Chapter 1
I don't
exactly hate men; but I do despise them.
I find them superior, despotic, and determined to keep women in their
place. The one exception was my
father. I loved him with a passion that
I suspect exceeded a normal filial relationship between father and daughter...
Perhaps I should
introduce myself. My name is Joan
McFarlane and I am the only daughter, only child actually, of Andrew and Mary
McFarlane. Dad inherited a sizable
fortune but then proceeded to turn it into a multi-billion-dollar investment
portfolio. And he managed this without
destroying other people in the process.
It wasn't until I
reached the age of puberty that I realised just how much I despised men as a
group. As I say, most of them I found
patronising towards us women even if they loved them.
But I kept this
very much to myself. Not even my best
friend knew just how much I held them in contempt and certainly my parents
didn't either. We don't have a large
family and most of my friends came from school acquaintanceships.
I was thrice
blessed, having the benefits of a good brain, a highly athletic body and an
extremely wealthy father. I am certainly
not beautiful, but I believe I have a pleasing face to go with my rather
muscular body.
I use my brains to
excel at school and university, and my body to beat the pants off every male
with whom I competed at tennis and the like.
When I chose
urology as my specialty having completed my MB, BS basic medical qualification,
everyone stared at me in astonishment.
Why on earth would a woman want to specialise in a principally men's
area of medicine?
I knew of course
but I could hardly admit that to others.
Specialising in urology and male patients would allow me to strip them
naked and commonly handle their most hated (by me) organs but I counted their
amazement with the somewhat lame observation that this aspect of medicine
intrigued me.
At that stage,
although my trust fund was very, very generous, I certainly would not have
embarked on what became my project for life for the reason that my parents
would have been horrified.
What was it that I
wanted to do, you wonder?
In my mind's eye,
I designed and built a quite extensive complex devoted to the treatment of
urological problems in men but also in catering for the masochistic natures of
some of them.
I would 'live-in'
on the top floor of this building which would also have lovely gardens in which
I could relax with my naked male slaves.
Yes, I know slavery is still illegal but there is a thriving community
of men and women who delight in playing at slavery both as Master/Mistress or
slave and I would certainly be catering for them, or at least the slaves among
them.
The next floor
down would be three times the height of a normal storey in a building and would
be the home of a fully equipped gymnasium devoted to the practice of gymnastics
rather than weightlifting. Here, I would
train those men who submitted to me as patients/slaves and turn their bodies
into fine examples of the male physique.
Under that floor
would be my surgery and other rooms associated with the treatment of my
patients/slaves and this would include a special corridor accessing rooms
associated with the administration of pain and torture for the masochists among
my patients/clients.
On the ground
floor would be the administrative offices, staff accommodation, interview and
classrooms where suitable males were converted to willing slaves. Live-in slaves would be accommodated in the
basement level.
So, you can see
there was no way I could even commission an architect to design such a building
for me while my parents were around. I
couldn't even talk about it as a hobby for the same reason and so I pursued my
university studies in medicine and urology, fully intending to seek a position
in a reputable hospital and thus gain practical experience in my craft.
We came from
Melbourne, in the southern state of Victoria in the Commonwealth of Australia
and I was brought up in a lovely old pure white mansion in St George's Road,
perhaps one of the most prestigious thoroughfares in the suburb of Toorak,
usually held to be the centre of uppercrust Melbourne.
At one stage as I
neared the completion of my specialty, I contemplated moving up to the Gold
Coast of Queensland, partly to enjoy the fabulous climate up there but more to
separate me from a close interest in my projected 'clinic', but I quickly
abandoned that idea as I didn't want to move away from my parents in such
circumstances.
Having come out
very near the top in the results of my urology course, I didn't have any
problems obtaining employment at the Royal Melbourne Hospital and began my
'career' with a great deal of dedication.
I found it interesting if lacking in the ability for me to treat my male
patients in the way I desired.
You will be aware
that if I could pick and choose my patients, I would concentrate on those men
who craved to be slaves to women, and subject them to way-out demands as to
exposing their bodies to me and performing obscene and humiliating tasks while
adopting positions that were very clearly designed to make them believe they
were indeed slaves.
But then, tragedy
struck.
My father was a
very keen aviator and had his own Piper Warrior aeroplane and whenever he and
Mother were going any distance they always flew. He was a good pilot but on that terrible day
he ran into an unexpected storm and his plane went down over the Blue Mountains
just west of Sydney.
That was a
terrible time for me, particularly as we had no close relatives and while my
friends did their best, I really did feel lonely at that time. But as one does, one picks up the threads of
one's life and of course after my grief died down, I quickly realised that I
now had almost unlimited resources in which to pursue my life's dream.
But I wouldn't be
doing it in Melbourne. As I mentioned, I
intended to 'live in' on the premises and had no need of the huge house in
Toorak and as it was not an inherited family residence, I had no reason to keep
it and so put it on the market once I had made the decision to move to
Queensland.
I see
little point in detailing the complexities of finding an architect and builder
and then watching as my building took shape.
I will say, however, that I did not go looking for a site right on the
Gold Coast, as I wanted a degree of privacy for my activities, more to protect
my clients and slaves than any concern I had for myself.
I found a perfect
situation in the foothills of the extensive ranges that form one of the arms of
the Great Dividing Range that begins near the top of the Cape York Peninsula in
northern Queensland and continues right down to the middle of Victoria in the south. It was at the end of a road that wound
through fairly dense bush that was part of the national park in the area and
could not be developed while my property, comprising about 100 hectares was a
rather forgotten outpost that was rather an anomaly in that one had to drive
through about five kilometres of national park forest to get to it and the road
was not even tar sealed.
It was thus
perfect for my needs. It had been a
dairy farm, but the house hadn't been occupied for many years and was almost
irreparable. I didn't want it anyway and
having found my architect, who I think really had a thing for me and was
totally sympathetic to my plans, he agreed that removing all trace of the house
would be the obvious first step.
He did comment,
early in the piece, that the distance my clients would have to drive from the
Gold Coast, or even more so from Brisbane, might inhibit my projected daily
clients but I pointed out to him that my services were going to be particularly
unique and that I suspected my clients would drive almost any distance to avail
themselves of them.
He took that on
board, nodding and smiling in understanding of where I was at and then quickly
came up with the first sketches for the four-storey building that would be
surrounded by fast-growing eucalypts and other native trees so that it would
not stand out like a sore thumb.
He also guided the
building application and all other necessary approvals and then we were into
the building phase. I had stressed that
I wanted it to be a very solid concrete structure but it's outside walls were
to be faced with a very attractive local stone.
This was to attract our clients rather than to appease the locals
because there was no place except from the air that it would be seen.
I had found a very
nice guesthouse not far from the site and spent most of my time following the
building progress, but I certainly didn't intrude on the builder or his
tradesmen. And in the meantime, I began
advertising my services in various magazines akin to the fetish of modern day
voluntary slavery and/or the disciplining of males, also writing a series of
articles to accompany the advertisements and not at all hiding the location and
purposes of my new building.
It wasn't long
before visitors began coming to seek out the location and observe the progress
of the five story building (if you count the basement as one of them) and as I
spent quite a lot of time on site, I could actually interact with them on a
personal basis and some of the men actually indicated that they would have
every intention of booking in for an extended stay as a slave if I would have
them.
I always adopted a
rather stern expression at these times and indicated that I would only be
accepting slaves or trainees from people with a reasonable physique and who were
medically capable of undergoing the discipline, physical and mental, that I
would be imposing on them.
Some of them were
already quite well-built but others were actually obese and to these I pointed
out that their bodies would not stand the disciplines I intended for my slaves
and suggested that they get themselves into a reasonable condition before
contemplating an application with us.
To a man, they
agreed that they were overweight and promised to shed many centimetres from
around their waists before making contact.
While I maintained my rather severe expression, I was chortling inside
at the subservience these men already adopted towards me and knew that the
attitude I had taken had been right.
I am
now going to jump forward a few months to our opening and to the preparations I
had made for that event.
Obviously, I
needed people to help me run the operation.
Every single one of them would be a female, however. I wanted no men anywhere near the place in a
position of authority. Our male clients
would have the status of slaves and would be stripped naked upon arrival and
not permitted clothing of any kind, not even a rag over their genitals, for the
whole period of their stay with us.
I had no idea how
many clients/slaves we might attract at any one time, but the basement level
provided basic accommodation for up to a hundred at a time. Sleeping areas were no problems as they would
all sleep side-by-side on long wooden benches with pillory type restraints for
their necks and wrists but feeding them was another question. In my researches however, I discovered a
mythical product dubbed Slave Chow which the author described as being produced
from cheap vegetables, meat and grain which were all steamed together in giant
pressure cookers and when cooked, masticated the product into a paste which it
extruded and dried and could then be stored almost indefinitely. According to the author, a double handful
night and morning was adequate.
I took this idea
to a nutritionist on the Gold Coast and while she stared at me in astonishment,
commented that she thought that as long as the manufacturer maintained the
right balance of all the elements of a perfect diet, this method of feeding
prisoners, for example, might be just about ideal. I then took this up with the manufacturer of
the machines that made chook pellets who happened to be in a suburb of Brisbane,
and they told me their machines would work perfectly to make the pellets I
described to them.
I next
investigated the cost of cheap meats, vegetables and grain and was shocked at
how little it would be. Accordingly, I
ordered one of the machines and now set about looking for my assistants.
Naturally, while
most of the tourists who came up the dirt road to our site had been males
interested in checking out my little project, some were females who were as
intrigued in it as the males and these I carefully nurtured and when one of
them impressed me, wondered aloud if they might be interested in assisting me
in managing the male slaves I was hoping to attract.
Some certainly
were and those that were currently at a loose end, accepted my offer of joining
me in the guesthouse, initially to see if we could gel together, but later to
develop the ideas that were going to become our modus operandi.
Noelene Rivers was
the first of these and she was a Phys Ed graduate with a distinctly muscular
female body and, as I slowly gathered from our conversations, a man hater who
nevertheless delighted in physically punishing and demeaning males. She and I spent many profitable hours in the
various sex shops of the Gold Coast and Brisbane in selecting and purchasing
instruments to shame, humiliate and give pain to human males. We also spent many hours going through the
various publications and checking up on advertisements for these products and
gradually, as the building neared completion, believed we had the makings of
all manner of such pieces of equipment even including enema products, sounds of
various types for insertion into the penis and of course dozens of various
kinds, shapes and sizes of anal plugs with which to deliver exquisite pain and
discomfort to our male clients.
Also included in
these products was an electrical torture machine.
These are
extremely diverse in their sophistication and application but as money was no object
for me, we were able to purchase an excellent model that would have its own
room and be capable of delivering exquisite pain to the most sensitive parts of
a male body.
All of these would
be accommodated in the first-floor rooms along the corridor devoted to torture
and punishment of our male slaves.
As we slowly
acquired a huge range of these instruments and machines, I kept up my research
into their effects on the human body so that while we would aim to treat our
slaves to exquisite pain, we were not going beyond the realms of sanity with
regard to their torture.
What we had to
keep in mind always was that while we delighted in an emotional and sexual
sense in administering these punishments, we had to be mindful of their basic
welfare and just how far we could or should go in any particular case.
Naturally we would
require them to sign documents absolving us of any responsibility for their lives,
but I was also well aware that as a physician and surgeon I needed to be very
much cognizant of how far we could or should go.
All of our slaves
would be fitted with various male chastity devices designed to prevent an erection. These vary enormously in design and function
and in each case, we would pick the model that would deliver to the particular
slave the ultimate in shame and humiliation.
They would also be
permanently fitted with butt plugs.
These, too, are of various sizes and shapes but the most common are
those of a conical design with a rounded tip, a very narrow neck and a flange
to prevent loss of the object up into the rectum.
As I say, they
vary enormously in size, but it will be our aim to give them a fair degree of
pain with the very first model.
Some of them
actually have tails of various shapes and sizes on the end of the butt
plug. Some of these might bring to mind
a stiff doggy tail such as might be found on a terrier; others might be a mass
of hairs as in a horse. Whatever suited
the scene we were creating for that particular slave he would be forced to
adopt it without complaint.
Here I should say
that whilst the attendance of any slave was fully voluntary, once he accepted
our dominance over him, he could not object to whatever it was we decided for
him.