The Real Thing …..
Real slavery was no joke and a terrible part of our history. I often think that my ‘slaves’ don’t really know the true meaning of the word. So while in my gorgeous pad in Spain I decided to play the part of the cruel slave mistress. One of my worms – a Brit who lives in a town nearby – asked if he could be a slave for a day. Of course I wanted to oblige. So I told him to turn up at my villa at 4 30 am and make sure he hadsome heavy chains around his legs. I also told him to wait by the gate of the villa until opened by me. Of course I wasn’t going to get up that early so left a note ‘Slave – wait here for your mistress to come. Do not move from this spot. I have cameras on you.’ As dawn broke, I heard the faint rattle of chains. It meant that my slave had done as he was told (how could he do anything else?)And so I slowly got dressed – a long white sun dress, figure hugging of course, this is Spain in early summer – and a broad brimmed hat. I carried a flicky horse whip of course. On feet were two Doc Martin boots as my estate can get a bit stony. Having got the slave to wait in the rising sun for two hours, I finally emerged. His first reaction was totally wrong. No bow. No going on his knees. So I bawled at him ‘Get on your knees worthless slave’ and struck him with my whip The first of many blows. I then kicked him up the arse and told him to follow me to the extensive land that I own down there in the Andalucia. He faced dropped when he saw a very dry, stony part of the gardens, and a rusty old garden fork. It was overrun with nettles and wild bushes. I told him there may even be snakes in there. His job was simple – to clear the ground ready for mistress to plant a herb garden. He didn’t seem to understand his task but was reminded with a swift kick in the nuts and a whip blow across his miserable backside. I pulled up a deckchair and with a nice cool drink (it was already very hot) watch the slave get to work. Of course he was rarely fast enough and often deserved a few well aimed blows. I enjoyed verbally abusing him and occasionally reminding him who is the boss lady by shoving him over and placing my boots on his hands. I could see he was part terrified of me, and part of any snakes lurking nearby. I knew of course there was a possibility, but properly not any but that was part of my fun.After several hours of this, it was lunchtime. I decided to reward his ‘hard’ work with a few dry bikkies and a litre bottle of cold water – half of which I poured over his sweating forehead. It was clear that this arrogant bastard didn’t know the meaning of hard work. Didn’t know the meaning of slavery. But you know what? Now he does!