Oh the great British summer. Wasps in our sandwiches, sand in our socks and socks in our sandals. I’m not referring to my good self of course. I am always cool, calm, and immaculately dressed for any occasion. My perennial froideur is just one aspect and indeed asset of my divine personality. It’s been even more powerful than usual lately with the soaring temperatures we’ve had to contend with in the UK.
My undeterred (or should that be obsessed) slaves braved the heatwave, intent on serving me, even whilst swathed in layer-upon-layer of rubber. I on the other hand, kept my attire somewhat minimal, but of course this only served to make the Mercury rise higher. Icy showers, errant ice-cubes and cold canings prevailed.
Enough about the inside though, Summer is all about al fresco adventures. Lately I have been reflecting on some of my favourite out of dungeon exploits, of which there have been plenty. I’m not entirely sure what makes these escapades so memorable. The added risk? the additional freedom? The pure exhibitionism? Whatever the case, I’m sure you’ll enjoy an audacious tale or two from beyond the four walls of The Malice Palace.
Apart from the very obvious Vice, Miami is famous for its non-stop nightlife and status as the sunshine city. Million dollar homes and five star hotels give way to Palm tree lined beaches, and the lure of the Atlantic ocean. Admiring the water from the shore isn’t enough though.What every self-respecting Venus craves is time aboard a shiny white stallion, by which I mean a luxury mega yacht.
After sipping champagne and sunbathing on the front deck, there was only one option. The air-conditioned cabins beckoned. Myself and my kinky companion lured our slave below deck for some fun and frolics on the high seas. The porthole, like a big blue all-seeing-eye, watched our every move, occasionally winking in approval of the cruelty and control which prevailed.
Next on my list is the classic countryside pursuit of ‘thrashing one’s man servant’ in the opulent grounds of a country house. Past the vast lake, the grand lawn lead to an avenue of lime trees which opened into a magnificent grassed amphitheatre. The stage was literally set for some serious discipline and punishment.
As my obedient slave bent over a very convenient piece of modern sculpture, the sun slowly dipped out of sight. The long grass whispered and my cane swished through the warm air, raining down on his quivering flesh. We navigated our way back through the ornate maze and circular rose garden, marvelling at the sundial, now entirely lit by the shimmering moon. It was a pure Alice in Wonderland experience indeed.
George Orwell, one of my favourite dystopian authors came to live in Southwold in 1921. He stayed for 20 years, obviously captivated and creatively inspired by such a quintessential English seaside town. And I can see why. It is full of charm indeed and never more so than when I made a guest appearance. The sand is soft and golden and although somewhat littered with sharp and jagged shells, it is best enjoyed with bare feet. When the time came to slip back into my shoes, my humble companion dutifully brushed the sand from my soles before kissing each one of my toes in reverence right there on the bustling board walk. With my eyes fixed on the blue horizon and the ocean breeze in my hair, I was a happy Mistress indeed.
Next comes the fulfilment of one of my longest held and most enduring, almost archetypal fantasies. In my mind it’s a great Oak tree, standing high on a rolling hill. The trunk has thickened through its years in existence and the branches stretch as high in the air as its roots tunnel underground. My slave is tightly secured and I make full use of the infinite space around me to unfurl and flex my whip repeatedly. His screams seem to echo all around.
However, as can sometimes be the case in life, the reality was somewhat different…more of a domestic scene, but nevertheless full of fun. The tree was willowy, bending and pulling on my slave as he leaned into it for comfort…to comedy effect. The wispy branches hung low, snatching and grabbing at my whip on occasion. And I was forced to tiptoe through a flowerbed to bind my slave, struggling to stay upright in my high heels and snagging my poor rope on a rose bush. What’s not to love?!
My last account involves a massive van and a split second. I have my eyes on my target, and ‘the grab’ is imminent. There’s a theatrical screech as the brakes slam on and I jump from the cab, apprehending the mark before roughly bundling him in the back. The doors slam and I take a moment, often shutting my eyes to experience the darkness, and scary sense of the unknown before we drive to our destination. This is an often all-too fleeting event but one I always treasure…heart stopping, adrenalin-fuelled and exhilarating in every way.
Well I do hope you’ve enjoyed my seasonal tales. And I hope you have a lovely August. I’m having somewhat of a sabbatical this month and only intermittently in my dungeon. Cruelty and kink will resume in abundance when the new term kicks off in September.