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A lovely message from a recent convert to the cult of Madame:

Good morning Madame,
I have been thinking a lot about you, just as you ordered, Madame. I would love to wake up on the floor next to your bed, Madame. Waking up with your feet on my face. You really know how to turn a man on Madame, how to destroy all his defences 'til nothing but complete surrender and submission are left. I do hope to hear from you Madame. I really do.
In the meantime I wish you everything you want, knowing perfectly that if you want something you will get it anyway, Madame; such is your power over all other human beings.
With my forehead on the floor,
M—

Not to belabour the point, but submissives are foolish to imagine themselves the only ones who get swindled. I see so many profiles in which a submissive describes himself as too clever to fall for a dominant's request for a gift as a demonstration of his sincerity. Rather, one understands, we dominants are apparently to view as adequate compensation for our time and attention (which commonly leads to the other enjoying the wank of his life) the submissive's assurances of devotion. Over the course of my career as the most lusted-after dominant of my sort on two continents, I have learned the hard way that 99 percent of such assurances are worthless. 

So many boys on this site seem disgruntled about dommes demanding demonstrations of generosity from them. Some, particularly foolish, ones go so far as to suggest that such a demand connotes the dominant's inauthenticity. I can well understand that there are many scam artistes on this site, but I make no apology whatever for asking prospective slaves to put their money where their mouths are. If I could subtract a day of my age for every hour I've squandered corresponding with someone who characterised himself as A Genuine Slave who wanted nothing more in life than to worship my spectacular long legs for the rest of his days, and then proceeded to vanish without a trace, I'd be 24 again. This is in no way to be seen as an endorsement of the self-designated princesses/findommes who abound on Facebook. What a perfectly obnoxious lot are they! No one who would lump one such as I in with them deserves my attention in the first place.

One of my worshippers, whose name I forget, has now signed on as my butler. As he owns a flat in central London, I am no longer compelled to make others who wish to experience my beauty and cruelty up close come all the way to Margate.

In view of my incomparable beauty and brilliance, I am hardly surprised to have been approached by countless dozens of prospective playthings since adding my profile this week. What does surprise -- and delight me -- is how wonderfully servile British boys are in comparison to their American counterparts. I can hardly wait to begin sinking my sharp heels into eager little British mouths.