Next year will be better.
Next year I shall lose weight.
Next year I shall find a boyfriend.
Next year I shall go on a wonderful holiday.
Hmm, I see a pattern here. Always deferring happiness to the future - a future that never materialises.
There is an old adage: whatever you do on New Year's Eve will be what you do throughout the year. I tried to influence the forces of the universe once. Held a party for a few select friends hoping the New Year would be full of laughter, joy and togetherness. It was the night that he and she came together. It was the beginning of the end for me. That was 7 years ago.
Life is not perfect, but it's the only one we have; so, my friends, try to live for the moment and not for the future.
Thursday 30 December 2010
Tuesday 28 December 2010
The Way Things Should Have Been
She didn't like the idea of her child sleeping over at a friend's house. They had hardly been separated from each other since birth and it was the holidays. But the little one was so excited... how could she refuse?
She lamented about the situation to her friend J., instead. Her friend said he'd come and keep her company. It wouldn't have been the same, but at least her mind would be occupied.
As the sleepover day drew closer, her heart sunk lower and lower. The night before they cuddled up in the sofa and reassured each other that they would be brave and try to have fun - the child at the sleepover, and the mummy at home.
The day dawned and the first words out of her child's mouth were 'Sleepover Day!' She bit back the tears and helped make the overnight bag. Where was he? Would he come before the kid went or just after? And should she warn him about all the ice outside?
She waved to her child through the taxi window, blowing kisses in the air. The little one clang to the car window and stared at the mummy whose eyes had welled with tears. Then the car pulled out of the kerb and disappeared around the corner taking Tania's joy away from her.
Tania waited for his arrival. She sat motionless in her chair, devoid of emotion. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked the hours away. It was getting dark outside. 'He is not coming,' her inner voice told her. 'That's alright; I didn't really expect him to show up,' she lied to herself.
She got online, trying to find some consolation on the Internet. Most people were celebrating the holidays with family, so there were very few souls online. She checked her email. Nothing; not even junk mail. Did junk generators take a holiday, too? she wondered.
She made herself some dinner - leftovers from the big day - and took it to the living room. No point eating at the table alone. She set her plate on the coffee table, next to the laptop. A ping notified her of an incoming email. It was from him. Maybe to apologise for letting me down, she thought.
She read the email with eagerness, but soon realised it was a fantasy that he had written involving him and her. A cold shiver ran through her body. Et tu Brutus? she wanted to ask. It couldn't have been a more wrong moment to reveal one's fantasies. Still, she responded to his email, pointing out some glaring mistakes in grammar, syntax and reason. Yes, reason was a big one for her. She couldn't lose herself in a story unless it made sense.
He was hurt by her candid response. He did not see the positives: that she has spent time to read, evaluate, and respond to it, despite her being in the worst state of mind and missing her kid like crazy.
'Why didn't you come as promised?'' she asked.
'I was expecting you to give me a time slot that would be appropriate to visit,' he replied.
'I thought you'd just tie up loose ends and come as soon as you were ready!'
Bad communication, but there was still time to salvage the day. However, Tania felt so vulnerable that she knew she'd have no control of herself.
'It's best you don't come now or we'll end up having sex for all the wrong reasons,' she discouraged him.
His response showed a man of understanding.
They both agreed to be chaste that night. Tania proposed he joined her for breakfast. She licked her lips in anticipation of the sweet taste of sugar ring doughnuts. Wouldn't that make everything alright? Bit of food to drown one's sorrows in?
She waited by her laptop for his response, but none came. Eventually she got fed up staring at a blank screen and turned the computer off. She knew he had her phone number, so he could ring or text her his response.
The morning came. Tania rubbed the sleep off her eyes and stared at the clock. 9.45 am. She had no idea what time she had turned in, but it had been hard to fall asleep in the empty house. Her only consolation was that the little one was having fun with friends.
She wrapped her tattered gown around her body and plodded into the kitchen to make herself some coffee and toast. Then opened the laptop to check her emails. Surprise-surprise, there was one from him saying he had waited till 1 am for her to tell him what time he should bring breakfast and mentioning that doughnuts were too fatty and unhealthy, even for him that had a slim figure. She sighed, then fired off a response telling him that he should have used the phone - it was a wonderful invention after all, and very handy!
The email ping pong continued and he suggested he visited for lunch. She shuddered at the thought because there was nothing left, and without a child in the house she had no reason to cook and it was too late to come up with something worthwhile. If there was one thing about Tania, she never wanted to be caught unprepared. So she refused his offer and told him to go visit his relatives instead.
She didn't hear from him till the following morning. He wrote her a passionate email, probably fuelled by alcohol, that explained a lot of things about his behaviour. He was complaining why she had turned his offer of lunch down and she was surprised to read he had wanted to bring lunch in along with flowers - he certainly had given no indication that he had such in mind, and she was not used to him being proactive.
She tutted at her laptop scrolling back up to the email. It all felt like a scene from the Theatre of the Absurd.
Tania sank back in her chair. Oh if only things had been different! She closed her eyes and played out different scenarios.
In the first scenario, J. had actually picked up the phone and asked her what time it would have been best to visit. 'The sooner the better,' she had replied. So he had come prior to the child's departure - the child was strangely fond of this awkward man, and the departure was a happy occasion, instead of a sad one. Then the two adults had sat together in the sofa, his hand on hers, his words consoling her, his tales entertaining her, taking her mind off her worries. He might have spent the night in her bed and she might have sought comfort in his arms; however, he would have been strong and refused her sexual advances, knowing that she was too fragile to make sound decisions and not wishing to take advantage of her.
In the second scenario, J. had gotten fed up of waiting to be told a time to arrive, so he had taken things in his hands. He rang Tania to tell her - not ask her - to be ready in half an hour as he was coming to take her out.
'What? Where?' she'd ask, totally thrown off. 'I can't go out!'
'Sure you can,' he'd respond. 'You are free today, remember?'
'Yes, but I am not ready.'
'Duh!' he'd laugh, 'that's why I am being kind and giving you half an hour to get yourself ready.'
'You can't do this to me!' she'd protest looking at her sorry state in the big mirror.
'Can't I?' he'd smile. 'We'll see about that.'
She'd hop in the shower, angry with his insolence. How dare he disturb her cloud of misery! She had planned to spend the day in her old, tattered clothes, not make herself look beautiful for someone. But now he was coming and there was no disputing this fact. She couldn't have him see her at her worst. FFS! she'd say out loud, who does he think he is! But the walls of the house would not respond and the clock by her bedside would say 'hurry up!'
Then J. would show up at the door and compliment her on her appearance. She'd frown, not wanting to show she was secretly pleased by his comment. He'd ignore her frown and lead her to his car. Then he'd take her for a drive in the snowy countryside. She'd relax, despite her intentions not to. And by the time they stopped in that pub, she'd be enjoying herself once more. Nothing like a bit of fresh air and a roaring fire to mend one's spirits up.
In the third scenario, J. had not made it on the day of the child's departure but had picked up the phone and confirmed a time that doughnuts would have been required. Tania would have slept peacefully that night knowing that tomorrow would be a happier day and she would not be alone. At 8 am, J. would have given her a quick call to say he was on his way. She'd rush into the shower to scrub herself clean and wash away the tears of last night. She'd welcome him with a big smile and would scoff down the fresh doughnuts, her need for food being stronger than her restraint. They'd spend the morning talking as he rubbed her feet and soothed her mind. Then he'd leave just before the housekeeper was due to arrive.
Then there's the fourth scenario, where she agrees to him coming over for lunch although she has nothing worthwhile to feed him. Never mind, her self reassures her, we've all eaten too much these days, he'll be happy with a cheese omelette.
The housekeeper is busy cleaning when he rings the bell but puts her duster down to open the door. 'Tania, there's a nice surprise for you!' she calls out from the entrance hall. Tania gets up from her chair and is met by a smiling J. who is holding a large bouquet of flowers and a shopping bag.
'What is all this?' Tania asks, delighted to the core.
'What? Did you think I'd let you cook on a special day like this?' he responds feigning offence.
They'd spent the rest of the afternoon together listening to music and drinking some wine. Then the child would come home to a happy mummy and all would be fine in the world.
Which scenario would you have chosen if you had been the author of your own life?
She lamented about the situation to her friend J., instead. Her friend said he'd come and keep her company. It wouldn't have been the same, but at least her mind would be occupied.
As the sleepover day drew closer, her heart sunk lower and lower. The night before they cuddled up in the sofa and reassured each other that they would be brave and try to have fun - the child at the sleepover, and the mummy at home.
The day dawned and the first words out of her child's mouth were 'Sleepover Day!' She bit back the tears and helped make the overnight bag. Where was he? Would he come before the kid went or just after? And should she warn him about all the ice outside?
She waved to her child through the taxi window, blowing kisses in the air. The little one clang to the car window and stared at the mummy whose eyes had welled with tears. Then the car pulled out of the kerb and disappeared around the corner taking Tania's joy away from her.
Tania waited for his arrival. She sat motionless in her chair, devoid of emotion. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked the hours away. It was getting dark outside. 'He is not coming,' her inner voice told her. 'That's alright; I didn't really expect him to show up,' she lied to herself.
She got online, trying to find some consolation on the Internet. Most people were celebrating the holidays with family, so there were very few souls online. She checked her email. Nothing; not even junk mail. Did junk generators take a holiday, too? she wondered.
She made herself some dinner - leftovers from the big day - and took it to the living room. No point eating at the table alone. She set her plate on the coffee table, next to the laptop. A ping notified her of an incoming email. It was from him. Maybe to apologise for letting me down, she thought.
She read the email with eagerness, but soon realised it was a fantasy that he had written involving him and her. A cold shiver ran through her body. Et tu Brutus? she wanted to ask. It couldn't have been a more wrong moment to reveal one's fantasies. Still, she responded to his email, pointing out some glaring mistakes in grammar, syntax and reason. Yes, reason was a big one for her. She couldn't lose herself in a story unless it made sense.
He was hurt by her candid response. He did not see the positives: that she has spent time to read, evaluate, and respond to it, despite her being in the worst state of mind and missing her kid like crazy.
'Why didn't you come as promised?'' she asked.
'I was expecting you to give me a time slot that would be appropriate to visit,' he replied.
'I thought you'd just tie up loose ends and come as soon as you were ready!'
Bad communication, but there was still time to salvage the day. However, Tania felt so vulnerable that she knew she'd have no control of herself.
'It's best you don't come now or we'll end up having sex for all the wrong reasons,' she discouraged him.
His response showed a man of understanding.
They both agreed to be chaste that night. Tania proposed he joined her for breakfast. She licked her lips in anticipation of the sweet taste of sugar ring doughnuts. Wouldn't that make everything alright? Bit of food to drown one's sorrows in?
She waited by her laptop for his response, but none came. Eventually she got fed up staring at a blank screen and turned the computer off. She knew he had her phone number, so he could ring or text her his response.
The morning came. Tania rubbed the sleep off her eyes and stared at the clock. 9.45 am. She had no idea what time she had turned in, but it had been hard to fall asleep in the empty house. Her only consolation was that the little one was having fun with friends.
She wrapped her tattered gown around her body and plodded into the kitchen to make herself some coffee and toast. Then opened the laptop to check her emails. Surprise-surprise, there was one from him saying he had waited till 1 am for her to tell him what time he should bring breakfast and mentioning that doughnuts were too fatty and unhealthy, even for him that had a slim figure. She sighed, then fired off a response telling him that he should have used the phone - it was a wonderful invention after all, and very handy!
The email ping pong continued and he suggested he visited for lunch. She shuddered at the thought because there was nothing left, and without a child in the house she had no reason to cook and it was too late to come up with something worthwhile. If there was one thing about Tania, she never wanted to be caught unprepared. So she refused his offer and told him to go visit his relatives instead.
She didn't hear from him till the following morning. He wrote her a passionate email, probably fuelled by alcohol, that explained a lot of things about his behaviour. He was complaining why she had turned his offer of lunch down and she was surprised to read he had wanted to bring lunch in along with flowers - he certainly had given no indication that he had such in mind, and she was not used to him being proactive.
She tutted at her laptop scrolling back up to the email. It all felt like a scene from the Theatre of the Absurd.
Tania sank back in her chair. Oh if only things had been different! She closed her eyes and played out different scenarios.
...
In the first scenario, J. had actually picked up the phone and asked her what time it would have been best to visit. 'The sooner the better,' she had replied. So he had come prior to the child's departure - the child was strangely fond of this awkward man, and the departure was a happy occasion, instead of a sad one. Then the two adults had sat together in the sofa, his hand on hers, his words consoling her, his tales entertaining her, taking her mind off her worries. He might have spent the night in her bed and she might have sought comfort in his arms; however, he would have been strong and refused her sexual advances, knowing that she was too fragile to make sound decisions and not wishing to take advantage of her.
...
In the second scenario, J. had gotten fed up of waiting to be told a time to arrive, so he had taken things in his hands. He rang Tania to tell her - not ask her - to be ready in half an hour as he was coming to take her out.
'What? Where?' she'd ask, totally thrown off. 'I can't go out!'
'Sure you can,' he'd respond. 'You are free today, remember?'
'Yes, but I am not ready.'
'Duh!' he'd laugh, 'that's why I am being kind and giving you half an hour to get yourself ready.'
'You can't do this to me!' she'd protest looking at her sorry state in the big mirror.
'Can't I?' he'd smile. 'We'll see about that.'
She'd hop in the shower, angry with his insolence. How dare he disturb her cloud of misery! She had planned to spend the day in her old, tattered clothes, not make herself look beautiful for someone. But now he was coming and there was no disputing this fact. She couldn't have him see her at her worst. FFS! she'd say out loud, who does he think he is! But the walls of the house would not respond and the clock by her bedside would say 'hurry up!'
Then J. would show up at the door and compliment her on her appearance. She'd frown, not wanting to show she was secretly pleased by his comment. He'd ignore her frown and lead her to his car. Then he'd take her for a drive in the snowy countryside. She'd relax, despite her intentions not to. And by the time they stopped in that pub, she'd be enjoying herself once more. Nothing like a bit of fresh air and a roaring fire to mend one's spirits up.
...
In the third scenario, J. had not made it on the day of the child's departure but had picked up the phone and confirmed a time that doughnuts would have been required. Tania would have slept peacefully that night knowing that tomorrow would be a happier day and she would not be alone. At 8 am, J. would have given her a quick call to say he was on his way. She'd rush into the shower to scrub herself clean and wash away the tears of last night. She'd welcome him with a big smile and would scoff down the fresh doughnuts, her need for food being stronger than her restraint. They'd spend the morning talking as he rubbed her feet and soothed her mind. Then he'd leave just before the housekeeper was due to arrive.
...
Then there's the fourth scenario, where she agrees to him coming over for lunch although she has nothing worthwhile to feed him. Never mind, her self reassures her, we've all eaten too much these days, he'll be happy with a cheese omelette.
The housekeeper is busy cleaning when he rings the bell but puts her duster down to open the door. 'Tania, there's a nice surprise for you!' she calls out from the entrance hall. Tania gets up from her chair and is met by a smiling J. who is holding a large bouquet of flowers and a shopping bag.
'What is all this?' Tania asks, delighted to the core.
'What? Did you think I'd let you cook on a special day like this?' he responds feigning offence.
They'd spent the rest of the afternoon together listening to music and drinking some wine. Then the child would come home to a happy mummy and all would be fine in the world.
...
Which scenario would you have chosen if you had been the author of your own life?
Sunday 26 December 2010
Ma Vie
As the year draws to its end, I feel compelled to re-evaluate my goals. What am I looking for? And how long will I keep on looking?
The sure thing is I am not looking for someone to degrade and abuse. Why would I want something like that? I want someone I can share my life with. Someone who will enhance my life with his presence and allow me to do the same.
I feel I ought to apologise to any men I have unwittingly led on and whose fantasies I shall never be able to fulfil. I am no longer a pro Domme, so I do not have to do things I don't want to do. Furthermore, my life is not the life of a single person with no dependants. I have a young child who needs me and must always come first. So tying naked men to my kitchen sink is not an option. My ideal relationship would be filled with love, art and music; not violence, butt plugs and pain.
Truth is I am too damned romantic and old-fashioned to not want the usual things that any woman desires.
Sorry for being an ordinary woman and not the stuff that fantasies are made of... .
The sure thing is I am not looking for someone to degrade and abuse. Why would I want something like that? I want someone I can share my life with. Someone who will enhance my life with his presence and allow me to do the same.
I feel I ought to apologise to any men I have unwittingly led on and whose fantasies I shall never be able to fulfil. I am no longer a pro Domme, so I do not have to do things I don't want to do. Furthermore, my life is not the life of a single person with no dependants. I have a young child who needs me and must always come first. So tying naked men to my kitchen sink is not an option. My ideal relationship would be filled with love, art and music; not violence, butt plugs and pain.
Truth is I am too damned romantic and old-fashioned to not want the usual things that any woman desires.
Sorry for being an ordinary woman and not the stuff that fantasies are made of... .
Missing my baby
My baby is away tonight and although I should be celebrating this unexpected freedom, I feel a huge void inside that nothing can fill.
Saturday 25 December 2010
The Sound of Musicals
Fiddler on the Roof is my favourite musical of all times. I am listening to the soundtrack now and it is so deeply touching that I am crying. My child does not understand how music can touch you so; ah! the innocence of youth.
Two musicals have been known to reduce me to tears: this and Les Miserables.
Fiddler on the Roof reminds me of my father. The way Topol played Tevye when he asks his wife if she loves him - it could have been my dad pestering my mum to say she loves him! Tevye's daughters drive him nuts, but he still loves them; he even forgives the one who elopes with a Christian boy (at least it is hinted he will come round to it.)
The things we put our parents through! I never knew what love meant till I had a child of my own.
In Les Mis, there is a scene where Fantine is singing about Cossette, the daughter whom she had to leave with some innkeepers thinking that this was for her girl's best interest. When she sings, I know she is destined never to see her child again and I feel the pain of separation so strongly that it rips my heart. I also cry at the policeman's realisation that all this time he had been persecuting a good man.
Some people do not enjoy musicals. I don't know why. It is just a step away from Opera. How better can you express human emotion other than with a song and a dance?
Time to dish up Christmas lunch now.
I hope you are all enjoying yourselves and don't worry about me crying. It's cathartic.
Two musicals have been known to reduce me to tears: this and Les Miserables.
Fiddler on the Roof reminds me of my father. The way Topol played Tevye when he asks his wife if she loves him - it could have been my dad pestering my mum to say she loves him! Tevye's daughters drive him nuts, but he still loves them; he even forgives the one who elopes with a Christian boy (at least it is hinted he will come round to it.)
The things we put our parents through! I never knew what love meant till I had a child of my own.
In Les Mis, there is a scene where Fantine is singing about Cossette, the daughter whom she had to leave with some innkeepers thinking that this was for her girl's best interest. When she sings, I know she is destined never to see her child again and I feel the pain of separation so strongly that it rips my heart. I also cry at the policeman's realisation that all this time he had been persecuting a good man.
Some people do not enjoy musicals. I don't know why. It is just a step away from Opera. How better can you express human emotion other than with a song and a dance?
Time to dish up Christmas lunch now.
I hope you are all enjoying yourselves and don't worry about me crying. It's cathartic.
Chocolate 2
As promised to PateInduced, here is a pic of the Christmas log I made yesterday. Doesn't look as fancy as the shop bought ones, but it is my very first attempt. I had a bit of a mishap with the painting. Seems the food colouring one buys at the supermarket is not thick enough to paint with, as can be seen by the two holy leaves. Eventually it dawned on me to mix the colouring with some icing sugar to thicken it so it stays in the design and does not run off.
Happy Christmas, everyone!
Friday 24 December 2010
Christmas
I never thought I'd say this, but I hate Christmas. I've decided this today and there is nothing anyone can say or do to make me change my mind.
I hate how this holiday makes me feel lonely and vulnerable and how I strive to make things perfect when no one really appreciates my efforts. I hate the greediness of kids who think they are entitled to presents when they have done nothing to deserve them. I hate the commercialism and the pressure to do things, to have fun, to be Merry.
This Christmas we will be all alone. My blind friend could not make it down from Scotland after all. It's the weather, you see. So there really isn't anything in Christmas for me. No presents for me. No adult conversation. No hugs. No one to say thank you, this is lovely. No one to listen to music with. No one to share jokes with. Just a kid with its nose glued on the telly who will refuse to eat most of the food I so lovingly prepared and frustrate me every minute of the day.
Don't get me wrong; I love my kid. But I need some me time, an opportunity to relax and be looked after instead of always looking after others. And I want a little escape from reality now and then.
J. wrote to me yesterday: "I wish I could make you happier but I seem to fall at the very first hurdle all the time and I make things worse!!! Sorry, my good intentions do not outweigh my incompetance." This was a reply to my complaint about him contacting another Mistress on my behalf without me even asking him to.
J. ... it is easy to make me happy: just visit! I need human contact more than anything else in the world, don't you know that? Fix the problems in your life and find some time for me. Simple, isn't it? If you would only listen to sound advice... but you get yourself deeper and deeper into trouble because you are not methodical. Nobody is perfect but the clever ones tend to let people who are better at something do it for them instead of trying to do it all themselves.
Can't wait for the holidays to finish so we can get back to our routine.
Apologies for the outburst. I know there are loads of people worse off and I am grateful for what we've got, except for the new carpet stain... and the chesty coughs.
Enjoy tomorrow!
I hate how this holiday makes me feel lonely and vulnerable and how I strive to make things perfect when no one really appreciates my efforts. I hate the greediness of kids who think they are entitled to presents when they have done nothing to deserve them. I hate the commercialism and the pressure to do things, to have fun, to be Merry.
This Christmas we will be all alone. My blind friend could not make it down from Scotland after all. It's the weather, you see. So there really isn't anything in Christmas for me. No presents for me. No adult conversation. No hugs. No one to say thank you, this is lovely. No one to listen to music with. No one to share jokes with. Just a kid with its nose glued on the telly who will refuse to eat most of the food I so lovingly prepared and frustrate me every minute of the day.
Don't get me wrong; I love my kid. But I need some me time, an opportunity to relax and be looked after instead of always looking after others. And I want a little escape from reality now and then.
J. wrote to me yesterday: "I wish I could make you happier but I seem to fall at the very first hurdle all the time and I make things worse!!! Sorry, my good intentions do not outweigh my incompetance." This was a reply to my complaint about him contacting another Mistress on my behalf without me even asking him to.
J. ... it is easy to make me happy: just visit! I need human contact more than anything else in the world, don't you know that? Fix the problems in your life and find some time for me. Simple, isn't it? If you would only listen to sound advice... but you get yourself deeper and deeper into trouble because you are not methodical. Nobody is perfect but the clever ones tend to let people who are better at something do it for them instead of trying to do it all themselves.
Can't wait for the holidays to finish so we can get back to our routine.
Apologies for the outburst. I know there are loads of people worse off and I am grateful for what we've got, except for the new carpet stain... and the chesty coughs.
Enjoy tomorrow!
Tuesday 21 December 2010
Chocolate
I feel lonely and unfulfilled tonight. Cadbury's chocolate must be adulterated because it hasn't corrected my serotonin levels. From now on it will be Thornton's continental selection for guaranteed results.
God, I wish I had someone to talk to instead of pouring my feelings into a blog!
God, I wish I had someone to talk to instead of pouring my feelings into a blog!
Melomakarona
My method of using a sugar syrup instead of a honey syrup worked well. This biscuit is made using oil, sugar, brandy, orange/clementine juice, cinnamon and flour. The syrup is made by boiling caster sugar and a bit of water with the zest of an orange. I can't begin to describe how lovely the aromas are!
Prep, baking and glazing all done in under half an hour. Jamie Oliver eat your heart out!
To Be There for Her
The following story was inspired by a Greek slave's fantasies and it is told from a slave's point of view. Although Sotiris never made the jump from fantasy to reality, he enjoyed reading stories that featured him.
To Be There for Her
© Contessa dei Fiori
‘Sotiriiiii!’
Her voice boomed like a bell piercing the quietness of the house making me jump. Mistress was not happy and I wondered what it was that I had done wrong this time. I rushed to the bedroom and found her in a state of panic.
‘I can’t find my shoes!’ she said frantically going through the wardrobe. ‘What did you do with them? I need my shoes!!’
‘You will find them by the entrance, where you last left them.’ I replied and bit my lip.
‘What?’ She looked at me, her eyes like burning daggers. I realised I had spoken without thought but it was too late to do anything about it. I felt sweet fear rushing through my body as she approached me and grabbed me by my hair.
‘What are you saying, you worthless piece of scum?’
‘I.. I am sorry, Mistress! I – ouch! – didn’t mean to say –‘
‘You didn’t mean to say but you did infer it, didn’t you? You suggested that your Mistress is a lazy bitch who leaves her shoes here and there!’
‘No, no Mistress, you are not a lazy bitch, I did not, please Mistress my HAIR!’ I cried out, overcome by pain.
I loved it when she forced me to my knees by my hair. I loved every minute of pain and humiliation she gave me, as I was her slave and she was my Mistress.
‘So what are you saying now, you filthy piece of shit? Are you saying that I am not a Bitch?’
It was our favourite word play game. No matter what I said, she’d outwit me. She’d lash out on me verbally and sometimes she’d do more than pull my hair. Sometimes she’d kick me and I’d lose my balance and fall on the floor. I ached for her to kick me. I had fantasies of having my genitals mashed to a pulp under her spiky shoes. I want her to kick me mercilessly and spit on me and burn me with cigarettes and use me as her toilet but she is a responsible sadist and most of the times she just uses me and then discards me.
‘Get my shoes, NOW!’ she yelled at me and I scrambled to my feet and rushed out of the bedroom. I grabbed hold of the shoes and run back to her like an obedient dog.
‘Here, Mistress, I got them for you!’
She sat on the edge of the bed and offered a black stockinged foot to me. I kissed her foot lovingly, envying the man that would be performing foot worship on her that night.
‘Don’t do that!’ she said pulling her foot away. ‘You are slobbering all over my clean stockings! Just put the shoes on, all right? Not a difficult task, is it? I am not asking for too much, am I?’ she said sarcastically.
‘No Mistress; sorry, Mistress.’
‘What an idiot! If it weren’t for the goodness of my heart, you’d be out in the streets living rough and offering your ass to strangers to fuck for your drink money!’
I blushed. It was all a fantasy of course as I had a very good job and a good standing in society. Mistress used to threaten to take me to a bridge and whore me to strangers to make me pay for my keep. I have often wondered how I would react if she did more than threaten me… what would it feel to be fucked by a stranger. To this point I had only been invaded by Mistress’s finger and a few small toys. Although I had bought her a strap on, she refused to use it on me, saying that it was too good for the likes of me and that when she decided my ass was ready for a full invasion, she’d get a man to do it properly, possibly a well hung, 6’5’’ black man. The thought always made me shudder with excitement.
‘Well, how do I look?’
She stood towering over me in her high heels, her ankles just showing under the hem of her slinky skirt, a white lacy blouse and a jacket completing her dress. She wore a double set of pearls along with matching pearl earrings. Her hair was pinned up with a couple of strands sensually framing her well made up face.
‘You look stunning, my Lady!’
She leant over me and I could peek inside her blouse, her large breasts bulging from a white demi cup bra.
‘Do I smell nice?’ she asked me with a twinkle in her eyes.
Did she smell nice! She smelled divine, her signature perfume stirring my senses each time I smelled it in a shop, invading my dreams when I was home alone as it lingered on the pillows.
I pressed my legs together to hide my erection and she laughed.
‘I see by your reaction that there is no need for me to ask. Come, we’ll be late!’
We got in the car and I drove her to the Park Lane hotel where she was meeting one of her clients for dinner. I waited in the underground car park, like a good chauffer, thinking about what might be going on in there. My mobile was switched on in case of emergency but it did not ring once. Mistress must have been having a good time. I figured that dinner would be over within two hours max and she was already gone four. Was she in his suite? What were they doing now? How long does it take for a man to worship a Mistress’s legs? Did she allow him further worship? What were his fetishes? Was he dressed in women’s clothing, acting as her maid? Was he lying in a bathtub drinking her champagne? Or were they perhaps making love?
I found the last thought to be very disturbing. I felt very possessive of my Mistress, which did not make sense, as I was just her slave and had no rights on her whatsoever. Still, when we lay in the same bed the nights that we spent together, me listening to her even breathing as she slept, I ached to put my arms around her, to kiss the soft contours of her body and ... yes, why deny it? Go beyond and claim her body for myself. The man in me ached to make love to her, whereas the slave in me felt unworthy of such an honour. But I lived in hope that one day… perhaps… Miracles do happen, don’t they?
I heard female footsteps on the concrete floor and saw Mistress approach the car in my rear view mirror. I hurried to get out and open the door for her. She sat in the rear seat and turned towards me, spreading her legs.
‘Clean me!’ she said simply.
I slipped to my knees in the empty car park and lifted her skirt above her knees. I could smell her excitement and could see the glistening juices on her pubic hair. I pressed my face between her plump thighs and began licking her, experiencing both her and possibly the other man, my hands massaging the soft skin above her black stockings. Oh how sweet my Mistress tasted that night! How arousing her little moans of pleasure were! How proud I was for the honour she did me and how calm I felt that night when she turned round in bed and nested into my waiting arms!
I don’t expect people to understand our relationship and my deep need to serve this Lady. My parents nag me to get married and produce an heir to carry on the family name. I can’t get married. I can’t let anyone get between my Mistress and I. My destiny is to live and serve her. To be her guinea pig, her outlet for life’s frustrations, her protector and most devoted fan. To be there for her…
Monday 20 December 2010
Quiz
Question: What can you make with vanilla, brandy, and rose water?
Answer: Greek Christmas cookies! (a.k.a. kourabiedes)
I used to buy them from a Cypriot grocer, but they are a bit expensive, so I decided to make them myself using a recipe I found on the Internet. I baked a batch this morning and the aroma filled the house. They are so melt-in-the-mouth, so decadently buttery and almondy. Ah! I don't think they'll last the night... much less make it into gift baskets for friends.
Now what shall I make next? Melomakarona? They are nice, but I am not too fond of honey. Would it be a sacrilege to substitute honey for sugar syrup? Hmm... we'll see. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say. :)
Answer: Greek Christmas cookies! (a.k.a. kourabiedes)
I used to buy them from a Cypriot grocer, but they are a bit expensive, so I decided to make them myself using a recipe I found on the Internet. I baked a batch this morning and the aroma filled the house. They are so melt-in-the-mouth, so decadently buttery and almondy. Ah! I don't think they'll last the night... much less make it into gift baskets for friends.
Now what shall I make next? Melomakarona? They are nice, but I am not too fond of honey. Would it be a sacrilege to substitute honey for sugar syrup? Hmm... we'll see. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say. :)
Sunday 19 December 2010
Frustration. Help!
I really can't keep up with technology and I do not understand Blogger. I want to move the stories to a separate tab so that only day-to-day thoughts are left in the home page. But despite reading the Help section, I cannot figure out the process. Maybe I am tired and my brain is unable to process information. It is 1.48 am after all.
I miss Geocities. Creating a website was so simple those days and you had full control of it. I tried other free hosting providers, but they seemed over complicated and they wanted to impose their templates.
Can anyone please help me sort things out?
I miss Geocities. Creating a website was so simple those days and you had full control of it. I tried other free hosting providers, but they seemed over complicated and they wanted to impose their templates.
Can anyone please help me sort things out?
Saturday 18 December 2010
Mercy! he cried
This is a journal entry from 2004 when I travelled to Athens, Greece to conduct a professional session with a Greek masochist. I made a few alterations to the story to make it easier to read. I hope you will enjoy it.
I tied him up on a chair with the vibrator attached to his cock. I sat on the chair opposite with my knees apart and watched him struggle as the vibrator did its work. I placed my hand on my crotch and felt the wetness seep through the fine material of my G-string. Damn you! I cursed and pulled my hand away. As usual, the mere act of controlling a man had made my juices flow. The guy’s eyes were observing my every move till suddenly they closed tight as he gave in to his silent orgasm.
Mercy! He cried
© Contessa dei Fiori, 2004
I met this client recently who had been in contact with me for quite some time. He kept saying how experienced he was and how hard he liked to play. Darn! I thought. If he likes to play as hard as he claims, then my toys will be too soft for him. So off we went to a sex shop to buy him some more appropriate toys.
Ever been to a Greek sex shop? It is an experience on its own! This particular one near Omonia Square was run by two skinny widows with grey hair and faces like dried up raisins. The store was packed solid with dildoes and vibrators of every conceivable size, lots of DVDs/videos piled up high on the floor, a small amount of sexy lingerie and a limited array of S/M tools. It was not like Soho, but it would have to do.
I selected a hard leather flogger with a dildo handle. For some obscure reason the ladies had covered the dildo with a condom but by the time I realised what I was touching, my hand was already smeared with lubricant. I did the only sensible thing: I wiped it on my client’s sleeve.
Slave wanted a vibrator as well, but for some reason all vibrator sets were sold without their batteries. Lady told me the batteries are no good anyway as they wear out with time. 'Oh that doesn't say much about your stock movement!' I commented lightly, but my humour was lost on the sour faced woman.
I threw some pink Thai beads on the pile after discussing the pros and cons of moulded beads vs. beads on a string with the lady. Slave was red as a beetroot and kept staring at the points of his shoes from a safe distance. I think he found the humiliation aspect of his fantasy hard to swallow. Made him pay and we were at the door when the lady called after us. 'Don't you want to take your purchases?'
Somehow we got to his place and I was shocked to be met by piles of books and documents strewn all over the place. He is an academic, you see, and these types are not known for their organisational skills. I needed a wee rather badly, but his bathroom was tiny with the toilet stuck in a corner between the bathtub and the wall. I hate tight spaces so I ordered him to strip and lie down on the floor so I could wee on him.
'But Mistress, what about your shoes?' he asked staring at my lovely stiletto heels with abject adoration. 'Don't worry, if they get spilled on, you'll just have to lick them clean,' I replied as I hiked my skirt up and pulled my underwear aside. With a sigh of relief I released an endless stream of hot urine over him. It pooled into the natural crevices of his body like his bellybutton and the groove in his chest and the rest of it trickled down the floor and flowed towards his head.
‘Did you enjoy that Mistress?’ he enquired and I laughed. ‘Of course I did, you silly sausage, why else would I do it?’ I responded and wiped my right shoe on his calf as there was a suspicion of a droplet of pee on it.
The deed done, I went to set up whilst he had the task of disinfecting the bathroom floor and purifying himself.
‘Five minutes!’ I shouted from the lounge as I pushed some books away to make space for my toys.
‘There is no hot water in the tank!’ his voice responded from inside the bathroom.
‘Too bad, you still need to shower!’
I struggled to get into the black PVC catsuit that he had bought me from my wish list. It hugged my curves snugly.
He appeared in front of me in all his hairy naked splendour, his beer belly nearly hiding his erection from view. His hair was matted with water and he smelled of shower gel.
The session went under way with a few hiccups. First he had forgotten to lock the front door and was worried that someone might just walk in. As he was tied down with his hands behind his back, I went to lock the door. I began using the paddle on him, but he became worried the neighbours would hear us, so I went and put some music on. Then he realised he had left the water heater on and it might overheat and explode. I switched it off from the mains. It was impossible to concentrate with such frequent interruptions!
I paddled him to vent my frustration, but the guy cried mercy, so I stopped as pre-agreed.
Not knowing what to do with him, I ordered him to undo the zipper of my catsuit to reveal my buttocks and asked him to read my G-string. He did not speak English well and had trouble doing it. Eventually he managed to make out the words Kiss Me. ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ I said impatiently. He buried his face into my plentiful behind and planted respectful little kisses all over its surface.
The interval over, it was time to get serious again and flog him. I began gently, merely caressing his back with the long leather strands. He moaned and wiggled. The lead on his collar and his wrists were attached to a hook on the door frame and he couldn't escape. He was wearing cloverleaf nipple clamps attached to a ring around his genitals. Every slight movement he made was sheer torture for him.
I flogged him with a bit more intensity. I was getting hot and excited. He wriggled more and moaned louder. Then he cried out: ‘Mercy, Mistress!’
‘Mercy?’ I enquired in disbelief, ‘you the seasoned masochist and you beg for mercy with a mere lick of the flogger?’
‘Please Mistress, Mercy!’ he repeated. I stopped.
I grabbed his hair and forced him to look at me. I was very disappointed. I lectured him for misbehaviour, for lying to me and claiming to be more experienced and resilient that he was. ‘You are robbing me of my pleasure!’ I complained.
‘Please, Mistress, tell me how else I may please you,’ he begged.
I sat on the chair and unzipped my catsuit. It was too hot and I was sweating in it. I let him stew for a bit before releasing him from the hook. ‘You are such a pathetic whore,’ I told him. ‘Come suck my cock!’ I trapped the dildo part of the flogger between my knees and taught him how to give head to an imaginary cock sometimes holding his face in my hands and guiding him down on the dildo and other times pulling him back by the hair when he got over enthusiastic. I could tell he was being turned on by his humiliation, but I did not like him stealing glances of my flesh through the open catsuit, so I slapped his face hard and took him by surprise.
‘Don’t be so insolent!’ I scolded him. ‘Get me the Thai beads!’
He walked on all fours and fetched them in his mouth. He knew I had disinfected them carefully prior to play. Out came the glove and lubricant from my play bag. He laid over my knee as I sought out his orifice. He was very tight, but I suspected he was playing the virgin. I smacked his buttocks and told him off. I teased his anus with my finger and slid the beads in, one by one, but with great difficulty as he kept fighting me all the way.
‘You are such a worthless slave! You are doing everything in your power to defy me and rob me of my pleasure’ I complained.
‘Sorry, Mistress,’ he responded. I felt tempted to push the beads in without concern for his comfort, but I recalled the Hippocratic Oath (the closest to a code of behaviour for Mistresses) and restrained myself.
Eventually I ran out of ideas. Everything he had asked for (intense pain, anal play and bondage) seemed to cause him distress instead of pleasure. I removed my catsuit and remained in my black balcony bra and red and black G-string. He nearly fainted with excitement.
‘May I please please you, Mistress?’ he asked.
I gave a brief sarcastic laugh. ‘Please me? You’ve done everything in your power to displease me so far!’
He indicated towards my crotch, insinuating he could perform oral worship on me.
‘You want it?’ I asked him softly with an alluring smile on my face.
He placed his hands on my hips and nodded with enthusiasm. ‘Yes, please!’
‘Well, you are not having it!’ I retorted cruelly and kicked him back.
I tied him up on a chair with the vibrator attached to his cock. I sat on the chair opposite with my knees apart and watched him struggle as the vibrator did its work. I placed my hand on my crotch and felt the wetness seep through the fine material of my G-string. Damn you! I cursed and pulled my hand away. As usual, the mere act of controlling a man had made my juices flow. The guy’s eyes were observing my every move till suddenly they closed tight as he gave in to his silent orgasm.
‘Clean up that mess!’ I ordered him and retired to the bathroom to get cleaned and dressed.
………..
I went home that night wondering what had gone wrong in the scene. This man had asked for severe sadism and backed away as soon as I touched him. He told me he had enjoyed the session, but I was not happy about it. Later on we chatted on the internet and he made the following shocking revelation:
‘Mistress, why did you listen to me when I cried mercy? I wanted you to go on despite my protestations!’
I tried to explain to him that I am not an abuser; that I abide by the safe, sane and CONSENSUAL adage, but it was wasted on him. Same as the importance of a safe word had been wasted on him.
Can’t help wondering though how another, perhaps more seasoned, Mistress would have handled this situation…. Would she have given him what he wanted, i.e. abuse, or chosen not to complete the session?
........
The guy remained in touch and we met a couple more times socially. We both came to the realisation that for him the fantasy of submitting to a cruel sadistic Mistress was enough; he didn't need the reality. He later got his kicks out of seeing his photographs on my website and reading about himself.
Even though the years have passed, I still remember him every time I look at my profile picture. I remember all of my men and it is these memories that keep me warm inside. You'd think that a Mistress would be important to subsm but the truth is they were important to me. Every single one of them!
Monday 13 December 2010
You little hussy!
Seems I am getting a bit of reputation as a tease, and not unjustly. I get a huge buzz out of tease and denial, almost as much as with being in control (or losing control; I am not fussy.)
A couple of years ago I had this date with a musician. By sheer coincidence my friend R. came to visit me that same afternoon, so I got him to help me get into my red lacy basque and black nylon stockings. Then the phone rang. It was the musician trying to locate my home. When R. realised what was happening, he cried: 'You little hussy! You got me to come all the way here to get you ready for another man!'
Despite his protestations, R. was intrigued; I could see it in his eyes.
The two men met at the door and regarded each other with suspicion like two animals vying for the alpha spot. I think the musician felt a bit intimidated by R. because he behaved impeccably all evening and did not even try to kiss me. Perhaps he thought R. was my man and due to come back any time - who knows!
Another time, another house. I am waiting for a stranger to come give me a massage and R. is there for safety. Then the guy arrives with his lotions and potions and bags of enthusiasm. We have tea and R. grills him. The man seems friendly but is not too bright. We go upstairs and I get on the bed. R. is leaning against the bedroom door watching this stranger undress me slowly . The stranger's hands are trembling. I feel the mattress give way as he climbs over my legs; oil is being poured on my back. Then the man's hands begin kneading my flesh. I am putty in his hands. I moan ever so reservedly. I don't want to scare my masseur with my intense reactions to his touch. When the guy's hands reach between my thighs, R. retires downstairs. Later on he reveals to me that he got turned on but was unsure of what to do. 'Silly, boy!' I admonish him, 'you should have listened to Mother Nature and taken part...'
And a last anecdote from my time with R. He's visiting me, I am very horny, we start petting and we end up with his hand inside me. Then the doorbell rings. It's a delivery. R. quickly withdraws, wipes his hand on some tissues and opens the door to sign for the package. Then proceeds to shake the guy's hand being all polite, whilst I am choking on the sofa with suppressed laughter.
A couple of years ago I had this date with a musician. By sheer coincidence my friend R. came to visit me that same afternoon, so I got him to help me get into my red lacy basque and black nylon stockings. Then the phone rang. It was the musician trying to locate my home. When R. realised what was happening, he cried: 'You little hussy! You got me to come all the way here to get you ready for another man!'
Despite his protestations, R. was intrigued; I could see it in his eyes.
The two men met at the door and regarded each other with suspicion like two animals vying for the alpha spot. I think the musician felt a bit intimidated by R. because he behaved impeccably all evening and did not even try to kiss me. Perhaps he thought R. was my man and due to come back any time - who knows!
Another time, another house. I am waiting for a stranger to come give me a massage and R. is there for safety. Then the guy arrives with his lotions and potions and bags of enthusiasm. We have tea and R. grills him. The man seems friendly but is not too bright. We go upstairs and I get on the bed. R. is leaning against the bedroom door watching this stranger undress me slowly . The stranger's hands are trembling. I feel the mattress give way as he climbs over my legs; oil is being poured on my back. Then the man's hands begin kneading my flesh. I am putty in his hands. I moan ever so reservedly. I don't want to scare my masseur with my intense reactions to his touch. When the guy's hands reach between my thighs, R. retires downstairs. Later on he reveals to me that he got turned on but was unsure of what to do. 'Silly, boy!' I admonish him, 'you should have listened to Mother Nature and taken part...'
And a last anecdote from my time with R. He's visiting me, I am very horny, we start petting and we end up with his hand inside me. Then the doorbell rings. It's a delivery. R. quickly withdraws, wipes his hand on some tissues and opens the door to sign for the package. Then proceeds to shake the guy's hand being all polite, whilst I am choking on the sofa with suppressed laughter.
Sunday 12 December 2010
Shameless copycats!
Someone mentioned there was a woman going around calling herself the Countess and they asked if this was me because her website sounded a lot like mine did when it was operational. So finally I found the time to do a bit of research and found this Essex Mistress who has copied my alternative persona:
My story is late 17th century; her story is 18th century.
I am an Italian countess; she is a French countess.
I ended up in London because of persecution; she did the same.
I wrote: "Leave the mundanities of real life behind you and follow me to my private inner space where you can be whatever you have always wanted to be, without shame, without remorse*. " (*in updated version of my website, the word was changed to 'fear'.)
She says: "Escape the drudge and stress of your world and come into mine. Leave your worries behind you, come and PLAY!"
Well, I should feel flattered. This is person no. 2 drawing their inspiration from my writings. The other one was a Greek-American escort who used my text word for word on her website. Luckily they don't use my photographs. Nobody likes to be a fatty. LOL
Still, despite the essence being similar, there is a big difference between the two websites: quality. Connoisseurs will always be able to tell the true original and that is enough for me.
My story is late 17th century; her story is 18th century.
I am an Italian countess; she is a French countess.
I ended up in London because of persecution; she did the same.
I wrote: "Leave the mundanities of real life behind you and follow me to my private inner space where you can be whatever you have always wanted to be, without shame, without remorse*. " (*in updated version of my website, the word was changed to 'fear'.)
She says: "Escape the drudge and stress of your world and come into mine. Leave your worries behind you, come and PLAY!"
Well, I should feel flattered. This is person no. 2 drawing their inspiration from my writings. The other one was a Greek-American escort who used my text word for word on her website. Luckily they don't use my photographs. Nobody likes to be a fatty. LOL
Still, despite the essence being similar, there is a big difference between the two websites: quality. Connoisseurs will always be able to tell the true original and that is enough for me.
Wednesday 8 December 2010
What I do
Contrary to popular belief, I do not spend my days dressed in fetish clothing and dominating men. I have other interests in life, like cooking and baking or doing craft.
As we are coming up to Christmas, I feel the need to try out new ideas. I am currently working on a stuffing for the Christmas pork, for example, juggling cranberries, apricots, dates, and a few more secret ingredients. Whilst the food is cooking, I am doing Christmas crafts to give to friends. There is not one surface free at home these days, but I am happy. I am even thinking of knitting a scarf over the holidays. How kinky is that!
I like activities that are relaxing and often find myself humming to carols that are playing in my head, or to music playing on Classic FM.
As we are coming up to Christmas, I feel the need to try out new ideas. I am currently working on a stuffing for the Christmas pork, for example, juggling cranberries, apricots, dates, and a few more secret ingredients. Whilst the food is cooking, I am doing Christmas crafts to give to friends. There is not one surface free at home these days, but I am happy. I am even thinking of knitting a scarf over the holidays. How kinky is that!
I like activities that are relaxing and often find myself humming to carols that are playing in my head, or to music playing on Classic FM.
Monday 6 December 2010
December LFF
I've just realised this Sunday is the Christmas LFF. It's been years since I last went to it and I am wondering what it is like nowadays. I hear they have a play area in the venue.
I want a special someone to ask me to it. I want him to turn to me and say 'You know, Contessa? I think you need this!' and then to give me a passionate kiss that will make my stomach somersault and my toes curl with pleasure.
Who says that dominant women don't need to be surprised once in a while? It's Christmas, after all. Everything is possible. And the great thing about this is that if one makes the nice list, he'll be in heaven; if he makes the naughty list, he'll have lots of exciting tortures to look forward to in the New Year. It's a win-win scenario, no?
Back into my dream world...
I want a special someone to ask me to it. I want him to turn to me and say 'You know, Contessa? I think you need this!' and then to give me a passionate kiss that will make my stomach somersault and my toes curl with pleasure.
Who says that dominant women don't need to be surprised once in a while? It's Christmas, after all. Everything is possible. And the great thing about this is that if one makes the nice list, he'll be in heaven; if he makes the naughty list, he'll have lots of exciting tortures to look forward to in the New Year. It's a win-win scenario, no?
Back into my dream world...
On a positive note
I have invited an old friend to spend the holidays with us. He is going through separation and I did not want him to be all alone for the festive season. He said he will try to come. He has gone blind since the last time we met and has some mobility problems.
This friend I am talking about was the first one to worship me as a Goddess and show me that not all men were cruel-hearted bastards. I recall the day he bought me my first pair of fetish shoes; how he and the salesperson were fighting over who would fit the shoes on my feet. It was such a novel situation to find myself in and I thoroughly enjoyed it! I have both tears and a smile on my face as I am remembering this.
I recently sent him a copy of my book that is yet to be published. He is mentioned in it a few times and I was interested in his feedback. Would he be upset or flattered? Turns out he was able to give me some really good and honest feedback. He described my book as a 'psychological drama' with 'erotic fiction' and a 'diary' all in one. Gosh, I've got so much editing to do! As you can imagine, when a subject is very personal, it is really hard to divorce yourself from it and treat it objectively.
Anyway, all is well when you have friends who care and who allow you to care back for them :)
This friend I am talking about was the first one to worship me as a Goddess and show me that not all men were cruel-hearted bastards. I recall the day he bought me my first pair of fetish shoes; how he and the salesperson were fighting over who would fit the shoes on my feet. It was such a novel situation to find myself in and I thoroughly enjoyed it! I have both tears and a smile on my face as I am remembering this.
I recently sent him a copy of my book that is yet to be published. He is mentioned in it a few times and I was interested in his feedback. Would he be upset or flattered? Turns out he was able to give me some really good and honest feedback. He described my book as a 'psychological drama' with 'erotic fiction' and a 'diary' all in one. Gosh, I've got so much editing to do! As you can imagine, when a subject is very personal, it is really hard to divorce yourself from it and treat it objectively.
Anyway, all is well when you have friends who care and who allow you to care back for them :)
Saturday 4 December 2010
Normal service will resume shortly
Today was the Christmas Fair of the local school and my child was going to be singing with the choir. J. came to support us - he promised he would, and he did. Bless! But the day ended up with tears and frustration.
First of all, I don't know about you, but when I ask for a Coke, or Pepsi, or Sprite or 7Up, I mean just that. Not a Diet Coke or other sugarfree drink. I got issues with sweeteners, alright? And I am not dumb to say I want one thing when I want another, so please subs out there, don't try to second-guess me, just open up your ears and listen to what I am saying. I am very clear.
After going back and forth a few times, J. brought me some kind of nameless lemonade which was of course warm. How can a person drink a warm soft drink? I was angry at the organisers for not putting drinks in the fridge from the night before. Anyway...
The time for the choir came, but it was so disorganised that most people did not realise there were children singing in a corner of the gym. The choir Mistress did not arrange the kids according to height with the result that the little ones were buried behind the older children. My child who lacks confidence anyway virtually disappeared. Could not take a photo or video to remember the day. This of course reminded me of all the wasted years that I was struggling with health and other problems and, although I should not let it bother me, it hurts! I thought of the dad/slave who has not been around much and blamed him for his child's lack of confidence - there is only so much I can teach our offspring and real confidence springs from having two loving parents around you.
I feel so down. Christmas is almost upon us and everyone will be celebrating with their families and friends, but we'll be all alone. Do you reckon if I put out a big enough stocking, Santa will fit a nice man in it for me? Someone who will want me for me and not for the kinky stuff I can do to him? Someone who will embrace my child and fill in that huge gap?
First of all, I don't know about you, but when I ask for a Coke, or Pepsi, or Sprite or 7Up, I mean just that. Not a Diet Coke or other sugarfree drink. I got issues with sweeteners, alright? And I am not dumb to say I want one thing when I want another, so please subs out there, don't try to second-guess me, just open up your ears and listen to what I am saying. I am very clear.
After going back and forth a few times, J. brought me some kind of nameless lemonade which was of course warm. How can a person drink a warm soft drink? I was angry at the organisers for not putting drinks in the fridge from the night before. Anyway...
The time for the choir came, but it was so disorganised that most people did not realise there were children singing in a corner of the gym. The choir Mistress did not arrange the kids according to height with the result that the little ones were buried behind the older children. My child who lacks confidence anyway virtually disappeared. Could not take a photo or video to remember the day. This of course reminded me of all the wasted years that I was struggling with health and other problems and, although I should not let it bother me, it hurts! I thought of the dad/slave who has not been around much and blamed him for his child's lack of confidence - there is only so much I can teach our offspring and real confidence springs from having two loving parents around you.
I feel so down. Christmas is almost upon us and everyone will be celebrating with their families and friends, but we'll be all alone. Do you reckon if I put out a big enough stocking, Santa will fit a nice man in it for me? Someone who will want me for me and not for the kinky stuff I can do to him? Someone who will embrace my child and fill in that huge gap?
Wednesday 1 December 2010
Winter cabin
It was just a little wooden cabin bursting through the whiteness of the landscape with its blue walls, white windows, and red front door. Inside it was decorated sparsely with reclaimed furniture that had been stripped and white-washed. It was strange how in the country that had given birth to IKEA there was not a single flat pack in sight.
We stomped our feet on the wooden decking to dislodge the snow from our boots and walked into the living room. It was cold and smelled of emptiness, but the stove in the far side of the room was a promising sight.
'Right, you go get some logs,' I instructed my slave as he was helping me remove my boots, 'whilst I pack the groceries away.' I went into the little kitchen with its rustic cabinets lined with white and red check vinyl and watched him chop some logs in the back yard to make some kindling. I would have loved for it to be summer and for him to be doing this job half naked, sweat running down his torso and back, but we were in the middle of winter and it was no use longing for what you could not have.
I packed the percolator with ground coffee and put it on the fire. Soon it was bubbling away, filling the top part with aromatic coffee.
'I started the fire - lucky the wood hadn't been wet,' slave commented. I passed him an enamelled mug of hot coffee whilst I added a heaped spoonful of sugar and lots of milk in mine. We had brought some pies with us and I put them on top of the stove to warm them up. Slave pulled two cushions off the sofa and set them close to the stove. Normally I don't like sitting on floors (I'd rather sit on slaves) but today I made an exception. He supported my back with his body and closed his arms around me in a loving embrace.
'This is nice,' I purred. 'A whole two days to ourselves!'
'Mmm, two days of uninterrupted play!' he agreed.
'I have so many plans for you, my dear,' I smiled.
'Do I get to hear them?'
'Pass me a pie first. A hungry Mistress is a useless Mistress.'
I ate in silence, deep in my thoughts. My brain was full of practicalities, like where to find some clean bedsheets, warm them up (maybe there was an iron in the cottage?) get the bed made, heat water for the shower... His brain was full of D/s images; I could tell by the way his fingers were massaging the fleshy bits on my sides and by something hard rubbing against my back.
'Why are you not eating your pie?' I asked.
'I'll eat it in a while,' he replied.
'Too late! I am having it!' I laughed and grabbed it from the top of the stove. He sighed, but I knew he loved the idea of Mistress eating up all the food whilst he starved.
'Is it nice, Mistress?' he enquired.
'Mmm, yes, it's lovely, better than mine. I don't know why your food always tastes better than mine. Lucky you don't need much food to survive. I think these crumbs are enough for you,' I said between mouthfuls and dusted the crumbs onto the floor.
'Thank you, Mistress,' he said with a smile and bent down to lick the crumbs off the floor.
'Who needs a hoover when one has a good slave like you, eh?' I joked.
We went upstairs and he showed me where the linen was kept and got the ironing board out for me then stood aside and watched whilst I got to grips with the controls of the iron.
'What! Aren't you even going to offer to do the ironing? What a lazy slave you are!' I chided him.
'But, Mistress, you women are much better at everything,' he responded cheekily.
'I'll show you what we are best at, you nasty little so and so!'
I pulled his pullover up together with his blouse and T-shirt and turned everything over behind his head so that his clothes were still trapped around his shoulders. I scratched his hairy torso with my fingernails and pinched his nipples causing his knees to buckle. I unzipped his jeans and pulled them to his knees together with his long johns. His penis stood to attention.
'Ah you impertinent boy! How dare you threaten your Mistress with a weapon like this?' I slapped his cock and he smiled with satisfaction. 'This won't do. This won't do at all,' I mumbled as I looked through my toy bag and pulled out a studded leather parachute. I fastened it around the base of his cock and brought the chains with the nipple clamps to his chest. 'Brace yourself, this is going to hurt,' I warned him. He took a sharp breath as the claws of the clamp shut around his left nipple. The process was repeated with his right nipple. The chain was short so he was slouching a bit to ease the pressure. But I was not having any of this.
'Straighten your back! Put your arms up and touch the sides of the doorway,' I ordered him. He complied and winced as both his nipples and genitals experienced the pull. I smiled and turned the iron on. The bedsheets just needed a bit of warming up to take the damp away. I kept an eye on him whilst I ironed, and tut-tutted each time he slacked and slouched. 'I don't care if you get pins and needles,' I said softly, 'you are going to stay in that position till I say you can move. You have to learn to listen to your Mistress, otherwise she will be very displeased and you'll find yourself sleeping in the store room instead of in her arms.'
I made the bed and then ordered him to present himself naked to me. He pulled his clothes off and set them neatly on a wicker chair whilst returning the torture implements on the dresser. 'You are a good slave,' I said as he was kneeling on the floor with his face pressed against my socks inhaling the intoxicating aroma of sweat, rubber and dust that they gave off. I made him lie in the bed then wrapped the duvet tightly around him before lying on top of him, thus imprisoning him completely. He moaned with pleasure.
'Do you like being squashed?' I asked him.
'Oh, yes, Mistress! oh yes!' he panted.
'Is it nice and safe in there?' He just groaned. 'You'd better not be masturbating under the bedsheets,' I warned him, 'or you'll be sleeping on the wet spot.'
'Too late!' came a breathless response.
'Bad boy!' I scolded him, 'bad, bad boy!'
Of course he knew that a punishment would ensue. But this punishment would be all to my benefit: a very long massage after which I would take a nap whilst he got on with preparing dinner. Well, he had had his fun, now it was time for me to have mine!
We stomped our feet on the wooden decking to dislodge the snow from our boots and walked into the living room. It was cold and smelled of emptiness, but the stove in the far side of the room was a promising sight.
'Right, you go get some logs,' I instructed my slave as he was helping me remove my boots, 'whilst I pack the groceries away.' I went into the little kitchen with its rustic cabinets lined with white and red check vinyl and watched him chop some logs in the back yard to make some kindling. I would have loved for it to be summer and for him to be doing this job half naked, sweat running down his torso and back, but we were in the middle of winter and it was no use longing for what you could not have.
I packed the percolator with ground coffee and put it on the fire. Soon it was bubbling away, filling the top part with aromatic coffee.
'I started the fire - lucky the wood hadn't been wet,' slave commented. I passed him an enamelled mug of hot coffee whilst I added a heaped spoonful of sugar and lots of milk in mine. We had brought some pies with us and I put them on top of the stove to warm them up. Slave pulled two cushions off the sofa and set them close to the stove. Normally I don't like sitting on floors (I'd rather sit on slaves) but today I made an exception. He supported my back with his body and closed his arms around me in a loving embrace.
'This is nice,' I purred. 'A whole two days to ourselves!'
'Mmm, two days of uninterrupted play!' he agreed.
'I have so many plans for you, my dear,' I smiled.
'Do I get to hear them?'
'Pass me a pie first. A hungry Mistress is a useless Mistress.'
I ate in silence, deep in my thoughts. My brain was full of practicalities, like where to find some clean bedsheets, warm them up (maybe there was an iron in the cottage?) get the bed made, heat water for the shower... His brain was full of D/s images; I could tell by the way his fingers were massaging the fleshy bits on my sides and by something hard rubbing against my back.
'Why are you not eating your pie?' I asked.
'I'll eat it in a while,' he replied.
'Too late! I am having it!' I laughed and grabbed it from the top of the stove. He sighed, but I knew he loved the idea of Mistress eating up all the food whilst he starved.
'Is it nice, Mistress?' he enquired.
'Mmm, yes, it's lovely, better than mine. I don't know why your food always tastes better than mine. Lucky you don't need much food to survive. I think these crumbs are enough for you,' I said between mouthfuls and dusted the crumbs onto the floor.
'Thank you, Mistress,' he said with a smile and bent down to lick the crumbs off the floor.
'Who needs a hoover when one has a good slave like you, eh?' I joked.
We went upstairs and he showed me where the linen was kept and got the ironing board out for me then stood aside and watched whilst I got to grips with the controls of the iron.
'What! Aren't you even going to offer to do the ironing? What a lazy slave you are!' I chided him.
'But, Mistress, you women are much better at everything,' he responded cheekily.
'I'll show you what we are best at, you nasty little so and so!'
I pulled his pullover up together with his blouse and T-shirt and turned everything over behind his head so that his clothes were still trapped around his shoulders. I scratched his hairy torso with my fingernails and pinched his nipples causing his knees to buckle. I unzipped his jeans and pulled them to his knees together with his long johns. His penis stood to attention.
'Ah you impertinent boy! How dare you threaten your Mistress with a weapon like this?' I slapped his cock and he smiled with satisfaction. 'This won't do. This won't do at all,' I mumbled as I looked through my toy bag and pulled out a studded leather parachute. I fastened it around the base of his cock and brought the chains with the nipple clamps to his chest. 'Brace yourself, this is going to hurt,' I warned him. He took a sharp breath as the claws of the clamp shut around his left nipple. The process was repeated with his right nipple. The chain was short so he was slouching a bit to ease the pressure. But I was not having any of this.
'Straighten your back! Put your arms up and touch the sides of the doorway,' I ordered him. He complied and winced as both his nipples and genitals experienced the pull. I smiled and turned the iron on. The bedsheets just needed a bit of warming up to take the damp away. I kept an eye on him whilst I ironed, and tut-tutted each time he slacked and slouched. 'I don't care if you get pins and needles,' I said softly, 'you are going to stay in that position till I say you can move. You have to learn to listen to your Mistress, otherwise she will be very displeased and you'll find yourself sleeping in the store room instead of in her arms.'
I made the bed and then ordered him to present himself naked to me. He pulled his clothes off and set them neatly on a wicker chair whilst returning the torture implements on the dresser. 'You are a good slave,' I said as he was kneeling on the floor with his face pressed against my socks inhaling the intoxicating aroma of sweat, rubber and dust that they gave off. I made him lie in the bed then wrapped the duvet tightly around him before lying on top of him, thus imprisoning him completely. He moaned with pleasure.
'Do you like being squashed?' I asked him.
'Oh, yes, Mistress! oh yes!' he panted.
'Is it nice and safe in there?' He just groaned. 'You'd better not be masturbating under the bedsheets,' I warned him, 'or you'll be sleeping on the wet spot.'
'Too late!' came a breathless response.
'Bad boy!' I scolded him, 'bad, bad boy!'
Of course he knew that a punishment would ensue. But this punishment would be all to my benefit: a very long massage after which I would take a nap whilst he got on with preparing dinner. Well, he had had his fun, now it was time for me to have mine!
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