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My queen, owner and mistress.
I am so glad to see that my ad has paid off.
Firstly, I want you to get to know me better.
You already know my name.
I am 33, 1.74m tall, I weigh 68kg
and I have brown hair, blue eyes, a mustache, I'm an architect and I'm single.
I love to serve with total servitude, and I feel that we will get along very well,
because I'm quite versatile and super discreet.
I am polite, affectionate and very understanding.
I want to be your total slave.
Let me lick your feet, be kicked by you, be at your disposal,
worship you, obey your every whim.
If you allow it, I will send you a picture of me with my tongue stretched out,
for you to run it all over your body, including your feet.
I can picture you playing, all the while smiling
as you squeeze my nose with your delicate little toes,
making me smell their scent.
I will suck each little toe like a delicious popsicle.
Then they will all go down on my member, ravaging it mercilessly.
At this point, I may ejaculate and wet them.
To excuse myself for such a daring act, I will clean them with my tongue,
while my owner beats me with a rawhide slipper,
which I own just for that purpose.
And after serving as a mat so as to feel
the sweat and the taste of your divine feet in my tongue.
Yours servilely,
Adalberto
My name is Wilma Azevedo,
I am now 74 years old.
I made a career as a writer, I've wanted to write since I was a child,
and I was considered the literary queen of sadomasochism throughout Brazil.
I was very successful in the 70s, the 80s and the 90s.
Wanda!
Wilma, this is Wanda.
- Hi, how are you? Pleased to meet you. - Hi Wanda!
The actress who will play you in the film.
Great. The pleasure is mine.
I'll sit here.
She'll be here to help us read the short stories.
Great.
Among other things, if you need her help, just ask...
So, Wilma, I'd like to know about your life path, since you were a child...
Could you tell us a little about it?
When I was little, I lived in Taubaté,
near the farm that belonged to the late author Monteiro Lobato.
There was a water spring there,
and everyone in that neighborhood
went there to fetch drinking water.
I was a very curious child.
There were many fruit trees there
and I liked to go there not to fetch water,
but to pick fruits.
I was on my way there and I met my sister, who was coming back from the spring
with an empty bucket.
She asked me, "Where are you going?"
I told her I was going to pick fruits.
She said, "Don't go there!"
"Why not?"
"Just don't."
She grabbed me by my dress and pulled me back.
When she pulled me, my dress ripped a little.
I insisted, so she told me, "There's a pervert there!"
I didn't know what a pervert was. "But what's a pervert?"
"A pervert is a man who's out there naked in a black trench coat
and he opens it and flashes his pecker at us."
Oh my God, that was what I wanted to see! I've always been curious.
It's no wonder that I'm considered a natural-born sexologist,
everything about sex has always interested me.
I'd lived on a farm, watching animals copulate,
and all that was a matter of curiosity and discovery for me.
I was very advanced for my age.
I picked the fruits, lifted my dress to hold them and when I was about to leave
he came out and opened his coat.
And I was scared to see that...
I'd never imagined what an adult man's erection was like.
So I darted through the woods.
And I managed to escape through a narrow passage…He wasn't able to get past it.
When I got home, my mother knocked on my head because my dress was torn.
I was trembling but I didn't say a word to anyone.
Around three days later,
we heard that a friend of mine, almost my age, was dying in the hospital.
And before she died, she'd been raped, she'd been hurt real bad...
And she'd said that it had been a man in a black trench coat
who had done that to her.
So I realized the danger, and I wondered...
I grew up wondering, "Why would an adult do this to a child?"
Like the innocent child I was!
It was like opening a flower, a rose,
by pulling its petals. It's opening before springtime.
…and after serving as a mat so as to feel
the sweat and the taste of your divine feet in my tongue.
Yours servilely,
Adalberto.
I received many letters from masochists telling…
telling what they wouldn't tell a priest, a brother, or their best friend...
They told Wilma Azevedo. Incredible stories!
Almost all masochists who liked to be beaten,
who asked to be slippered like this Adalberto guy, they told me...
I began to investigate where that sensation first came from,
and most of them said that when they were slippered,
spanked or even whipped on the ass,
they began to feel a nice tingling there.
Then that erogenous area, instead of causing pain,
began to cause pleasure.
And they ejaculated. Many of them had ejaculated for the first time that way.
When I was writing about it,
I found out that a Doctor Meissner,
a scientist,
had written about pain in my grandson's high school book.
He said that we have numerous nerves
that end mainly in areas unprotected by hair, like the buttocks.
And these nerves, when overstimulated,
instead of causing pain, begin to cause pleasure.
So I realized that the pleasure that masochists feel
when they are spanked, slippered, whipped…
...because anyone can do this on their palm...
When they stop, they'll feel a tingling sensation.
And in the erogenous areas, the scientist himself says,
when they are overstimulated, these nerves,
instead of causing pain, begin to cause pleasure.
I liked everything about sadomasochism.
And in 1979 I came across a magazine called "Man" in the newsstands,
and in it there were several personal ads by foot fetishists,
people saying they wanted to be domestic servants,
they wanted to have a mistress to serve.
And I answered these letters as a dominatrix.
For each case I created something specific...
The guy said "I want to be your puppy, I want to kiss your feet,"
and I said "I'd love to have a slave
who kissed my feet, who licked my shoe, who cleaned my stinky feet."
And he was smitten, the one from the first ad I answered.
Each ad I answered, they were fascinated
by the fact that there was a flesh-and-blood person
with the same predilections.
Sadomasochism was completely silenced here in Brazil,
nobody disclosed anything. It was feared.
"Childhood"
I lost my parents very early in my life.
It was a train accident, which I don't like to remember.
I just want to point out that we'd had a wonderful Sunday.
It was my first picnic.
And what fascinated me the most was the visit to the zoo.
And what traumatized me the most
was to see that the statues at the front of the palace
where Dom Pedro had lived were mutilated.
I'd spent a long time contemplating a beautiful Roman maiden
carrying a bouquet in her hands.
She was headless!
How I hated having visited Quinta da Boa Vista.
On the way back from that trip,
the train that took us to the suburbs crashed.
And my parents, as well as my sister, were killed.
My mother, as I learned later, had had her "red…"
Her "head…"
("the pronunciation!")
My mother had had her head cut off.
Cut off. Just like the statue, see?
I don't like parks or gardens, much less statues like those in Quinta da Boa Vista.
With each passing day they lose their beauty at the hands of vandals.
After the accident, I went to live with a couple
whose husband had been my father's friend.
Seu Augusto and Dona Conceição had been married for years,
but their marriage was like a tragedy.
She was very selfish.
And he was so simple, so humble,
he always treated me with affection, but very respectfully.
And she, who had a wicked mind,
began to imagine that he was interested in me for sexual reasons.
That made me angry, because he wasn't.
She always complained when he ran his hand over my head, held my hand.
When he caressed me, respectfully, she thought…
She got very jealous.
When he died,
she turned her attention to me
because she said that I would save her life by marrying a wealthy man.
So she wanted to make sure I was still a virgin,
and I was very upset when she pulled up my clothes,
made me lie down, took off my panties and examined me.
To see if the hymen was intact.
I was still an innocent child.
Soon after that, she found out
that the owner of the grocery store in front of our house
was a rich Portuguese man.
So she taught me
how to lure and seduce him.
Then one day I put on red high-heel sandals...
For the first time, he noticed my feet, and he kept staring at me.
And I realized that he was interested in something, I didn't know what.
Then I climbed a ladder to get a can from the top shelf,
and he came up and ran his hand over my sandal.
So I realized that he liked high heels,
and I set out to seduce him into marrying me.
What else?
I don't remember.
I wrote that 30 years ago.
It's been 30 years, I never read it again.
There was the negotiation, the dowry...
Oh, yes.
Then the stroke.
Then comes the stroke? Well, there goes the stroke of suspense...
You dedicate yourself to him for 3 years, and he dies...
Oh, he died? Wasn't he bedridden for 10 years?
3 years.
Okay, here goes.
I got married at 18, he was 10 years older than me.
He was very fond of kissing my feet, and on the honeymoon,
I had this urge to dress him up in my nightgown, tie a bow in his hair…
put some make-up on him.
And he found it amusing, too. And I liked it even more.
However, soon after that he lost interest in this play,
and he had a stroke, he was bedridden for 3 years
and I took over the grocery store, though I didn't have a clue.
But since he was Portuguese, he had wealthy relatives in Portugal,
who died and left him an inheritance.
So after I got that inheritance,
I moved to an upscale neighborhood in the south of Rio.
"LA VENUS DE SATIN" DE WILMA AZEVEDO
I was tense.
But I was trying to remain calm.
I pondered one more time,
"Bull," I only knew him by his nickname,
"It's not fair for you to take advantage of the situation.
I only accepted your ride so I wouldn't be late for my exams.
You know how important it is for me to take this test.
I've known you since the beginning of the school year.
I've always tried to avoid your advances, because I'm not into you.
Please, I know you aren't heading where I need to be in half an hour.
Turn around!"
He'd taken a route other than the one to the college where I studied.
Then I realized that he was after something.
I told him, "Let's head back, I'm going to be late."
And he kept going, we were in a completely deserted area.
Then he stopped the car and pulled out his member, saying:
"I'm here at your disposal. Come straddle me."
I didn't want to. I kept saying, "No, no!"
When I sank down onto him, I noticed that he was a bull not only by name,
but his member was also huge.
I felt something, but with hatred inside me because of that forced situation.
It was a rape, right?
I told him, "I feel like killing you, you know?"
And he said, "So kill me."
I said, "I will!"
I grabbed the seatbelt,
I wrapped it around his neck and he thought that I was joking around.
But I gave it a jerk, and when I jerked it I lowered my body,
so he penetrated me deeply and I had my first orgasm,
and then another, and another...
He clutched the seatbelt, trying to free himself, but it was too tight,
he couldn't...
He stuck out his tongue, he was going red like a tomato…
Then I came to my senses, "Oh my god, what am I doing?"
It wasn't my intention.
So I let go of him and rushed out of the car.
I even left my panties back inside.
Then he took a deep breath and speeded off,
leaving me behind in that deserted place.
Then I started to run, it was growing dark.
I stumbled on a rock... and as I fell I had multiple orgasms, all by myself.
That had never happened to me,
so I realized that it was the pleasure I felt for trying to kill him.
For days I wondered what that feeling was that I'd felt,
of pleasure, hate and then fear, all together.
So I began to research it by scouring used bookstores
for any books that talked about it.
"DELICIOUS TORMENTS" BY WILMA AZEVEDO
Back then we used PO box numbers.
They got so excited, they wanted to meet me,
they wanted to have a relationship with me.
But I didn't, I was very afraid.
Even when I answered the ad by Cosam Atsidas,
which means "Masoc Sadista" backwards.
What's his name? What's his name?
Cosam Atsidas. He was well known in the S&M literary milieu.
He founded the Brazilian Association for Sadomasochism in 1984.
When I wrote to him with some of my flights of fancy…
because he'd said he wanted to be a domestic servant.
I replied saying that I would like to have a domestic servant
who would cook for me, set the table, serve my meals, but naked,
with a see-through apron on
so that I could grab him any time I wanted, crush his balls...
He got so excited about it.
He'd already had some slaves, but he'd never been one.
He asked if I wanted to have a relationship with him,
but he had a case full of ropes, chains, hooks, needles…
That really scared me.
When we met I told him,
"Put your tools down on the sink, a queen never tires of playing with them."
Actually, I didn't know what to do with them.
I had seen, in a magazine,
a dominatrix straddling her slave.
She had a lot of make-up on and a shredded hairstyle.
I went into the bathroom, I fixed my hair,
put lots of makeup on and walked out… I was so nervous!
Then I told him to come to me,
but I was afraid he would use those tools on me, hurt me, fasten me.
"But I have to face up to this... I want to write about it,
I want to be a writer of sadomasochism, I have to face everything."
He came up on all fours,
very humble, almost drooling with happiness,
his head hanging low.
Then I realized that I had the power to really take on the role of a dominatrix.
I straddled him, I held up the whip and started lashing him lightly,
telling him, "You're a beast, you're an inferior being…",
making up stuff like that.
But the motel room, I don't know if it's still like that,
but it had mirrors on all the walls, and when I looked in them
and saw myself on top of him, I was startled.
Seeing that strange character of Wilma Azevedo…
Were you startled by your own image?
I was! I felt like laughing,
so I went into the bathroom and laughed a lot in there…
And then all that tension was gone.
Because it was funny, I thought the scene was funny.
Then I came back relaxed, and I went on with the scene, creating things.
And the man fell hard for me.
We dated for 3 years, we were deeply in love,
he wanted to leave his wife but I didn't.
And I began to write my short stories, I didn't know what for.
"HAPPY CARNIVAL" BY WILMA AZEVEDO
I'd gone to a party and I met a man
who read the articles I wrote for the magazine,
he knew that I was going to be at that party.
He'd brought his slave, Karina,
to leave under my care, because he was going to travel
and he didn't trust anyone to leave her with.
When a slave goes to meet her master,
she always goes without any panties or a bra on,
only with her clothes over her body.
Then when she got into the car,
she sat at the back and I slid my hand
to check if she had any panties on. She didn't.
Then as I slid my hand she opened her legs,
because a slave has to be at the disposal of her master or her mistress.
So, my hand was there… it was awkward, but fine.
When we arrived, he told her to prepare my bath and bathe me.
Fine.
But when she went to pour me a drink, she stumbled and spilled it.
Then he picked up the whip and lashed her violently, or so I thought.
At the time I didn't understand much...
He told her to stay on her knees before me, as punishment.
And we went on talking with her there, and that was bothering me.
So I told him, "Let's get on and do what must be done."
Then, when she lay down, she was already naked.
She had a lot of pubic hair.
When she lay down, he spread the cream on her and told me to shave her.
And, as I shaved her, I could see that she had a huge clit.
It was bigger than my finger,
and I found it very interesting, very strange, very beautiful even.
And I felt like sucking it.
I did it that day, for the first time, for the novelty of it. It was interesting.
So he thought that I was into it, that I liked it.
And he traveled and left her to serve me.
"ELEGY TO KARINA"
This poem was published in issue number 17
Parallel comparisons.
Rebellion.
The soul is weary of lulling chimeras,
in whose bosom memories and desires
roar like beasts. Sorrow and loneliness...
A slave abandoned in lovelessness with no name,
no Master, no direction, no tomorrow.
Neglected, she suffers such injustice
that her life is consumed by grief.
A slave to bitterness chained.
A captive, much too aware of pain.
A human wreck come of a late love.
A revived longing that still tortures her.
Incandescent whip, rope, punishment, kiss?
Memories of the joys of Sadism?
They are chimeras of tragic lyricism,
which revive her in every scene, ardently!
Why does the past trouble her?
You are strong, noble, beautiful, confident!
You shall beat on in pleasure and pain.
Your sorrows? A poet's sentimentalisms!
The world is yours, my disciple, my friend.
You shall have another owner, master, guide.
You shall see, like the dawn of a new day,
a new slave be born from the old Karina!
I thank you for your praise, for your tenderness,
For thinking of me so highly.
You have not forgotten me. Even in hardship,
I know how good and sweet and pure you are!
You have entrusted me with these pages, saying,
"Read them, and then tear them up"
I have read them, but I will not tear them up.
For this story of painful torment is
dazzling evidence of a life fully lived.
A story of love, longing, failure, victory.
A moment torn from our lives.
A page that should not be forgotten.
There lie, indelibly engraved,
our moments of discoveries and realizations.
And everything that is described there happened
to three people who met in a real world.
It is not fantasy, but glory!
I hope that another Master chains you,
and, at your fresh start, that you receive as a gift
someone who will possess you gently and calmly.
Not only your body, but also your soul!
She was a very important lawyer.
She became my lawyer, she helped me a lot.
But we drifted apart, because when I quit the scene,
I turned away from everything and everyone.
For 18 years nobody knew if I was dead or alive.
They sent me strange pictures, like this guy here.
He sent me this picture, then this one arrived.
You get the impression that a woman is stepping on his member.
It's all purple, look!
And here he was playing with the boots, alone,
wishing for a woman in these boots to step on his feet.
They offered me anything I wanted, just to do this stuff with them.
Did they send you letters?
And pictures...
How many letters did you receive?
When I worked for Rudolf magazine, I received more than 300 letters a month.
There's a story about me there... The reporter went with me to the post office,
I opened the P.O. box and they streamed onto my lap.
I couldn't even think about going to bed with him.
But he took the picture and hid it, and said he'd only give it back if I went.
He would recognize me, because he had a picture of me.
But I didn't know who he was.
And when I got there, he was this…
I took one look at him and I was disgusted.
He was so ugly, he'd said he was good-looking, tall, strong…
I was so angry that I had to go to bed with him,
to do what he wanted to get my picture back.
When we got to the motel,
what he really wanted was for me to defecate so that he could eat it.
He wanted my fecal matter.
So… I don't know if it was my anger, my feeling of disgust...
But my gut refused to work.
Then he had the idea to buy green bananas, not too ripe, nor…
and introduce them.
He said, "I'm going to introduce the banana
and you hang in there, it'll only take a little while."
The banana really came out, along with something else,
but I didn't look to see if he really swallowed it.
I left there in disgust.
After that, I learned that a lot of people share that same pleasure.
And I wrote an article about it,
"Fascination with Feces",
which was published in Rudolf, which was a magazine of unusual sex practices.
So you see how big the thing was.
"FASCINATION WITH FECES" BY WILMA AZEVEDO
After the beating, the executioners will crucify me,
fastening me to the cross with ropes
like the two thieves were crucified beside Jesus Christ.
This is an example of the kinds of punishment that your slave may suffer.
I have already inflicted many violent punishments on myself,
like hot oil on my penis, a stick in my urethra,
the whipping of my sex until it was covered with bruises.
All these punishments, however, made me reach the limit of my strength.
But now, with you, my queen,
or my executioners, the blows will be inclement,
and my lean, impure flesh will be torn mercilessly.
I must emphasize that joy and pleasure are strictly for my executioners.
For myself, only pain.
During the execution, my mistress Wilma
will notice that my penis will never stand erect.
I deserve only pain and suffering,
so I do not think it will be hard to find a group of people
who will be willing to help me
enforce this punishment on my body.
I must also declare that, besides being white and thin,
I have a small cock and am therefore incapable of satisfying my queen.
Therefore, I must be tortured, if possible, to death.
In this regard, my queen Wilma knows that, in other countries,
worthless young men like me offer to be executed.
If you so desire, and/or know a group of people
who have a remote, isolated place available,
I offer my body to be barbarously tortured.
To be flogged until my cock is cut off,
to have my nipples plucked out with red-hot pincers,
to have my anus and urethra burned with red-hot iron,
to have my scrotum cut open and my balls pulled out or ripped apart with pincers,
to be crucified on the cross with nails, and, as a stroke of mercy,
instead of a spear in my heart,
my executioners will thrust one up my anus,
piercing my guts until it comes out of my mouth.
I am single, I have no family,
I can sign a statement explaining my attitudes
and taking full responsibility for my act.
Therefore, I recommend that you not publish this letter,
so that I may somehow realize the final execution of my wretched body.
Signed: Your slave sentenced to death.
Wanda, please, bring me those pictures, so I can show you that day.
When we arrived at the hotel,
Cosam placed him on a table and tied him up.
Before that, he made him choose the tool with which he was to be enslaved.
These are Cosam's tools.
He'd taken this one here, which I'd never seen, but he describes in the letter.
It's a double-ended dildo.
Then he wrapped it up with extra coarse sandpaper…
He wanted us to penetrate him in the anus with this artificial member…
This would tear him apart. The sandpaper was really rough.
So… he said that he wanted that,
And Cosam had very rough-and-ready tools.
These handcuffs are made of iron,
this is a nail-studded slipper, which he used to punish his slaves.
But, in reality, even Cosam had all that as symbolism.
He never really used any of these.
He just thought they looked nice.
I never used any of it myself.
So he chose the hardest whip.
Then Cosam whipped him, leaving him severely scarred.
And I started feeling bad about the whole thing…
He was lying there, and he really did have a very small member.
He'd asked to have it all pulled out, to have the inside of his urethra burned…
and when Cosam turned him on his stomach
and opened his anus with a gynecological…
speculum, is it?
And he drew the cigarette near to burn him inside...
I went into the tub with the young man, but to show him
how hard it would be to handle all that,
I scratched his back with my fingernails
till it bled and rubbed lemon on it.
The salt… I poured the salt into his urethra,
because it would hurt a lot, but it wouldn't damage any tissues, right?
I got a phone call from a woman, saying,
"If you want to come, today there will be a meeting in our apartment",
and I agreed to go.
There was a whip, handcuffs, there were some tools in the room...
And regular furniture. But the apartment was very dusty...
Then I said, "Funny, I hide all my S&M gear,
"and you display them all on the walls.
"Don't you have kids?"
- "Oh, we have a son." - "How old is he?"
"Eighteen," he said,
"but he doesn't care about it, we have a farm
"and I tell him it's horseback riding gear."
The bell rang, he opened the door and a man walked in.
He said, "This is my son." But he looked like he was 30.
That man was not 18. And he'd said his son was 18.
The man greeted me and went into the next room,
there was this closet dividing both rooms.
He moved some stuff behind the closet and then he left.
After he left, I heard the whirring of an electronic device,
like a microphone or something.
- A recording? - Yes, a recording.
They asked a lot of questions and I answered them.
They asked me a lot about how I tortured my slaves, what I did, what I didn't do.
Then they suggested that I rent a house and take all my slaves there.
It was a house in Barra neighborhood,
one of the first group sex venues.
They would help pay and organize the meeting,
because they wanted me to teach my techniques for torturing my slaves,
which I had created on my own.
It all sounded very strange to me
and when we finished the session,
he said that he was going to drive me home.
Their apartment was in Lapa,
and I said "There's no need, my car is parked out there on the street."
I drove down Santa Luzia Street, past Praça XV,
and suddenly I saw that he was right behind me in his car.
I drove faster but he kept following me.
I stopped at the lights and saw him behind me,
and then he disappeared for a good stretch.
But when I turned onto Dom Pedro Street,
I made him out far behind me, it was already late at night…
I took a quick turn onto a narrow street and he drove past it.
The next day the telephone rings and a man's voice tells me,
"Wilma, now I know your full name all I need to know now is your address."
At first I thought that it was someone pulling my leg.
So I said, "Then take a pen, and I'll give you my address."
Then he said, "When you show up dead in the mangrove,
"with your mouth full of ants,
"I bet you won't find it funny." Because I had laughed, thinking it was a friend.
Then I realized that it was for real.
So I hung up and then talked to my lawyer
and we found out that it was a team of detectives who
were after me to teach them how to torture,
and she told me that they would pay very well
for me to present a session enslaving my slaves.
But I refused to do it, because, if they were detectives,
they were linked to the police, to the repression,
to the dictatorship, and I would never collaborate with such a thing.
My tortures were erotics
and had nothing to do with what they were after.
M TORTURED BY WILMA
STRIP, BOW DOWN, OBEY, BE HUMBLE
She was about to open the curtains, she said,
"We're going to put on a show that's only performed in New York.
It's the first time we perform it here in Brazil."
When she opened the curtains,
there were two gay men, two lesbians and a normal couple.
But they were naked, having sex. That really shocked me.
I was used to nightclub shows where there would be stripping,
but at the end they always had a codpiece on.
But now, besides being stark naked, they were having sex.
So it shocked me a little…
the gay men were doing a 69,
the lesbians were scissoring
and the normal couple was at the back.
That was the show, a fuckfest on the stage.
I smoked a lot in those days, I really wanted to quit but I couldn't.
I was smoking my cigarette, watching the show, but I was so shocked
that I put the cigarette down in the ashtray and was about to leave.
People were standing at the edge of the stage,
they were leaning in to have a better look at the back.
She noticed it, so she told the couple that was in the back,
"You two, come here to the front,
"people who come to this club are not used to seeing missionary sex."
They were enjoying it so much that they...
The third time, she held out her hand and said,
"In the name of Jesus, I'm talking to you.
Jesus's blood is powerful. Now you will hear me, come to the front!"
That gave me a horrible chill. For god's sake,
in a place like that you play with Jesus' name?
It's one of the first commandments of the Bible,
"You shall not misuse the name of the lord your god."
At that moment I started to feel sick and I fainted.
Then the next day I went looking for a church and I became a believer
and was baptized in the waters and told the waters to wash Wilma Azevedo away.
And I walked out as Edivina.
Wanda!
Come here a second.
Could you please put the armchair there for me?
Like this?
Yes.
Will you bring me that bag over there?
- The big one? - Yes, that one.
Wow, it's heavy!
I'll show you the pieces I used.
One of the dresses I wore was this one, for the parties.
Red and black.
- Is it leather? - It's leather.
There were many pieces...
Do you think it'll fit me?
I don't think you'll have to wear it.
This piece here you'll use on the slave.
You'll put it in the mouth
and there's a little tube that you attach here,
which connects straight to the member.
He will urinate and be forced to drink his own urine.
I sold most of what I had to dominants.
Then I kept some that were more interesting, more classic,
that weren't sold here in Brazil.
Because I knew that someday someone would be interested in taking over my position.
I was going to hand it down to some dominatrix, see?
So this one is placed on the member and tied at the back.
It's a more modern type of a devil's harness.
This is a...
This is a muzzle.
- What is it called? - A muzzle.
You put it on like this and tie it at the back
so the slave can't speak.
So this one you put on the nipples.
She isn't cut out to be a dominatrix.
You have to put this one on the nipple, but the moment you do that,
you take a deep breath and throw your conscience out.
How do I do that?
Indeed, it takes spiritual strength.
At that moment I am no longer Edivina, I am Wilma Azevedo.
And Wilma Azevedo is not afraid of anything,
she is not disgusted with anything…
You have to do everything that could please the person
who chooses you as a dominatrix.
I find masochists very creative.
Whatever they look at, they figure out a way to be tortured with it.
Whatever they look at, they come up with something.
This one is a popular utensil in Germany, I guess you've seen it.
- For cutting eggs? - Yes. You know it.
He saw it there and thought it would make a good torturing tool,
to put it around the member and then press it.
And it really squeezes the member.
You must have a lot of sensitivity. In order not to hurt too much, right?
No, you can't hurt too much.
I made this one myself.
It's nice!
To perform in public, to be photographed.
It was… symbolism right?
I hardly used this whip.
It's too light, eh?
This one I bought in front of the Louvre museum,
there was a man selling it.
Yeah, there are amazing stores in France.
There are! So, he was selling it and
I liked it and bought it.
It reaches far in the distance.
Did you learn how to use it?
No.
But at Dominna Club, they used this whip a lot,
to make demonstrations... it works well.
This is the most symbolic one.
There was a shoemaker in São José dos Campos who was very poor.
So I asked him to make many of them, based on several models that I'd seen abroad.
This is one of them. There were others, I don't know where they are…
It's well-finished, well done. Once he got curious,
"But where do you take all these whips?"
I was selling them, right?
- Like this? - Yes.
In my pictures I'm... in that one there, look.
It also protects you, right? I had it on there. Sometimes I wore it upside down.
This one should fit you.
It's the alarm. I have to turn it off.
Cut! Bring me my handbag.
It's my medication.
For what?
High blood pressure.
Do you have high blood pressure?
I am hypertensive.
Be quiet. Do as I say!
My name is Edivina Azevedo Ribeiro, I'm 74 years old.
I was born in São José dos Campos, I'm a journalist and a writer.
I created the character Wilma Azevedo to be part of all my erotic,
sometimes even pornographic narratives.
As I studied sadomasochism,
this character lived on because Edivina is too sublime to write erotica.
And Wilma is vile (vil) and bad (má), and being vile and bad I could write anything.
My mother had made a promise to the divine holy spirit.
If the delivery went well - she was 42 years old when I was born -
after 17 children she'd had, I was the tenth to be born alive.
She said that she was going to name me Divina (divine),
and the registry officer added an "e" at the beginning, to my relief.
Even so, the boys would always shout, "Hey, Divine Holy Spirit,"
because I was very playful and energetic.
They called me that and I hated it.
Around that time I was already curious about how we came into the world.
So I was playing with a cat and my mother said, "Let the cat go, she's pregnant!"
I asked her, "What's pregnant?"
"Oh, you're too young to know!"
There - it aroused my sexological sensitivity.
When I saw a smaller opening and a liquid trickling out,
I was astonished to know that it was through it that we came into the world.
When my sister arrived from school, I asked her, "Do you know how we are born?"
She said no. I said, "It's through there," I explained.
Then she said, "You're a liar, you're always making up things."
She even wanted to knock on my head, which was usual then, right?
So I ran off, thinking, "Fine, I'll leave her in her ignorance!"
But I kept searching for more information about it…
Then I saw some kittens sucking on their mother,
and I thought "It would be nice if they sucked on me."
So I poured sugary milk on myself and put the little critters on top of me.
I really liked how their rough tongues felt.
A child's play, I was so innocent.
But I was afraid someone would see me,
so I made a tent with some blankets that were lying on a horse cart,
and I sneaked under them with the kitten.
I was taking great pleasure in it,
and there was a tear in the blanket that was shaped like a triangle.
I looked and there was an eye there staring at me.
I put the kitten down and went looking for the person who'd been peeking at me.
My brother was helping my father build a wall.
My mother was crocheting.
My sister was sorting beans in the kitchen,
I walked past her but she didn't even look up.
I wondered, "Who could it be? There was someone, an eye on that triangle."
Then I went to the church, which at the time was the church of Saint Anthony,
where there was a picture with a huge triangle and an eye inside it.
Then I thought, "Is this eye that was watching me?"
I asked the catechist, "Whose eye is this?"
She said, "It's God's. God sees us wherever we are.
He is omnipresent and omniscient.
He sees everything you do. So, if you're going to do first communion,
you have to tell the priest everything."
And I thought, "So it was him who saw me, what a prankish god, he is!"
And I promised never to do it again.
One day I was tending my little plants in the garden,
and two nuns came and asked to speak to my mother.
They told my mother that they were looking for girls who wanted to go to school
at the São José Institute of Education.
I had no interest in what they were saying,
but then she told my mother that they put on plays
on Mothers' Day, at Easter, and other holidays...
That they had a drama club… There - she'd said the magic word!
I let go of the plants and asked the nun if I went there, if I would be an artist…
"Of course, you can join the drama club!"
So I packed and went with the nun, I didn't understand much.
When the nuns walked by me and said, "Praised be Our Lord Jesus Christ,"
I had to answer, "Forever may He be praised."
I was like, "Oh, okay."
The girls will sing hymns, dressed as flowers,
and you'll walk among them with a basket full of roses
and they will pick up the roses and hand them to their mothers,
who will walk up to the stage to receive them."
I was so happy in that crepe paper skirt.
I was the florist and they were the flowers.
I was carrying the basket,
but no-one told me that at the bottom there was a can full of water,
so the flowers wouldn't wilt.
They should have removed that can, but hadn't, so as I walked,
water kept dripping down my paper skirt, leaving me naked on the stage.
Everyone was laughing and I didn't know why.
Then I looked down and saw my bare legs,
and the nun pulled me off the stage and never gave me a part again.
On my honeymoon, I was not having fun at all.
We were in Caraguatatuba, a seaside town.
It was in a hotel, the Sao Antao Hotel.
When we arrived at the hotel, there were 5 other couples on their honeymoon.
I thought they looked so happy.
But when I was with him,
he would come, do it, turn on his side and sleep.
I didn't find it pleasurable at all.
I didn't understand why those girls on their honeymoon looked so happy.
One day they invited us to go to Sino Rock, there in Caraguatatuba.
So I said, "Let's walk along the beach, pick up some shells."
And we went. Then suddenly I felt like skinny-dipping.
It was a deserted beach, no one would see, right?
But he didn't want to. Then I took off his shorts, dragged him into the water,
and when we were in, I started to curl up around him, and he got a hard-on.
When we reached the sand, I threw him on the ground and climbed on top of him,
and when I started to rub myself on him, I had an orgasm.
I didn't know what that was.
I was startled when I felt that sensation surging
and suddenly I felt the most delicious thing in the world.
I had never heard of an orgasm.
I was so happy, but he was enraged,
because I was doing a sexual act in broad daylight,
naked on the beach, thinking it was beautiful… He was so angry.
We had a bar in the central market, and I made a lot of snacks for the bar.
I needed someone to help me with the small children,
so I brought a young girl in, she came to my house when she was 8 years old.
She was an ugly duckling, her clothes were so shabby.
I fixed the little girl up and when she grew a little older,
she had very thick eyebrows, at the time we wore them really thin.
So I plucked her eyebrows.
She had straight hair, and a product to do perms had just come out.
I rolled up her hair and permed it.
All I know is that I prettied that girl up,
and after three years she was in my house I found out she was my husband's lover.
I felt really, really angry...
Then I remembered that the only weapon
I could bury deep within him was a barbecue skewer.
So I started looking for that skewer, but I didn't know where it was.
It was an iron skewer.
I started throwing everything out of the cupboards down onto the floor,
yelling "You pig, you piece of shit!"
I was bursting with anger.
When my sister saw me, she was desperate.
She said, "You'll end up killing each other. Look, I'll talk to Mom and Dad,
I'll take your kids, and you go to São Paulo,
to Ana's place, you get a job there, you do the same as she did.
You get your life together there, and then you come get the kids."
What made me the angriest was my father saying,
"Men are like that, you must accept it,
"men are no good, they can't have only one woman in life."
It was the time when I most wrote in my life,
I wrote essays, short stories, poems...
I wrote and wrote and wrote and stored it all in a chest that I still have.
I think you saw it in my house.
I was looking for a job but I had no degree.
I'd only had elementary school education.
At that time they already asked for a high-school diploma.
So it was hard. At last I found a job
showcasing a little machine called Maninha.
I wore a polyester uniform, it was very elegant.
I went to a hairdresser school every day
to have my hair done and I paid nothing for it.
When I got to work I had to stand in a shop window,
I turned on a machine
and it filled with water
and washed clothes.
I was hired to do a demonstration of the little machine.
I thought it was beautiful, I felt like an artist.
I stamped on a wet towel on the sidewalk and then threw it into the machine.
And within minutes -
of course, it was just dust - I would take out the towel that was filthy before,
and I would show it and say, "Look how efficient the machine is!"
and I would say everything that was scripted for me to say.
Good morning.
Hi, darling. How are you?
I was in São Paulo doing this job and one day I looked at the people there
and he was standing among them.
My husband, right there.
Then I walked out of the window,
he invited me for lunch, and he asked me to come back home.
We'd been separated for five months.
I said, "Look, I don't want to go back.
"But I'll think about it," for the children's sake,
who were staying at my sister's.
And I was having a hard time finding a place for me and the kids in São Paulo.
But in the meantime, one day I was coming down the stairs,
and I saw a man standing at the bottom ogling me.
When I reached the bottom he said, "You look like my sister."
Then he showed me a picture of the woman...
She was blonde like me, but we didn't look alike at all.
Then he said that he was shopping here in Brazil
and asked if I'd have lunch with him.
During lunch, he held my hand,
he kept caressing it, and we arranged to go out at night.
Then, when we were having sex, he was on top of me and he started to slap my face.
I was frightened by that, I said, "Stop, stop it!"
But when I looked at him he was pale and his lips were purplish.
So I jumped out of bed and went into the bathroom, naked. It was freezing cold.
He kept knocking on the door "Come out, now!"
And I was afraid to go out, I was crying in there, then after about 40 minutes,
I said, "I'm only leaving here if you call the doorman and his wife."
Then when I left, I felt free on the street. I was afraid he'd come after me.
So I left for my sister's place, thinking, "What am I doing here in São Paulo?"
And three days later the newspapers reported
that a prostitute had been strangled to death with the cord of a floor polisher.
There was a picture of her killer in the paper,
and, though his face was turned to the side, I could tell it was him.
And it was one of the reasons why I decided to go back home. First, to study.
To have an occupation. If he didn't change his ways,
I'd go back to São Paulo with the children,
I'd leave that small town
and get on with my life.
When I got my diploma, I was afraid to show it to him.
So I stuck it behind a painting, which I still have.
The typing diploma on the back, and that figure on the front,
a man looking at the sea at dusk.
It's beautiful.
"SAD QUEENS WHO DREAMS", BY EDIVINA
I'M NOT A HAPPY WOMAN. I GOT MARRIED AT 18, WAS A MOTHER AT 19 AND THEN 22.
I was young, I was 23 years old. I had decolored my hair for the first time.
My hair was really blond and long, and I set it with rollers.
At night I removed the rollers
and looked at him, for him to say, "You look beautiful."
And he said, "You look like a whore."
Then I said, "Then I'll be a whore."
Then I got to this office, they told me that the doctor was young and handsome.
I didn't know him, I'd never seen him.
So I got there and he was very handsome, of Turkish descent…
I paid the doctor's fee,
I entered the room, I sat down...
I'd practiced what I was going to say, but at the time I just said,
"Doctor, I need a sexual act for you to tell me how I am,
"because my husband says that..."
I kept on talking, "He always says that I am too wide, too wet...
"I think I was damaged after my children were born."
Then he got up, locked the door, and walked towards me.
I didn't even lie down, we did it standing up.
He penetrated me and he pulled it out soon afterwards,
he handed me a towel, I wiped myself.
He cleaned himself in the sink.
Then I sat down and asked, "Doctor, what do you think?"
He said, "You're normal…" "But I get so wet!"
He said, "You should be glad, that's called smegma,
which the body releases to prepare the woman to receive the member.
If you didn't have it, you'd be very dry. It'd hurt the man, it'd hurt you.
God makes things perfect. Not all women have smegma.
It's preparing you for pleasure."
In a women's magazine, I saw a call:
"Whoever has a short story lying around,
send it to us to participate in a contest."
I had lots of stories lying in my chest, so I chose one that I liked,
rewrote it and sent it to the magazine.
I got first place. Then I said, "Wow, they give away prizes. Let's go claim it."
We got to the office and met the editor, Ignácio de Loyola Brandão.
He gave me the prize - 100,000 cruzeiros. It was a lot of money.
He handed it to me and said, "We have received more than eighty short stories
that were very well-written,
with perfect spelling and grammar, clean-typed, beautiful.
But they don't have the talent you have.
You wrote in hand, full of mistakes, but you have talent.
And you must fight for your talent. When he said that, I left there feeling grand.
And with those 100,000 in my pocket I took my children to a jewelry store
and spent it all on jewelry for them and for myself.
We had such a blast! It was the first time I could give them something
and pay with my own money.
Wanda, will you bring me the folder, please?
Wow, it's heavy.
Look, this is when I wrote as a journalist in São José dos Campos.
They are praising me, saying that I had a lot of talent,
that talent is something that only God can give.
I am tree time, and halt in the middle of life, I dare to exist.
Unaware that the power of the press was waning, that the press was being gagged,
I kept talking, pressing the mayor.
Then he called the owner of both newspapers
and said that if they didn't fire me,
he wouldn't open official press bids any more.
And the newspapers lived off them.
So I was fired, with a husband paralyzed on a bed.
Because my husband had had a stroke at 41 years old.
At the time of his stroke I was 31, he lasted 10 years on a bed.
From my 31 to my 41 years of age, the time a woman is at the peak of her sex drive,
I looked after a sick husband and two small children.
I worked for many newspapers, many magazines, earning little.
I was unemployed for long periods,
until I was hired by Bloch to work for Amiga magazine,
and I was already planning to transfer to Manchete magazine
when I found out that the erotica segment paid better.
And I had to write about something that no other journalist was talking about.
I'd spotted Man magazine in the newsstands, it had amazing personal ads,
and I started replying to those ads very creatively,
telling them what they liked to hear, I created scenes as if it was a short story…
And I started to receive letters.
So I wrote the first article for Ele e Ela magazine, which is this one here:
"Confessions of a Sadomasochist",
with photos by Isabel Stasiak, an artist from that time.
Later I wrote this one, "My Experiences with Sadists."
It came out in a small publication inside Ele e Ela,
so heavy was the subject matter for them.
When we create based on a fantasy, the images stick to our mind, don't they?
That's true.
And sometimes that's more intense than having experienced something, right?
You said you didn't like it, but the images stayed with you.
Didn't they torment you?
No, because they were not my fantasies, they were the reader's fantasies.
He was the one who wrote me, telling them to me.
He told them in letters and I developed them in a short story.
But, for example, yesterday I was just listening and I almost felt sick.
I almost excused myself, because the images,
just from listening, they popped up in my head.
There was no way to get them out. I felt sick.
So I Imagine you living with these images from others' fantasies.
Then I put everything on paper. I sublimated it completely.
Sometimes I saw the finished story, and I didn't even reread it.
Because I knew that what I put on paper, I sublimated.
I sublimated all that.
And I would live a normal life, as Edivina, a loving woman,
- No nightmares? - Nothing at all.
Wilma has her normal life, the one she was talking about, to separate,
to get inside the character, to write, to put on paper.
If I get inside Wilma, I am completely inside her,
not in the other part of her life.
I see.
But you can take a lighter story, like foot fetishism,
and you enslave a foot fetishist, which is very beautiful.
That has already happened to me.
- Without my realizing it. - See?
A foot fetishist is very beautiful, he surrenders to you.
He kisses your feet, caresses you, buys you shoes.
So you can make up that image,
because when I was a girl I saw in a book that we had, "Cinderella,"
I saw the prince kneeling, sliding the slipper onto Cinderella's foot,
and I would show it to my sister and say,
"Look, how nice it must be to have a man kneeling at your feet,"
but I didn't want him to just kneel, I wanted to step on his member.
I wanted him on her knees, naked.
Then I had an idea, I went to shoe stores,
chose a shoe, and the man came and kneeled.
And I kept imagining him naked.
So when I had my first relationship with a foot fetishist,
I found it easy to do that.
Because it was already a fantasy of mine.
Then I delved deep into it. So you can first do a scene with a foot fetishist...
and you won't need to have full sex,
because he'll kiss your feet, you'll rub them on his member, he'll cum.
That's it. You don't have to do the banana thing right away.
"In the name of Jesus, I'm talking to you.
Jesus's blood is powerful. Now you will hear me, come to the front!"
That gave me a horrible chill.
For god's sake, in a place like that you play with Jesus' name?
It's one of the first commandments of the Bible,
"You shall not misuse the name of the lord your god."
Then the next day I went looking for a church and I became a believer
and was baptized in the waters and told the waters to wash Wilma Azevedo away.
And I walked out as Edivina.
And when I didn't want to write as Wilma Azevedo anymore,
I knew I was going to lose my job, because Edivina had no
projection whatsoever as a journalist.
And when I saw the transvestite play with Jesus' name…
I even made a vow of poverty if need be.
Not to write anything else, nor sell my books.
To abandon erotica and the pornographic milieu.
I knew, at the time I spoke to our Lord, that if I had to live in a favela
because I couldn't pay rent, that he would open the doors for me.
And I went to live in the favela of Manguinhos,
because although there was drug dealing there,
it was less intense than in Jacarezinho, the one next to it.
I started to watch the film,
and there on the screen those fat drops of rain began to fall
and suddenly I heard a noise and looked out the window
and the rain had transferred to the favela of Manguinhos.
I grabbed a lot of things, all unnecessary stuff.
At the time, I didn't think the water
would reach a meter and a half high inside my little house.
Everything I had, Wilma Azevedo's most important things,
pictures of artists who wanted to be my slaves,
of big-shot politicians, and letters from everybody inviting me to this and that.
All the evidence I had for me to say today that I would be a millionaire
if I was a crook was washed away in the flood.
All I was left with was a bed, made of iron with golden friezes.
I think you've seen it in my place.
I liked it when I tied up my slaves. Because it has lots of...
- What do you call them? - Corners.
Iron corners. They were good for bondage.
As a Christian I did exactly what the Bible says, right?
I did it all, I even gave a lot to the Church, see?
I sold a land plot for 10,000, I gave away one thousand, which is the Church's 10%.
The pastor was very pleased.
But I heard about all the thievery by these pastors.
Everyone who ran the story proved the veracity of it all, it really upset me.
So I stopped going for a while, and I became aware that my god is within me.
My body is my church now.
Do you still have orgasms?
I do. A lot.
And has anything changed?
For the better.
Experience teaches us about what we like, what we don't like,
what will turn us on, what won't.
Thank God!
I didn't imagine, either, that at this age
I would still have the orgasms that I have.