t the notorious brothel in our nation's capital known simply as The House, there's a new madam ready to crack the whip. Literally.

Taking over the reins from former Master David Boneya, Mistress Nancy Peniso is the first female to head up The House in its long and storied history. It's a change that she says was a long time coming, much like many of the clients.

"In today's climate of pan-sexuality, it only makes sense that we have a shared dynamic in heading up this bastion of pain and pleasure, you insignificant little worm," Peniso was quoted as saying through gritted teeth. "Now lick my patent-leather boots until they shine, slave!" she added.

Citing The House's beginnings as a strictly gay male club that specialized in infantilism and fetishes, Peniso went on to say that "It's about time some of those tired old sissy-Marys get their come-uppance. We're entering a new century, and S&M is the new norm. Women have a role to play, and it isn't just as submissives tied to a rack for a little light whipping, or the occasional use as a cigar humidor. From now on, these members of the old boy network will have to beg Mistress's permission to go sticking their tongues into just any old orifice that happens to present itself."

Former Master Boneya, who is moving on to become President and CEO of Glory Hole Video Booths, Inc., was moved to tears in the ritual ceremony relinquishing power to Mistress Nancy.

"This is one of the most – ow! -- pleasurable and – urf!! – painful days of my life," Boneya cried, assuming the classic submissive position and receiving a thorough caning as he passed on the ceremonial whip, ball gag and buttplug to the Mistress. "I hope she serves all you – ooooh! – slaves and bitches well. Ow, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!!"

Visibly shaken, Boneya was then led away in leather restraints while Peniso busied herself with a few hooded lobbyists and a red-hot branding iron.

"We're going to lay down some laws now, boys," she said with a twinkle in her eye and an evil grin. "The House is in session!"

reedom-loving news source the commune was the victim of international terror this week when much-beloved (no exaggerration there) reporter Lil Duncan was diagnosed with the venereal disease syphilis.

The disease, caused by the bacteria Treponema, was discovered in Duncan after a series of blood tests and physicals given to all commune staff members except Easily Riled Herb. The tests were specifically looking for anthrax or other communicable diseases possibly spread by terrorist to American news sources like ABC and NBC.

After the diagnosis, the commune offices were filled with panicked men and some of the randier women who were terrified they had contracted it, though so far all testing has revealed only Duncan carries the disease at this time. All commune staffers, especially fearless commune editor Red Bagel, will be tested second or even third times to verify the absence of syphilis.

"Terror has hit home, way too close to home, you ask me," Bagel told a group of commune reporters he demanded quote him in the next edition. "Terrorists strike to make us fearful and terrified. Hence the name, stupid. Well, they have struck, and I guarantee you, the terrorists will pay! Put that part right under the headline, too, Nootles."

Duncan's doctor J. Ernest Fielgüd, a specialist in sexually contracted diseases, and medically schooled in them as well, has informed the commune that syphilis is a bacterial disease that is no longer the death sentence it was deemed early in the 20th century. With penicillin, the doctor said, syphilis can be eradicated from even late-stages sufferers.

commune Research Editor, Griswald Dreck, however, disagreed.

"If syphilis shows up, the party's over, that's all I can say. Little microbes invade your neurons and turn you into a character not unlike Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining.' Brrr! All work and no play make Lil a dull girl. Check her typewriter, I betcha anything she's got stacks and stacks of that shit on her desk. I'm outta here, no joke. You sit and wait for the ax in the chest, jack."

Dreck packed his tiny ventriloquist dummy-sized suitcase and vacated the commune offices quickly. All other commune staffers are visibly shaken and worried, but so far wait patiently for the outcome.

Lil Duncan could not be reached for comment as I ain't getting near the syphilis-beridden bitch.

"I remember quite clearly the first girl I ever kissed. I was very young and inexperienced, no older than 13. No younger than 13 either. In fact, I was 13.

She was a very self-assured woman, slightly older, around 16. She wore confidence like a dress, and she wore her dress like a dress, so it was like she was wearing two dresses, but both matched her rose-colored shoes.

Her hair was long and feathery, golden, not real gold but just blonde, though calling it 'golden' makes it sound more poetic, I like to think. Her lips were fat, naturally so, not like mine that were still fat from that playground fight with the ugly kid a day before. No, her lips were beautiful, like sweet candy wax lips and you wanted to taste but not eat because that would be disgusting.

'Do you want to kiss me?' she asked. I'm no fool, so I told her I did, though I was very nervous.

I could tell she was very reluctant, wearing a shy smile and a twinkling sparkle in her eye as she tried to play all normal about it. And, kiddies, that li'l devil I was, that 13-year-old Sampson L. Hartwig, I leaned in and planted the most fantastic kiss on her lips.

'That's an extra dollar,' she reminded me, but it was worth every penny as she put her clothes back on while I watched to make sure no flatfeet cops were cruising by."

º Last Column: Penpal
º more columns