her first week at the Training in Discipline School. Her zeal in causing male suffering had earned her the top award; the 'prize' being the providing of a 'gardener' for the afternoon at her own home - with instruments at her disposal and no holds barred. The 'gardener', Laura was told, was a convicted felon, destined for the garbage heap for life - although thoughtfully no one had yet informed him of his sentence. So Laura was thus free to use her prize as she thought fit, as it did not matter whether the felon walked away, stumbled away, or was carried away. She had arranged for a celebration party later.
Through the patio windows Laura saw two uniformed lady officers bring the gardener and put him to work weeding the shrubbery. He was dressed in shirt and trousers and Laura was keen to inspect those trousers to see if they were sufficiently light-weight to accommodate effectively the persuasions she had in mind - she preferred not to be affronted by male nudity below the waist.
She pulled on a pair of neat high heeled shoes, glanced in the mirror to see that her dress fully covered her bosom, picked up her favourite riding crop and strode out to confront the creature. She was amused that he was quite close to her bullwhip. She had been practising with it earlier to cut off dead flowers and it was hanging from a tree branch like an inert brown snake. She guessed he had not noticed it, as he was not working with any great vigour.
He heard the clacking of her high heels on the path, and remained on his knees. As he saw the haughty mistress flexing her crop he stiffened and looked apprehensive. Laura glared down at him. She put her crop under his chin, pressing it upwards. Then, suddenly she flicked her wrist and the crop demonstrated its flexible power, smacking into his chin. And again, and again and then a really vicious crack, knocking his head upwards. Pain and fear flooded into his face. She decided to make use of his ignorance about his future.

Mistress Suzanne yanked on the slave's hair and dragged him along behind her. She held him so tightly that his nose was pressed up against her soft, shapely buttocks. He was scampering along on all fours and she was aware that the gravel was scuffing his hands and knees. They were red and raw and smeared with blood. But it didn't bother her at all. He was there to serve her, to be abused by her, to suffer any pain or indignity which she decided that he must endure.
The man was not handsome. In fact, she found him ugly. But even this had no bearing on the way Suzanne treated her slaves. She always found handsome slaves something of a threat and she was, in fact, even more severe with them. She liked to take them down a peg or two. There were times, occasionally, when she had contemplated the idea of having sex with one of her slaves. But it never happened. Instead she would punish them quite brutally and watch them squirm at her feet and beg her to stop. When she had them groveling in the dirt, licking the shit from her shoes, she loathed them and treated them with utter disdain and cruelty. In this way, Mistress Suzanne used her power and her various instruments of torture to beat a slave into submission in order to make herself blind to his good looks. How could a lady possibly feel anything sexual towards a whimpering, whipped male who cowered and sobbed and pleaded for mercy?
Mistress Suzanne enjoyed torturing and punishing males. It was a pastime which stemmed from her teenage years when boys used to tease and taunt her about her lack of height and physical development. Even now she was petite with perky little breasts, but she had learnt, despite the cruel words, that she was beautiful and sexy. Now she commanded respect from all men and always treated boyfriends badly, using and abusing them at them every opportunity.

Mistress Kim is counted amongst a great number of ladies who could be considered to be the modern day equivalent of an Equestrian Empress of the Roman era. In that time, women who were skilled in the art of breaking, training, riding and driving horses, were greatly respected and revered. Huge crowds would turn out to watch these noble horsewomen battling it out in the arena. Some of the women were also skilled gladiators, or gladiatrixes as they were known.
Apart from battles between two women, gladiatrixes were also invited into the arena to fight men who had shown dissent towards the oppressive Roman government, or escaped slaves who had been recaptured. As males have always been considered to be the stronger of the sexes, it would be normal for them to fight from the ground, and the woman to fight from horseback.
In the usual course of events the criminal would be chased by the gladiatrix until he was exhausted.
It would be up to the woman, and also the baying crowd, to decide when the lady would dismount and fight the man. It was considered a great skill to judge precisely how exhausted the male should be before the battle commenced in earnest. Obviously a totally exhausted man would not make good sport, but one who was too fresh could possibly take advantage of a weaker, smaller female.
Unfortunately for the males, if they did manage to win a contest and actually kill a gladiatrix (historical evidence would suggest that this very rarely happened) then he would be matched against another female opponent who would be sure to trample him well with her horse's hooves before dismounting and drawing her sword against him.
Death wasn't usually a clean affair, and it is thought that a gladiatrix would be encouraged by the crowd to tease and torment her victim, often tying him by a rope to the saddle of her horse and dragging him across the arena until so many of his bones were broken, and he had suffered major damage to his internal organs, that the corpse was merely a shredded mass of blood and flesh. If during a contest, a gladiatrix could make her horse rear and bring its front hooves crashing down onto a man's chest, stomach, legs and crutch, she would very likely be given a standing ovation.

In an age of violence, when crime is rife and criminals are treated like royalty, Mistress Penny and her band of friends and supporters could be the only answer for getting society back on the rails.
In the words of Mistress Penny: Stories abound about villains and mindless thugs who rob, cheat and use physical means to get what they want, regardless of their victim's age or circumstances. An experience which happened to me recently, illustrates my point. I was coming home from a nightclub at about three A.M., looking for a taxi, when this guy approaches me. I recognized him from the club. He was a wimpish looking little specimen who had been stalking me throughout the evening, leching and leering from various vantage points.
He must have thought that I was stupid and hadn't seen him. But this was the kind of guy who was extremely noticeable by his exceptional ugliness and sliminess. Everywhere I went, his eyes would follow me. I could feel myself having my skirt and panties being mentally taken off by him. He made me cringe and almost want to vomit.
However, some hours later, after I had danced my socks off for half the night, I had forgotten all about him. Then, suddenly, out in the street, I see him out of the corner of my eye, heading towards me. I just knew that he was going to try and talk to me. And if there's one thing I hate, it's ugly guys trying to talk to me.

Davina was the kind of girl whose school report would read, "Could do better." She had the brains and the looks which made all her classmates either sick with jealousy or totally adore her. But despite all her natural attributes, Davina was not the kind of young lady who ever felt the need to push herself. She was, even in her school years, what could be described as a "Lady of leisure."
As she was extremely intelligent, Davina could wing her way in most situations such as exams, but whenever that wasn't possible, her preferred option was to use her womanly wiles. In her early teenage years Davina had realised that males were total suckers for a pretty face and a sexy smile. If she wanted sweets, or CDs, or computer games, or anything else for that matter, she would just turn on the charm and ask with a big "pleaaaase?"
Over the years Davina honed her skills to manipulate men, and found that it wasn't even necessary to be nice to them in order to get what she wanted. Throughout her GCSEs and A levels she would just tell a male classmate what she wanted him to do and invariably he would do it. She enjoyed her final years at school, ordering lads to fetch and carry for her.
Qualifications were easy to achieve when the brainiest kids would do all the donkey work, then spend hours of their time condensing the relevant studies to recite back to her. One lad was even expelled because of her. She had told him to locate a batch of examination files and steal a copy for her. Duly, as instructed, the lad screwed the lock off the Principal's office door and gained entry. He took the examination paper and returned, jubilant with his achievement, and handed it over to her.
Silently the lad looked on while she sat and read the questions. She had already decided that she wasn't going to share her good fortune with him. Then, just as she'd finished, who should walk into the room, but the Principal.
But Davina was too clever to panic.
She simply thrust the exam paper at the boy and said huffily, "What are you trying to give me this for!"
The Principal, Miss Collins, asked them both what was going on, and of course accepted Davina's version of events. It was a pity as the lad had been a bright student with real potential. But such was the mental strain on him that flunked all his exams and ended up working in a supermarket. In later years Davina would make a special effort to hunt him out as he stacked shelves and pushed trolleys up and down the car park.
It always amused her to pull some prank or another on him. Either she would knock over a whole pile of cans or bottles which he was in the middle of stacking, or complain to one of his superiors that he had splashed mud on her car as he was wheeling his trolleys past. The latter would result in him being told to wash and polish her car and have half a day's wages docked. Apart from the amusement value, it was an excellent way of getting a free car wash!

Tom had only been married to Julie for six months and had already got the urge to stray from her. He had always considered himself a bit of a Lady's man and was renowned amongst his buddies for picking up women. It didn't matter where he was or what he was doing, Tom was always on the lookout for a new conquest. As he went about his business as a sales rep he was forever chatting up colleagues and clients alike.
Lucille joined the company as the sales director and, as such, was Tom's boss. She was a lively, well liked and attractive Lady. She believed in treating her staff well and was always sympathetic to people's problems. In short, she was the model boss. Male and female employees liked her and found her very efficient and productive.
It was Lucille's third week with the company and everything was going extremely well. She had already implemented some new customer support and feedback procedures, giving clients direct access to her office, when the first complaint arrived. An old and valued client called to say that she wanted to close her account with the company. Naturally, Lucille was greatly concerned about losing business to the competition and asked her why? Was it the quality of service? Was it the price? Was it the speed of delivery? What was the problem? The client was reluctant to divulge her reasons and, Lucille could hear, was clearly getting quite upset.
Lucille drove down to see the dissatisfied customer to find out what had gone wrong. Slowly the Lady poured her heart out and told Lucille that Tom had been making improper suggestions towards her. He said that he could allow her company a fifteen per cent discount - if she slept with him. This would, undoubtedly, save her company thousands of dollars per year and would boost her standing with her bosses. Tom had been hassling her for sex for some months now and was even threatening to falsify her orders to make her look incompetent. The poor young Lady was beside herself with grief and wept in Lucille's arms. Lucille promised her that Tom would be sorted out - once and for all.

What a lucky man he is. No, he wasn't born with a tarnished silver spoon in his mouth. Nor was he given the greatest education that money and influence could buy. And no, he doesn't run multi-national companies during the week and spend his weekends flitting from London to Monaco, or New York, or Paris, or Milan. There isn't even a smart car in the driveway of his home. No Jaguar, Porsche, Aston Martin or Bentley will ever hold his personalised number-plate. So what does he have? He has me, of course, although he didn't always appreciate that fact. And just who am I, that I can pronounce him such a lucky man? I am his mistress, his overlord. I am all he really wants, all he really needs. I am his desire, and I control his desire.
Mistress? I hear you say. No, not in any accepted sense. I am not a third party in his crumbling marriage, desperately waiting on the sidelines td be called on once the game is over. Nor am I a whip-wielding dominatrix, although he is as a slave to me. He is a slave to me because he is a slave to his desires, his hunger. We are all slaves to something, of course, so what better thing is there than to be a slave to such forces? Money? Food? Power? Alcohol? None of these things matter when you desire as deep as he does. And I know him. All of him. I know what runs through his head when he works, and I know what runs through his head when he sleeps. I know that when he looks at his computer screen at work he does not see the figures that tumble across the electronic page. He just responds, the same as a rat in the most basic scientific test. He would call it training, of course. But then so do the scientists when they teach a rat to go left instead of right by administering electric shocks. At work he is such a creature, until he thinks of me.