There was the faint residue of a very nasty smell in the drawing room. Lady Candida tilted her head and sniffed at the air, recognising the aroma instantly, and cursing.
"Someone's been wanking," she breathed. "Don't they KNOW my rules..."
The culprit had left the French Windows open, presumably in the hope that the noxious evidence of his crime would percolate away, so she strode over and looked out onto the patio. There was a slave there, tending the plants and looking for all the world like an innocent man.
He did not notice her approach and almost jumped out of his skin when the slim fingers of her right hand tapped on his shoulder.
The jittery male glanced up into her dark eyes and immediately bowed his head in supplication, asking: "Yes, Miss Candida?"
The slave had a vaguely familiar look about him; a fact which came as a surprise: Candida rarely paid the domestic servants enough attention to recognise their faces.
She reached out and grasped hold of his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes: "Someone has wanked in the drawing room," she announced, evenly.
"Was it you?"
The man's eyes flickered and his pale face became paler. "No... No My Lady."
She laughed, icily, "I am well aware that males hardly ever own up to masturbation - especially when they fully understand the punishment that I have in store for them - so I will examine your genitals for myself. Get them out."
"But..."
She slapped him across the cheek. "How DARE you hesitate when I issue an order?"
A terrified look on his face, the man reached down and began to undo the zip at his flies, but she stayed his hands: "No," she said. "I can see that you have something to hide so I think I will find out precisely what it is for myself."
She sank down onto her knees on the concrete and extended her fingers to the zip, pulling it down with a swift jerk. The man had no underwear beneath - it being forbidden - and she half expected him to squeal as the metal teeth whipped open against his flesh. She unfastened the button at his belly and allowed the flimsy pants to slip to the ground.

I own Trap Royale. Originally my establishment was just another of those Trap establishments which are so common throughout
Cruella, a place for a pleasurable ride with the advantages of aids; whips, bridles, electric probes, and so forth.
I changed my approach after one lady said 'It was another boring ride, just thrashing the male.' At that moment I realised what was required, variety of entertainment, and I set out to provide it. I sought out the best brains, engineers, psychologists, doctors, all women with imagination and who delighted in accepting my challenge. We devised different routes with a variety of surfaces; grass, concrete, grit, water, mud, etc. We devised hazards like barbed wire, nettles, electrified plates. The vehicles themselves were improved and the range extended. All traps now have mobile phones and have facilities for music. A lively gallop can be played at the touch of a button. Interestingly enough, a funeral march can serve as a reminder or prediction to a flagging male.
Of key importance is surprise,usually a surprise for the male but often a built in random element where the lady is not aware of what will happen next. A surprise ride is the second most popular option, the most popular being the dash down the small stream. The big river route is the most difficult and adventurous.
Before the ride the lady can enjoy the delights of selection. I have a hundred or so horses to parade and they are of different types, ages, strengths, fitness, dispositions, etc. Thus, the lady can select the male to fit her mood of the moment.
Naturally, I have no difficulty in causing pain and no squeamishness about punishment, but I do insist that the stable yard itself should be a safe area for males, it encourages them to complete their rides. A notice says 'No prodding or whipping in this yard'.
I have no problems about disposals, these are inevitable and routine, particularly in royal circles.
As for acquisitions, I have first pick. At all trials the judges preselect the horses when giving sentence. Usually the judge says one word only 'Traps'. I select acquisitions on two principles. Firstly, I aim for a balanced stable, strong and weak, fat and thin, young and old, ugly and handsome,
Secondly, I always choose males guilty of serious offenses, usually disrespect or disobedience. This means that the lady driver need have no hesitation in applying whatever persuasion is most enjoyable.
Perhaps I should mention that offenders exist, but not criminals. Males guilty of murder, rape or theft never come before the courts, the owner disposes of the criminal in whatever way seems most satisfying to her.
So successful is my new venture that the Princess granted it Royal Approval and only members of the Court and their daughters have access to the delights I have on offer. Naturally, the fees are steep. Although I am one of the richest ladies at Court it is pleasant to know that my efforts are appreciated. Perhaps the most memorable first ride I ever witnessed was that of Caroline on her fifteenth birthday. She was introduced by her mother, a Senior Judge. My first impressions were not favourable. Caroline was in frilly; dress no boots, no whip, no gloves. I assumed she was inexperienced. When she inspected the parade she chose an older male, thickset and rather ugly.
He was obviously strong, but his age would reduce his stamina on any long ride.
Young girls frequently overlook this point, thinking that strength and stamina are the same thing, and at the end of a ride they can become impatient with strong elderly males who wilt. "I am going to call you Toy" she giggled at him. I wondered if she liked toys and older men, or whether she hated them and broke them.
She had him harnessed in a highbeam trap, the shaft situated behind the driver and rising into the air to end in a simple neck harness. Usually the horse would grasp the flexible fibreglass shaft with both hands just above his head in order to assist the pushing and reduce the pressure of the harness on the neck. I wondered if Caroline chose the trap for elegance. Did she realise that it provided the driver with maximum access for whipping.

It is a game that Lady Charlotte plays on most mornings.
The slave knows the rules - past survivors have made them legendary - but that does not dissuade his tormentress from explaining them to his face after she has secured him to the wall. She hoists herself up onto the workbench in front of him.
Her skirt is very short and he can see the unblemished white flesh spreading from the top of her thigh-length boots all the way along to the laced-up gusset of her leather G- string.
On the bench beside her there are four objects laid in a neat row: a simple pack of playing cards, a riding crop, an enormous pair of hedge cutters and an efficient-looking revolver.
She picks up the playing cards and begins to shuffle them, grinning benignly.
"This," she says, "is a pack of cards.- The male nods idiotically and she continues - "A perfectly ordinary pack of cards in every way bar one... They are going to decide your destiny." She pauses to allow him to assimilate the importance of the statement, shuffling the cards continually and gazing into his eyes with a look of amused contempt.
"In a moment I'm going to cut the pack and draw out a card at random. If that card is a Club..." And she miraculously pulls the Ace of Clubs from the pack... "Then I will reward you with a nice, long, slow beating." She places the card on top of the riding crop beside her and continues to shuffle. "If that card should be a Spade..." And she draws the Ace of Spades... "Then so shall you be... Spayed, that is." She giggles as she always does at the frivolous pun before adding: "Spayed, neutered, call it what you like." She places the card down on top of the cutters.
"If the card is a Heart..." And she shows him the Ace of Hearts... "Then I shall shoot you through it." This card goes over the revolver.
"And if it's my favourite suit, Diamonds..." The Ace appears in her hand... "Then I get to choose! A whipping, a snipping or an end to your miserable existence - whatever takes my fancy. I may even decide to do all three... Who knows?" She spreads her thighs a little wider on the bench and lays the card down between them.

The wars had ended. The marauding, male forces had been defeated. The High Priestess Zuleika now reigned
supreme. Everything she surveyed was under her power. The state was in ruins and much rebuilding would be required. For this purpose, Zuleika had spared the lives of several thousand of her male captives. It would be her brains and their muscle which would make their state great once again. Very quickly Zuleika would have to construct a new government, new rules, new laws, new values, new ways of thinking. She would need a force of powerful aides to maintain control and set about the rebirth of her sovereignty.
Zuleika's first priority would be to set the hapless, male captives to work. To this end, a squad of dedicated overseers would have to be trained in the art of controlling the unruly male horde, harnessing their physical power for the good of the High Priestess and the female citizens. Notices were posted, requesting prospective novices to present themselves to the High Temple. Zuleika would inspect all of the applicants in person. For the building programme to be completed within the time limits prescribed by Zuleika, all her overseers would require certain attributes. Unfortunately, many females who came forward were weak in mind and spirit, unable to shake off preconceived beliefs that the male was the superior gender. During the war, thousands of strong, brave females had perished. Many of the survivors had little stomach for the fight ahead.
As the High Priestess Zuleika inspected the applicants, she requested that they all be set certain tasks and tests. Those who passed would be installed in positions of high privilege, receiving handsome rewards and a measure of power. For this reason, many had queued at the steps of the temple. With a discerning eye, Zuleika walked along the row. Several applicants were weeded out immediately, lacking in youth, stature or beauty. Zuleika was adamant that only the best minds and bodies would join her elite team of overseers.
"What is your name?" she demanded of a statuesque youngster wearing a pair of thigh-length, malehide boots. "Zena," replied the girl with a air of indignation. Zuleika raised her bullwhip and prodded the youngster under the chin. Zena's slender fingers snatched out and grasped the offending weapon. Her teeth were bared in anger. "Go," commanded the High Priestess. The recalcitrant upstart remained. "Go," commanded Zuleika once more. "You are of no use to me."
"I would make ten of these wimps," Zena snarled aggressively, gesturing at her competitors. "I am strong. I have a strong whip arm. I will make males work."

As I pushed my foot down harder onto the accelerator pedal I observed the speedometer needle rapidly rising until it hit a hundred and thirty.
I mused on the outcome should a runaway slave happen to cross my path.
There would be no escape for him.
The narrow roads had been cleared of all other traffic and obstacles.
I alone had the right of way.
So the only object which I was likely to hit would be a runaway.
There were far too many escapees at present; a state of affairs which concerned me a little.
Although runaways always provided good hunting, one had to ensure that their numbers were not allowed to increase by too much.
A good healthy supply I approved of, but careful monitoring, control and culling were often necessary.
Speeding towards the stables I was exhilarated by the roaring engine and the screech of the tyres on the bends.
Passing through a dense area of woodland my attention was caught by a pale figure moving amongst the greenery. My boot slipped instantly from accelerator to brake. The tyres burnt as I quickly rammed the gear lever across and sent the car hurtling backwards.
I snatched up the automatic hunting gun which lay on the seat next to me.
Being on my way to the stables I was attired in riding garb and had a long dressage whip with me.
Armed with gun and whip I jumped out of the car and stared intently across towards the wooded thicket.
Nothing stirred Stealthily I stalked my way into the wood.
To flush the life out of the cover I slipped my finger around the cold steel trigger and pulled.
A flurry of bullets sent leaves and bark flying into the air. As expected a pale form flicked between the trees and bushes. Squinting through the gunsights I carefully lined up the sight on the target and panned smoothly along with it.
With the merest hint of finger pressure a spray of bullets ricocheted all around.
The figure bobbed and weaved and ducked and dived.
My vision was suddenly blocked by a whole cluster of large oaks.
Creeping through the bushes with my finger eagerly stroking the trigger of the gun I could see a tuft of hair sticking out from behind one of the oak trunks.
Stealthily I stalked my prey.

"I'm sorry to interrupt my lady, but something serious has happened; I think you ought to know."
Guard Julia stands in the doorway of Lady Tanya's playroom.
With her hands on her hips, she caresses her evil coiled bullwhip.
Lady Tanya relaxes, watching television. She sits on a bench with a kneeling slave as her footrest.
She turns to look at the guard, impressed as ever with her superb physique. Her eyes glint with admiration as she glances at the large and .firm breasts that are barely concealed by the flimsy chain top and tight belt worn by Julia.
"That's all right my dear" replies Lady Tanya. "What is it?"
"You're not going to believe this but one of the new slaves brought in from overseas has been spreading these stupid ideas about something called Men's Liberation."
Lady Tanya stubs her cigarette out on the back of her footrest'. She looks distinctly puzzled.
"Men's Liberation. What on earth does that mean?"
Guard Julia is nervous. She might be blamed for the breakdown in discipline.
"I know it's far fetched, but he believes men deserve equal respect and rights with women!" Guard Julia spits out the words with contempt.
"I thought ideas like that were stamped Out centuries ago" replies Lady Tanya.
"I mean, just look at this cringing cretin." She swings her pointed boot and catches her kneeling minion in the soft spot below his ribs. "He's an inferior strain of humanity and he knows it."
"Yes, my lady" agrees Guard Julia.
"But somehow, this one's slipped through the net. I thought of whipping the hell out of him there and then, but it might be beyond that. He's been spreading his crazy ideas amongst the others."
"You're right my dear" agrees Lady Tanya. "We need to make an example of him. We have to crush him underfoot in front of everyone. The Men's Liberation movement must be stamped out once and for all."
She rises from her seat and kicks out at her terrified slave.

Lady Louise has always been kind to him. No - that is wrong: in fact he knows that she has always been totally unaware of
his existence but that unawareness has amounted to kindness. He has been just another faceless slave, employed to lug barrow loads of linen up and down the slope connecting her Mansion House with the distant shed that has long functioned as a laundry.
In his ten years of servitude he has actually seen her only twice.
There was the first day of his employment - his eighteenth birthday, fresh from the slave-farm - when she had personally fitted him with the chastity belt that he had worn ever since. He remembers her pretty smile; and her laughing words... "You'll never use this again." The last time he saw her was a few years later and she had been naked. All of the males had been commanded to gather round the paddock to watch her punishing a slave who's chastity belt had been tampered with. What she did to the poor wretch was truly gruesome but it certainly convinced the watchers not to attempt to free their own loins.
But Lady Louise no longer requires his services.
The builders have completed the Mansion's new wing and the laundry is installed in its basement. There is no longer any need for him.
So he is here... The auction rooms.
The sale is not due to start for a couple of hours and he is chained to the wall in a viewing room, just one slave among many. Around his neck hangs a placard proclaiming 'Lot 21'. Several women mill around, examining the merchandise. There are some Ladies in attendance but most of the buyers are young Mistresses, looking for presents to buy for their Lady employers.
The girls stare and giggle, point and laugh. Two of them come up to him. The first puts a hand between his legs, grasping his chastity belt, saying to her friend: "Not bad this: a solid steel cock- holster. I'll bet it's an antique."
The friend drops down onto one knee and gazes closely at his confinement. After a moment she shakes her head. "No," she says. "It can't be much more than ten years old - Look, it's the modern design."
The first girl also kneels and looks between his legs, noticing in close-up what she had earlier missed: "Oh yeah. It traps the cock but lets the halls hang free. The older ones locked everything up so that you couldn't do THIS..." and she slaps his dangling testicles, causing him to scream.

The BMW, pulled up outside Victoria's country cottage. The two ladies emerged, a brunette in an outfit of leather, and a blonde in shiny PVC.
As they walked across the lawn, they noticed Victoria walking back and forth across two servants. Occasionally she stopped to give a vicious back-kick, stabbing her victims with the spurs attached to her riding boots.
Victoria noticed them approaching and paused to rest her boot on the hand of one servant, whilst crushing it into the back of the other.
"Hi Jacki, hi Gina," she smiled, greeting them. She stamped her boot down harder and continued: "I find that on a soft surface you can crunch bones more easily, as they have enough movement to bend. These two have been trying my patience. Rick here, the one with the 'crunchy' fingers cannot even count to eight, so what use are his fingers? I told him to prepare 8 horses
for this evening's ride and he only did 7 - can you
believe that?"
With a look of disgust, Gina raised her boot and drove the 6-inch stiletto heel into his other hand producing a loud yell. Jacki kicked him in his ribs for making such a noise and Gina twisted her foot from side to side to force the heel in further.
Victoria smiled.
"And as for this worthless scum, Andrew; he actually assaulted one of my guests. Earlier today, whilst simply putting out a cigarette, this imbecile caused Julia to lose balance and she fell off his chest. She wanted to take him away for 'correction' within the prison system, but as I only have five workers here today and have to prepare for tonight's riding fun, I couldn't spare him."
"Er...five" interrupted Jacki, "I'm terribly sorry, but you only have four now."
"I don't understand" Victoria queried.
Gina smiled and tried to suppress her amusement. Jacki looked at her and they both burst out laughing.
Victoria looked puzzled.
"You see," began Jacki, "I accidentally crushed a man on your drive."
"Yes" interrupted Gina, "He was in the way, bit of a nuisance really!"
Victoria frowned. "He was supposed to be pulling the weeds from the drive. How could you possibly not notice him?"'
"Oh we noticed him alright," replied Jacki, "It's just that he didn't move in time and I drove straight over him. Rather like those annoying slow pigeons that one hits from time to time."
"Except this time, there's more to clean up" laughed Gina.
Victoria couldn't help but laugh at this last remark. "Ah well" she said. "I do know what you mean. If they are too stupid to move, then that's their problem. I must admit to having hit a few in my time. Actually, sometimes I go out of my way to hit them. I believe that it sharpens ones' driving skills, and besides, I like things that go 'crunch' beneath my boots, whether they
are insects or that even lower form of life - man!"
They all agreed that no real harm had been done, but were a bit disappointed to have to cancel the evenings' riding.
"He was the 'fox' for tonight" explained Victoria. "A very fast runner, I believe, so it would have been fun."
"What about these two here?" asked Jacki, kicking the servants hard, as if blaming them for the 'accident'. "We'll see" said Victoria.

A personal favourite of Supreme Guard Aphrodite, Julia is determined to create such an aura of fear and absolute terror throughout the prisons that Aphrodite already revels in.
For her first week-end leave Julia paid a visit to one of Victoria's country cottages with her, friend Vixen Julia stood over his head and contemplated pinning his ears to the ground with her stilettos, as Vixen was doing to his wrist.
Julia lowered her free hand down between her legs and ran the index finger along the length of her leather gusset.
The leather material. was so narrow down there that it didn't really keep anything hidden. Her labia was quite swollen, having made love with Vixen half an hour earlier so the tiny strip sat comfortably between the lips.
A marvellous view for any wretched slave.
She bent her knees so that he could get a closer look, watching his cock growing as her sex lowered towards his face.
Then he was erect, his manhood peeking out from the containment of his pouch. So she lashed it, bringing the crop down with a sharp stroke into his tender, useless parts.
He screamed so she did it again, listening to the crack of leather on leather as the tip of her whip bit along the length of his little pouch. Vixen giggled.
"Up, dog!" Julia commanded. "On your knees and polish Mistress Vixen's pants with your tongue."
Vixen leant over the table, allowing the slave to tongue her.
He started at her ankles, working his way up, getting his tongue into every crease of the plastic while Julia used her riding crop to encourage, him.
As he polished higher and higher up beyond her knees, towards her thighs, Julia made sure that his legs were well parted so that she could access his balls with the pointed toes of her stiletto-heeled boots.

Supreme Guard Aphrodite watched from her window whilst fifteen men
were being whipped by fifteen young ladies in the exercise yard. She studied the techniques of the trainee Whippers closely, always on the lookout for new talent. Some girls were too eager with their bullwhips, always aiming straight for the genitals and destroying their victims' capacity for pain. Others were too gentle: it seemed as if they thought that men were like eggs - easily breakable. They drizzled light lashes onto battle-hardened shoulders, avoiding contact with nipples and cocks. "Pathetic," snarled Aphrodite under her breath. "Call yourself women?"
One girl stood out from the crowd. An auburn-haired bundle of energy in a black PVC dress. Sometimes her well-aimed whip would wrap itself her victim's head, sometimes under his armpits or on the soles of his feet. She returned her attention to his genitals every minute or so, letting the whip snake up at them from between his buttocks. After doing this she would move around him and fondle his cock, gently, as though she were masturbating him, pouting her lips and smiling suggestively in his face. Then she would knee his genitals and start again with the whip.
Aphrodite approved.
She left the window and made her way down to the yard.
She went across to the talented trainee and touched her on the shoulder. The girl turned and Aphrodite could see by the look on her face that she was unhappy at being interrupted. The look changed instantly when she realised who Aphrodite was.
"What is your name, girl?" Asked the Supreme Guard.
"Nina," the young woman replied, with a slight Germanic tang to her voice.
"Stand aside from the others. What I have to say to them all does not apply to you." "Yes Ma'am," the Girl replied. "May I finish this dog off first?"