Imperious Madam Sugar, and her footboy!

Good morning, Guangdong.

6:15 A.M., October 10, 2017.

As the rays of the sun peeked in through her bedroom windows, and the “songbirds” chirped outside, the causal birdie that might have glanced in through the windows would have seen the following.

A young woman laid out on the bed, legs spread wide apart causally without a care in the world, that young (Chinese, I might add!) woman clad in pink silk pajamas and a matching top, her narrow and slender feet poking out from under the pajama bottoms, her bare upper arms clearly visible through the sleeveless top.

Her hair was short, shoulder length from what it seemed like and was spread about in disarray on the pillow on the bed, and her small “pert” (and well covered, I might add!) breasts rose and fell as she snored loudly, sleeping the “sleep of the devil” as it were.

Not the sexiest of things to witness early in the morning, eh?

Well, reality can often times be VERY unsexy (if I may use that term), my beloved reader! Real life isn’t always about the sexist of women … but, and in my case, it’s always been about the most dominant of women.

Vibes, and everything else I’ve mentioned before in the all my writings and especially the “Krystal- The Teaching Assistant” series have no doubt contributed to this “meeting of the naturally dominant” and “reluctant submissive” as it were, but the bottom line is that looks are not, despite what most men think the main thing when it comes to sheer, utter, and true female dominance.

Its that look in the eyes, my friend, and the words, the attitude, the sheer dominant and oh-so-natural attitude that TRULY DOES IT!

I know just what you WANT — — and NEED, BOY!

And the mind, of course, and these lovely Chinese ladies have it in them naturally.

As I write this, I remember all the humiliation and all the “experiences” in the book as vividly as if it had been yesterday (especially the part about “icing” my nuts — OUCH!).

All of it, and the ongoing humiliation as well with Madam Krystal, relegated as I am to the status of “foreign chattel” (which curiously enough is how a lot of Chinese ladies look upon as foreigners anyway, albeit in a non-sexual sense), and I bear absolutely no ill will towards these lovely ladies.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Thank you, Madam , Perfect Madam Sugar (despite the obvious imperfections). ’Twas indeed an honor.

Anyway, to return to the “sight” … No “sheer negligees” and “wide expanse of fair skinned thighs”, or “that glimpse of her ass, the “sheer contours of her left butt cheek as she lay there, one leg pulled up to her stomach”, so inviting, yet so “far away” covered by the minutest hint of nightgown”) here.

Nothing of that nature, as you can see!

If you would have looked closely, you’d see she was a youngish looking Chinese woman, probably about 25 year or so of age, but she wasn’t “beautiful” by any stretch of the imagination, at least not what is considered to be “traditionally” beautiful in China.

I’ll describe her more later, but for now, it also bears mentioning that said songbird may have also noticed (if it craned it’s head well enough!) a curious looking “thing” between the bedposts of the bed, a thing that had its ears tied to the bedposts by two strings, and a thing with a “handsome” (some might say!) face, strong shoulders, and sinewy forearms and fingers that were massaging said Lady’s feet.

Yes, I capitalized the “L” for a reason there!

The strings allowed some lax, some flexibility, but only some.

That strange thing being me, of course, and this ingenious way of “chaining” me to the bedpost was to ensure I didn’t lop off to sleep (again) while administering my duties, which in Madam Sugar’s case, was an “all night long foot massage as she put it”.

She strode confidently into the bedroom, a dominant sight indeed, her “saggy yet “un-corpulent”” butt cheeks “wiggling” as she walked into the bedroom, feet splayed wide apart, her wide hips and narrow waist contrasting in a curious manner with her small shoulders and upper back.

Not what you’d expect, of course in a femdom novel where it’s all supposed to be “sexy” and that, but again, real life to the fore here, my friend. Real life as it were.

Anyway, that should do a fairly decent job of describing this fair skinned 24 (or 25, perhaps, I still don’t know her age) Chinese lady that was yet another “teaching assistant” at the school I was “fortunate” enough to take up part time employment in at the time of writing this.

As for the background behind this . . (on her, specifically) — — there is A LOT.

Way too much to write here, and you can find it all in the three Volumes of “Krystal- the Teaching Assistant” as well as the Sequels.

Since there are literally so many of these books around, I’ve combined everything into one reader for now.

For those interested — Enjoy!

You slaves best not dare to look at anything BUT the BOTTOM of my PRISTINE feet . . . BOY!

(The reader is available HERE —

And back to the imperious and PERFECT Madam Sugar . . .

Rub my feet, boy! I’m exhausted! I’ve been working all day long

That was her last command before going off to sleep, and I must admit I did a fairly good job before falling asleep around 3:40 A.M. or so, which in itself wouldn’t have been a big deal, but my darn head hit her soles as I fell asleep, unable to control my exhaustion any longer, and it was almost as if I was using her soles as a pillow of sorts.

(Why was I so exhausted, you might ask? Well, Chapter 3 and the rest of what happened in the “holidays” will provide you with all the reasons you have, and should answer any and all questions in that regard as well!)

And she woke up instantly, of course, being a light sleeper.

“How dare you fall asleep?” and that shrill, and decidedly “unsexy “voice of hers “trilled out” loudly, and though I was half asleep at the time, a quick smack to the head brought me to your sense.

“You damned servant! You damned Indian servants! Can’t you ever do anything right, boy?”

Here I should say that I am of Indian descent, and though I don’t “look” the part in terms of being “Indian” and “he have black skin” (as the Chinese love to say; when most Chinese think of Indians, they think of Indians as being “poor and impoverished “blackies” from a third world nation), and as I believe I’ve mentioned in other writings, passports and other documents matter not to the Chinese.

Now, this is not a debate about whether or not India is a third world nation … my point is to highlight the racist mentality.

It matters not, for instance, if a Chinese person born in the U.K., let’s say, someone that doesn’t speak Chinese and has never been to mainland China, someone that is, for instance, the “proud” holder of passports from three different nations, none of them issued by the “People’s Republic of China”.

The “people” will always look upon them and refer to them as Chinese regardless of nationality, and I don’t use the term “first and foremost” here for a reason.

It’s not about “being Chinese first and British later”.

It’s about “being Chinese, and … well, being Chinese, and NOTHING else”.

Sounds strange and I know that, but ’tis true, my dear reader. ’Tis very true.

She sneered at me and whacked me once again.

“You bloody Indian! I knew it from the time you walked in class! Your terrible English, I cannot to understand, and I no know how America give you passport!”

And in terms of “giving me a passport”, well, it would be futile to mention my country of birth here; as such facts don’t matter to Madam Sugar!

All that matters is . . . that you’re beneath her FEET!

As for the “poor English” part … well … what can I say, other than a resigned “Your always right, Madam Sugar!”

And being that I was currently “on loan” to her since my own Madam “wanted a break from me”, she was fully aware of my situation and my “enslavement” if I might say that to Madam Krystal, as well as Madam Yang’s “training” that was so deviously, yet efficiently administered all throughout the holidays.

A “training camp” as it were, if I might say so!

And so she spoke freely, as opposed to in school where you can tell she was “biting her lip and holding herself back”.

“I’ll teach you, you little bitch! How dare you fall asleep while pressing my feet, Madam Sugar’s feet!”

And she brought a piece of string from the living room, and divided it into two parts, and I could see that the string was an old one that was used to “bind together” a package she had recently received from Taobao, China’s premier online shopping app.

“I’m sorry Madam, I …”


“Shut up, you foolish thing!” and again, that shrill voice of hers “decreed” and I daresay a couple of the “songbirds” I referred to above might have been woken up at that point as well, loud as her voice was.

That voice wouldn’t be out of place on a “matronly school headmistress” by the way, and that should give you an idea of just how “shrill” and “cacophonous” it was.

And she tied the string expertly around my left ear, and tied to the bedpost firmly, and did the same with my right ear, so I was literally “pilloried” between the bedposts, and any attempt to “drop my head” would result in very painful consequences.

The string was old, but strong as well, and it would literally have torn half my ear off if I “dropped” off as it were!

“There, boy! Now let’s see you fall asleep!”

And with that she triumphantly collapsed back into bed, and her soles stared me in the face again, long, narrow slender feet, the middle toe being disproportionately larger than the big toe.

Daba!” (and here she meant “press”, Daba being a Hindi word this devious mind (hers, not mine!) had apparently picked up from a Bollywood flick of yore), and though I don’t understand Hindi too well, I did understand that particular word, uttered though it was in a Chinese accent and with a devious giggle at that as if to say “I know the important words in your language too, bitch boy!”

“Press my feet boy! And don’t fall asleep again, or else!” And here she reverted back to English.

As if I needed any reminding!

The string had a little slack, but just a little mind you.

And that slack wasn’t to “allow me a little relief”.

It was to (in a perverse sort of way) encourage me to “move my head more from that uncomfortable position it was in”, the “little bit of slack” being a constant reminder to “move that bit more”, if you get my drift, with very painful consequences indeed!

And as I massaged her feet, her snores filled the room quickly enough, and I continued massaging her feet as she slept, the consummate servant as it were, and the hours ticked by, slowly but steadily until morning.

6:15 A.M., I believe it was …

And finally she stirred and her feet shifted positions just a tad bit. She was obviously either really tired (or, and most likely), the long foot massage while she was sleeping is what had put her into a deep, restful sleep, the type you don’t wake up from easily.

Nothing of that nature from me, and my shoulders, back and arms were literally killing me, not to mention my neck which felt like a piece of pulverized meat by now.

Madam Sugar by the way seems to have an “internal” alarm clock, and being an early riser by nature, she usually wakes up between 6:15 A.M. — 6:30A.M.

(I’m not — when I have the choice, that is!)

And she lazily stretched like a cat might upon arising, and looked at me as if I was waking up from a restful sleep myself.

“Hello, boy!” she said, and she said so causally that an onlooker might have been surprised at my position, as to how this seemingly “friendly” woman could even think of putting a man in a position like I was in now.

But the look in her eyes gave it away, and though her voice wasn’t loud or even menacing at that point, the sly and conniving eyes told me that she was thoroughly enjoying EVERY moment of the predicament I’m in.

“I enjoyed my sleep, boy! Did you? Did you sleep well, little man?”

And here she pinched the bridge of my nose hard between a couple of toes and shook my head, and I couldn’t take it any longer as fresh stabs of pain shot through the sides of my neck and my ears, by God, my ears were CHAFED and sore by then!

This didn’t seem to bother Sugar though.

“Who tied you there, little man? Aww, that’s so sad! Your little ears (and here I yelled in pain as she yanked the string that tied my left ear to the post HARD) …”

And without warning, she spat in my face.

“That’ll teach you, boy! It’ll teach (here she sniggered and made an underhand reference to me “supposedly” being a “respected teacher”) you not to fall asleep while massaging ME!”

She then cut the strings, and laid back down on the bed with her phone (which was always at her bedside table while she slept).

“It seems Krystal’s too easy on you, boy. We’ll have to address this”.

“Hmm!” she went on, seemingly talking to no-one in particular, but the next command made it very clear “who” she was talking to.

“Kiss my soles, boy, and kiss them until I tell you to stop!”

“Kiss them and thank me with every kiss, you little Indian bitch!”

And I did as she bade, and soon enough the room was filled with noises of kissing as I kissed her admittedly (to me, at least) unsexy soles and uttered a “Thank you, Madam Sugar!” with each kiss.

That’s one thing about Madam Krystal, by the way, and it was part of what “attracted” me to her in the first place … her legs, and if you remember, her feet, though definitely not in the way you’d think in terms of her feet.

I’ve explained that part in the first Volume, but briefly put again here, I was NOT submissive by any stretch of the imagination, and those that have read the first Volume will remember the first major “spat” occurring when I refused to massage my (now) Owner’s feet as they always should be!

Madam Sugar’s feet were nowhere near as attractive, and yet, the passion and fear with which I kissed them would have you thinking I was kissing Miss Universe, such was the “devotion” on display.

A scalded dog learns quickly, doesn’t it?

So does a punished slave.

“Thank you, Madam Sugar. Muah! Thank you Madam Sugar! Muah! Thank you …” and she had enough of this after five minutes, and ordered me to go about my household tasks.

“Bring me my breakfast, boy! Hurry up!”

And as the shrill command rang out, I hurried to the small kitchen where I then proceeded to prepare breakfast for her, dumplings and Chinese “milk” tea as she preferred to have in the mornings, placed it all on a tray once done (I think it took about thirty minutes in all), and brought it back to her in bed as she ate, completely ignoring me, checking her phone in the process.

What happened later?

Find out in the books . . . but if you’d think MORE domination and humiliation of the kind you have NOT seen before, you’d be right!

Thank you, Madam Sugar. You were the best!


Mike Watson

P.S.- If you enjoyed this preview, you’ll ENJOY our tales of Chinese femdom right here (a very extensive collection indeed!) –

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