Wednesday, June 16, 2010

You Like To Watch Two

Wednesday 16 June, 2010

...before you is a curved bridge, it's trajectory all but obscured by the mists. You follow the bridge, its gentle arc drawing you across a sapphirine lake. Slowly, you walk, savoring each breath, pungent with green and flowers. Errant rays of sun slice the mist. The waters beneath the bridge gambol and glint.

Your breath is slow, your pace leisurely. When at last you step from the bridge, the grass beneath your feet is early-morning moist but warm. And before you, amidst the clearing mists rises a castle .

Finding yourself at the base of the helix, you slowly mount the staircase. As you ascend, ever higher, before your eyes light absorbs each shadow.

You make your way round to the rear of the castle. Leaning over the balustrade , you watch as the sun burns a fine vapor from each blade of grass, just below you, in the garden. You decide that this garden is where you want to be.

As you descend the stone steps and follow the winding path that leads to a heretofore hidden portion of the garden, you hear gentle laughter, from somewhere not far off, behind the hedge.

Gazing out across this part of the garden, through the hedge, you see an large tree , near an emerald lake. Beneath that tree are two women. They're wearing summer dresses, talking and laughing together.

One woman is plump. She has long dark brown hair that falls in curls down her back. One shoulder is bare where the top of her blue cotton dress has slipped. She appears not to notice, as she reaches for a large strawberry--one of many, crowding a white bowl placed on the gingham cloth before them.

Her friend, a slender blond, with dark green eyes and a dress to match, says something that sounds like a dare.

You draw nearer, watching them through gaps in the hedge, yet unseen by the two women.

The dark-haired woman reaches across the gingham cloth to the edge farthest from her. There she dunks the strawberry into a small pot of chocolate syrup. As she does so, the strap of the blue cotton dress slips farther down her arm, exposing a breast, golden in the sun's rays. A very ripe and pink nipple and aureole. When she withdraws the berry, you see that it wears a thick coat of the creamy black syrup.

The blond raises her hands before her, as if to say she's had enough, and doesn't fancy dessert.

But her darker friend leans close, holding the chocolate-smeared berry to her lips.

You watch as the blond woman's lips part, her tongue darting about the base of the strawberry. Licking it, teasingly.

The brunette leans closer. You hear her say something like, "Come on now; you know you want it all."

Just then the blond woman bites the strawberry, clean in half.

The brunette lifts her arm and what remains of the berry, as if in surprise.

When she does, the blond woman, her mouth still ajar, brings herself level with her friend's breast.


She closes her mouth over the pink nipple, covering the aureole as well with her lips.




As the blond woman begins to suckle, her friend drops the berry half. She caresses the blond head at her breast. Gently--slides down to recline on the gingham cloth, at the base of the tree.

The blond woman, straddles her, still sucking at her breast. You watch as the blond woman's left hand travels beneath the skirt of her brunette friend's dress. Watch as the plump brunette moans, helpless. Now at the mercy of the friend she taunted. Till the time comes for turn-about.

Watch as the blond turns her green eyes toward you. Locking your gaze in hers. Till your time comes, for fair play.

Best,

Diane

Monday, June 7, 2010

“...Nothing Like A [Domme]”

Monday June 7, 2010


Today, just for fun, I'm wearing my leather bustier, trademark fishnets and thigh-high leather boots.

"What if,” Tommy says, his voice, across the phone wires, just breaching the level of whisper, “what if I were tied to a table?”

Already I'm readying the restraints.


“And what if you were the doctor, and you had this orderly?”

I signal to my favorite sub. “Oui, Maitresse," he says. I've taught him to speak French. When we first met he had a facile tongue. But I taught him the vocabulary appropriate to his station. He can do no other than obey.

"And what if he had a really big cock?" Tommy whispers.

There is a world famous domme, her name is Maitresse Fran├žoise When one enters her site, one finds what appears to be a poem, entitled "L'Extase". In it the compleat domme states, in effect, that your desires are her command. "I shoulder the responsibility," she writes.

After all, how can you be held accountable for transgressions you commit under duress, under the powerful spell of a dominatrix? The answer, of course, is that you cannot.


Poor Tommy, strapped to my flexion table (also, and rather aptly, known as a cox table). He can neither move his arms nor his legs.


My orderly holds his head. But Tommy will move. And he cries out.


This will not do.

I order my sub to tighten the head restraint I've had specially fashioned to fit my cox table. Tommy whimpers.


Then I command the orderly to insert the feeding apparatus. He wedges it firmly into Tommy's mouth.

Tommy is able to make only the tiniest of mouse-like noises. This pleases me. I will soon be wet.



I signal my sub. He lowers the cox table. Tommy's head is level with my sub's thigh.

Tommy's eyes look beseechingly at me. This makes me smile.


I nod to my sub. He descends his trousers. I had him wear a green neon thong. His cock is bursting out the side.

Tommy's eyes veer in the direction of my sub's massive cock.

"Tommy," I say, "time for your feeding."

I know Tommy is screaming. But all I can hear are high pitched squeaking noises.

"Maintenant," I say to my sub. He inserts his cock into the feeding apparatus, wedged handily inside Tommy's mouth.

My hand finds Tommy's scrotum. I squeeze his balls together. "Suck," I say, "or lose them."

Tommy knows I'm in deadly earnest.

He can do no other than suck.

Best,

Diane