At the heart of the chateau's oldest wing: Le Salon de Jeux seemed to quietly radiate like a magnet hidden in a suede pouch. Suspended in time and stone, in the waving glow of the fire, it awaits the beginning of the evening's games.
I lead you on your hands and knees, blindfolded and utterly naked along the small cold stone spiral staircase to the Salon. Docile, bewitched, you follow the sounds of my heels reverberating of the blond stones. Each step nailing deeper your fate in my mind, blurs the board of your rational brain, and as the pretence of power and control slips further away from your grasp, your identity fades. Each new station on the climb to the Room is a mark that reveals the outline of a sketch: the creature climbing a seemingly never ending staircase, following his Mistress, engulfed in her scent, saturated by sensations, is the 'Headless man', my slave.
Queues by Nuit d'Or© 2014