The Lovers: A new Fern for my garden of delights… (part 5)

Paulo dropped to his knees, scuttling to the grate, his unmentionables flapping behind him as he bent and tried to pull it open with his nimble fingers. Alas, it was screwed down tight. Fern, in her predictably amenable way told him not to worry about it, that she could wait. Paulo then demanded a screwdriver. I reminded him that a lock needed a key, not a screwdriver, the silly boy.

“No Mistress! For the grate! For the grate!” he said, once again clutching his member with such focused frustration, one might almost think he was willing it to turn into an actual tool.

“There’s no point trying to retrieve it from the vent, dear.” I said, shaking my head, “It’s too narrow. Even if you squeezed and pried, there’s no way you could get in, and you certainly wont get any satisfaction from trying.”

Paulo shot me a sideways glance.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry. I forgot. How insensitive of me.”

Fern was laughing. It was an awkward situation, she agreed, but she could make do. I nodded, motioning to the wire on her behind, she could still toilet, She’d just have to clean vigorously. Or have Paulo attend to that.

Poor fellow. All crestfallen and redundant. He was smiling that sad smile I must have seen a hundred times before when I’ve done something unspeakable to his poetry. His penis fell from his grasp. What was the point?

As I sent them off to get dressed, I reminded Paulo that there were other ways to pleasure a woman without simply diving for the obvious. Perhaps he might discover some? I encouraged Fern that this would build her desire for her brooding lover even more.

“It’s ok. Please don’t make a fuss, Mistress. I’m not super disappointed.” She smiled, then awkwardly clamping her hands over her mouth and looking at Paulo, who by now was practically a puddle of despondancy. “Oh sorry Paulo… you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

I watched them shuffle out of my front door, hand in hand, like lovers exiled from paradise. To make a new life for themselves in the desert of Fern’s forbidding terrain. Closing the door, I placed the chastity belt’s key in the vase. Safely stowed for when I chose to end the joke. Or when the joke had gone a little too far.

The Lovers: A new Fern for my garden of delights… (part 4)

Love is a beautiful thing, but done right, it can also be painful. To observe the two naked lovers in my dark oak hallway of mirrors and paintings, beside the mock orange tree, was reminiscent of some renaissance portrait of the first humans in the garden of Eden. Fern reached out a hand to touch Paulo’s – now somewhat more inflated – cock, fingering it approvingly.

Paulo’s eyes met mine as I stepped out of the doorway.

“Fern looks quite beautiful, doesn’t she Paulo?”

Paulo started to laugh in the hysterical manner men do when they are trying to hold back a herd of fury.

“Mistress, this is very funny. I see the irony, but please – tell me. There’s a key, right?”

“Why of course, there’s a key. Every lock has one. What is your point?”

He motioned to the lock fastening his fair Fern’s virtue. Fern waggled her hips at him, giggling. Presumably she was enjoying this as much as I was. It is always the nice girls…

“Oh.” I tittered, “That. Why yes of course.”

I reached in my pocket for something fit for the purpose. I found it. A silver dime, around the same shape and size as the key. Only a glint of it between the tight grasp of my fingers. Paulo was practically bouncing on the spot now. I crouched down in front of Fern, meeting her eye to wink at her, taking my time.

Then accidentally dropped the dime through the grate of the air vent, where it rolled and disappeared into a soft descent into what presumably terminates as decades of dryer lint sediment.

“Whoopsie daisy…” I sighed. “Silly me.”

“There’s a spare? Surely there’s a spare, Mistress?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“How about your other keys?”

I explained to him that wouldn’t work. I had – after all – ordered this belt from a Chinese Wholesale site, and you know my escapades with them. There was nothing for it, I declared. I’d have to order another from the vendor. On the bright side, I smiled, it shouldn’t take more than two to three weeks to arrive.

The Lovers: A new Fern for my garden of delights… (part 3)

I felt Paulo flinch as I drew the paddle forward, just glancing his bottom. Kicking him to the floor, I paced around to his front pulling his head up by the hair, prying his mouth open with the paddle and bidding him bite on it. From my pocket, I drew the keys to his chastity device.

“But I am merciful, am I not?”


“Oh, for heaven’s sake don’t speak with your mouth full, Paulo.”

Paulo’s teeth loosened their grip on the instrument and it fell to the floor with a dull thud.

“YES Mistress!”

“Good boy. Now… you held up your end of the bargain, and so I shall hold up mine. I suppose you would like the cage off, wouldn’t you? You must be terribly compressed in there – all blue and purple and terribly cold. Poor Paulo.”

Paulo nodded sadly. The boy gave good face. Sometimes I’d wonder to myself if he’d be a better actor than a musician. I jammed my hand between his legs, fondling his sac roughly, his thighs clenching around my wrist, until key met padlock, and released him from his confinement with a soft click.

And speaking of soft… He pulled the cage away and placed a hand around his flaccid contribution tenderly, as one might to a wounded bird. Of course, I laughed at him.

“And so I imagine you have plans for this week? You and Felicity? Maybe make her a nice meal, then lay her down and make love to her like the man you sometimes pretend to be?”

“Oh yes, Mistress.”

“I bet you can almost feel yourself entering her beautiful garden of delights, so warm and soft and tight around you…”

.The poor man had been useless for two months now. Well one might suggest that he had always been useless, but I only meant in the regard of intercourse. Paulo’s eyes had that one hundred mile stare as he nodded, mouth agog in lustful hunger, as if prepared to eat a large banquet – alas he would remain hungry at least a little longer.

“My dear Paulo, would you be so kind as to show Fern in? She’s waiting outside in the hall for you.”

He looked down at his nakedness and saw that he was naked. He reached for the neatfly folded pile of clothes on the counter.

“NOW Paulo. Thank you.”

Paulo scuttled off into the hallway. I waited a few seconds to hear Fern’s greeting followed by his gasp of dismay as she stood to show him her new metal undergarments…

The Lovers: A new Fern for my garden of delights… (part 2)

A few moments later, Fern was fastened into the silver framed girdle. With a soft click, the latch was fastened around her pale white hips. She shook herself in it,  amused by the tiny tinkle of the lock, her soft breasts heaving above her cinch belt.

“How is it?”

“I’m surprised…  it’s more comfortable than I’d expected. Paulo often complains…”

“Yes, I know. I probably hear more whining from him than I do from the old ceiling fan in the kitchen. Us women, of course, we know how to bear discomfort with grace, don’t we?”

“We do.” She smiled.

We glanced at each other for a few moments. I said nothing. Allowing her mind to spin a little. Of course, she expected me to lead her – everyone does. But sometimes I like to see what my submissive has to say when I step back a little. Of course, she wasn’t my submissive. Not yet. Yet, I had a hunch that that may change. She shrank under my gaze, turning a deeper shade of crimson, making little sounds of unease.

“So… uh. What should we do now?”

“What would you like to do, Fern? I could put on a cup of tea for us.”

“What about Paulo?”

“Paulo can wait. Patience is a virtue he has yet to perfect.”

“I’m… a little hot.” she said. “Could you turn on that fan?”

I mentioned, as I said before, it was in poor shape. All stuff and no substance. Much like Paulo. But perhaps, I mentioned, she might take off her clothes and try sitting on the red velvet chaise in the hallway. There was something so sensual, I informed her, about the feel of velvet against the skin. If she wanted the full effect of the sensuality of my accommodation, she absolutely had to try it.

So she did as she was told. I helped her out of her belt and blouse, “accidentally” running a finger over one of the stiff pills on her chest.

“Not so hot, it would seem.” I remarked. Fern giggled as her blouse fell to the floor. I slid around her, hands on her rib cage, like a pole, to the back fastening of her bra. Why these three simple fastenings confound and fascinate men so much is a mystery to me. Gently I released all three, and her bosoms spilled from the retreating fabric.

“You’ll wait here, my dear. Take a seat on the chaise. I’ll be back shortly.”

I clipped swiftly back down the hallway to the door of my dungeon to find, when I opened it, Paulo sitting like Rodin’s “The Thinker”, chin poised against his fist, seated glumly on the toilet chair.

“AND WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” I roared, scaring him to his feet, “DID I TELL YOU TO SIT?”

“No Mistress!”

“That’s right. I did not. I think you are getting a little too comfortable in here. Perhaps that cage should stay on for another week.”

“No Mistress. Please! I’ll do anything.”

I picked up a paddle from the wall, automatically promting him to drop to his hands and knees before me. Placing a stiletto heel on his trembling back, I crouched and drew the paddle back for a resounding swing.

Healthy competition.

In the Chariot tarot card, a black horse and a white horse sit ahead of a chariot in which a figure sits, a magician’s wand (rather than a whip) in his hand, directing to opposites towards a common goal. These opposites could refer to many things: head versus heart, discipline versus passion, or – in this case – Paulo versus Marcus.

Marcus had come in to see Paulo kneeling on the floor naked in the middle of the room.

“So glad you could join us, Marcus.”

“But you said 11, Mistress.”

“I did.”

“So why’s he here?”

Marcus’ face curled in consternation at the Latino kneeling patiently, looking straight ahead. I pointed to the spot beside Paulo.



“Kneel beside him.”

“But I…”


Marcus stroppily complied, like a petulant toddler. He took off his clothes and dropped them to the floor in a huff. Startled by the metal button of Marcus’ jean jacket hitting the skirting board, Paulo looked up curiously – causing Marcus to stop, sock in hand.

Continue reading “Healthy competition.”