We are now in Summer, the Solstice has passed, and the rain is spoiling the rose garden. In the lounge, browsing the book shelves, I think of the day when Helena first came to my house. Helena… The thought of my beautiful and devoted novice fills me with pride. I recall the day of her collaring, when she and her sister Lucy became mine.

I have to start planning the precise layout of the party. We shall celebrate Lucy’s and Helena’s coming of age in splendour. I have invited thirty one Mistresses and their favourite subs, in total over one hundred guests. From experience, I expect eighty percent of the invited dommes to turn up, a few apologising for ill health, or simply fear of not being seen at their best. My parties are well sought after, and equally well remembered.

I look forward to seeing again some far away friends, exceptional beings, who share my tastes for beautiful and obedient subs and who make this community so alive and exciting. We meet only in those special occasions, when one of us has someone to celebrate: a new sub, a freshly minted slave, more rarely a wedding.

This time I have a special interest in one guest: a very tall and handsome domme, and old friend of mine, nicknamed the Ghoul, by uncharitable or envious rivals. Her official name is Mistress V. She’s written to me by return on receiving my invitation. She lives in Canada and we meet rarely, but always memorably. My friend is indeed special: she’s a very beautiful and attractive hermaphrodite. She will join us with her two most senior slaves: an albinos eunuch, named Roland, and an extremely rare specimen,  a blue-eyed, superb black female sub, named Melody. Both are exquisite acrobats…

Since this story is a shade outside the scope of this gentle blog, it continues where you, discerning readers, know where to find it… Enjoy!


 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?

#FiveSentenceFiction: Medicine

 Back at her place Helena felt drained and lifeless: meeting Mistress G had been a challenge, and she was not sure she’d achieved what she wanted, win her Mistress’s trust.

It was hard for her to balance charm and submission, she was afraid of appearing to flirt, to attempt to seduce, instead of what she wanted, learn, mortify herself, seek humiliation without being degraded.

She knew the older woman would see through her, and despite the evident interest she had for her, would not forgive hypocrisy, nor false pretence.

Then she had to tell Sarah about her day – and night – at Mistress’s house: her partner was immensely tolerant, but equally would not take half truths for granted.

She walked slowly to the bathroom cabinet: there was solace for her tortured soul, and, hesitating a little, she picked up the small box that contained sleep for at least six hours, by then Sarah would be back, and she would be safe again, in the embrace of her lover.

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?