Last year I was getting bored with some of my old slaves and was on the lookout for some new ones.
I had hundreds of applications from guys who reckoned that they could measure up, but the whole process of interviewing and assessing can be very long and laborious.
My good friend Kim (an excellent slave trainer) told me that she might be able to help me.
I really didn't know what to expect as I hit the Ml Motorway, heading north. But one thing I could be sure of, is that if Kim invited me to something, then it was bound to be worthwhile. Although I have numerous slaves who would give their eye teeth to drive me, I nearly always prefer to drive myself.
The map which Kim had emailed me, showed exactly where the farm was located. Pulling off the motorway at Junction 25, I headed out into the countryside.
It was a bright morning and I was really looking forward to seeing what Kim had planned for the week.

I first came across Mistress Ivana in an online chatroom. It was a chatroom where a lot of Russian women were interested to know about the West and how we lived. From the outset it was obvious that Ivana wasn't happy in Russia and was having a pretty bad life.
Firstly she worked for the Russian government, which paid her something like a hundred US Dollars a month; secondly she was having to give about ninety percent of that money to her husband, which meant she could never buy new clothes or nice things; thirdly her husband treated her badly with his constant drinking, womanising and violence towards her; and fourthly she had no freedom to go anywhere at all, except to work or occasionally out with her husband.
When Ivana and I started to email one another, I could hardly believe what sort of life she was living.
And what came as an even greater shock to me was when sheemailed me a photograph of herself.

She was (is) absolutely stunning. She has the most beautiful blonde hair; a wonderful bone structure; and the figure of a model.
How, I thought, could this beautiful, intelligent woman be living such an unfulfilled existence?
After much correspondence I went to Moscow to
meet Ivana and told her about life in the West.
I organized and paid for a passport and travel documents for her on the pretext that she was coming to England to be my au pair.
One night we waited until her pig of a husband rolled home drunk and I told him what I thought of him.
But more than that I set about him a with hefty, brown leather cattle whip bought from a local market for the purpose, gave him a thrashing that he will never forget!
Ivana was shocked at how severely I had beaten him, but was laughing about it by the time we were safely on the plane back to the UK.

She was also charming, vivacious and extremely attractive. In short, she was the perfect prefect. When it was time to elect the new batch of prefects from the upper-sixth, teachers and pupils were unanimous that Penny would join the ranks of the elite. Naturally, prefects enjoyed a privileged position and many perks. They were also bestowed with some quite considerable powers!
One lad who was less than enthusiastic about Penny's appointment was Kevin Crawley, a contemporary of hers who had spent his school career baiting and upsetting her. Penny always referred to him as "Creepy Crawley," likening him to a slug or a worm. Even on their first day at the school, Kevin had deliberately upset her by stealing her inauguration form and writing the obscenity on it: "Screw my nuts."
When Penny was telling me this account, I could hardly believe that the male creep hadn't been given his comeuppance many moons ago. But, like so many lads, he obviously hadn't learnt true respect for women. Certainly, though, he did end up learning the hard way and his life was changed forever, as Penny recounts:
When I first saw Kevin on our first day at school, I thought he was really ugly. He also had an annoying habit of making a disgusting noise and spitting all the time. It soon became obvious to me that he wasn't the brightest candle in the box. To be honest, he was a fucking thicko. What also became obvious is that he fancied me - yuck! He always used to stare at me if I was playing in a netball or hockey match.

When I was a schoolgirl I was always playing games! But not the kind of games that my classmates used to play. I remember I used to hold competitions. Basically, any boy who wanted to kiss me or fondle me, had to first be dished out a punishment, set by me. If the boy accepted my judgement about what was fair and proper, then he had to endure it or not receive his prize.
There was never any shortage of applicants who wanted to play and I could pick and choose who was going to win a prize, and who was going to be a loser. I can't really remember how the game came about or how it developed into a regular form of recreation.
Any boy who fancied his chances would find me at my usual spot on the other side of the mound on the school playing field, every break- time and lunchtime. I would look the lusty lad over and decide whether I fancied him or not. If I did, I would offer something like, "You can snog me and squeeze my boobs and kiss them for three minutes, if you can take four strokes of the crop."

Lady Victoria is a fine and feisty young lady, much in the same mould as her regal ancestor. Both are renowned for possessing a penchant for good living and domination of the masses. With a body so magnificent, and a mind so cruel, the Lady Victoria is the natural heiress to the highest title in the land.
In days gone by, Ladies enjoyed the labours of many servants. Living in luxury and splendour, they enjoyed fine houses, fine foods and fine wines. The serfs, on the other hand, could look forward to nothing except a hard and arduous life and an empty belly. They were, indeed, wonderful times.
As Ladies sat in their splendid gardens, sipping long cool drinks, men were forced to labour in dirty, damp, dismal factories for fifteen hours per day. There were no holidays and the pay was barely enough to buy a few crusts of bread and a pint of pig's dripping. How the Ladies laughed as they drove past in their fine horse-drawn carriages, observing the scabby-faced, flea-bitten commoners who were forced to doff their caps.

A true account by Dennis.
Dennis (well that's what he says his name is) has written
in and described what he claims is a true story.
Whether
it is true or not (we'll let you make up your own mind about that) we have re-staged and re-enacted the whole scenario from his text...
A few years ago I was working as a clerk for a firm of solicitors in London. My boss was an amiable chap who paid me a good salary and a generous bonus at Christmas.

I was allowed five weeks paid holiday per annum and drank as much tea as my bladder could hold. On occasions I went out to lunch with partners and clients and was wined and dined fantastically well in some of the city's most expensive restaurants. So what's the problem? you're thinking.
We heard word through the grapevine that a takeover bid was about to be launched by an American law firm which was keen to get a toehold in the U.K. The management told us not to panic and that even if there was a merger or takeover our jobs would be safe.

Just to introduce myself, I'm Arabella (on the left in the photo) and the lady on the right is my best chum Lindy. I've known Lindy for several years. We both attended a well known public school for girls. During our years of schooling we were in the same class, the same clubs and the same trouble! The teachers even had a nickname for us: The Sadista Sitsters! This, as you might have guessed, stemmed from the fact that we generally got into trouble for committing what were considered by the headmistress and the teachers as sadistic acts. We had a reputation for scratching, hair pulling, Chinese burning and dead-legging our fellow pupils. I suppose you could say that we were bullies. But, in my own defence, I always looked up to Lindy and followed her example. She would always be the first to hassle some first former for money and then leave her with a few sharp slaps as a warning to her pals.
And so it was that we pinched and punched our way through our glorious school years, causing ,mayhem and injury to anyone who tried to stand in our way. But I think that the name the "Sadista Sisters" was really borne out of our quizzical nature. It fascinated us to see whether a butterfly could get airborne with one wing; or how many slices one could cut a worm into; or how long the pet goldfish would survive out

of water, and whether they could swim without a tail; or who could whip their horse the most times during school horseriding lessons. Our inquisitive minds would play havoc with the school's pets and our fellow pupils.

"A new shipment of slaves has just arrived, Miss Lauren. I need you to check them off and sign the manifest," said the driver in her mid- west drawl.
Miss Lauren took a last drag of her cigarette and lazily slid her feet from the back of the slave where they were resting. She stubbed the cigarette out on the slave's arse, picked up her whip and strolled over to the collection point at the back of the truck.
"Two of 'em have gone and got trashed on he way down," announced the driver. "I never ouched 'ern or nothing."
Miss Lauren glanced up at her for a moment )efore signing the paperwork.
"Okay. I can't be bothered to count 'em," aid Miss Lauren without an ounce of enthusiasm.

Miss Lauren had seen more shipments of slaves arrive at the quarry than most folk had lad hot dinners.
Everything that happened at he quarry was now just a matter of routine for her. The higher the rate of production, the higher her pay packet. It was as simple as that. The supply of manpower was virtually endless. Any lady who had a slave which she wanted to get rid of could be donated to the quarry. For many Ladies it was a most satisfying method of disposing of a slave. Shooting or electrocuting were commonplace, but many Ladies revelled in the thought that their cast-offs would be put to work for twenty two hours a day and would almost certainly be worked to death within a few months.

DIY programs on the television have become very popular in recent years. I am now hooked and do a lot of DIY work around my house.

When I had the floorboards of this room replaced, I decided to add a new ornament . A servant was chosen and fixed into the floorboards as they were laid so that just his head poked through. The carpet was then laid and cut around his neck.

Under the floorboards, he is kneeling in rather an uncomfortable position with his hands tied behind his back. If he gets tired and falls forward, he will probably break his neck or choke to death!

As you can see, I have kept his head covered beneath an upturned waste paper basket.
I find it amusing to play with his head! By squeezing his nose I can cut off his breathing and watch with delight, the sheer terror in his eyes.

He is in the perfect position to, lick the filth from my boots. I can kick him hard if he fails to please me.

After getting into the swing of things here at R-H, I am finding the experience of working on the world's leading femdom magazines an absolute joy.
The great thing about it is, when it comes to men, I have total and absolute control.
For example, we were expecting a job applicant one afternoon and myself and Mistress Katerina decided that as it was a hot afternoon, we'd rather be out in the garden than in the office.

And we also thought it'd be amusing to drag one of our scraggy little photographers out there with us to photograph anything which might take place. And what you see on the following pages is the result.
The door knocker went and I dispatched a houseboy to deal with it. His strict instructions were not to admit the caller but to tell him, "Go into the garden and wait by the well."
"And you can tell him to make a wish while he's there," laughed Mistress Katerina.
The houseboy returned a minute later, telling us that he had sent Andrew, our latest in a long line of prospective workers, into the garden to wait for us.
"Boots!" I snapped. "Red and black. PVC. Matching outfit."
It seemed that the houseboy's training had not all been in vain and he actually knew what I meant from my concise request. Quickly he scampered off and returned a minute later with the garments. He carefully fitted the boots over my feet then started to frantically, but carefully, lace them up.
"What about me?" complained Mistress Katerina, aggrieved that she had been left out. "Get me a costume, too. Or you'll be sorry!"