Greetings little ones,
Well Mistress has been keeping VERY busy, clients, clients and more clients. What a delightful change to have a house slave all for my very own.
My house slave did my bidding, from morning until evening he was there just for my use. I clean and pamper ME. My feet were tended in the most delicious manner imaginable, peppermint foot balm, massaged and pampered. Oh my how delightful it is to have someone dedicated to MY pleasure.
Chores were done without fuss. Supervision was a joy not a chore for me. Watching my house slave clean and scrub on her knees, with the same level of dedication he showed to massaging my feet as to cleaning the floor. I was so proud and pleased with the house slaves focus.
EVERYTHING was about making my life easier. When I had another client, my house slave waited bound in the corn of my studio. Not struggling, not moaning, not seeking my attention. He showed that he honoured the process, respected the needs of my other client and most importantly respected ME.
Having a house slave to do my bidding is a truly wonderful treat. I do hope there are more dedicated slaves out there for me to use, tease and appreciate
Sunday 28 October 2007
Monday 15 October 2007
A Story for you entertainment
She watched his every move. “Don't you tire of controlling everything?” she asked him in a matter-of-fact manner. “Doesn't it exhaust you trying to keep things organized? Wouldn't you like to just let go of it for a while?" Her eyes pierced his own for the single moment he dared look into them.
"Give yourself to me," she half-demanded, half-requested. Holding his hand more tightly, she drew herself closer to him. He watched her breasts seem to poke up from her leather bra and felt her long nails dug into his palm. "Would you like to be my boy?" she asked and sat silently, demanding that he reply.
There was no sense to this, he realized, yet he felt his chin move up and down in affirmative response. For the first time since he could remember, no thoughts raced through his mind yet it wasn't empty. He felt her fingers dig in harder as she stood and guided him behind her.
She led him down a hallway and into a darkened room. Releasing his hand once they were inside, he heard a door latch soundly. The darkness unnerved him and stoked the fear he harbored of being unable to categorize his surroundings and make sense of what his world had just become. Her voice interrupted his fear.
"Stand absolutely still and be silent," she whispered loudly from her throat.
The sound of her stiletto heels against the tile floor pierced his ears. Each step brought her closer and his body's warmth seemed to increase proportionally to her nearness. His trembling legs threatened once or twice to cease supporting his weight as he felt and heard her approach. The buzzing in his ears rose and his hands hung without function from his arms.
"Relax," she cooed, "it's not what you think you want, but it's what you need."
Her fingers touched his chest and her voice changed tenor. "Unbutton your shirt," she commanded, "and drop it on the floor."
For a moment, he hesitated. But there was something in her voice that made him want to remove it and something inside his own head that seemed to force him to perform as she instructed. As the white shirt fell silently to the tile floor, he studied his body to determine if he was now cold. He should be, he figured, because the outdoor temperature was low enough that …
"Shoes!" she instructed. "Take off your shoes and socks and stand silently!"
"NOW!" she ordered and without warning sent a single stroke of an unseen cane across his left cheek.
The shock of being struck overwhelmed him. Unable to think any longer, he simply stood shirtless in a dark room. All his body realized, even without his mind's analysis that it didn't want to feel that cane again.
He scampered to remove his shoes and socks and threw them halfway across the room. Anything to comply - anything to avoid that evil cane! Perhaps he heard a small giggle or perhaps it was his ears again unable to hear clearly. It didn't matter. Only the cane mattered.
"Pants are next," she continued without abatement. "Remove them, throw them on the floor."
Without giving him an opportunity to comply, she struck his right cheek soundly. He scrambled to comply and ripped at his belt, button and zipper to yank his pants to his ankles. Struggling to pull them off in the utter darkness, he lost his balance and found himself plopped indecorously on the tile floor with his jeans tied hopelessly around his feet.
"On your knees," she ordered. When he managed to plant his hands on the floor and steady himself to his knees, she planted two even blows - one on each of his now-searing ass cheeks.
His throat emitted an indiscernible groan as he flopped onto the tile and tore his jeans from his ankles. Forcing himself upright as quickly as possible, he tossed his jeans without direction and tried to comfort his aching ass with his hands.
He felt her approach him almost at the same time he inhaled the aroma of her perfume. The fragrance that filled his nostrils and his brain excluded all thought processes. He couldn't think because her bouquet saturated him completely. When her fingers touched his naked chest, he literally gasped for air.
She chuckled and planted cold metal against his waist. Unable to hear or see or think, he stood silently and tried to force his body to understand her actions. The metal pressed lower and lower and within moments his underpants had been cut and removed. Scissors or knife, he wondered briefly, until he realized that he was absolutely naked, cut off from the comfort of his carefully developed reality and at the mercy of this woman whose last name he didn’t even know.
It was at the moment of that combination of understandings that he began to cry.
He didn't just whimper; instead, he felt great gushes of sobbing emerge from his eyes but begin down deep in his gut. The years of concentration, organization, order and total absorption in his work fell from his soul like a snake sheds his skin to begin anew.
His skin burned but the sobbing continued unabated until she closed in and licked his tears with her tender lips. As she drank in his fear and grief, he was comforted by her care and concern. He relished in it and allowed himself to cede that piece of him to her tongue.
It was then that she took his cock in her gloved hand and pulled it toward her, and along with it, him. Struggling to match her step, she led him around the darkened room in a macabre sort of dance. She strode faster and he semi-galloped to keep up with her. When she turned, his cock turned first and his body followed. The march forced him the length and width of the room and just for good measure, she strutted him around its perimeter until she finally yielded his organ.
An unseen rod greeted his ass once more and he pressed his hands to his cheeks as if to ward off any further blows.
"At attention!" she hissed into his ear. The overpowering memory of the rod drove his hands to his sides, his chest forward, his chin up and his legs straight.
Pinching both of his nipples with her fingertips, she pulled up and straightened him even further. His mind was on fire and his body seemed to belong to someone else. Nothing made sense, nothing fit into anything he could have imagined.
"It's late," she commented, "and I'm tired."
He felt a surge of energy invade his body and depart just as quickly.
"And I'm hungry," she finished.
He felt her fingertips release his nipples then rub them to drive a merciless searing pain throughout his chest. Her fingers and palms rubbed against his chest, back, waist, hips, groin and neck. She wiped his eyes, presumably with his underpants, and then dabbed carefully at his face to remove any trace of sweat.
"Get dressed," she ordered and dropped his pants, shirt, socks and shoes at his feet. "I'll see you at the table."
The clicking of her heels on the tile floor grew fainter and a bright flash of light told him that a door had been opened and then closed. With no one providing orders, he was at a loss as to what to do next, but soon, little by little, his mind emerged and reminded him that he was naked. Dressing quickly, he felt his way toward the door, opened it, trekked the hallway and rediscovered her sitting waiting for him.
For the first time, he understood exactly what he wanted and needed. He nodded and seeing him, she smiled broadly at the sense of calm he exuded.
"Give yourself to me," she half-demanded, half-requested. Holding his hand more tightly, she drew herself closer to him. He watched her breasts seem to poke up from her leather bra and felt her long nails dug into his palm. "Would you like to be my boy?" she asked and sat silently, demanding that he reply.
There was no sense to this, he realized, yet he felt his chin move up and down in affirmative response. For the first time since he could remember, no thoughts raced through his mind yet it wasn't empty. He felt her fingers dig in harder as she stood and guided him behind her.
She led him down a hallway and into a darkened room. Releasing his hand once they were inside, he heard a door latch soundly. The darkness unnerved him and stoked the fear he harbored of being unable to categorize his surroundings and make sense of what his world had just become. Her voice interrupted his fear.
"Stand absolutely still and be silent," she whispered loudly from her throat.
The sound of her stiletto heels against the tile floor pierced his ears. Each step brought her closer and his body's warmth seemed to increase proportionally to her nearness. His trembling legs threatened once or twice to cease supporting his weight as he felt and heard her approach. The buzzing in his ears rose and his hands hung without function from his arms.
"Relax," she cooed, "it's not what you think you want, but it's what you need."
Her fingers touched his chest and her voice changed tenor. "Unbutton your shirt," she commanded, "and drop it on the floor."
For a moment, he hesitated. But there was something in her voice that made him want to remove it and something inside his own head that seemed to force him to perform as she instructed. As the white shirt fell silently to the tile floor, he studied his body to determine if he was now cold. He should be, he figured, because the outdoor temperature was low enough that …
"Shoes!" she instructed. "Take off your shoes and socks and stand silently!"
"NOW!" she ordered and without warning sent a single stroke of an unseen cane across his left cheek.
The shock of being struck overwhelmed him. Unable to think any longer, he simply stood shirtless in a dark room. All his body realized, even without his mind's analysis that it didn't want to feel that cane again.
He scampered to remove his shoes and socks and threw them halfway across the room. Anything to comply - anything to avoid that evil cane! Perhaps he heard a small giggle or perhaps it was his ears again unable to hear clearly. It didn't matter. Only the cane mattered.
"Pants are next," she continued without abatement. "Remove them, throw them on the floor."
Without giving him an opportunity to comply, she struck his right cheek soundly. He scrambled to comply and ripped at his belt, button and zipper to yank his pants to his ankles. Struggling to pull them off in the utter darkness, he lost his balance and found himself plopped indecorously on the tile floor with his jeans tied hopelessly around his feet.
"On your knees," she ordered. When he managed to plant his hands on the floor and steady himself to his knees, she planted two even blows - one on each of his now-searing ass cheeks.
His throat emitted an indiscernible groan as he flopped onto the tile and tore his jeans from his ankles. Forcing himself upright as quickly as possible, he tossed his jeans without direction and tried to comfort his aching ass with his hands.
He felt her approach him almost at the same time he inhaled the aroma of her perfume. The fragrance that filled his nostrils and his brain excluded all thought processes. He couldn't think because her bouquet saturated him completely. When her fingers touched his naked chest, he literally gasped for air.
She chuckled and planted cold metal against his waist. Unable to hear or see or think, he stood silently and tried to force his body to understand her actions. The metal pressed lower and lower and within moments his underpants had been cut and removed. Scissors or knife, he wondered briefly, until he realized that he was absolutely naked, cut off from the comfort of his carefully developed reality and at the mercy of this woman whose last name he didn’t even know.
It was at the moment of that combination of understandings that he began to cry.
He didn't just whimper; instead, he felt great gushes of sobbing emerge from his eyes but begin down deep in his gut. The years of concentration, organization, order and total absorption in his work fell from his soul like a snake sheds his skin to begin anew.
His skin burned but the sobbing continued unabated until she closed in and licked his tears with her tender lips. As she drank in his fear and grief, he was comforted by her care and concern. He relished in it and allowed himself to cede that piece of him to her tongue.
It was then that she took his cock in her gloved hand and pulled it toward her, and along with it, him. Struggling to match her step, she led him around the darkened room in a macabre sort of dance. She strode faster and he semi-galloped to keep up with her. When she turned, his cock turned first and his body followed. The march forced him the length and width of the room and just for good measure, she strutted him around its perimeter until she finally yielded his organ.
An unseen rod greeted his ass once more and he pressed his hands to his cheeks as if to ward off any further blows.
"At attention!" she hissed into his ear. The overpowering memory of the rod drove his hands to his sides, his chest forward, his chin up and his legs straight.
Pinching both of his nipples with her fingertips, she pulled up and straightened him even further. His mind was on fire and his body seemed to belong to someone else. Nothing made sense, nothing fit into anything he could have imagined.
"It's late," she commented, "and I'm tired."
He felt a surge of energy invade his body and depart just as quickly.
"And I'm hungry," she finished.
He felt her fingertips release his nipples then rub them to drive a merciless searing pain throughout his chest. Her fingers and palms rubbed against his chest, back, waist, hips, groin and neck. She wiped his eyes, presumably with his underpants, and then dabbed carefully at his face to remove any trace of sweat.
"Get dressed," she ordered and dropped his pants, shirt, socks and shoes at his feet. "I'll see you at the table."
The clicking of her heels on the tile floor grew fainter and a bright flash of light told him that a door had been opened and then closed. With no one providing orders, he was at a loss as to what to do next, but soon, little by little, his mind emerged and reminded him that he was naked. Dressing quickly, he felt his way toward the door, opened it, trekked the hallway and rediscovered her sitting waiting for him.
For the first time, he understood exactly what he wanted and needed. He nodded and seeing him, she smiled broadly at the sense of calm he exuded.
Tuesday 9 October 2007
What makes a good Mistress?
I have been asked recently to work with several dominant women, they wanted to learn how to be a Mistress to their partners. The following are points that I think are important qualities for a Mistress.
Mistress’s vary in attitude, colour, shape, philosophical beliefs, style, motivations and passions, however most ladies I have meet who deserve the title Mistress all share the following characteristics.
Six Attributes Every Mistress Needs" include:
Self-confidence. "What a person thinks of herself contributes to the image others have of her.... Gaining self-confidence ... takes self-examination and a clear appraisal of oneself...."
Trustworthiness. "The frequency with which the word trust appears in the Ds community's conversation is no accident.... There isn't a single Ds activity that doesn't depend upon and benefit from mutual trust."
Consistency. "How the Mistress acts sets the example and teaches the slave how to be.... For a slave to submit there has to be a framework in which he can 'know the rules' and develop dependable expectations."
Responsibility. It's the slave's responsibility to serve. The Mistress is responsible for the relationship.
Acceptance. ".... until you accept yourself as who you are, there will be a struggle that will make true realization of your Self difficult, if not impossible."
Expertise. "Experience is the best teacher and good technique is crucial to success...."
Mistress’s vary in attitude, colour, shape, philosophical beliefs, style, motivations and passions, however most ladies I have meet who deserve the title Mistress all share the following characteristics.
Six Attributes Every Mistress Needs" include:
Self-confidence. "What a person thinks of herself contributes to the image others have of her.... Gaining self-confidence ... takes self-examination and a clear appraisal of oneself...."
Trustworthiness. "The frequency with which the word trust appears in the Ds community's conversation is no accident.... There isn't a single Ds activity that doesn't depend upon and benefit from mutual trust."
Consistency. "How the Mistress acts sets the example and teaches the slave how to be.... For a slave to submit there has to be a framework in which he can 'know the rules' and develop dependable expectations."
Responsibility. It's the slave's responsibility to serve. The Mistress is responsible for the relationship.
Acceptance. ".... until you accept yourself as who you are, there will be a struggle that will make true realization of your Self difficult, if not impossible."
Expertise. "Experience is the best teacher and good technique is crucial to success...."
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