Fetish Times Newspaper
Fetish Times Newspaper
- Number 1, 1973
- by Mistress Michelle Peters & slave english
The genesis of the B&D newspaper is traceable back through the linage of B&D Magazine publishing to the 1930s. During the 1920s & 1930's " London Life" was published in England & distributed worldwide, while not specifically a B&D Fetish magazine, It was the first internationally distributed magazine to have a regular & sizeable B&D and fetish section. The artist & publisher John Coutts (aka John Willie) was a regular contributor.
In 1946 John Willie first published " Bizarre", considered to be the first dedicated B&D Fetish magazine. By the early 1950s ( 1951-55 ) Irving Klaw was publishing his Nutrix Booklets and by 1954/55 Lenny Burtman was publishing Exotica (1954 ) and Exotique (1955 ) magazine. With the advent of Lenny Burtman's publishing enterprises ( against a backdrop of obscenity cases ) the B&D / Fetish magazine market grew many folds and the demand seemed to grow year by year.
In 1968 a New York publisher by the name of Al 'Alvin' Goldstein published "Screw Magazine", a porn tabloid newspaper. Screw " Magazine" was published as a heterosexual tabloid newspaper for sound economic reasons. Star Publishing of Brooklyn, N. Y. (headed by Teddy ( Roth ) Rothstein) would charge two dollars to print a five-dollar magazine, two dollars to distribute, leaving you with one dollar income on each magazine. Star controlled all fetish / B&D magazines east of the Mississippi, while Mag Corp controlled all printing west of the Mississippi. The cost of producing a newspaper was significantly lower than the "glossy" B&D porn mags because a newspaper could be laid out at the office, instead of at the printers, this now meant fewer issues were needed to be sold to reach a " breakeven" point financially. Secondly, the cover price could be lower than the " traditional " mags and because of the newspaper format, issues could be produced on a more frequent basis.
Marvin X
One of the first, if not the first B&D/ Fetish newspaper produced, was Fetish Times in 1973. This newspaper was the brainchild of Marvin X, and was published once a month by B&D Publishing Co. , 13234 Sherman Way, Suite 9, North Hollywood, Ca 91605. What distinguished Fetish Times from any other B&D newspaper or magazine, was the fact that a person could place a direct contact ad instead of a coded ad, ( coded ads being the common practice ) - In early 1975, Mistress Michelle Peters was the first dominant to place a contact phone number in a Personal Ad within a national B&D publication, although not the first publication to have personal ads with mailing addresses, Fetish Times was the first to allow a contact phone number to appear in a personal ad. At the time Mistress Michelle was told that she was crazy to publish her phone number, but, within a year, the majority of ads had followed her lead.
Below is, " The Chamber" the opening of the preface to each and every Fetish Times, this is from issue No. 1.
The Chamber
"All right, slaves, lick my editorial boots. God, are you a bunch of disgusting animals-unfit even to kiss my regal ass. Bow before me, you slobbering beasts, lest my anger with you becomes too great for simple mortals to withstand. Suffer."....!
The above is typical of the horrid copy pushed onto fetish readers in the past. Pure fantasy-the sloppy writing of some hack with no feel or understanding of what the fetish reader really wants. FETISH TIMES is not going to insult you with crap like that. Unlike the other papers that pretend to treat fetish subjects, we're not in this game for the money. Every member of this paper^lives what we write about. We're telling you about our scenes and we hope that you'll let us into yours.
FETISH TIMES is a newspaper based on the concept that anyone has a basic right to sexual expression. In each issue, we plan to explore, by both articles and fiction, the many facets of human sexuality. No matter how arcane the topic, no matter how esoteric the subject, we are going to write about it.
Over the years the fetish reader has become the least understood and most exploited person in the sex industry. How many times have you picked up a magazine in hopes it could do something for your interests and found it was just so much crap put together by someone who didn't care about your needs? How many times have you been ripped off with offers of excitement that turned out to be nothing but dullness?
We think you're a special person-you have special tastes and very special needs. We want to fulfill those needs for you-put you in contact with ideas, products and other people you'll find interesting. We're real people, just like you, and we want to share our experiences.
Above all, FETISH TIMES is going to be an interesting publication. We plan to honestly treat such subjects as bestiality, sadism, erotomania, pederasty, urethamania, exhibitionism, homosexuality, masochism and all those other Greek words for fun. We aren't going to tell you what you should and shouldn't do with your body and mind-we want you to have as much freedom in sex as you want. We're going to do our best to see that you get what you want on these pages.
A newspaper is only as good as its readers. We want you to write us and let us know what you think about our first issue. (All negative comments will be given to our staff masochist.) We've all worked long and hard to turn out what we feel is a damn fine product but only you can let us know how right we are.
So, no matter what interests you, you're going to be able to find it here in our pages. Let us know what turns you on, what you would like to see and read. We expect to hear from you. And now, enough of this chatter, we've got to get busy on issue #2. Copy slave, bring me my whip.
J.S.
By issue 8, Fetish Times` uncompromising attitude had become apparent in its editorial.
This story appeared in Fetish Times Number 1
Slave Clinic
- by W.F. Buckley
- Drawings by Rubex
The sound of marching feet rang out across the barracks square; it came nearer and nearer and ended in a faultless halt that sounded like a single rifle shot.
The sound of marching feet rang out across the barracks square; it came nearer and nearer and ended in a faultless halt that sounded like a single rifle shot.
The exhibition of foot drill had been performed by a squad of tall attractive females of the German Fourth Reich. They stood perfectly still now not twenty meters away from me. I could almost hear their hearts pounding beneath their heaving breasts.
They were indeed a shining example of female superiority, I thought. They were all dressed entirely in shiny black leather uniforms. Starting at the bottom and working my way up, as I always do, I could see they all wore three-quarter length high-heeled jackboots. Black nylon stockings hugged their beautiful legs and disappeared under very short black leather mini skirts.
My heart missed a beat as I noticed one of the girls had extra-large thighs, a small area of' them showing white above her stocking tops. The tunics of the uniforms were also made of black leather and were nipped in at the waist with a three-inch-wide leather Sam Brown-type belt, complete with revolver holster.
The tunics were very short, with only about four inches reaching below the belt, permitting a greater expanse of the leather skirt to be seen.
Since each girl possessed large child-bearing hips, with ass to match, this was indeed a magnificent sight for my eyes. My manhood began to stir within my tight trousers; the blood began to surge through my veins with desire.
I felt suddenly pleased that I was a prisoner of the 16th Women's Special Service Battalion of the new Fourth Reich, even though I knew that this particular battalion was noted for its cruelty to male prisoners.
The butt of a machine gun jammed into my ribs, forcing me to turn my head from the wonderful sight and face the door at which I was now standing.
My escort guard, a young attractive girl, was dressed just like the girls in the drill squad, but instead of black, her uniform was a deep shade of antique brown leather-very sexy indeed.
"Don't day dream, dog," she shouted at me. "You will soon see more of those beauties than you care to."
I stumbled under the impact of the blow and fell to my knees at the foot of the huge door.
There was the usual German eagle sign on the door as well as a nameplate which read: Major Olga Neilson, Surgeon, Director of Medical Experimental Section. After reading this, the stirrings within my trousers were gone completely, replaced by all the signs and symptoms of reactionary shock.
Was this to be my end, I thought? Was I to take my last breath while strapped to an operating table, staring up into the hideous masked features of some fat, sadistic female surgeon?
The guard knocked on the huge door and paused. Slowly it opened and there stood a very tall, heavily built, powerfully attractive woman of about 40. She was dressed in a nurse's uniform of dark blue dress and white apron and she wore a brown leather belt with revolver holster.
Her large, black-nylon-covered calves fitted her high-heeled brown-leather jackboots and from my kneeling position, she seemed to tower over me like a giant. I caught a glimpse of white thigh above her stocking tops; her skirt was short-and tight "A special prisoner sent over from headquarters for Major Neilson, mein Fraulein," said the guard.
The huge nurse looked down at me and smiled, a spider to the fly type of smile. "Excellent! You may return to headquarters now;' I will take him," she replied.
The guard took a smart pace to the rear, clicked her heels, saluted, and replied, "Heil," turned abruptly and marched away.
"On your feet, slave, and enter," ordered the nurse.
I scrambled up the steps and entered the building.
Everywhere inside it was spotlessly white and there was the usual smell of antiseptic. "Follow me," she ordered and moved quickly down the corridor. Her boots made no noise at all on the floor; then I noticed the floor was covered with thick black rubber.
I trailed behind the huge woman like a small boy and couldn't help noticing her massive buttocks straining beneath the tight-fitting skirt. There was something strange about the material of her clothes; it had a smooth, shiny appearance and it rustled as she moved.
She stopped by one of the many doors, took a key, and opened it. She beckoned to me to enter the room and, as I walked past her, my hand brushed against her dress and apron. They were cold and very smooth and I realized then that they were made of soft rubber. The smell of the rubber and the perfume she wore invaded my nostrils and once again set my sexual network in motion. I had received treatment for a shock once again.
I was crazy about the leather clothes that the other women wore but this new rubber delight was something I could dream about forever. The room was a large consulting room furnished with three easy chairs, an examination couch, and a desk behind which the nurse was now sitting. I stood near the center, my organ growing large within my pants. I fought back an overpowering desire to rush forward, 'throw myself at the feet of this rubber-clad nurse and bury my face in this new exotic material.
"You will now kneel and answer my questions," she ordered. I did so at once and was very pleased to notice that from my new kneeling position, I could see right up the nurse's skirt through the opening at the front of the desk. I felt sure she intended this to happen when I saw a smile suddenly appear on her face as she noticed my eyes popping out.
While fumbling with the papers on her desk she slowly parted her knees, enabling me a full view of her lovely nylon-clad thighs and the dark strip of her panties. Still smiling she shouted to me. "Look up at me, you cheeky little slave." I blushed and raised my head quickly, feeling very guilty and a little ashamed. "There are rules for you to obey at all times," she informed me. "You will address me as Mein Fraulein. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mein Fraulein," I replied weakly, my face still burning with embarrassment. "Speak up, slave," she shouted.
I repeated, "Yes, Mein Fraulein."
"That's better; no need to b.e frightened, I won't eat you. Well ... not yet, anyway, ha ha," she replied, laughing. "You will kneel at all times when in the presence of medical staff members unless otherwise ordered. The moment you entered this building you became a slave and a plaything of the staff and you should be prepared to accept pleasure, or punishment, at any time without question. Do you understand?" she demanded. "Yes, Mein Fraulein," I replied.
Dozens of questions were now flashing through my mind. How many guys had knelt here while the riot act was being read to them by this lovely lady in latex? What was going .to happen to me? How long -could I stand it? Should I make a break for long would it be before I was decorating the shelves " of some laboratory in large glass jars?
I must have been in such deep thought that I had not heard the nurse talking to me again. "What is your name?" she was shouting. I quickly said I was sorry and told her my name.
She began taking down my particulars: age, religion, any political views, etc.
Then to my surprise, she looked at me and smilingly said, "Have you had much sexual experience, slave?"
I did not answer but felt myself blushing and became very nervous. "Come now," she continued. After getting up out of her chair she slowly walked over and stood right in front of me. The rubber uniform rustled as she moved, "Do you not find the material of my uniform sexually interesting?" she mocked.
I could not answer, I was so choked with excitement.
She was standing so close to me now that her cool rubber apron was gently caressing my face; its divine smell invaded my nostrils like a sex drug. Hastily I began to kiss the apron and to lick it. Strong hands gripped the back of my head and the nurse pulled my face to her, burying it deep in the folds of her lap. It seemed like she held me there for hours, the cool rubber clinging to my face and gagging me.
Without warning she pushed me away from her, sending me crashing to the floor. She turned away and walked back to her desk.
She laughed and said, "You have answered my question, slave, without saying a word. You are like all the rest, a sex maniac."
She told me to stand up and walk over to her.
I did so and knelt at her side, feeling rather like a schoolboy about to receive a scolding. The nurse bent forward slightly, took my face between her hands, and gently lowered her red lips to mine. The kiss was warm and passionate and, although domineering, was affectionate and certainly acceptable to me.
The Lieutenant never took her captivating eyes off me as the two masked nurses gripped* my arms and carried me over to the operating table. "It would appear our little slave has met with an accident by the looks of his bleeding bottom, ladies," she jovially commented.
"Indeed he has;' replied Greta. "He had an argument with Eva's belt."
The three women laughed.
The Lieutenant reached for a bottle and a bowl of swabs and moved behind me. "Before you put him on the table I will clean his lacerations with spirits," she said.
The air hissed through my teeth as I winced and went rigid with pain. The Lieutenant had poured the bottle of spirits all over the scarlet welts of my buttocks and was swabbing none too lightly.
"You bloody sadist," I screamed in anger.
"Come on, my little one," mocked the Lieutenant.
Replacing the bottle and swabs on a table, she moved around to stand in front of me. Raising her rubber-gloved hand she proceeded to slap my face from side to side, barking a single word with each slap. "That's ... no ... way ... to ... thank . . . nurse ... for ... wiping . . . your . . . bottom.
She employed full force behind every slap and my head felt as though it would burst. The stinging blows from her rubber-gloved handset my cheeks on fire. "Right, ladies, on to the table with him," she ordered. The strong nurses lifted my struggling form onto the cold table and held me firmly down on my back. It made no difference how much I struggled; the Lieutenant quickly had my arms strapped tightly at my sides. While one nurse held my head in a vise-like grip close to her rubber-covered bust, the other secured each of my feet in a single strap so that my legs were fastened apart, leaving my most private parts exposed and at the mercy of powerful rubber-gloved hands.
At that moment, through tear-filled eyes, I saw a door open, and in walked the most fabulously powerful woman I have ever seen. She was at least six feet tall and 180 pounds of beautifully rippling muscle. She was attired like the other nurses, but in opposite colors and she wore a small gold bar above her right breast.
"Your new slave has been prepared, Major Neilson. She smiled cruelly and slowly moved toward me. My heart began to pound madly and my manhood grew to its' limit, vibrating comically in the air. Her rubber gloves enshrined it and it spits forward its appreciation
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