The future belongs to Women

I want to tell you why I know the future belongs to women. I inhabit an environment created for superior women by dominant women in the Basque region of Northern Spain. Select males are invited to participate in the realisation of our world, which increases female comfort and reverses the devaluation and oppression of women. All males are inferior to all women but considered enlightened if they agree to support and advance us. During their stay here they will receive training in a step-by-step program designed to meet our needs and goals, which are indivisible from their own. What I want they want and any males who are unable to provide either mental stimulation or a well-toned body are worthless specimens for whom I have no use. Let me make it clear, males who worship women and consider it a privilege to be allowed in our presence, as their real selves, are not wimps. These are men who allow themselves to be seen as they really are without the effort of having to posture and strut in the macho stereotype that does not fit their persona. Here men and women develop to their full potential, free from conflict and turmoil. I reject and banish from my domain and mind any male who opposes female rule and that includes men identifying as submissive who serve only their own libidos, kinky sensualists after kicks for their jaded appetites and any man who uses women.

In the grand reception room of my mansion I sit on my dais throne, which is crafted to highlight my swelling breasts, impossibly small waist, long muscular legs and the voluptuous bottom and hips of a fertility goddess. I am dressed in a long black rubber cape over a black bra, corset and pants fashioned from the softest leather. My high-heeled elegant red stiletto shiny shoes are handmade with infinite care, their curvaceous geometry being much to my taste. I am the embodiment of the vital essence of women's power, both sacred and profane. I am a perfectionist by nature and expect nothing less than 100% from my underlings.

All is as it should be in the Estate of Female Domination over which I rule. Flanking me are two male naked slaves, their bodies oiled and in a state of Adonis-like perfection from the hours of exercise they are made to do every day. All are well endowed and frequently erect given that they are cock-teased daily and offered no release for months at a time. During the night they are locked in chastity devices. I like the looks and demeanour of these well-built studs. They are kept for purely ornamental purposes to be enjoyed by the languorous female gaze. Their sole function beyond being living sculptures, bondage mannequins and exotic statuary is to fan me; they are of course well trained in the exact rhythm needed to cool gently my perfect alabaster skin. They are sometimes lucky enough to experience my person more closely when they bathe me in my "milk bath", a concoction of ground almond powder, which moisturises my body and means that I am seen but never totally revealed. All they catch a glimpse of is my back, naturally arched into a deep, dimpled valley above my perfectly rounded buttocks. They remain heavily bound in chains as I enjoy the clinking, clanking sound as they minister to my divine form. When not assisting me in this way they must devise beauty recipes using ingredients such as strawberries to add to my bathing rituals. They gather and harvest the ingredients themselves and the end result is the fruit of long and complex preparations. I order them to apply the powders and perfumes that knowingly accentuate parts of my body. My bathtub is illuminated by candles, hung from a garland of artificial roses and gently rocked by my retainers. Only the most handsome and fittest of men are chosen for this task. As you can imagine, theirs is a much-coveted position.

Their eyes are downcast as they raptly concentrate on their duty. Chained to my throne in a kow-tow position are six more slaves who are there to respond to any whim of She Who Must Be Obeyed. If they do not perform to order, their punishments are spectacularised for the entertainment of any women present. Four of them are currently licking my shoes, a pair to each foot, to an impeccable shine, whilst another recites poetry to me, Keats, Shakespeare and servant d's verses, meditations on female beauty and wisdom. I am relaxing after inspecting my estate this morning and ensuring that everything is as it should be. I am glad to report that every slave was in his proper place, either performing menial tasks or undergoing rigorous training, all expertly supervised by my staff of dominatrices.

A slight vexation spoils my otherwise tranquil and pampered mood, as I am to meet with fiscal advisors from the unreal world. In the EFD, everything that is suppressed, denigrated or denied by patriarchy is held in high esteem, that is women's spirituality, sexuality, fertility, anger and inherent freedom. Women here reveal a range of behaviours that can be dazzling in their scope; it is very hard to deal with unreconstructed males after enjoying the company of my sisters. Not only are these advisors male, a situation I inherited from the last Queen of the EFD, but they are typical of their type: dull, witless and charmless, forever wittering on about target setting, mission statements and development plans. How dreary I thought the day was going to be!

What I hate most about these fat cat male executives is that they want women to believe that being at the top of the ladder is stressful when research shows that the greatest stress is in being at the bottom of the ladder as women have traditionally been. Yes, I reflect that used to be women's place but thrillingly we have totally reversed that trend here with women's potential becoming fully alive and our increase in power has only led to the greater fulfilment of our lives. For too long women were told that their self-belief was arrogance and pride. Here belief in ourselves, in our talent, determination and Goddess-given right to be better than men is daily reinforced. Our empathy, good listening skills, creativity and team working make the liberation and credit we deserve a given, not just in my world but eventually in the world at large.

Then I was told by my chain gang overseer, one of my most loyal slaves ,b,- that a slave had escaped. In a way, this was a good piece of news as it was my policy to deal with all escapees personally and this would be the perfect reason to cancel my meeting with the accountants. I instructed my secretary d-, the more literary of my retinue and cravenly dependent on me, to cancel the meeting and to tell the dresser slave g- to have my riding outfit ready in five minutes. I requested that a guard send a stable slave over with my favourite black stallion right away.

These tasks were completed in a matter of minutes with the smooth unhurried efficiency you would expect from a domain run by women where female need is fulfilled promptly. My dresser slave g- helped me into my white silk shirt and white tie. I removed my bra, as I love to feel the loose silk on my nipples. Next on were skintight black leather riding breeches that are restrictive and come up almost to my waist and horizontally across my legs, just like very brief, tight shorts. I added an exquisitely tailored hacking jacket with tiny buttons all the way down the front, which comes halfway down my bottom. A Spanish style riding hat, leather gauntlet-style gloves and thigh-high black PVC boots with shining spurs completed my stunning ensemble. I gaze at myself in the mirror - ah! Just perfect, my look evokes wonder. I slip my hand down the front of my jodhpurs and open myself up; this keeps the lips of my pussy apart so that the pommel of my creaking, heaving saddle can stimulate me. On the steps leading down to the horse were the slaves who had committed minor misdemeanours the previous evening and whose punishment it was to spend the whole day prostrate and naked on the stone, providing a walk way for me. I made a point of treading on each one's head as I passed since my motto is "her feet must be tender for she walks on the heads of men." Each one murmured this mantra as I bore my weight upon them and then painfully murmured,"Thank you Goddess".

My fawning secretary d-, who whenever I was low or poorly was such a comfort, briefed me as to exactly where the escaped slave would be heading. w- was of a common kind; a powerful corporate and corpulent executive who had thought that a six-week holiday playing fantasy games with beautiful dominatrices would be fun. Before he was accepted into my world I had carefully laid out the conditions to him. These were that he would not be released before he had served the terms of his contract, so he had to be sure when he made a commitment. He had told me that he was the sincerest submissive male that I would ever find; his problem being that his male ego rose up from time to time and he needed help in crushing it. Therefore he agreed that he should be held for the duration of his training despite any protest he might make later. He was about to find out that to accept servitude to me is no fantasy but a reality and that his contract would have to be honoured. In my vast experience I always find those that promise most deliver least and my instincts proved right.

After a mere mile of galloping on my steed, with the animal prancing and pounding the ground and arching its beautiful neck, I spotted him, puffing and panting towards the car park on the outskirts of the EFD. Here, the slaves would leave behind the trappings of their existence in the unreal world. The cars were used to take women on shopping trips to the nearby town and for trusted retainers to make journeys for supplies. Favoured slaves, usually elderly and after giving years of focused, heartfelt service were sometimes allowed trips for their own pleasure. They always returned quickly to our province feeling out of step with the males they met in local taverns and looked at oddly by women to whom they instinctively bowed. This escapee had a gleaming Jaguar waiting for him; so far money had always been able to secure for him what he wanted and he had no thought of it failing him this time. Even the slightest hesitation of an EFD slave to obey an order was deemed tantamount to gross misconduct. Trying to escape was disobedience of a very high order.

I entertained myself by playing a cat and mouse game and took my horse along a lesser known route, talking to it constantly in phrases almost liturgical repeating again and again the strictures of the laws of the EFD. Such affirmations of success feed my power and riding makes my body feel supple and alive, the adrenaline coursing through my blood. The power of the horse drives passion from my sacred sex into my thighs, my stomach, and my breasts. I am exhilarated, soaking wet and in a transport of delight as I manage to reach the car before slave w-. Strands of my soft blonde hair flow around my shapely neck and I collapse in ecstasy along the long black body of my horse, his smell overruling all my other senses.

Tethering my horse to a nearby gate I crept into w's car; it was not locked and the key remained in the ignition. W- would not have been surprised to see the animal there. Horses were often to be seen waiting for ladies to return from shopping trips. If he had been more observant he would have seen that it had been recently ridden but I bargained on his sole concentration being on making his escape and I was right. Just as he thought he was free and was turning his key in the ignition, I jumped up behind him pulling a leather hood over his head and grabbed his hands behind his back, placing handcuffs on him. He was dragged from the car as I said, "Where do you think you are going, slave?" The gag in the mask effectively made my question rhetorical. He was harnessed to my horse and made to run all the way back again as I broke into a stimulating trot. He stumbled and was in no fit state to run. I turned to enjoy the sight of this once all-powerful male (who had admitted to me that his employment practices left much to be desired both in the internal working of his organisation and its remit,) helplessly under my sadistic control. As I broke into a canter he was unable to stay on his feet. He arrived at the mansion in an undignified state with his slave uniform torn to shreds. I informed him that I was not wasting good money to supply him with another, and that he would be naked for the duration of his stay, save for a sign around his neck. I placed a heavy board on him with a curious brand on it. This was a sign to all other dominatrices that he had attempted to escape and to treat him harshly.

I told him I was going to play a little game with him. Once I had flogged him for causing me this inconvenience, when he was specifically warned that he must take responsibility to fulfil his contract, I would hog-tie him in my private chambers. He was informed that if he was able to free himself from the ropes I would let him go, if not he would be forced to complete his training. My secretary slave d-, with precision timing, brought me a champagne cocktail on a silver tray, fed handmade chocolates to me with tongs and massaged my neck after I had exercised my skill with rope work to secure wretch w- tightly. I enjoy the sight of the red welts of a slave's sensitive skin in contrast to the soft white rope. The sibilant sounds of the rope as I threaded it easefully into intricate patterns excited me further and particularly the knowledge that I was turning the tables on this once powerful male now totally at my mercy. I insist on inveighing heavily against insolence before a male creature thinks he has put one over on me.

Highly satisfied, I sipped my cocktail and admired my handiwork. I commanded d- to become my footstool and the secretary-come-servant boy became a piece of furniture for me. Corporate man wriggled, strained and contorted himself in a vain struggle for freedom, his pig-like face became purple with exertion, his eyes bulged and the veins on his neck stood out thick and livid. "Wonderful," I exclaimed, "don't give up, keep trying. You don't want another six weeks of what you suffered yesterday, do you?"

He renewed his efforts, squirming around like a fat trout caught in a bucket. He was weakened after his beating and the injuries sustained from being dragged whilst I was on horseback. I laughed and dug my heels into my footstool. It was great fun and certainly more so than a meeting with accountants, some of the most boring men on a planet already full of tedious oafs. Eventually my victim was spent and could struggle no more. I stood over his broken form. "Well my boy, it's back to the chain gang for you. You should be honoured that I am prepared to lavish so much of my precious time on you. Now d-, your turn, but because you have been good and there are rewards here as well as punishments, whilst you are tied up I will erotically torment you with pleasure."

My fantastic body is able to jar the most stable of minds and unbalance a man. If a slave really allows himself to submit to me he experiences a loss of self, fearful but delicious. In the act of dominating I merge genders, acquiring a masculine vigour, and in turn my subservient knows the joys of feminine languor. I flaunted my body swollen with desire like a ripe fruit and d- was utterly beguiled by me. I have already forgotten the accountants, the recalcitrant slave w-: the only thing that matters now is that life is brief and we should go to pleasure with energy and will, with acts of oblivion and remembrance. w will be drawn to me for my priceless, infernal treasure and come to know my body as a site of expressive knowledge and sensual understanding, his desire always bounded never consummated. Once released w- will return to his sad world unable to rely on the old certainties in which he once put so much faith. D is already contained in me; he is truly part of me. Together we form an unbroken circle of dominance and submission. In d's life of abuse and misery he experiences fleeting moments of pleasure from me, all the sweeter for their infrequency. w- will learn soon enough as d- already knows that there is no recourse to flight or combat from me there remains only adoration or exorcism.

Marquise