Life in all its glory

When you have a child, there are lots of things you have to give up.

A clean car, for example.

Or a relationship.

BDSM was the first thing I was forced to give up. It somehow stopped being important as nature took over and my gears shifted into mummy mode.

I did not regret giving it up. It had destroyed my soul in ways you cannot even imagine. The association of pain with pleasure, the lust for harder and more extreme activities that never ends...

It took years to get used to the new way of things and feel happy with my role in life. Just when I had given up on any hope for a relationship, a man arrived and swept me off my feet. (Not literally, of course, as it would take a bodybuilder to actually sweep me off my feet...)

Man was handsome, albeit very cuddly. Man had the kindest eyes and manners I had ever encountered. He spoke in even tones and had a solution for every problem. Faced with his calm nature, I calmed down. My child had never seen me with such a dreamy look in my eyes and a flush on my cheeks and no matter how hard I tried to hide my infatuation with this Man, I could fool no one. And so the Ice Queen fell...

We moved in together and spent the first few months of our relationship in absolute bliss. It was nice being a family and we faced all problems together; supporting and encouraging each other, having lots of fun along the way. He knew about my previous life but did not mind it. If anything, he was fascinated by it and kept dropping hints which made me believe that he wanted to submit to me. However, I was not likely to reopen a closed chapter in my life.

Then the honeymoon period ended. The Man’s work became more and more demanding, taking him away for long periods of time. I had to get used to his long absences. There was always the joy of reunion and lots of amazing sex. He knew how to make my body sing, I am not ashamed to admit it. And it was just vanilla sex, not a hint of pain or humiliation in sight, just sweet lovemaking.

But good things come in small measures. The absences became more frequent and the next thing I knew was that I was struggling again on my own, but had no joy or benefits, because he was always exhausted and I was reticent to make any demands on him.

And so we grew apart until one day the dissatisfaction overflowed and there was no stopping the events that ensued.

We tried to talk about it – at least I did. Man is not very good at dealing with things, you see. His method is to sweep anything unpleasant under the carpet and forget about it. But I kept stumbling over the bulges caused by sweepings. Finally, it was easier to let him go rather than carry on living like this...

---

I haven’t had sex for over six months now.

My car continues to be messy.

I love him still. 

Fleeting thoughts

Clean body, thigh high black stockings, wearing a man's shirt. Pert nipples and a naked pussy aching for one's touch. Do you want her? She is there for you. Docile; eager to please. What is your command?

Why not put your thoughts in a comment BUT be careful: must be the first thoughts that came into your mind when you read this, not something you have laboured over.

Father's Day...

..is creeping upon us. My kid was asking what we would do for Father's Day.  I said we'd send a text message to Dad. Kid asked why couldn't we send a card. Because we don't have his address, I wanted to say, but bit my lip.

He came to see us this week. Stayed one night. Kid was happy but melancholic, too. Confided in me that daddies are meant to live in the same house as mummies and children. 'In an ideal world,' I replied. 'There are many children whose parents are living far from each other.' (A paltry excuse, I know.)

I broke in tears when he was here. We may not have sexual relations or even BDSM relations (after the last impromptu session detailed in the Bitch Goddess) but I care about him and I enjoy his company even if sometimes it is so frustrating to be with him. I feel lonely without him. I feel insecure. The whole world is resting on my shoulders and it is nice when he is around and can carry a bit of the weight.

'Please touch me,' I begged him, 'nobody touches me any more. My skin craves the healing human touch!'

When I was a pro, men came to me with their problems and I offered them a safe place to let their guard down and be vulnerable. I hugged them and stroked their hair and face and spoke to them with a soft, soothing voice and they knew they were safe and loved. You could feel the tension leaving their bodies as effortlessly as the sigh they let out the moment my hands made contact with their body. Nobody touches me nowadays... except for customs officials at airports.

Anyway, Daddy, if you are reading this, happy Father's Day to you. You may not be the best father in the world, but you are the only one we got and for that you are precious.

Happy Father's Day everyone!

Men!

I don't know why I am wasting my time answering messages in IC. The men say they want to serve me, they want a relationship with me, but when it comes to the crunch they simply haven't got the balls to go through with it. They see me as a fantasy figure, they build all these nice scenarios in their heads and, when I remind them that I am just a normal human being with limits, constraints, problems, dreams and desires of my own, they are surprised and back out.

Why can't men read the text of an advert instead of acting on a visual stimulus? This is meant to be a feminine trait after all! (Women are meant to be guided by emotions whereas men are meant to be guided by logic.) It's so strange.

I knew the last effort was doomed from the start.
He asked me on the phone whether I'd insist that he be kept in a chastity device. I answered truthfully that this kind of activity does nothing for me so I was not interested in engaging in it. 'Oh I am so glad you said that, Mistress,' he replied, but I could tell that he was trying to hide his disappointment. Come on, get serious! How can I keep you in chastity when you live 2 hours away from me and something might happen that necessitates your quick release and anyway what is the point of you keeping a spare key for emergencies (e.g. frozen in an ice cube) where you could simply use it and restore it later?

Anyway, the guy was not honest to himself and me and let it continue for a while, feeding on his fantasies, until I sent him a message that I was ready to see him in person (via Skype) and gave him a list of his rights and obligations. That must have come as a shock to him... for a Mistress to tell him he had the right to change his mind, he had the right to his own time, he had the right to have his emotional, mental, physical, etc needs looked after. It is so in contrast with the man's fantasy about the cruel heartless bitch who uses him without consideration. LOL So he replied that he had changed his mind and I was not the right Mistress for him.

I felt relieved.

Charos and the Contessa

He had visited her before all dressed in black and holding a scythe but she had just laughed at his face. 'Seriously?' she asked, 'is that the best you can do?'

He did not know what to say. Usually the people he would visit would cower before him and plead for their life, but not her. She was different. Haughty. Arrogant. He mentally went through his training manual to make sure he hadn't forgotten a crucial point. No, he had done everything properly. So why wouldn't she comply and die?

'It's not me, it's you,' she said scornfully further undermining his self confidence. 'You are so ... demode!'

'Ex..cuse me?' he stuttered.

'Your outfit. It is too old fashioned. What are you, like Middle Ages?'

He stared at his clothes that had been passed down from generation to generation and still looked pristine. 'This is the uniform. We've all got to wear it. It's the regulations,' he explained.

'Pfft! And the scythe? What good is a scythe nowadays? In such an urban environment? What do you think people would say if they saw me walking down the street in your company?'

He shrugged, not daring to look at her in the eye.

'They'd think you were a lunatic. A man wearing a cape that hides his face and is holding a scythe... does that sound normal to you? All those CCTVs out there they'd sound the alarm and the men in white coats would come and get you. No. I am sorry; I can't come with you.'

With these words she turned her back to him and went back to her reading. Charos stood for a few awkward moments, then sighed and went away. He'd get a lot of grief for this from his superiors but as far as he was concerned, they could do the job if they thought it was so easy.

As expected, his colleagues laughed at him and his boss placed him on suspension pending an investigation. Then when another agent failed to claim La Contessa's life the second time they tried, he was reinstated. 'We'll give her a few more years then go get her, mate, don't worry,' his boss had said.

So now it was a few years later. And he was sent to fetch her. She had no idea he was coming for her. She was out shopping and generally enjoying herself. This time he wore a different outfit under his robes. But again the Contessa laughed at him. 'How is dressing like a rapper going to make me to take you seriously?' she said wiping tears from her eyes, her big belly shaking uncontrollably with laughter.

He pulled his golden dollar sign off and threw it on the ground, mumbling obscenities like an angry cartoon character.

'Listen, lady,' he began, but Contessa raised a warning finger at him. He gulped.

'My Lady,' she corrected him.

'My Lady, my ass!' he swore. 'Everyone's equal in death.'

'I am not everyone,' she countered calmly. 'I will go with you when I am good and ready for it. Not a moment before. And you shall present yourself to me dressed elegantly. I want to go in style. Is that understood?'

He nodded, defeated yet once more. But he would get his way eventually. The Charos crew always did.

---

Sorry for my absence but I had an unscheduled appointment with Charos... He's a very persistent lad, I got to give him that.  Many thanks to my friends and acquaintances for their prayers.

Call for artists

I once wrote a story called Puss In Boots. The male character was a prince who had been bewitched and turned into a half man - half cat. He had the ability to stand upright and walk on two legs and articulate his feelings and thoughts, but his body was feline, i.e. covered with hair and he had a tail. I have not made mention of his facial characteristics in my story so they are open to interpretation as long as they hide his humanity.

I was wondering whether someone could bring this character to life - just for fun.

Imagine Puss dressed as a footman. Prior to becoming a footman he made a pathetic living as a highwayman (although a bedraggled one) complete with a feather on his hat and of course ... boots (I have a thing for men in boots... yummy!) Contessa rescued him from the streets and gave him a job.

You could masquerade as Puss in Boots and take a picture of yourself or you could do a drawing. Or if you are good at photo manipulation you could create a make-belief creature using technology. Anything goes!

I am afraid there is no reward for your efforts other than to be featured on my blog along with the story and a link to your website (professional or not) featuring your artwork.

I'd like to put this story up on my blog before the month is out, so if you are interested and have any questions, please get in touch. (At the same time, if any of the stories on my blog inspire you to make a drawing/picture that is relevant to the storyline and you wish it to be considered, feel free to contact me.)

Thanking you in advance

Contessa

The Reluctant Model

Happy New Year! 

And to start it off on a good footing, here is another one of my naughty stories to entertain you. The story is set in London and the main characters are Bob, a 65-year-old painter, and Tania (well what else would I call her?), a mid 30s BBW. The story was first published on another site in 2005.

The Reluctant Model

Bob and Tania met on the Internet through an advert that she had on a sex site. At first Tania did not care much for Bob and found his obsession with pee play disturbing. However, that being a slow summer and him being an otherwise interesting person, Tania agreed to meet up for a cup of coffee.

He picked her up in his white Mercedes, which must have been a relic of his youth. The car was a testament to his artistic nature with wooden beads and artefacts hanging here and there, sketch pads strewn on the back seat, some Polaroids stuck between the seats and an assortment of old cassettes in the dusty glove compartment that was missing its door.

They had their coffee at a nearby café where she felt safe and they talked about various things till he could hold back no longer and broached the subject of his fascination: pee play. Tania did not want to discuss even the possibility of ever doing such a thing. She felt it was disgusting and unhygienic but he baffled her with his remark ‘how do you know if you have never tried it?’ She shrugged her shoulders and glanced around her feeling very uneasy. However, Bob had not made it to this ripe age without knowing a bit about the female psyche, the curiosity and coquetry, so he played his cards right and managed to get Tania to agree to come to his house to look at some of his artwork.

His house was a bit like his car: dusty, untidy and crammed full of artefacts from all over the world. There was a hint of Morocco and India in the lounge and dining room and the studio reminded her of the Spanish countryside with its tiled floor and white walls. There was a big iron bed in the middle of the room with a tall headboard and a low footboard. It had been plainly dressed in blue satin that had been made up in a hurry making it look as if someone had recently been in it. There was a PC on the desk in the corner. Bob explained that nowadays he did most of his work on the PC and showed her some samples. 

‘Did you really do these?’ Tania asked, fascinated by the colours and forms that leapt up from the screen. He nodded content that she appreciated his work.

‘I could draw you, you know. I can just picture you,’ he said and described his fantasy to her.

Tania was thrilled at the prospect of modelling for such a gifted artist. So she let him undress her and position her on the bed. She did not object when he pulled some colourful twisted thread ropes and bound her arms to the headboard. When he bound her ankles to the footboard with similar ropes she felt strangely elated. Her only worry as he set the lights and picked up the camera was that someone might recognise her but he quickly addressed that by covering her face with an orange silk scarf that allowed her to see what was going on but was hiding her features whilst still delineating the curves of her face. Bob took a few pictures that would later help him paint her portrait and kept telling her how sexy and desirable she looked lying helpless on the blue background with the orange scarf over her face.

He put the camera down and knelt on the bed. He began stroking her body making her writhe with pleasure. He told her he had a very small cock and would probably not be able to satisfy her via penetration, but if she would not mind, he would try to fist her. Tania was shocked but thrilled at the same time, so she consented.

Bob’s wrinkled old hand touched her privates delicately and applied a good dose of lubricant on her inner labia. Slowly but surely he began fingering Tania’s pussy till he had all 4 fingers in. Then he began twisting his hand causing her to moan with pleasure as his knuckles excited the opening of her vagina. Then suddenly he thrust his entire hand in and she let out a surprised yelp.

‘Are... are you inside?’ she asked with a trembling voice once she was able to speak.

‘All the way, honey. All the way!’

He began manipulating her g-spot until she felt she could handle it no longer. ‘I want to pee!’ she cried in despair, feeling ashamed of herself.

‘Then pee!’ he replied casually.

But of course Tania could not pee, it was just a reaction to having her g-spot titillated. Bob brought her to a screaming orgasm but did not remove his fist after she was done. He kept it inside and continued manipulating her till she came again. Tania was incredulous. Two orgasms in quick succession? That had been a first for her!

Bob wanted her to keep on cumming but she was tired and her limbs were aching from the strain of bondage so he reluctantly pulled out his hand. He removed the silk scarf from her face and showed her his hand. ‘Look what you have done, look at my poor hand covered in your slimy pussy juices!’ he chided her. He then wiped his hand on her crotch and inner thighs.

‘I am going to release your right hand under one condition,’ he offered. ‘You will use it to spread your cunt lips open for me and allow me to piss on your clit.’

Tania nodded, mesmerised by his commanding voice and the entire unbelievable scene that had just expired. Like an automaton, she guided her hand to her pussy and used her index and middle fingers to spread her lips as wide as possible inviting his piss.

Bob unzipped his trousers. He had a hard on. He brought his small cock to Tania’s mouth and asked her to suck him briefly. Tania obeyed without removing her hand from her crotch. She could smell his excitement as he buried his cock deep into her mouth, his pubic hair tickling her nostrils. Then Bob pulled out and got close to her crotch. Rubbing his cock violently, he let out a stream of gooey sperm on Tania’s dark pubic hair.

‘Are you ready now?’ he enquired.

She nodded, still unable to speak. Then she felt a hot stream of pee hit her clit. She was surprised that it did not really feel unpleasant. In fact, she felt turned on by the fact that she was lying there on his bed willingly spreading her cunt lips for him to piss on her clit! And it seemed to go on and on for so long that she felt compelled to rub herself hoping for another orgasm.

When all was done, Bob showed her the way to the bathroom and put the satin sheet in the washing machine. He used some antiseptic wipes to clean the plastic mattress protector and then joined Tania in the bathroom.

‘Have you washed yourself well?’ he enquired.

‘I think so.’

‘Let me see.’

Bob placed his hands between her thighs and opened up her lips. He began feeling her cunt, wanting to make sure that every last drop of cum had been washed off. Tania was jiggling feeling ticklish, so he took a drop of Castile soap and used it in lieu of lubricant. He quickly homed in on her urethra and began titillating it. Tania was breathless and unable to resist. She just stood there in the bathtub, one leg over the side of the bath, her hands holding on to his shoulders, her chin over his white hair as his face was resting on her soft large tits. She felt his finger probing her urethra and it was both enjoyable and torturous. She wanted to ask him to stop but her short laboured breath betrayed her arousal.

‘I want to finger fuck your pee hole,’ he whispered and pressed his finger against it.

Tania experienced a sharp pain, which brought her to reality, and she begged for him to stop.

‘It is all right... Maybe not this time,’ he smiled soothingly at her.

‘Pee for me!’ he demanded and Tania, who had been dying for a wee, managed to let out a hot stream over his open hand. He then used the shower head to rinse her off carefully.

He drove her home and asked when he could see her again. He told her he had lots of pee games he wanted to play with her and lots of new experiences he wanted to introduce her to. Tania smiled sweetly and said she would be in touch. After all he had some erotic pictures of her that she would like to see.

Bob drove away wondering if he would ever see her again. He loved it when they were young and innocent. A reluctant model was always a worthy model in his books!

Next Year

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.

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?

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... .

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.

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.

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! 

 

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!

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!

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!

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…

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. :)

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?

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.

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!