I’ve been rolling around in bed moaning all night and not for the best reason you might expect. I’m sick again. Luckily it’s a relatively quiet time for me, yet it seems like the latter part of 2017 has seen me laid out on my back more often than a White House intern. Unlike her though, I’m not paid for it. So I’m eating a clove of garlic an hour and trying to rest this off. It’s inconvenient, but what can you do? Ms. Lisowski – my landlady upstairs – also slipped an invite under the door for a Christmas sherry this morning, which I plan to partake in as soon as I can get my ailing body going again.
I’ve been spending recuperation time working on my Christmas gift list. Some gifts still need to be purchased, but I thought I’d share with you my progress so far, just in case you’re needing some inspiration.
For Milton, the dog: A Hot Doll (the blow up doll for dogs)
$200 from Hotdoll.fr. Given Milton’s propensity for indulging his bestial lust on anything in range (like some men I’ve known), I figured I would push the boat out and send one of these puppies to Mother’s. Yes, yes, I know it’s expensive, but the thought of Mother’s reaction to this when she has the neighbors round is priceless. Besides, Bertie’s ankles could probably do with a break from Milton’s teeth. I’m charitable. Sometimes you’ve got to accept an old dog is an old dog, and allow it its nature. And Milton should enjoy it too.
Mother: Sherry. Mother doesn’t really want anything else from me. Except prodigy. And she’s out of luck on that score this year, at least.
Bertie: Brass balls keyring. $7.99 You can get it here.
As Mother has his, I felt I’d be charitable and give him a pair.
Paulo: Male tears mug $9.27 – Get it here.
As my dear poet’s girlfriend is keeping him gainfully occupied right now, I will give him this to collect any spare tears until he comes over again.
Marcus: A cast of Paulo’s cock. Paulo did an art exhibition on sexuality a while back and gave me this bright red plaster mache cast of his member. No idea why he thought it would interest me. In the spirit of re-gifting, I’ll be delivering this to Marcus the next time I see him, so he can relive the humiliation of his lesson on The Chariot every time he sees it.
Ember: “Bend over oil” and a black male candle. This potent voodoo formula and its candle counterpart allows for magical manipulation of the less intelligent sex, when words fall on deaf ears. I do hope she has fun with it. I also got her a shock probe for when magic comes slow.
Morgana: “Hey Little Ant” by Phillip Hoose. A story about why we do not tread on ants. It’s six months til summer and hopefully I can spare another ant genocide by her patent heels. Also a new Ken doll, as the head came off of hers a while back, and it’s hard to secure binds around just a stump. I mean, I do it a lot, but for a five year old, without that kind of manual dexterity…
And of course, I always have a few Amazon Gift Cards available, just in case I forget anyone. You’ll hear from me soon.
Until the next time.
Mistress Katia Thornwood.
For Bertie –
These may come in useful for Bertie, as Mother has his. Perhaps just a poignant reminder.
For Paulo: His tears are my best cleansing lotion. As my dear poet’s girlfriend is keeping him gainfully occupied right now, I will give him this to collect any spare tears until he comes over again.
And I always go into Christmas prepared with a few Amazon Gift Cards, just in case I forget someone who proves themselves worthy of a gift. That way I never appear to have forgotten anyone.
My best friend relaxed into my hands as I guided the red rope past the softness of her breasts and under the knot of her biceps. Ember had agreed to help me practice Shibari a while back. She knelt in front of me now on the couch. Usually, she was such a formidable woman, but it seemed that even she was susceptible to being disarmed by the sensation of jute rope being coiled tightly around her body.
Time and again, I tied the knots and untied them. Trying each time to get a tighter, smoother and more aesthetic form. With each time, my best friend got a little more relaxed. She fell limply from one side to the other as I wove the rope around her, falling about heavily in my arms like an old Victorian Doll. I steadied her by the lace of her corset, running my hand up her back to sweep her hair up from behind her neck and brush it to one side.
“One more time, maybe. Doesn’t seem tight enough, still. Doing alright, Ember?”
My best friend’s eyes were rolling back into her head.
“Yeah… I feel… I feel…. yeah…”
I chuckled to myself that Ember, knowledgeable High Priestess and writer, was having so much trouble formulating words. She was sliding off into reverie, which I took as the unspoken compliment it was. I still had an issue with the knots however. They looked lumpy. Exciteable. I undid them and did them again, until I was satisfied.
However, for all the imperfection in the binds, Ember certainly looked as though she was enjoying herself. I sat behind her, curling my legs around her thighs for support, allowing her to fall back against my shoulder.
It’s funny what we notice when we are close and tuned in with another. Without any intimate parts being touched, the sensation of rope alone, of being held and confined in another’s power – or wielding that power in every knot and tug of the rope – is electric. The world becomes smaller, sounds louder, scents sharper. While the one I tie is enjoying their own escape from the burden of their autonomy, I am savoring the taste of minuscule delights, bought into sharper focus. The smell of their breath, the way their rib cage, on inhale and exhale, pushes them closer to, then away from my own. The smell of their hair, the intricate matte of lines around the eyes and a wonder to what stories bought each of them to being.
It’s the little things…
I do so love the Magician tarot card – the power of creativity, channeled by the will, to manifest into the physical the concepts of the mind. A card of great creativity, inspiring vision and focus into stagnant situations. Also sometimes signifying sleight of hand and deceit. Not always such a bad thing. Just what Jennifer needed – in fact – given her dour expression on walking in. Pulling this card, I explained to her, meant that we were going to have a little magic wand time with Hitachi mark 2. She smiled when I said that, silly little thing.
Jennifer started with me last month. Initially, she came to me to widen her horizons sexually after a particularly acrimonious divorce. I think she picked me for my tough love – her friends had consoled her for months, but it wasn’t working. You know me, I’m hardly a shoulder to cry on (unless I have my finger on the button of the mechanical dildo and it’s your first rodeo). What I do have, however, is some experience in offsetting emotional turmoil with the skilled application of some pleasant sexual torment.
Even though Hitachi one died last year, I still like to use it. When a submissive is blindfolded, they can’t tell which Hitachi I’m using until it is switched on. I had secured the dead one to Jennifer with red rope. Making her beg for its application. Her thighs shaking excitedly around the wand that would give her no magic; her pelvis undulating in apprehension of the sound of the redundant switch.
Lately I’ve heard this a lot from new submissives under my care. This is probably the phrase that irritates me most, aside from “I would do anything”, when clearly, you would not. I will forgive a new slave such ingratitude, but if you continue like this, I will not look upon it as kindly.
I am a Mistress, not a scout leader or your Mother. You should know that if you come to me with this lukewarm placation, there will be consequences. And you will not like them.
Your only response to me should be “Yes Mistress.”
In the words of Yoda. ‘Do or do not, there is no try’. I think perhaps he met a Mistress before his escapades with the Jedi. For no wiser words were ever spoken.
I’m never going to give you an A for effort. Perhaps a D, and I get to choose it, but don’t expect the same half-arsed methods that work with others will work with me.
If you are too much of a coward to adhere to the simple words I expect you to obey, you will talk to me. You will make some kind of tribute and then you will do a penalty of my choosing. Don’t worry, I have a lot of them. And perhaps, if you irk me enough, I will write something for you that will pull at the things that most revolt or frighten you. For I have a great deal of time and creativity towards things that interest me – and a malfunctioning project always manages to catch my attention quickly.
Know this: I am not a hobby to be sidelined. Once you sign up with me, it’s because my words made a connection with you, and like the roses of a thorn, these insights are barbed. Far easier to go in than to pull out. You will find, in trying to release yourself from them, that they may do more damage. Your commitment with me is solemn and binding. The only person who can release you from it is I, and I don’t want to let you go. Not yet.
Perhaps you have a way with words. It is quite possible you could convince me, yet you will have to talk to me first. I promise you I won’t make it easy. Your poor planning should not become my problem. So consider this carefully before calling on me. You’ll find goddesses, once petitioned and agreeing to work with you, don’t take kindly to being forgotten. It wont take you too long to find out how….
But a man can, on the other hand, serve two or more Mistresses. Meg and I can agree on that.
From time to time I get a question from one of my followers inquiring whether Mistress Meg and I are rivals – or one and the same.
The answer is neither.
For your information, Mistress Meg and I are two real women that share a rather intimate friendship. We don’t meet that often, but when we do, you’re in our thoughts. Mainly because we’re laughing at you and those funny little humiliating pictures you send us on our command from time to time (and you wonder why your ears have been burning lately – now you know).
Mark is a lumberjack shirted, wannabe chef. And while his Chili may be impressive, his oral skills are certainly not. Therefore, I have been forced to order some shiny new tongue forceps for a future lesson (more on that later). As his ability as a sex toy was lacking, he’d have to entertain me in other ways. I demanded he pick a card from the tarot deck. He picked The High Priestess, the card of intuition. This was how the game began.
Mark had three boxes laid in front of him. In each box, I told him, was a dildo that varied in size from small to fissuring. He was going to receive the item in whichever box he picked. Nervous, he tried to make some protest about having hemorrhoids five years ago.
So when are you going to come over and tie me up?
The text from my best friend flashed up mid-afternoon towards the end of a flogging session with Rick. Rick, if you’ll remember was the fellow I was teaching empathy to a while back – the Man Baby whose petulant horniness was a bane on his wife’s sanity during her breastfeeding journey. The lesson, you’ll be pleased to note, seems to have been absorbed, though it took some teaching, and his nipples may be a little longer than when we first began our lessons.
That particular session I was getting him to sing along with “do your ears hang low” – except we were replacing the word “ears” with “nipples” and I was beating his chest in time with my Flicker Whip, instilling in him not only humiliation, but the rudiments of music appreciation, for no extra charge. I do so love a good singalong, as do my devoted slaves. Those that don’t, end up singing, one way or another. Melodic phrases or primal screams – it’s all the same to me.