Fact. The Saveloy sausage was invented in the sumptuous surroundings of the Savoy Hotel in 1956. A Romanian chef named Elton concocted it from a mysterious mixture of meats and spices leftover from a banquet the evening before. Refusing to be associated with the less than regal result, the hotel management banned his suggested branding of ‘The official Savoy Sausage’. Irritated but undeterred, the innovative chef simply inserted the first two letters of his name and the Saveloy was born.
And so I found myself in The American Bar at The Savoy yesterday. I was meeting a particularly interesting individual for the first time. Now it’s definitely worth me explaining that we’ve now met for the ‘first time’ on almost a dozen occasions. It is a curious situation indeed.
Slave C insists that EVERY time we meet it is as complete strangers and always in one of London’s lovelier watering-holes. After the formality of introducing himself he asks all sorts of questions – what might a session entail, how should he address me, and how would I/could I use and abuse him. Could I kidnap him, hold him against his will and keep him as my pet? How many boots do I own, how do they taste and what would they feel like raking against his sensitised skin? Sometimes I have whips in my bag and threaten to show him, on another occasion I informed him I was wearing nothing but a latex leotard under my coat. I was.
Although each encounter involves nothing more than kinky conversation, colourful cocktails and a persuasive power of suggestion, they never cease to amuse me. And of course they not only stimulate my sadistic sense of adventure but usually play perfectly into my 5 star hotel fetish.
Nevertheless, the question remains: Why go so far with a fantasy yet never dare venture into the dungeon (or domestic space) of the Dominatrix?
Well I firmly believe anyone interested in BDSM has their own private dungeon deep inside their mind. In contrast they might not have someone to explore it with – whether that’s through the physical act of submission and all that entails or just a friendly chat on a wet Wednesday afternoon in August.
Or maybe it’s a question of that first foray into the unknown. As another slave put it so eloquently, ‘Firsts have a unique quality all of their own, never re-created nor forgotten.’
Meeting a Mistress for the first-time must provoke an intoxicating (perhaps addictive) mixture of excitement and anxiety. So why not try and recreate this, to re-wind it and re-play it as if on a loop? Maybe you can have a second chance to leave a first impression after all?
Who knows for sure? Maybe such an exchange shouldn’t be questioned. It might be nothing more than an interesting escapade (in the birthplace of a shiny sausage) where everything is certainly not as it seems. Curiouser and curiouser indeed.
N.B. Written with the consent of Slave C.