fiction – Page 4 – Contemplating the divine

So a domme, her gimp and her money pig walk into a bar…

Yeah, I wanna report a
missing sub.

You know – submissive?
Like a slave?

Well of course consensual.
Actually he begged.

OK, so he went missing this morning. We kind of left him in the forest and then we
couldn’t find him, so –

Yeah, sure we looked. Five minutes at least. Maybe longer.

You need a description? Right.

OK, so he’s about fifty years old, naked, shackled at hands
and ankles, with his cock locked in a spiked tube. Er… recently lost a lot of weight, so his
skin kinda hangs off him in wrinkles, his back and ass are covered in whip
marks, he has cigarette burns all over his thighs and his mouth is forced wide open
with a serrated spreader gag, with a tongue clamp attached. But he can
make a few sounds, and he answers to the name of
–

What? Did you say
‘Lucky’? Why would he answer to the name
‘Lucky’?

Well, why would you think I was going to say that? That’s not his name. I was gonna tell you his name.

An old joke? Is it? Oh, OK. I guess. I don’t
really get jokes, actually. Never
had much of a sense of humour. Just ask anyone… especially my subs.

Yeah, no problem. Answers
to the name of ‘Useless Fucktard’ anyway.

Sure. OK, I’ll give
you my number and let me know if you find him, OK? No, I don’t want regular updates. If you find
him, great, but if you don’t it’s no big deal.

OK, thanks. Bye!

The photo that makes this otherwise pointless story, errr, pointful, is of course from American Mean Girls (they seem to have expanded out from Miami). As I’ve said before, the ‘bratty’ teenage humiliatrix thing usually doesn’t do it for me, but maybe that’s because it’s normally done very badly. I think this site is really very good indeed and it definitely does do it for me, so I recommend a visit.

Final edits

So, Mr Poole, we’re all really excited here about your
novel. It’s going to be huge –
absolutely huge. It just… well, it just
speaks to that kind of nameless angst we all have, you know? Draws you in from the very first page.
Brilliant.

Anyway, hope you won’t take this amiss, but it’s my job to
make a few suggestions about style, here and there? Just – you know – in a first novel it’s often
hard to judge just what the reader will find in something you wrote.

I mean, I have very little to suggest on this one,
obviously. I don’t want to interfere with your distinctive voice. But there were a few passages where I felt you
could convey your meaning a bit, well, a bit more succinctly…

Like what? Oh, well… erm… when Peter first sees Julie, at
the concert. I mean, it’s brilliant,
obviously, that scene. It’s like you’ve
taken a photograph of Julie as he sees her and you’re just playing it into the
reader’s mind a few lines at a time from the very top… her hair, her necklace, her top, her skirt… and then her
shoes. Yeah.

Actually it’s the
shoes. I just thought… you know, you’ve
done from the top of her head to her ankles in about a page, so then three
pages just on the shoes… It just seems…

Yeah! A bit
much! Exactly. Just a little too long! And then again, on their third date, when she
comes back to his apartment. When she takes off her shoes, the way you’ve written it, it’s erm… the reader’s attention might wander a
bit after the first page or so, that’s all.

Oh – yes, and much later on, during the Raquel episode, where Julie’s furious with him and she
goes running, really pushing herself hard?
And she gets back to her place and she’s run herself so hard that she’s
sweated stains right through her trainers?
I mean, that is such a brilliant image!
Of her rage, you know, just expressing itself but then emerging in kind of a tawdry way. But, you know, once the
point’s been made, once the image is there, you could move on rather faster. I mean, at the end of that section I felt
like I knew every millimetre of her sweaty trainers! Every stitch, every shade of every sweat stain… Like my face had been pressed right up
against them for pages and pages… not a very pleasant image! I mean, really. Is it?

Ahem.

Moving on… anyway, there’s one more thing we have to talk about. Quite embarrassing! Yeah – that’s right: I’m afraid it’s
the sex scene! Sorry… just doing my job.
Look – don’t worry about it, OK?
I mean everybody finds it hard to write a really convincing sex scene.
I just thought… the change of mood was really weird and I didn’t quite get why
you did it. I mean, it was so heavy
and moody and then suddenly it’s more like farce as if you’re playing it for laughs, and –

What do I mean?

Oh. Well… take this
bit. “Slowly drawing her hand back from his unbuckled belt, Julie gasped in
silent awe as four inches of manhood rose to sway proudly in front of her. ‘Be gentle’ she whispered, wanting the full
experience of this behemoth, yet at the same time dreading – “ anyway, you get
the point? I mean why play it for
laughs?

Isn’t it? Oh. I thought it was funny.

Erm… no, I don’t think I know why. I just thought it was, erm… funny. Doesn’t matter.

Anyway! Later, she’s … well, she’s getting…the full four
inches, right, and she starts giggling a bit, then laughs out loud, just at the
point when he… when he climaxes. That’s
fine, obviously. But then later they’re
talking in bed and they both say what a great orgasm they’ve had and – I didn’t
really get that bit. I mean, she didn’t
have an orgasm, did she? She just laughed at him.

What do you mean, that was the orgasm?

Oh. Oh, right.

So later, when Peter has a fling with Raquel and he unzips
his pants and she just laughs straight off the moment she sees his… his full
four inches, that’s – ?

Right. OK. I misunderstood that. On the first reading.

Fine.

So! You might just
want to take those thoughts and just, you know… maybe a few short
rewrites. Actually, if you could get it
from the 90,000 words it is now down to less than eighty that would be really
good. It’s a better size for the
booksellers. Losing 10,000 words sounds like a lot, but actually I reckon you
could get that just from trimming the bits about ladies’ shoes. Maybe more.

Brilliant! So –
what’s next? Amanda told me that you
mentioned you’re already working on a second novel. That’s really
exciting! Good for the marketing too,
actually. Got a title you can share with
us?

“Sales incentives?”
Oooh! What’s that about? Yeah?
Life and loves of the owner of a high street shop, eh? Falling for one
after another of his lady customers, I expect, if he’s anything like
Peter! Sounds great!

So what does he sell? What sort of shop is it? Oh hang on – on second thoughts, don’t tell
me. Let me see if I can guess.

Changing shifts

Oh hi George, that you?

Hmm? No, I wouldn’t say she’s in a particularly bad mood
today. This is my own fault really –
stacked the towels in the wrong order again.
You know how it is. Eighty minutes, eight strokes, then another eighty
minutes. Could be worse. I had quite a light shift, actually. A few with the strap and a couple of sesssions of kneeling punishment. Quite a relief after last time, I can tell you.

Nothing much to report.
There’s some of her friend Julie’s laundry in, to be ready for
5.30. And she wanted me to do the
kitchen, so the bathroom’s still to do, OK?

Oh by the way, we’re a bit short on washing up liquid, so
try and go easy on it, will you? My
shift starts at 6am tomorrow, so I won’t have a chance to buy any more until
Thursday. Wouldn’t want to earn any more
demerit points, not this close to the end of the month. And you know how she is about the washing up, especially when she’s having a party.

Oh – hasn’t she said? Yes, this Saturday. I expect she’ll tell you today, because we’re both going to be on duty, I think. Trevor’s going to be setting up, then you and
I are doing maid service and clean up. House inspection 9am Sunday, then we get the rest of the day off if it’s all satisfactory. With two of us working overnight that should be all right. It’s the Saturday evening I’m worried about, to tell the truth. I
heard her mention that that vicious little cow Marianne’s going to be
there. You remember? The one who made us all dance with those
weights attached at New Year. So we
might be in for rather a rough time, I’m afraid. Glad it’s not just going to be
me.

Ermm… listen, old boy.
You couldn’t do me a favour and straighten my stocking tops could
you? You’d be saving me four strokes at
least. No need for her to know, eh?

Oh come on, George.
I’d do the same for you, you know I would.

OK, well I understand.
You’re probably right. She does always seem to find these things out,
doesn’t she? We’ll just forget I said anything.

You, ermm… you won’t tell her I asked you, will you? I mean, I know we’re supposed to tell her about any rule infractions, but… you know. Honour among maids and all that. Hmm?

George?

George, are you still there?

Post-production

The most successful Cruella video? Oh, gotta be Drowning in
piss. Seen it have you? Yeah, just about everyone has. It’s funny, ‘cos it actually all came about
by accident. The sub was supposed to
have this little tube between his cheek and his jaw, so he could keep breathing
even when we shoved piss-sodden panties into his mouth and blocked his nostrils
up with used tampons. But the silly
fucker had put in in the wrong way round so it didn’t work.

It took him quite a while to die, though. I mean, what you see there as we take the
panties out of his mouth and ‘refresh’ them, then shove em back in while he’s
still gasping in air – that’s all real.
We thought he was just acting of course – and it was odd ‘cos he’s
always been fucking hopeless as an actor before. We didn’t realise until his fourth pantie-change,
about half an hour in, when there was a tea break, and we left him gagged up… with the camera on, so
we could get some footage of him writhing around. Then when we came back –
well… you know.

We were a bit worried, but the police came round and when
they saw the contract he’d signed, and we showed them the little tube and how
the little fucker could perfectly well have put it in the right well round and
he’d still be alive, the fucking moron, well they said it was just an
industrial accident.

And we were going to destroy the tape (this was before
digital, see) but then Caroline said “Well, why not release it? We could make some money and some good could
come of all of this.” So we put it on
the market, and of course it was one of the very few absolutely legal snuff
movies out there, so it started selling better than anything else we’d got.

And actually, it was when his ex-wife sued for a share of the
profits that we really hit the big time, ‘cos it was in all the papers. For a
while there, it was outselling all our other titles put together. She was a nasty old cow, she was. Kept trying to get us to settle, but we had
these really good lawyers (they were subs, so we didn’t have to pay them) and
the judge took our side. Knew perfectly
well what would happen to him at his next session if he didn’t, didn’t he? Anyway, the video sold out and we had all our
copying machines working 24/7 producing more of them. Made a killing. You know, he’s dying for about – oh 32
minutes or so? – on-screen. From when we first shoved the panties in to when
the coroner reckoned he’d become brain-dead. Well, one of my slaves who’s an
accountant worked out that he earned us £1650 for every second he was dying. Got myself a fur coat – and a sports car.

A bit sad? I don’t see why, to be perfectly honest.
I mean, he was much more valuable dying in agony like that than
continuing to live his sad little life.
Gave a lot of people a lot of pleasure. And his wife didn’t like him at all – she just wanted some money,
grasping old cow. And there’s lots of
subs around, aren’t there? I mean,
I know it sounds a bit dismissive, but really, there are. You can’t get upset about losing
just one of them like that. Wouldn’t
normally notice, even. But he got
famous, even got noticed by quite a few dominant women, didn’t he? They dream of that, don’t they?

Subs. We remember him – can’t say that about many subs.

Hmm? Oh… it’s err… do you know I’ve forgotten?
‘Trevor’, ‘Terry’ maybe. Some sort of
sub name like that. ‘Robin’. That kind of thing, anyway. Maybe ‘Michael’.

Does it matter?

The part of the callous dominatrix in this heartwarming tale was played (in about 1983, I think) by the lovely Linda Leigh, who is probably not at all like this in real life, but really nice and kind. Although I hope she isn’t.

Extra service

Hello, Business Answers? Natalie speaking. How can I help?

No, this isn’t actually the Chesham AB Nursery. We’re a business answering service. The person you’re trying to contact… errr
‘Nanny Stern’? She’s busy so she’s
switched all calls to us. But I have a
menu here I can take you through to try to process your call, if that’s any
help at all?

An appointment?
Sure. Tuesday week… not looking
good. Maybe Thursday? Thursday.
4 – 6 pm OK for you?

Fine… now I need to take some details for the booking. Do you have a customer code? Got it. Right – there you are. Mr Franks,
yes?

So…last time, you had… let’s see. Bedwetting, smacked bottom and nappy
humiliation? That OK for you this time
too?

Fine. Well that’s all
booked for you. Thursday week, 4pm.

Now, Mr Franks, as you’re on the line, I wonder if I could
talk to you about insurance on behalf of one of our other clients? You see, these days many people don’t
properly provide for –

Mr Franks? I’m sorry,
I don’t think I heard that, I –

Mr Franks?

Well, that was a bit rude.

Insurance…let’s see, we’ll call that ‘unsure’.

And back with Chesham AB Nursery, let’s see what we can do
about that rude word shall we Mr Foulmouth Franks? … Hmm…
‘mouthsoaping’. Perfect. Oooh: caning too! Well, why not? How many?… oh I
don’t know. Why’s it all in sixes?
12. No, let’s have 24.

And we’ll schedule a follow-up call about the insurance for
the day after.

Done.

Hello, Business Answers? Natalie speaking. How can I help?

Customer services

Yeah, this is FDproducts. What the fuck do you want?

What? No, of course
we’re not going to exchange it. If it ripped when you tried to put it on, it’s
your own fault, isn’t it, you fucking moron? You were probably putting it on
wrong.

No, I do not want to hear how you put it on, you little
pervert. My day’s going quite badly enough
without having to listen to a graphic description of some sweaty old balding guy trying to squeeze
himself into a latex French maid outfit.

What? Consumer
rights? What fucking consumer rights?

Look, let’s get something straight, right? You’re a submissive male, correct?
Right. And what am I? That’s right. I’m a woman. And women are…

‘Goddesses’, yeah, OK.
I was thinking of ‘the superior sex’ but that’ll do. So does a sub talk to a goddess like that?

No he fucking does not – quite right. So you can start speaking more respectfully,
you little shit.

Well yes, as a matter of fact I do think you should
apologise. Down on your fucking knees!

And to show how sorry you are, I think we’ll have a
financial penalty. Let’s see – what’s
the most expensive item on our web site… mahogany whipping bench with attachments.
Right – you’re buying three of those.
Then maybe you can spend any money you have left paying someone to strap
you over one of them and beat the crap out of you.

Yes, we do take Amex. But you have to ask very, very politely.

Reminiscence

Really? Oh my god!
That must have been, like, so embarrassing! Hey – you know, the same thing happened to my
brother? When he was 15? Mom walked in just when he was…
well, actually you know, just when he was finishing if you know what I mean! And he couldn’t stop so it happened right
there in front of her!

Yeah. He was pretty embarassed about that!

Mom was kinda strict too. Especially about that kind of stuff. She paddled him so hard he could
hardly sit down for days. Made him read out the bits of the bible about the ‘sin of Onan’ while she did it.

Yeah? Your mom
paddled you too? What, with a big wooden
paddle? Ooooh – that must have hurt.

So when did all this happen?

About 25 minutes ago?

Oh.

Erm…

Right.

I just…I
dunno, thought maybe it was when you were a teenager or something… and, erm…

Hey! You know, what I just suddenly remembered? I can’t go tonight! I promised my friend Becky I’d
help her with her hair. I am so sorry!

What? ‘Where does
Becky live’? Oh… well, hey, where do you
live?

OK. It’s right the
other direction from there.

I hope you liked that. I just wanted to warn regular readers that the next posting, due on Friday, is going to be a bit of a change of theme for this blog, as it will feature female submission. Obviously, that’s not something that everyone who reads Contemplating the Divine will be into, so I just wanted to warn you as I don’t want to offend anyone. Maybe it’s a mid-life crisis, maybe it’s something else, but it’s just a theme I feel I want to explore at this stage in my sexual journey and I’ve tried my hand a few captioned images. Anyway, if you’re broadminded enough, come along and see what you think!

Servitor

Can you imagine?

Hmm? This?

Oh – well, I’m a bit embarrassed you caught me reading
it, actually. It’s the autobiography of
a professional ‘dominatrix’. You
know? One of those tarts that dresses up
in leather and smacks men’s bottoms. Can you imagine?

Janice lent it to me.
I thought it wouldn’t be my thing – well, it isn’t really – but I can’t
put it down. It’s amazing some of the things she gets up to.

Sad too, actually.
She says one of her oldest clients is married, but he’d never plucked up
the courage to tell his wife what he wanted.
And it’s weird because she sounds like a real harridan! Apparently, one time he turned up for a
‘session’ and he wanted to cancel the thing she’d planned, because this wife
had just been screaming at him after he’d wrapped the car around a tree. And he felt the need to be properly punished
or something. Should have just asked his wife to take the cane to him – she sounds like the sort of woman who’d enjoy it. Do you remember how cross I was that time you
crashed the car! You’re lucky I didn’t have a cane handy, now I come to think
of it! I’d have given you what for.

And he wants to spend his time serving her as her ‘slave husband’
but of course he can’t say that either, so he just does odd bits of housework
and fetches and carries for her and things – serving his mistress in his head
you see. (Oh thanks, love – just put it there on the coaster. Sweetener not sugar, right? Great.)

It’s amazing, the freaky stuff that’s out there, isn’t
it? People leading these sad, secret
hidden lives, and you’d never know. He must have wasted a fortune on this “Lady Nightshade”. Maybe it’s best if his wife never does find out! She’d probably be furious – wouldn’t you? I would. She charges hundreds each time! All that money, just for a sore bottom once in a while.

You
know, her ‘dungeon’ is in Ealing? Near the tube station. I mean, she calls it a dungeon but it’s a walk-up apartment really. Just like any other house. You probably walk right past it every month,
when you go and visit your osteopath.

Can you imagine?

For her

Weirdest client? Oh,
I dunno. I mean, they’re all weird, aren’t they?

There was one once though – quite a regular. And I had a party for my regular subs and
they got to arguing about which one adored me most – silly old fuckers, like I
care as long as they keep paying!
Anyway, they decided to settle it with a breath-holding contest. And when it was this guy’s turn, he took out
a roll of duct tape and wrapped his mouth up, popped a clamp onto his nose and
then slipped a pair of handcuffs on behind his back!

Well, as you can imagine, after a minute or so, he was writhing around and all purple in the face, and I was just
about to look around for something to cut the tape when one of the other slaves
said “Shouldn’t you cut him loose, Mistress?”.
Well, of course you can’t stand for that sort of impertinence, so I gave
him a good slap and I settled back in my chair and said “He’ll breathe again
when I decide, slave, not before.” All haughty-like, you know. You have to be like that, as a domme. They like it.

And I gave it a bit longer and then I graciously instructed
them to cut his gag off. And they faffed
about and panicked like slaves will. And then it was all too late!

Hmm? Oh no. Not dead.
Severe brain damage, though. It’s
the oxygen, apparently.

Shame really. So
maybe he was the weirdest…. Oh, but hang on, there was other guy that had this
thing about asparagus! And you know how
asparagus makes your wee smell? So one time – oh this is really funny, even
funnier than the other thing! – one time, right, this guy brought a big bunch
of asparagus with him and…

Brand awareness

But how silly, darling! Is that why you haven’t wanted to play bondage games lately?

I told you at the time, didn’t I? I just wanted the branding irons in my initials as a symbol of your submission to me. I wasn’t planning actually to use them!

And I can see if you were thinking that already, that you might find it a bit worrying when I got those workmen in, to unblock the fire in our bedroom.

But I just thought it would be sexy sometimes to have a real fire going, you know? Just imagine the reflections of the flames on my shiny leather or latex, hmm?

And don’t the branding irons look awfully nice fixed to the wall above the fire, like that?

Really, though, I can’t believe you thought I might burn my initials into your flesh without consent! I mean, after all that fuss you made when I tried to play just a little with a lit cigarette against your skin? Do you remember? I’ve never heard such a noise! Imagine if I held a hot iron to your buttocks for a slow count of three. You’d scream the place down wouldn’t you? And we’d have the neighbours calling the police!

Well, unless you were really, really tightly gagged, obviously. Like with a couple of balled-up panties under that new muzzle gag I got you.

Or the inflatable gag, I suppose. That would be OK. And you’d need a harness, so you couldn’t struggle much, so the letter comes out nice and clearly.

But anyway, it doesn’t matter because I’m not going to do it, am I? So can you stop being so paranoid, and let your goddess wife start tying you up again, hmm?

Look – I’m wearing your favourite outfit. How about you let me tie you up tightly, just like I used to – OK? And do terrible, evil things to you.

Tell you what – I promise not to burn my initials deep into your quivering, naked flesh if you can get me to come three times!
Deal?

Joking! I’m joking… Good grief, darling. Try to keep a sense of proportion, OK?