This episode starts with a Ritual of allegiance and submission to the Goddess. The consenting captive offers his masculinity to his Mistress who encages his genitals in a chastity device in a metaphoric“castration”. The slave training commences in earnest: Posture, walking in sky high heels, keeping rhythm… Soon a female slave joins them. Our male submissive must endeavour to emulate the alluring “perfect” poney slave in a series of increasingly treacherous exercises. The finale sees a third female slave bringing champagne….
You can listen to the podcast on my Youtube channel from 17:00 GMT today, Thursday 19th May 2022
The scent of burning benjoin and myrrh overwhelms the senses: you can almost feel the volutes of smoke caressing your skin, the song of a solitary cello tracing the length of your body now prostrated face down in a cross.
The crimson of the room lit by a hundred tea candles forming a wide circle around you and candelabras lining the walls reflected by mirrors is enveloping you in a matrix of swaying amber and gold lights.
The door closes again as the cello’s warm soprano modulates above you.
Heels: You recognise the phrasing of my stance: a slow rhythmic beat circles the radiant circumference and stop at your head before receding and stoping.
An invocation to the the Goddess raises as I call some of her names: Ishar, Innana, Ereshkigal, Anaat, Potnia, Isis, Cybele, Tanit, Demeter, Hekate, Astarte, Artemis, Aphrodite, Venus, Persephone, Gaïa, Urania, Durga, Kali…
I command you to stand in inspection in front of me and… I show you the chastity cage: a device in two parts made of surgical steel.
Your balls and erected cock slip easily through the ring, but I have to wait until you can contain yourself and, with a little twisting nipples help, your erection abates and the cage is soon fitted against the ring and snuggly attached to a protruding little bar through which the lock is passed.
At the head of the cage, the Prince Albert is passed through a slit made for the right gage permitting an other anchor.
I hook a chain through the P.A. and through the center ring of your collar and with a whack of my crop on your buttocks I invite you to follow me around the room.
Posture and grace are key to achieving the feminisation of the male submissive: The consenting captive first learns how to negotiate balance on 8 inches heels over various surfaces knowing that failure to satisfy his Mistress would ensure punishment. He is shown the assortment of canes waiting on the mantelpiece. At the end of this exercise, an alluring female slave enters the crimson room bringing tea and macaroons to her Mistress: he must watch carefully how she accomplishes this exquisite ritual.
Gawkily, you start the perilous promenade on 6 inches heels around the carmine sanctuary toward a chaise longue by a fireplace of black marble.
As we pass in front of it, I point with the crop a metronome and my collection of bespoke smoked dragon canes. lying atop the mantlepiece on a length of sack cloth.
A shiver courses along your spine, but I don’t let you time to fantasises on the possibilities that the collection offers a fertile imagination.
You must now negotiate the large Persian carpet at the foot of red chaise.
It is tricky, this medullary, springy texture! even as its mellowness is a respite for the balls of your feet, the heels have the tendency to get stuck in the woollen fibres.
A I recline, you kneel on the arabesques, a picture of submission with your forehead lowered, hypnotised by the patent burgundy of my stilettos.
From the gilded round table in front of the Récamier, I take a bell and make it chime three times.
A discreet knock at the door which opens promptly on my command:
Enters a naked Woman sporting the same boots as you are, a leather waspy and a high posture collar encompassing her chin.
Her raven locks in a high poney tail, a thick fringe highlights her cat like face whose perfect features: deep sapphire eyes, fine straight nose, high cheek bones and moist mouth on which a faint smile seems suspended between irony and obedience.
A small chain is hooked through her nipple rings, and an other through her labials rings. A small brass bell dangles from the chain between her marmorean thighs.
The woman slave approaches gracefully in a little symphony of clicks and chimes. She holds a tray with an opalescent white china bol adorned with a gilded rim, a minuscule teapot of the same porcelain and a plate covered with coloured macaroons,
“This is [euphrasia], she is the epitome of the perfect slave, a blue print of sorts, I want you to study her every move, her posture, gait, her breathing but also sense her moods as she offers her service and surrenders her will. “
Whilst I talk, [euphrasia] meticulously pours the tea and prepares a small plate with three macaroons, then kneels at my feet and offers the cup and the plate balanced on her opened palms at the hight of her bowed head.
I drink a sip and place the bol back on the still hand.
I take the plate and choose a pink macaroon “Isphahan rose” I announce and I bite. An other sip of tea and I slip a pair of short claret kid gloves.
Training resumes as our consenting captive must follow the lovely female slave who appears to be as well versed in poney play as she is in service. He must now emulate her effortless grace and poise as the two rotate around their Mistress poised at the centre of the room commanding a surreal merry-go-round.
As if this was her signal, [euphrasia] stands in attention her elbows wide open, hands behind her neck.
I snap my fingers and she gets from the corner on the opposite side to the fireplace, a lunge whip, a line and a dressage whip which she brings back to me , after which she resumes her pause.
I set the metronome to a slow cadenza and place it on a waist hight pillar next to me.
I pull on your leash and hook the line which uncoils as you stand in attention one meter behind the alluring slave.
I return to the center of the room by the pillar, underneath the crystal chandelier sparkling with the innumerable reflected candles flammes.
I clack the lunge whip above my head, and [euphrasia] starts to walk in rhythm. It is a casual gait. You must follow as I hold the line loosely.
The slave Woman acts as an agent libérateur: entranced by the voluptuous vision, you gradually forget to fight the high heels and supported by the corset’s firm hold, your hips start swaying as you circle the alizarine room at various speed.
The beat of the metronome slows down : my whip lashes the air twice in rapid succession initiating a new gait and [euphrasia], her hands now on her waist, bends her knees high one after the other as she starts a trot, her buttocks giggling slightly and her poney tail swishing from left to right with each step.
You follow, still walking, unsure as to how you are going to manage a similar prowess.
A few cutting strikes of the dressage whip on your posterior persuade you to at least attempt to imitate her. But you think too much and it prevents your body to guide you into the shapes requested.
[euphrasia] is now on the other side of the room , she has just past the big black wheel and you can see her twin image as she crosses in front of the Baroque mirror.
I pull the line toward me and you come to my side. You are going to do the exercise on the spot whilst [euphrasia], upon a triple lash signal continues to circle at a faster pace.
At her third circumvolution, you are ready to give up, sweat drips from your brow and along your flanks, your feet are throbbing.
But, I send you back behind the cantering sylph to the circumnavigation amidst the whistling of the lunge whip and the staccato of the metronome.
I am your hourglass pivot, your center.
The crisp white shirt contrasts with my garnet gloved hands each holding a whip above my head,
My waist is cinched in a long black corset worn on a pencil leather skirt, slit above the knees to allow for movement.
I rotate slowly, lashing rhythmically and letting you feel the near acidic kisses of the little vicious knot at the end of the whip. But I don’t strike…. that will be for an other day.
At my command, the carrousel stops, together at attention where you have halted. Your skin glistens with perspiration, I feel the wonderful heat emanating from both your bodies, the excitement in both your eyes as I inspect you.
Unnoticed, the nude latex assistant has brought towels which she has left on the spanking bench and refreshments on the golden table: 3 crystal coupes with a pale moon gold liquid.
After having helped [euphrasia], she dries you vigorously, unzip your boots and places you kneeling in Nadu next to her.
[euphrasia] balances a glass on her hand so that I may take it, she holds her coupe in the other hand. The nude latex Woman gives you the third glass and I tell you to drink.
We watch you drink my golden nectar with astonished delight as we sip one of Champagne’s oldest wine.
•••••
to be continued