Public play, servitude and humiliation: A train journey through Europe with Elite Dominatrix Maîtresse Nuit and her slave [m von s].
The train has left behind drab forests and rounded hills, grey provincial towns huddled with little grace around their old centres like obedient children around the skirts of a well meaning aunt. Night falls: a darkening Prussian velvet gown on the majestic Alps capped in phosphorescent white.
In rhythm with the wheels's motion, a froth of light bubbles rises to the surface of the elegant chalice of crystal as [m von s] pours slowly the delicious wine. No small feat in a fast speeding carriage!
Small beads of perspiration congregate at his temples as he focuses on the task with total seriousness, eager to please and to accomplish form and elegance in small, simple acts performed with devotion. No doubt, the cause of his sweating is exacerbated by the embarrassment at wearing for all to see, the sign of his servitude in tan leather and steel around his neck.... An unequivocal token for the BDSM observer, the thick shackle of animal skin gripping his throat, is nicely underlined by the mandarin collar of his black jacquet.
I am aware of the proceedings, which I follow from the corner of my eye whilst I read aloud a fascinating article on the Eunuchs of the Sultan's harem at Topkapi Palace during the Ottoman Empire, remarking on the superfluousness of [m]'s genitalia to me which only serve one purpose: that of being denied gratification and teased mercilessly with the knowledge of total inequality: Maîtresse's body is Terra Incognita, Sacred for her slave, She takes her pleasures when and how she decides, having first made sure that her property is bound, blindfolded and incapacitated.... Cuckholding... a new layer of degradation to add to his station as a trusted, suffering servant and devotee.
I smile with joyous wickedness at his sheepish expression whilst he presents the champagne coupe, holding the gracile long stem with three fingers and supporting the circular base on his gloved left hand.
'Closer' I demand, as he kneels in Nadu at my feet. 'Closer so that I can reach easily your cock and balls with my leather boot. Closer so that I can crush your balls with my heels whilst you remain perfectly still.' And he lowers his eyes and shuffles closer.
As I drink the pale liquid topaze, [m von s] knows to unzip my boot and starts massaging my right foot. He applies himself to the task, opening the ball of my right foot, he presses on the articulation of each metatarsi, he irons the arch with his knuckles, digs his thumbs in my heels and pulls and twist each toe with delicate yet firm, reinvigorating gesture that sends electricity through my brain.
'Plus près, chien!'
My left foot, still booted, presses on his crotch, and as gravity makes the contact heavier, I feel his engorged member meeting the hard sole. I crush the erection with deliberate slowness and he loses hold of my right naked foot as I ask him to look me in the eyes. Before his long lashes have finished to reveal his swimming pupils, a jet of saliva impacts the shinny white globe of his left eye.... A glazed look... The wonderful look of submission meets my eyes and I press my foot over his ghostly face....
The train is swaying over the sleepers, somewhere in the Austrian Alps.
Nuit d'Or April 2014
'Curved heels' ©Lucina Nathanael 2013
P.S: [m von s] was collared by Maîtresse Nuit on 26th March 2014. The ceremony took place at the Seraglio and performed by the wonderful Miss Meyers and Siren.