Daily Prompt: Unconventional Love

Over the weekend, we explored different ways to love. Today, tell us about the most unconventional love in your life.

Departure She noticed him as soon as he walked into the bar. There was a sudden lowering of voices,           the other girls were quiet, their eyes down, and she saw that other men greeted him silently, with the sort of respect one owes to someone special. He went to sit in one of the leather chairs near the wide window, and to O’s surprise signalled to her to come to him. O stood in front of him, silent. “You are O”, he said in a deep and yet youthful voice, “Anne-Marie has told me about you, and Sir Stephen”. O could not stop herself shed a tear. “I have come to take you with me”, he said in a matter of fact voice. Then, against her usual discipline, she looked at his face, his eyes. He smiled. “I have told Anne-Marie to have your iron rings removed. I will give you a pair of rings to wear if you wish, but this time of silver. Also I have a new collar for you, and you will find it more comfortable.” His eyes were grey, the pale grey of autumn clouds near the sea. O knelt and started crying, unable to stop. He slowly pulled her to him, cradling her in his arms.

Later he took her to her room. He had brought her clothes, and lingerie. Anne-Marie came in with her tools. She showed great respect for him, as he watched her remove O’s rings. Then she asked O if she wanted her to undo her collar. O said yes, all the time looking at him. When this was done, he thanked Anne-Marie who left the room. He took O in his arms. She felt at the end of a long road, and she wanted to belong. She fell asleep in his arms. In the morning, he helped her dress in her new clothes. Then they left.

The following year O gave him a son.

(This story was prompted by a comment from Gemini on my previous post. The full story can be found here)

#FiveSentenceFiction: Angles

Angles

Susan You are working in our study, and for now you are on your own, in a space we share.

On the wide oak table are the latest photographs we have made: you, me, us, in different angles, seized in the slow motion of time arrested, provocative and yet romantic pictures of lovers…

You are choosing those for the next edition of our book, for which the publisher offered that huge advance: we were almost embarrassed, after all, it’s one of our hobbies – I see you’re smiling…

Now you’re looking in the mirror, and I know the reflection of you, the slender neck, the leather collar, the triumphant red hair, the delicate silver necklace, those eyes your master gave the world for.

And tonight, I will take your portrait, as you know, the angle which suggests, and does not show, just enough and no more, of your sublime beauty…

Daily Prompt: Freaky Friday

If you could be someone else for a day, who would you be, and why? If that seems too easy, try this one: who would you like to have spend a day as you and what do you hope they’d learn from the experience?

You and me You know I want to be you, for a day, for us to exchange our rings, our collars, our devotions.  It may not be easy: the challenge is to try and ignore my “old” self, and for you, yours… For we share more than our love: with intimacy comes the kind of knowledge that goes beyond the familiar, you know what that meant – knowing someone – in the middle ages… So, turning this round, me becoming you, you, me, this will send us spinning – aren’t you afraid?  I am, a little anxious: after all, this is more than reversing roles, it is about being from inside, not merely naked, in front of you, it’s being possessed by you in a way which may not be reversible.  So, if I am to be you, and you, me, for a day, maybe the risk is then for us to chose to stay that way? Are you ready?

#FiveSentenceFiction: Paradise

To Susan

Daria Bagrintseva His dedication to his work is exemplary, and he is admired by colleagues and friends.

But in the depth of his heart he hides a wonderful secret, a secret always present, as he works through the day.

Only he – and the one who shares his life – know the secret: it is their shared treasure, the magic link between them when he is away.

She has the key, and she knows, every evening he will be there, at their door…

For she is the guardian, collared, fragile, her white skin like snow in Spring, her lips so red, waiting to open for him the door of Paradise.

Image: Daria Bagrintseva

Aftermath

 This feeling of emptiness is new to me. Helena is now collared, in a scene I have rewritten three times, and am still not totally happy with. Such is a writer’s fate. I enjoyed the story – not sure anyone else will, is they get a chance to read it that is – but I know I can still do much better with those characters. It’s 10k long, possibly a touch too long given the minimalist plot. There will be a follow up, whatever the fate of this first episode, I am just too attached to those people not to do it. Funny thing is, after finishing off the manuscript this morning and compiling it – thank you Scrivener – I’ve found lots of pics that would make up a nice illustrated version (dare I?) Well, another project maybe. But where does all this leave the novel? I am not too worried, it’s been a good break, and now I have new ideas for that little bunch too! I am a lucky fellow don’t you think?

Mistress G goes clubbing…

 That evening I felt like going clubbing. That little place, near Mayfair, is just right for an intimate evening: good music, soft lights, good company, fabulous drinks. I take my senior sub Amanda, Manda for her Miss, with me. But, wait a minute, have we met before? Maybe not, so, let me introduce myself…

My name is Mistress G. Well, this is how my girls and other doms call me. My real name you don’t need to know. Enough to say that, in my professional life, I am a medical doctor, and a teacher of forensic science. My passion is to teach girls, young women if you will, the practice and mysteries of obedience and devotion. Yes, I am a “real” Mistress.

We arrive fairly early, a few couples dancing, the band plays smooth jazz, Chic Corea and other classics. Michael, the owner, leads us to a nice corner table, not far from the stage and close enough to the dance floor. S(h)e’s a sweetie, and, I am told, a devoted sub on her own right off work. Manda looks at me obediently, and on my approval look, orders herself a vodka orange. I stick with champagne. We savour our drinks and the music for a little while, observing. Manda’s very elegant, her grey suit enhancing her lovely shape and long legs. She wears her new collar with pride, with her name engraved in gold on the black leather. Her white shirt glows under the club’s soft lights. We dance: Manda is a superb dancer, and she has style, both being led – evidently – or leading. Salsa, bebop, jitterbug, rock, she’s perfect, and, of course so am I… The club is filling up now. The band plays Miles, it’s a slow. Manda asks silently, and I let her place her arms around my shoulders. The closeness of her body, which I know so well, my property after all, inspires me.

Suddenly I see them, a couple who must have just arrived, and who went directly to the dance floor. They are almost enlaced: the tall girl who’s leading is striking, leather clad, but refined, not punk, her face framed by flamboyant red hair, strong hands holding her smaller friend tightly, impervious. Domineering she is, although probably not a dominant, but I am guessing. Our gazes cross, she smiles: a roman profile, beautiful, voluptuous lips, as she reaffirms her ownership of her pliable partner. But it is the sight of her friend that goes deep into my Mistress’s heart: the delicate pale face, the dark large eyes, the short black hair, the delicate silver necklace around the slender neck. I sense Manda’s observing her too. Time for introductions? I wait a little, the band moves on to Chuck Berry, in one smooth and firm move the tall girl comes closer, still holding her friend with one hand, and asks me: “Do you mind us joining you at your table?”

Manda looks at me, hopeful. I smile: “It would be our pleasure”. We sit down, Michael, who observes everything, comes to us immediately, beaming, and takes more orders. The tall woman introduces herself as Sarah, and her friend as Helena. I do the introductions on our side. Manda drinks Sarah’s words, who explains that they come rarely to this place, but may come back again, because of the music, and the company, she adds with a wolfish grin. I smile, ask Helena what she does. It is clear who leads in the couple, but she’s no sub. She answers me directly: she’s a freelance writer while her partner, Sarah, works for the health service. The calm dark eyes dip into mine: my mind is racing. Helena works from home. Sarah works long shifts. Sarah and me exchange a few jokes about the medical profession. She’s noticed Manda’s collar but does not ask any question. Helena wears a thin blue, long-sleeved, cotton dress which does not hide her features: she’s a delicate beauty, and I have to exercise control not to fix her steadily. Sarah offers Manda to dance, Manda looks at me and I acquiesce, quickly and discretely. The two of them disappear through the little crowd of dancers.

Helena’s looking at me, smiling: I stay silent, admiring her mouth, her lips, the fine beauty of her face. “Amanda’s your sub isn’t she?”, she asks playfully. And she continues without waiting for my answer: “I have always wondered what it feels like to be a sub to a Mistress like you”. Mind over body, I repeat the mantra, controlling my breathing. If this is not an invite what is? Yet I refrain from jumping: I wait, smiling my Mistress smile to this elven creature. “How many girls do you have?” asks Helena finally. I invite her to dance. She is not a good dancer: she’s an exceptional dancer, evidently professionally trained. We rock: her feet hardly touch the ground. A few couples stop to watch us. I am aware that Helena’s eyes haven’t left mine, as I lead her through 50’s classics, already knowing that I want her, not to play, to own. “Sarah’s not jealous, she knows am hers for ever” she says matter-of-factly as we start a slow to the tunes of Patricia Barber’s Verse. “Would you accept an invite to my place?” I say finally, forcing my way through caution, sensing the shape of her not merely ethereal body in my arms. She looks at me and says with a crystalline laugh: “I was wondering when you would ask…” She gets closer to me, her thin arms around my neck, so warm, I can feel her heartbeat. She’s a top prize for sure. Thoughts of enslaved Aphrodites pass through my mind… Mind over body, slowly zen breathing…

Back to the table Sarah and Manda are in a deep conversation about sport and female athletes. Sarah smiles a direct smile at me, and as Helena and Manda disappear to the ladies, says in the most charming voice: “Helena wants to know you, and possibly will submit to you. I have no objection, even to you collaring her, as long as you don’t seriously hurt her. If you did, I want you to know: I would kill you.” She’s smiling, serious, I sustain her gaze, smiles back: “I don’t know how you met, and it will not be my wish to interfere with you as a couple. However if Helena becomes my sub, she will remain my sub for a long time”. We look at each other, silent for long minutes. Then Sarah raises her glass to our friendship. We toast, she gives me her phone number and says Helena is at home most days, unless she’s training at her dance club, or attending some newspapers meeting. I give Sarah my card. Then we dance: for the first time, for a long time, I have the feeling of dancing with a rival.

Later that night, with Manda at my side sleeping the deep sleep of a satisfied sub, I think of Helena, and imagine her initiation.

To be followed…

#BlogMeMaybe: May 21 – May I tell you something about writing?

I am really excited by Gillian’s announcement – so much so that I re-blogged her post! On my one attempt at the genre I sought and receive some comments from that most creative of bloggers… Which decided me to rewrite it, perhaps as a teaser before a submission, he says, pondering. For now, a lady friend, who knows a thing or two on the subject of BDSM/RLV, suggested this… Of course dedicated to @GillianColbert:

The diary

Helena is sitting at her little desk, writing her diary, as Mistress G has instructed her. As she writes, she sees herself in the mirror, just in front of her. She knows how to please Mistress, when she kneels prostrate, naked and chained, downstairs, in the dungeon. Up here, in this large room, lined up with books, large windows opening on one side to the sea, on the other to the lush garden, she knows that, to please, she has to be more sophisticated: not just obedient and supple, but also cultured and amusing. Not that she’s ever vulgar, even when she submits to the ultimate humiliations, being whipped and sodomised on the cross. Mistress G has taught her standards. But Helena is still learning: there is no end to the training of a submissive. Perfection is impossible.

She looks at the perfect oval of her face, the ocean green eyes, the black hair, the greek nose, the delicately shaped lips, the slender neck, her collar. She wears her collar with pride, her name is on it, it’s her distinctive and only wealth, together with the beautiful silver ring that glimmers on her shaven labia. But of course the whole of her belongs to Mistress G.

Todays her diary tells Mistress about her dreams, always related to pleasing and serving, but also, as Mistress instructed, to her progress in her understanding of her role as an obedient yet intelligent sub. She looks now at the sea, grey and foaming under the blue sky. She hears the dragonflies hovering  around the pond, the crystal sound of the cascade, their cascade. Perhaps Mistress will take her to the garden, down to the comfortable couch under the big cypress tree.

But now she hears Mistress’ footsteps: Helena stands up, wearing only a light gown over her naked body. Taking in the sight of her slave, Mistress G smiles: “how is my little girl today?” – Helena is on her knees, kissing Mistress’ feet, then, her eyes upturned adoringly to her Mistress, she says: “This girl is so happy to see her Mistress in the house”. She’s now taken the humble nadu position, palms open, and there is only obedience and devotion on her face. Mistress G has expertly freed her slave from the gown and is admiring her naked property. Helena’s eyes are turned down to the wooden floor: she’s awaiting her Mistress’ instructions.  “Let’s have a look at your diary, my good girl” Mistress G says, cheerfully, playing with the handle of her whip. Helena feels a little anguish in her heart: has she made any grammar mistake?