Miss Chambers has a reputation for being as cruel as she is beautiful. Slave Edward is one of her many trainees. He is reasonably fit and not without a brain.
But he still has to learn the many lessons which Miss chambers mill undoubtedly teach him.
When I first went to see Miss Chambers for training and discipline, I thought I'd probably get a bit of a telling off and perhaps a few whacks with a slipper or something.
But when Miss Chambers is teaching you, she really gives it her all. The first time she commanded me to bend over, of course I knew I was going to get whacked. My eyes nearly fell out of their sockets, though, when I saw what she had in her hand: she was carrying a riding crop.
I'd seen girls carrying these on their horses, and had even seen a couple of girls give their hors­es a crack with one. But the thought of me get­ting hit with one of those things! It didn't bear thinking about.
"You're not frightened are you?" she'd asked.
Not wanting to show myself up as a softie, of course I told her, "No."
That was my first lesson. Anyone who goes for training must address her as Miss Chambers. So my answer of "no" was not taken too well. She told me that she was going to give me six strokes with the riding crop for being insubordinate and discourteous. And if I didn't like it then I could leave.
"Well, what's it to be?" she asked.
I bent over and touched my toes as she instructed. The last time I'd been given corpo­ral punishment was by my mother when I was a kid. So I didn't really know what to expect. When I heard the crack and felt the sting, I jumped up and rubbed my bum like crazy.

The early bird catches the worm. All is fair in Love, War and Business. These were the mantras, the rules and codes by which Gerald lived. And these rules had made him very, very successful. Okay, so he had only been at the job for six months, but he was well on his way to reaching his first half-yearly sales target. In another year's time he would be a Sales Manager. This, felt Gerald, was the per­fect barometer for his success. After all, he had known nothing about farming when he came into the job, yet he had picked the jargon and knowledge up so easily. A born salesman. His life's vocation, his passport to riches.
As he roared his old, worn Ford through the countryside to his first appointment of the day, Gerald ruminated on his meteoric, rising success. It had been a stroke of luck that his predecessor had suddenly walked out on the job after only a couple of weeks. This was destiny, without any doubt. His friends at the local pub were not enthusiastic about his work selling farm animal feed, but it had its perks. Like today. A day driving around the countryside, enjoying the fresh air and (occasional!) sun­shine, as opposed to sitting in a sweltering office right through summer, breathing in everyone else's stale body odours and recycled air.... No, it wasn't the best job in the world, but there were plenty worse.
Plus, there was that thrill of beating the com­petition, namely Taylor's, the old, 'family' run business who felt that, just because they had worked with the local farming community for generations, no-one else should move in on their patch. Bollocks to that.
Gerald and his company hadn't so much moved in as trampled, Gestapo-like, over their rival's business links. Like the rules stated, all is fair....
As he turned a sharp corner, Gerald came across a rakish sports car pulled up on the side of the narrow country lane. Its bonnet was up, the driver, an attractive female in a smart suit, was leaning against the front wing, patently waiting for help. She signalled unnecessarily to Gerald, who had already decided to pull over and offer assistance.
As he climbed from his dusty car, he quickly registered her shapely legs and fabulous figure. A perfect damsel in distress. "Hi there, anything wrong?" asked Gerald, walking over to the female and her stranded car.
The woman smiled sarcastically, as if to say 'What do you think?' "What's the problem?" he enquired, glancing into the engine bay. "I just turned the corner," explained the girl, "and there was an awful sound from the engine. It sounded like some­thing had come loose, like a spanner had dropped into the bloody engine. Do you know anything about cars?" she asked, pleading. Gerald eyed her curvy form, then held her gaze suggestively. "Well, I can have a look. Going any­where special that you need to be in a hurry? I could give you a lift." "I'm going into the town, if it's on your way, but I really need to get the car sorted," she replied. 'Town' was the opposite way to Gerald's farm appointment. He checked his watch. There was no time to be offering help as a taxi service. "I'll have a look for you," he said smiling at her. "Got any tools?" "Yes, in the back of the car," she answered, stepping around to the rear of the car.
Gerald lent into the engine bay, searching for anything obvious before he had a go at starting the car. Years of keeping old, tired cars on the road on a min­imal budget had taught him a thing or two about engines. He heard the sound of the girl approaching, her high heels clipping on the hot tarmac. There seemed to be nothing wrong visually with the engine. Everything seemed in order, and all the nuts and bolts appeared to be tight. "I'd better have a go at starting it," he began explaining as the girl stepped up alongside him.
As he began to turn to face the girl, he felt her hand grabbing his shirt collar. He briefly saw her free hand flashing down, something black, heavy and metal­lic in her fist, then an explosion of showering stars, descending into black eter­nity....

The doorbell rang. Mistress Annette's personal slave glanced up at his beautiful owner and awaited her command.
"Go and see who it is," she ordered with a tone of impatience. "Probably Tim and Andy," Mistress Zena commented, glancing at her watch. Then adding, "Weren't they supposed to be here at three?" "Correct," replied Mistress Annette with a hint of anger in her voice. Mistress Annette's personal slave re-entered the room, followed by a couple of males, who were completely naked.
"Well what are you waiting for?" Mistress Annette snapped at her personal slave. "You don't want to watch these two getting the hides beaten off of them do you?"
"No, Mistress," the personal slave agreed.
"Then get out!" shouted Mistress Annette, most displeased.
The two men stood with heads bowed as Mistress Annette and Mistress Zena looked them up and down. Mistress Zena toyed with a riding whip between her fingers and then lifted Tim's penis with it.
"What do you think, Mistress Annette?" she asked, pressing Tim's cock firmly up against his belly.
Mistress Annette grinned and said, " I think it's a disgrace. I don't think it's a cock, but a little worm."
"Precisely," Mistress Zena concurred. "Why," she asked Tim, "do you insist on flaunting that miserable, pathetic little specimen of manhood in front of us?"
"I don't know, Mistress Zena," he answered.
"Wanker!" she screamed in his face. "What are you?"
"A wanker," Mistress Zena.
Mistress Zena flicked the tip of her whip up between his legs and caught the dangling objects which he laughingly called his balls.

Mistress Hunter is a genuine dominatrix.
She is a practitioner of control.
Mistress Hunter is an experienced and imaginative Dominatrix providing various types of training for submissive males of all types including novices and TV/TS. She is a very severe and demanding Mistress and enjoys humiliating her subjects with her rather ascerbic brand of verbal domination as well as punishing slaves with the numerous methods of physical domination at her disposal.
Treatments include bondage, CP, CBT, WS, boot/shoe worship, piercing, nipple torture, sensory deprivation, isolation, roleplay etc.. Though limits will be respected they will always be tested.
Domestic training of transvestite maids and houseboys is also undertaken and there are long term opportunities available in this field subject to interview and assessment. Full TV wardrobe, lingerie, shoes, hosiery, dresses, maid uniform etc. available.
Colour illustrated booklet and domination video available by postal application.
For details of any of Mistress Hunters' services or to make an appointment ring between 9 am and 9pm Monday to Saturday.
She loves her work. She finds it enriching to be able to give her slaves the feeling of belonging and security which as submissives they crave in a world of conventionality. She understands and welcomes their need to serve and takes control of their minds and bodies; relieving them of responsibility and relieving them of guilt, their only function being to worship and obey.
Mistress Hunter's most effective tools are her personality and her imagination. She likes to expand her slave's horizons and takes them on a journey into uncharted territory - pain, humiliation and servitude.
Once Mistress Hunter is satisfied that a prospective slave is sufficiently servile and respectful they will be welcomed into her circle of worship and domination. A new slave will be subjected to many treatments; constant, harsh unremitting verbal, physical and mental abuse. The slave's body and mind pay a high price for the privilege of serving Mistress Hunter.

Sophia and Tiffany chatted long and hard over a magnificent luncheon of caviar, pheasant, braised sweetbreads and home-bred veal. It was a most satisfying meal.
The pair discussed the latest furs which Sophia had bought, and then came onto the subject of Lucy, Sophia's P.A.
"She overstepped the mark," stated Sophia.
"I specifically told her to entertain you until I returned and not to embark on any treatment on the new internee until then."
"Wilful disobedience, I would call it," Tiffany chipped in. "I specifically asked her if we were to wait, and she said no."
"Damned girl!" fretted Sophia. "Much as I dislike disciplining my female staff, I cannot turn a blind eye."
"Quite right," agreed Tiffany. "Did I mention that she masturbated the male?"
"Quite outrageous!" exclaimed Sophia, dabbing her lips with a serviette. "But before I attend to that little matter, we really must try on the new furs which I have just bought. I believe that the foxes were trapped only a couple of weeks ago and kept alive until the very last minute to keep their pelts nice and fresh.
"Wouldn't it be wonderful if there was a method of taking the skins while the foxes were still alive," said Tiffany.
"All the fresher and softer for us to wear," purred Sophia.
As instructed, Lucy had put the male back in his kennel and had stripped herself down to a skimpy G-string. She knew that she had done wrong but still felt aggrieved with the male for what she considered as enticement on his part. If he hadn't got so excited when she had handled him, she would have left him alone. He was the one who had got excited - and she was the one who was going to be punished for it! Her face dropped and she felt wretched as she heard footsteps approaching along the hallway. She lowered her eyes as the door catch clicked and Sophia and Tiffany entered. Perhaps her Mistress would let her off with a ticking off?
"I have asked Mistress Tiffany to attend. I presume you have no objections to that?" Sophia asked her employee.
"No, Mistress," Lucy replied.
Lucy glanced up and noticed that Tiffany was smirking. What a bitch, Lucy thought. Only an hour ago the pair were almost equals - almost pals.
"As a P.A., you are on probation with me, aren't you?" Tiffany asked.
"Yes, Mistress," Lucy confirmed.
"So I will give you the choice. You may leave this house now and never return, or you may stay and take your medicine. Which is it to be?"
"I will take my medicine please, Mistress," mumbled Lucy, her eyes welling up with tears.
It was unusual for females to be physically punished. It was accepted that males in society benefited from a good close of the cane, or whip, or belt, or tawse. But females were considered to be too refined and too precious to suffer the indignation of being beaten. However, Mistress Sophia favoured the use of physical punishment under certain circumstances - and unfortunately for Lucy, this was one of them.
"On the floor. On your knees," Sophia commanded.
Lucy knelt down and the two ladies sat atop the desk and rested their legs across her back.

"HELPER WANTED," the advertisement read. "Fit, willing and able male to execute a wide a variety of duties. Full and comprehensive training given by female staff. Excellent prospects for right man. Apply to M. Severina, enclosing details of your desires."
"Female staff?" Thought Kevin. He read it again and again, picking up his pen, then putting it down a few seconds later. Should I Shouldn't I? Then he set to work and started writing down all his desires, the things which he wished would happen to him, but never had. He had never been very good at communicating with the fairer sex and now, he thought, was an opportunity to do exactly that. "Training given by female staff. Excellent prospects..."
As he lay on the grubby blankets of his single bed, Kevin scanned the advert and drifted into a world of fantasy: There he sat in a large leather armchair, a pretty blonde secretary in a short skirt hanging on his every word, her legs crossed, exposing a smooth thigh and a superbly rounded buttock. Then, standing from his chair, Kevin unbuttoned the flies of his designer trousers and she immediately dropped to her knees, begging to suck his huge, throbbing member. She crawled on hands and knees, desperate to pull his trousers down and indulge in the delights of his masterful cock. Then another secretary, a brunette, entered the room and, seeing the delight of her colleague, started to kiss Kevin enthusiastically on the Her tongue pushed its way into his mouth and started to lick and suck every crevice. The girl on the floor was bobbing her head up and down, her bright red lips clamped tightly around his impressive organ. The door opened and another girl, a redhead, dropped her files onto the floor and raced over to get a piece of the action. In an instant she had removed her blouse and was thrusting her large, firm breasts into his face. Ten minutes later, a massive jet of Kevin's sperm showered all three girls and they licked furiously to consume the priceless gift. How they licked! How they begged him for more! And, of course, Kevin was only too pleased to oblige them. Then, as the blonde bent over, raised the hem of her skirt and pulled down her knickers... Kevin sat up with a jolt and looked down at the cold, sticky liquid on his belly. He was great. He was a man. He was a superstud!
The lady's voice on the end of the phone sounded soft and inviting: "Would you like to come up and see us?"
"Yyyes," replied Kevin, his voice quivering with excitement. "I will come whenever you like." "Good," replied the lady, "I like a man who comes when he's asked."
Kevin could hardly control his excitement. At last he would fulfill his true potential. After a lifetime of being picked on and teased by girls, he, Kevin, would show the world. He would rise to his rightful position as an outstanding businessman and supreme lover. He would show those who spurned him, he would silence those who criticized him, he would, at last, at long last, lose his virginity!
Carefully tying his flowery terylene tie in a large, triple, windsor knot, Kevin admired himself in the mirror. Here he saw a hero; a gladiator; a leader of men and women; a champion.
As he paid his fare to the woman driving the bus, he gave her a sly wink.
She slid his change into the shallow tray next to her and accidentally dropped some coins onto the floor. Then, as Kevin bent down to retrieve his precious money, she pressed her foot hard down on the accelerator pedal and sent him sprawling across the floor, only to be kicked by a young lady whose foot he happened to fall onto. Undeterred, Kevin picked himself up, dusted himself down - and promptly fell flat on his face as the driver braked to allow a young woman to cross the road. As he fell, a lady got up from her seat, stepped on his head, then casually pressed the bell to bring the bus to a halt at the next stop.
The house where Kevin had been directed to go for the interview turned out to be approximately three miles from the nearest bus stop. As he started the long walk, the sun blazing down, burning his pale skin, he put out his thumb in an attempt to stop a passing car. But, rather than slowing down to pick him up, the car accelerated and swerved towards him.

An exceedingly powerful and wealthy. political figure had made the biggest mistake in his life - having daughters who grew up to be as scheming and as corrupt as himself.
Discovering documents of extremely sensitive nature, added to the files already amassed, they had enough evidence to destroy the lives of many top people. Being as devious as their father, if not more so, they agreed that it would be far better to use their influence to increase the pleasures in their personal lives, and to enjoy the splendid privileges afforded by corruption. Using (or rather abusing) the influences and power of their father's position they were able to do as they pleased. Still at a top private school, they began to nurture their desires for personal gratification and carefully crafted a secret society that they ruled. Gathering sensitive information, they were able to ensnare males. Others, who were less susceptible to such tactics were simply threatened by 'officials' or hooded figures in the night. Many males, for one reason or another, were trapped in their webs, unable to escape without terrible retribution whether personal or physical.
The parties they arranged for friends were very entertaining
Jenny was standing at the large front door. She composed herself, Jenny always kept a cool exterior, but tonight her heart was pounding away with anticipation. She turned to the haggard looking figure at her side.
"Right" said Jenny sharply. "No-one can see us from here, so get down on your knees.
That's better, it's where you belong and don't ever forget it.
If you dare let me down tonight, in front of Yvette and Francesca, you'll suffer like you've never suffered before. Got it?"
"Yes Mistress" came a subdued, servile voice from the floor.

I suppose that I should say how I came to be under the control of my sister-in-law, Angela. A sordid tale of sexual blackmail
to many, but three years later I would not have it any other way.
Allow me to explain:
Like many men I am fascinated the the bizarre side of sexual behaviour, spending many nights unable to sleep, tormented by images of leather- clad Amazons, of dungeons populated by brutal goddesses. My wife, on the other hand, has no interest even in so-called straight sex. What I initially took to be girlish modesty revealed itself as an abhorrence of all sexual relations, leaving me to indulge in my fantasies alone, when she is out.
One week she decided to visit an old school- friend in Scotland and stay for a few days so when I arrived home from work on the Monday I decided to spend the evening watching a Fern- Dom video that I had recently acquired.
I settled down with a bottle of wine and was soon engrossed in the images on-screen. As the wine took effect I closed the curtains and peeled off my clothes. I began to surrender to my fantasies, becoming more and more involved with the perversions played out on the screen, my hand moving down to satisfy my lust.
So engrossed was I with the sights and sounds coming from the television that the first indication I had that anyone else was in the room was when my vision was blocked by a figure stepping in front of me. I was shocked, grabbing a cushion to hide my erection, and I hurriedly jabbed the remote control to switch the video off.
When I glanced up, my face burning with shame, I recognised Angela, my wife's beautiful older sister. Embarrassed as I was, I could not help but cast my eyes over her magnificent body, which I had secretly desired ever since meeting her. She stood over six feet tall in her black, spike-heeled stilettoes and her long, elegant legs were clad in black nylon. I could just make out the tops of her stockings beneath the hem of her expensively tailored leather mini-skirt, and her matching jacket was unzipped far enough to convince me that she wore nothing underneath. I looked apprehensively at her beautiful face, framed by a mane of flame-red hair, but she did not speak, merely stood with her arms folded and legs apart, gazing at me with both amusement and interest.
Finally I found my tongue and stammered, "Wh-What are you doing here?"
A sly smile spread over her face. "Well, Christine phoned and asked me to check if you were OK. on your own, and I can see it's a good job I did," she said, indicating the television. "She'll be very upset when I tell her about this," she gloated.
"Surely you're not going to tell her?"

I, being of sound mind, hereby leave my entire estate, less £2,500,000 to my cherished daughter, Rebecca. The remaining £2,500,000 to be put in trust for my late husbands son, Paul. It is a condition of this will that Paul remains living at Welham Hall with my daughter until he attains the age of 21. Furthermore, until this time, he is to put himself completely under her absolute authority. I make this stipulation in the sincere hope that she may be able to, belatedly, exert the guidance and control that his father was unwilling to provide. If these conditions are not obeyed to the letter, his inheritance will be forfeited, and given to a charity of Rebecca's choice.
Signed this 14th day of October 1991
Susan Bradley.

Paul re-read for the umpteenth time the framed copy of his stepmothers will, which hung, as if to mock him, above his bed.
He was desperately searching for a loophole, a way out of the life of misery which he had endured for over six months.
When his wealthy father had re-married three years ago, Paul had never got on with Susan or her bitchy daughter Rebecca. However, he was consoled by the fact that his father always gave him everything he asked for and he lived a life of luxury.
All that was to come to an abrupt end when his father and his stepmother where involved in a tragic car accident in which his father was killed instantly. Susan Bradley was paralysed from the waist down, she became increasingly depressed and eventually took a drugs overdose which left eighteen year old Paul in the unfortunate situation which he now found himself.
It hadn't taken long for Rebecca, who was three years his elder, to take advantage of the situation and stamp her authority upon Paul. With the fear of losing his inheritance foremost in his mind, it wasn't long before he was obeying her commands without question. Rebecca underlined her dominance by referring to him as "slave," and in return she was to be addressed as "Mistress" at all times. Rebecca reveled in the awesome power she had over her reluctant slave, and it was not long before he was submitting to the physical punishments which she delighted in administering when finding the slightest fault in his work or attitude.

Walking along the road through the drizzle, I count off the house numbers to myself. Eventually I reach
the gate of number 212. My whole body is trembling as I walk up the short path through the tiny front garden. The fearful anticipation has left me short of breath.
I arrive at the front-door of my Mistress' house with about fifteen seconds to spare. I know that She will be angry with me it I am either early or late. I check my watch for what must be the hundredth time this afternoon Exactly two o'clock. I ring the bell right on time.
To be sure not to arrive late, I had in fact arrived with a half-hour to spare. I had killed time sitting on a bench in the park at the end of the road. Now I am cold and damp and the suitcase I have with me seems heavier than ever.
I wait for what seems like an age, my heart pounding in my mouth. Have I come on the wrong day? Has my Mistress decided to exact the cruellest punishment of all upon me simply by not being here? I check my watch yet again. Only twenty seconds have passed.
I am distracted by the sound of female voices in the street behind me. Two young women are walking along sheltering from the rain under a shared umbrella. I notice that they are both wearing long slinky black PVC macs. As they come nearer, I hear the sound of high heels clicking on the pavement. Now I can see that both of them are wearing high heels. One has on a pair of shiny black patent courts but I notice that the beautiful shoes are spattered with mud from the wet weather. The other is wearing black leather boots that disappear up beneath her raincoat. For a moment I have a mental image of the girls naked except for their footwear. In my fleeting image, one is wearing her mud-spattered courts and the other a pair of long black thigh-length boots.
As they approach, I turn back to face Mistresses front door. Suddenly, the clicking of heels stops and this fact makes me look around again. They have stopped outside the gate to number 208. They carry on chatting to each other until they notice me staring at them from the doorstep two houses away. They go quiet for a moment and then carry on as if nothing had happened. I face the door again, but I can feel their eyes boring into my back. So as not to appear either suspicious or even just plain stupid, I ring Mistress' door bell again and try to look as nonchalant as possible.
I suppose they must be my Mistress' neighbours. I wonder whether they know that they share the neighbourhood with a strict Dominatrix or whether they even know what one is anyway. I look at my watch again. I have been standing here for three minutes now.