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.