#elegant
They say I’m a bad man, but I don’t think one can objectively judge oneself. I can understand why; after all, I am surrounded by air-headed, mindless fuck dolls. There’s no better description for it really; they aren’t women, because women are people. No, these are just fuckdolls, and they are my special creation.
Of course they don’t start out that way. They were women, probably with careers, dreams, quite possibly very intelligent, diligent cogs in the social machine. They are unhappy, many; unable to find love, frustrated with their job, an unsympathetic boss, or an unsatisfying sex life.
And I change that. Gone are the worries, the frustrations, the unattainable desires and the unrealistic expectations. Replaced with a sense of joyous, boundless bliss, happiness and sense of belonging. To not just believe, but to know their purpose, their calling, their destiny. The only desire, urge or thought being sex, and with the bodies they are endowed with, they are never far from sating that need.
They are, truly, happier than they could ever be without me. So, am I really that bad of a man? Yes, I reduce women to nothing but mindless fuckdolls -but if they truly are happy like that, is it such a bad thing?
Is it wrong to make women, and the men who use them, happy?
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She was lost.
It didn’t scare her, but just sent a little prickle of excitement up her back. That was, of course, the purpose of the journey. Still, she clutched at the tiny suitcase the way a drowning man would a piece of driftwood. Her last battered connection to her own world, bouncing along the winding gravel road into the unknown.
When the pickup stopped, she was unable to move for a second. She’d been…distracted, and the scene came upon her suddenly. A cottage nearby, perched on a rocky hilltop, presiding over steep valleys leading down to the sea. Miles away, carefree boats splashed in the waves, and birds flitted through the trees along the road. But they were completely alone in the silence. It was a view to die for.
In a way, she had died to be here. The old her. The scared her. The one who dressed for show. She looked so out of place, but was so much at home.
He pulled the creaking door open, and she hesitated just a second. The light caught him from the side, and the wind played with his shock of hair. The stubble on his chin sparkled, and his worn but fitting shirt tugged on his form. But it was the smile, a bit crooked on the left side, that hid nothing, but promised a future mystery.
There were some things in the world that no amount of pearls could make more beautiful.
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“Good evening, gentlemen; my name is Cindy, and I am at your service during your stay.”
There wasn’t anything unusual in the beginning, though it became apparent that only one of them truly deserved to be addressed as a gentleman. He was the older Master, and came with his own slave. He was polite, refined; and after escorting him to his room, Cindy was looking forward to when he might require anything. The other man, however; as soon as he was alone with her, his restraint slipped as if he had been wearing a mask and he became more man than gentle.
“This is fucking awesome!” he exclaimed, pushing past her and into the gorgeous room beyond. She endeavored to maintain her measured tone when showing him the amenities. Bed, television, desk, open space for entertainment. He tossed himself on the bed, dragging his heel unceremoniously across the white duvet, painting the starkest picture of a man out of his depth.
It wasn’t that he didn’t have wealth; he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. But all the money of the world just couldn’t buy class. Nor respect. Nor admiration.
The demonstration complete, she positioned herself expertly half-way to the door. She hoped he was self-absorbed enough he’d be too busy entertaining himself and not call on her. But she wasn’t getting her hopes up.
“If that will be all, sir. Please don’t hesitate to call if you require anything.” She was damned if she’d let the likes of him break her professionalism.
The man looked from where he was sprawled on the bed and mumbled something incoherent before springing up. “Hey, wait a minute,” he exclaimed coming to his feet and looking her over. “You’re pretty hot.” His smile twisted into a leer.
Cindy did not blush, but stared directly back at him and replied automatically, “Thank you, sir.”
He began to walk across the thick carpet towards her. “And that’s a pretty mouth you’ve got there. I bet you give great head.” By then he was standing over her. “Why don’t you be a good girl and get on your knees.”
Cindy didn’t drop her gaze nor her measured voice. “I’m sorry, sir; but butlers are not allowed to offer penetration. If you like, I could have a slut summoned for your use.”
He put an arm against the wall behind her, blocking her way towards the door. “Well I don’t want a slut; I want you. Oh, C'mon, you know you wanna.” His voice might have sounded pleading, but the hand he used to grab her arm with was certainly more demanding.
The butler, however, didn’t break her demeanor. “Sir, I’m obliged to report any protocol breaks to Lady Black.”
He released her as if she were on fire and stepped back with a scowl on his face. But it was instantly replaced with a mock leer and forced grin. “Hey, why you gotta be so uptight? I was just jokin’” Even so he was backing away from her towards the bed.
“Of course, sir.” But she couldn’t help smiling to herself on the inside, before quickly changing the subject. “The services of the House are at your disposal during your stay. Please don’t hesitate to call on me should you require anything, using the button there.”
He wasn’t cocky anymore; just a kid sitting on the edge of the bed. All inflated ego burst. “Yeah, OK.”
“Have a pleasant day, sir.” With the last show of discipline and professionalism that he clearly lacked, she stalked from the room.
As her heels knocked silently down the corridor, she put away her frustration with that particular client reminding herself that she would tell Lady Black regardless of how much of a joke he was making. She wondered how someone like that could get in the Club. It wasn’t her department, however.
The problem with guys like that, though, is they would eventually be a problem. The thing about thinking your the only thing in the world is that eventually you bump into something.
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Photography: Robert Ascroft
Model: Morena Baccarin.
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“Come here, Sweetie.”
It was said in Her characteristically caring voice, but that was also the voice that would brook no delay. From her position on her knees behind the duvet, “Sweetie” -or whatever name She chose to give her- couldn’t guess what She’d want. There were no clues in the quiet crackle of the fire, and the pendulous ticking of the clock. The room was unremarkably quiet, and did a good job of accentuating the shuffling of the girl’s knees on the floor.
Mistress would of course know she’d respond with alacrity; and as she came around the duvet, She placed her perfect heeled foot in her way. Her heart skipped a beat as the positioning told her immediately what She wanted, and she swallowed quickly without pausing in her crawl. Mistress’ voice help dispel any doubts she might have.
“I have a job for you, my pet.”
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The first time is always the hardest.
Actually she’d done this quite a few times, and was quite good at it -that’s why she’d been chosen. Just…not like this.
She understood the men and their desires. Some were quite nervous, others were kind and some where quite demanding. She could take that all in her stride. But it was different this time. She felt more judged and took a lot more time getting herself ready.
Still, the procedure was the same: she knocked quietly at the door, waited for permission and stepped in. She’d tried to chose a dress that was flattering but at the same time wouldn’t be too ostentatious. Follow the procedure, she reminded herself, stepping into the room.
She stayed respectfully near the door and parted her dress, but as she looked across the room into a pair of gun-metal eyes, her courage faltered, and her head dropped. But she still managed to speak,
“Compliments of the house, Ma'am.”
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She’d always been curious.
Maybe a little bit more than curious, maybe a little bubbling desire that she tried to bury in her mind, because she wasn’t like that. Right? She was a good girl, studied hard, stayed away from temptation, did her own thing. Of course she never worked out how denying her inner desires was the best way of being herself.
In the end, it was all his fault. Bad boy, talented, with a soft side no one else saw. He put the dark angel on her shoulder, but was too busy being himself to notice her. Well, she didn’t need him to have fun.
The girl’s lips felt so wrong against hers, but so right; and the confusion ran a raucous tingle up her spine. Oh, it was more than just curiosity; she knew that now. Just on cue, the door opened and he walked in. She couldn’t help glancing at him, to make sure he knew what he was missing.
–
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Being a princess has a different meaning as an adult.
Especially if that adult is an Arabian princess who hasn’t been exposed to the heresy of Disney and the corrupting influence of the Brothers Grimm. There is no Fairy Godmother to help an ambitious young girl, if she didn’t happen to be born a princess.
Looks -that first look across the ballroom- alone were not enough to seduce a Sultan who already owned the most beautiful women money could buy. No, it required wit, guile and a certain beauty that revealing all could never show.
Like the drilling soldiers below, she practiced and rehearsed, disciplining herself and molding her body into a weapon. But while the soldiers were a weapon of hate that killed; she would be a weapon of love, and bring life.
She would be a scabbard to his hard blade, tempering, but keeping him sharp. It thought coursed up her spine as she swayed her hips, the plunging hardness tempered in her flesh, the wetness soothing the heat of passion. He’d own her, completely and utterly in that moment, and she wouldn’t want it to end ever. She’d be enslaved to the fiery desire in his eyes, feel it rushing into her, filling her with each thrust. He’d be hard, but she’d be strong, the force between them becoming unstoppable.
But had to bring herself back to the world again. The future would be a long soon enough, and she had to get ready…
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DA|ST Photo.
Model: Ekaterina Mantropova.
Photographer: Daria Sokolovskaya
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It’s good to be Emperor.
Of course there are the public functions which can become a drag, but there were certain hidden perks that no one could know about.
The Opera House had been full, of course; everyone wanted to be able to say they were there at the premiere with the Emperor. But he just didn’t get ballet. He had to go to put on an appearance of sophistication, but in reality he was just waiting for the show to be over.
He became especially eager for the end when a ballerina especially caught his eye. She wasn’t the Priima or whatever the title was. But she had one single part, and he nodded to his Adjutant.
Things were so simple and easy when you are Emperor. Just a nod and everything was in place as he expected it. He could help grinning as he stepped into his room, with everything in place just so. The tedium of the ballet was already washing from his shoulders.
Now she would dance; now she would dance indeed.
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“She looks scared, doesn’t she?”
The man stood halfway between her and the door. He was dressed to be inconspicuous: dark gray suit, unremarkable hair, unremarkable expression. Though, in a way, if her heart weren’t racing faster than she could think, she might have found him handsome in the right light. But the light was to his back, and he didn’t belong here. Not in her mind, at least. Not yet.
“That would be the social conditioning, I would expect. Making you afraid, self-conscious, and embarrassed of your own body. Despite what society would have you believe it’s unbecoming of a girl to be brave, you have no reason to be afraid. We’re not here to hurt you.
"We’re here to strip away your doubts and fears, and make you whole. to make you as confident and brave as … well,” here be paused and indicated his companion, “her.” The blond girl’s eyes flitted briefly to the companion’s face and then back to the man. He had a you’ll-do-as-I-tell-you air about him, and past experiences made her fear those kinds of men. But he turned away from her and remarked to the woman standing next to him:
“Remember when you were afraid just like that?”
She nodded and a knowing smile spread over her features. She was quite striking in her own way; if he were dressed to pass unnoticed, she was dressed for the opposite. Though dress might be a bit of an exaggeration as her clothes were designed specifically to emphasize that she was wearing nothing at all.
“See, you can be just as brave and secure as she is!” the man announced to the huddled girl, as if it were the best thing that could happen to anyone. But instead she hugged herself tighter and refused to say a word.
“Well, it takes a while to get used to,” the man said with a note of disappointment in his voice. “But you’ll come around eventually. There’s nothing to be afraid of here.”
Clearly the sincerity in his voice showed that he believed it; but it’d take a while before she’d believe it too. After all, trust is built on a strong foundation of time.
–
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From “Revenge”
Ellen von unwerth
Chapter 2 : The Garden
13th Photo
… if you want to see all photos of the “Revenge” click HERE
- Janelle Fishman as Emily
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