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“It’s a matter of patience: there is light…”

“I believe you, but it seems so far away, almost beyond the horizon.”

“Have faith. I am here, I will guide you.”

There is a pause. Outside the rain stops. He can only hear her calm breathing, sense her scent, a presence that for him spells peace, love, infinite patience.

“We will go out now,” she says at last.

She takes his leash, push him gently through the doorway.

Outside he blinks, shakes his shoulders, then follows her, as he always does, all the time admiring the lightness of her strides, the elegance of her silhouette.

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?

#AtoZChallenge: April 17, 2013 ~ (Histoire d’)O

For @Unraveling_Mari

Histoire d'O When it was published in 1954 it was an immediate success spurred by the condemnation of the censors, worthy successors, in their ineptitude, of Lady Chatterley’s judges.

This is the story of O, a born and ingénue submissive to be, who learns the true meaning of openness and acquires the gift of obedience.  Chained, branded, whipped, pierced and transformed she will be, in a now legendary tale told by a woman author – and what author! O is the heroine of this literary introduction to the noble art of love and dominance.  O’s lineage is of course impressive, from the Marquis to Jean Paulhan, Anne’s master…


Pour mes lecteurs francophones…

#FiveSentenceFiction: Ringing

Owned The small torus was perfect, its pale colour matching her skin, its location a delicious dream, a constant evocation of a deep secret, his and hers.

They had chosen the craftsman carefully, an old Chinese silversmith who knew his piercing, and was discrete.

She had been a little afraid, but trusted him, blindly.

For him it was symbolic of his coming of age: him, the master.

And for her, the beautiful slave, it was her pride: she belonged, she was owned.

#FiveSentenceFiction: September 7 – Memories

 The summer was coming to an end, and she dreaded the return to her “normal” life: how could she give up what mattered to her more than anything in the world?

Yet she knew the secret to keep him, to continue to be the one he had wanted her to be, she must obey by the rules, respect his freedom, be there for him when he wanted her, ready, the creature he had made of her, the whole of her, her past, her present, their present, just for him.

She packed slowly, her old clothes, and the new ones, what he had got for her, the lingerie, her collar, the high heels shoes in beautiful leather, and the bits of their shared life she had kept in secret: the bottle they had drank from, there, at the top, on the cliff where she had become his, for ever.

She could hear his steps in the now empty house, he was coming to her, to say good-bye, she started crying, silent tears running down her face.

She had closed her eyes, waiting for the blow, for his departure, but he was still there, next to her, a hand on her shoulder: “I have changed my mind” he said in his calm voice, “I am taking you with me, and, by the way, I will not ever let you go far away from me”, and he kissed her, full mouth, ignoring her tears, lifting her from the ground, a tall young god.


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!