"Yes Mistress"

The Parched Lips, dry mouth and the slow and un-reactive state of being, all symptoms of the exhaustive morning after. I raise my head off the pillow slightly; wisp away the frizzy, fraggle like hair from my face. Another big night or weekend, time can be such a difficult thing to grasp when riding the chemical rollercoaster.

I look down, my right leg is exposed from the white bed sheet, a red camisole, and I slip a loose strap back onto my shoulder. I sit up, bringing my legs up to my chest, my naked behind exposed. I quickly scan the room; the bed had been lived in.

I scratch my neck, searching for memories of the previous night I was drawing blanks. I probably had a complete novel of stories lost in my subconscious mind. Moments of pleasure inspired by chemicals, hiding somewhere maybe in someone’s video cabinet. It would be worthy of top self porn. I check my arms and torso, no obvious signs of emerging bruises.

I was alone but by no means lonely. I had a nice home, a nice job albeit as a Madam, I had friends to worry for me, a partner to help me smile, I was content. The long and winding paths that lead me to the position I was in had taken me through the world of BDSM, a tour of enlightenment. Perceived by some as somewhat dark, misunderstood by most. I had been guided through it by my personal mentor, a professional Domme.

I had felt the hand of Dominants. I felt the submissive feeling flowing in my veins like some additional hormone influencing my thought patterns. I took the tools of that trade, symbols of another life and placed them in my wooden chest at the side of my bed. I look; I notice the chest is open.

I could see Whips, Chains, gag-balls a collection of steel collars and other items of notoriety. A new item sits on top of the black latex suites, a leash handle. "Yes Mistress" I said softly out-loud. I had the teachings of the Gor Traditions, which I symbolically applied a lighter too.

I didn’t agree with the notion that only men can be dominant. I gave people the ultimate erotic experience when I was in full control of the situation. Yet I got more pleasure from being controlled. I could switch between roles with relative ease when needed, yet the science of supply and demand meant I was more often controlling.

I now held a jem in the palm of my hand. She presented herself to me; she had an all too familiar look, and style. Together on stage we had a natural ability to light up the room. Her service to me was not an obligation it was a gift. One that I On stage together we lit up the room, cherished, she was my "Star of India".

The insecure Oz would have considered how this new found stature would be perceived but I had the balance and poise of someone walking the line of confidence. A good home for a compulsive attention seeker, I thought to myself. I had one area of my nature that needed controlling, that being my alcoholic, drug fuelled binges.

It seemed this one had lasted for days. I remember being onstage, dancing to the beat of a new disk jockey. He had good choice in music, I thought to myself I could definitely work with him more often. I sink back onto the bed, my head hits the pillow. I grab a spare pillow pull it firmly against my chest. Looking up at the ceiling, I think of Sami or try my mind keeps refocusing on the DJ.

"Hmmmm" I say, I start to day dream, "Sami, Sami, Sami I say out loud. Then I sit upright in the bed, I gasp, a memory, a flash back. Oh no, a surprised look on my face. The DJ, opps, some parts of me just will never change. I guess it’s a case of once a bad girl always a bad girl.


Oz,x