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This work Copyright (C) 2000, by Caitlain McCarren. I reserve
all rights of distribution not otherwise expressly granted

Should you like my works and wish to add my story to your
collection, you are at liberty to do so for personal use as
proscribed by the Berne Convention and U. S. Copyright law
pertaining to fair use. In addition, electronic distribution
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Transmission or distribution by all other modes; print,
duplication to optical or magnetic media, and such other
modes as may be currently or ultimately provided, are
expressly forbidden. I, Caitlain McCarren, retain all rights
to such transmission.

In addition, this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to
or association with persons living or dead is coincidental.
I describe situations, which without proper care could cause
bodily harm or injury. Fiction is best left as such. Don't
attempt any of what is described herein without providing
utmost care and consideration before the fact.

To close, this story, while work of fiction, describes adult
situations. If you are not yet of the age of majority, or if
accessing, reading, possessing, or distributing material of
this nature is illegal in your community; or if such material
offends you, I invite you to leave now, before you begin.

Georgia II

The Mistress has invented a new device, She says, just for
me. I must admit it is diabolically ingenious. She is upset
that I prefer blue jeans to skirts. She insists I wear
skirts and high heels. When beyond Her presence I simply
refused, but not anymore.

This device is based on the gaucho, a form of split skirt,
closely form fitted, with a dual button front placket, made
of blue denim. She showed me one of hers from the late

The device She had made is of a unusually soft, supple,
naturally tanned, kid leather. It is shaped more like a form
fitted mini-skirt with small kick pleats, only there is a
small doubled over panel sewn across from front to back,
forming a pair of shorts with a very long crotch, about to
the knees. It is closely fitted and draws the knees

She didn't stop there, though. Incorporated in the hem of
the skirt/short/girdle is a pair of restrictors to prevent
pulling the hem above the knees. The restrictors are
attached, left to right, with a sliding joint. The design
permits the knees to move front to back but prevents them
from pulling apart. One then walks heels up, digitigrade, to
create clearance to move the foot forward. This of course
makes it quite natural to wear high heels, as they will
actually assist walking while wearing the girdle.

The device, like the old fashioned gaucho, has a double close
front placket of closely spaced metal buttons. The top line
of this portion of the garment comes just to the top of the
hip, much like a mid rise brief. Above this is sewn a waist
cincture, used to whittle more inches off, uncomfortably.

With this device the Mistress gets the control She wants.
Bound into this one walks heels up, knees together, and,
forced into this garment it is quite impossible to wear any
form of trouser.

Now, all of this is useless if, once I left the Mistress'
presence, I simply removed it. The method of securing the
device to me is simple and therefore difficult to circumvent
without revealing the fact. A series of slits, radiating
from the navel, from hip to nether region to hip opposite,
about a half inch slit to slit, in a semicircular pattern,
was cut through the kid skin leather. Three sixteenths
diameter copper tubing, cut about one inch in length, was
threaded from slit to slit, first inside, next outside, and
so on, from hip to hip.

An oval flap of the kid skin was cut so the rectangles, cut
along the outside, fit over the tubes now inserted into the
garment. Starting inside of the device, the free flap was
fitted over the tubes and a wire was run through, from tube
to tube to tube, securing the flap to the inside of the

In this state the device, garment if you will, was made ready
for me. I was summoned, as the Mistress is wont to do, on
short notice. I arrived, as required, and submitted to
restraint as requested. The Mistress caused me to be gagged
and suspended, naked, by my wrists from the ceiling in the
back of a three by six cell. Ominously, She stated, "I have
a surprise for you, dear one." She then left me for an
extended period of time to ponder what She had in mind.

Unlike the last time, this time I arrived, as I'm required to
do, in skirts and heels. The Mistress has told me She finds
the shape of my body to be singularly feminine. She feels I
look particularly pretty in skirts and heels, and I have to
admit that if I dress as the Mistress directs, I turn heads.

As an aside, the sensation of turning heads is unique for
women. I admit I very much like it. It gives me a heady
feeling of power over others. I've always been pretty. Even
today, everyone tells me I am pretty. Even when I dress down
to avoid it, pretty insinuates. I can't help it. I can't
avoid it. It's not even my fault, it's just genes.

Although I like turning heads, I sometimes think being pretty
just gets in the way. men just see the pretty and pay no
attention to the substance. Of course, there is always the
possibility of a salacious man taking interest. Women just
immediately, righteously, view me as competition.

It's never my intention to interfere in their lives. I have
to admit that I do none the less. I've wrecked at least
three homes now, and disappointed many more young men. I
never indicated any interest in any of these men. Their
women don't realize I stake no claim to any love interest.
It doesn't matter, my presence still destroys their lives.

On the other hand, the men I show interest in have, by my
reckoning, been frightened by my interest, and though
flattered, run away. It's a very lonely life.

I suppose that's why I first submitted, because I was lonely,
and because the Mistress was the first to convince me of Her
sincerity when She told me I am more than just pretty. Her
interest in me, plainly, flattered me. She seduced me to
submit, and I enjoyed the seduction. I still do.

Anyway, the Mistress finally returns and reveals the dress
form, upon which She has laced the device, for my reaction.
She removes my gag. After a moment She says, "What do you
think, dear. Feel free to speak."

"I wonder Mistress, do you intend to bind me within this

"It's much more than just a girdle. It will do many things.
Principally, it will prevent you from wearing jeans. What
will make you willing to submit to this bondage?"

"Mistress," I asked, "are you bargaining with me? That would
be so unlike you. Do you require that I submit to this

"I do." She replied. "I find that your growth under my
tutelage has come to a halt. You refuse to face the issue of
your prodigious beauty. You hide from it by attempting to
dress to avoid it. I should think that by now that course of
action has proved itself fruitless, even to you. I would
discharge the possibility you could revert to that form of
behavior. This is the instrument I would use to do this."

"How," I asked, "would I be allowed to exercise simple bodily
functions? Would this change that?"

"Frankly, yes it would. There is of course a method of
regulating this need."

"I live three hours from your door, Mistress. It would be a
great inconvenience to travel back and forth each day. How
would you govern me, Mistress?"

She drops the bombshell, "A surrogate."

"What?" is my exasperated reply.

"You have a guest room at your apartment? I have a 'student'
in need of housing and a subject to study. She could stand
in for me, parroting my requirements of you, dominating you
in my stead."

"Why on earth would I agree to this?" I asked. "The very
concept, dominated, in my own home, by somebody else? The
very thought frightens me beyond apprehension!"

"What you're afraid of is my continuous control. No break.
No relief. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty
two weeks a year; as long as it takes, forever more if I
choose. You need have no fear of my surrogate. She will do
no more than what I tell her to do. We can set up a code you
can use to verify my orders to her concerning you. Only you
and I will know the code and we can change the code often."

"You're right, I'm frightened of that, too."

"Too? What do you think you're afraid of, dear?"

"Mistress, I've never submitted to anyone but you," I cried.

"Darling, these weekend trysts, well, they do little to
exemplify real submission. Don't get me wrong, I treasure
every moment I'm with you. I've thoroughly enjoyed our
weekend games, and, I admit, I've fallen for you. I love
you, Georgia. However, you know nothing of real submission."

"I know nothing..."

"You know nothing of really submitting to me. If you did you
wouldn't be arguing with me now," She exclaimed. Then more
calmly, "Dear, since we've been doing this, together, your
conversations with me have consisted of commiserating about
your inability to control your life. I've put up with your
incessant chatter until you shut up or I gagged you. My
attempts to illustrate a different way have been ignored,
while you went back, every Monday, to living the same way you
always have: nose in the air; avoiding contact with everyone
who would come near; thrill seeking because you scared off
all who would befriend you.

Georgia, you've been living your miserable life, unhappily,
for twenty three years. I'm a dominatrix, this is the life I
lead. This is what I have to offer. It's not always a lot.
Maybe it is not enough for you. I don't know what you want.
I don't think you know either, but, it's past time you
figured it out. You missed the point of what I said a moment
ago. I declare my love for you and you're worried whether
you know about submission.

I love you, Georgia, I love you. If I could I would make you
happy. It appears that I can't make you anything. God knows
I've tried. If I thought you would leave your job, I would
have you stay here with me. I would go with you if I could,
but my base of operations is here and I have
responsibilities. At this time, what I've proposed is the
best I've got to offer. You want to talk alternatives?"

For a long time I just looked at Her dumbfounded. I guess
She took the silence as a rejection. She started back in,
"Nothing to say, huh. Let's say we make that official."
Reaching back for the gag on the table She exclaimed, "I can
tell you one thing, after all the time, trouble and expense I
went to designing and building this, you will wear it at
least once!"

She came toward me ready to insert the gag and I cried out
"Before you silence me I do have one thing to say." and She
hesitated. "Mistress, Genevieve, I love you, too. I'd be
pleased to model your creation."

This gave Her pause. "You don't know how I've longed to hear
you say you love me. It feels so good to hear you say it.
You're the only one... the only one who makes me loose
control... loose control like this. Oh this feels so good."
I waited to see what would happen next, after all, I was the
one in the vulnerable position. I ventured to comment "We
need to talk about this."

"Yes, there's a lot to talk about." She replied.

She kept me waiting again. "Do you want to talk now? Here?"

She kicked the stool under my feet, then released me. "What
do you want? Really want?" She asked.

It was my turn to keep Her waiting. Truth is, I didn't know
what I wanted. It had me thinking hard, and fast. I was
flipping the possibilities through my head, and I couldn't
decide. So, I just stopped thinking. It wasn't about what I
thought anyway. It was about what I wanted. Just like She
asked. I walked over to the dress form, "Lace me into this,
would you?"

She just stared at me, apparently astonished.

"Suddenly I'm the one doing all the talking," I said. "I'm
still your slave aren't I? I want to be."

"You don't have to submit to me to be with me. Not anymore."

"I want to. I want to be your slave. I want to be your
companion. I want to be your lover. I want you." I
replied. "I love you."

That brought the smile to Her face that I wanted. "I want to
be your slave," I said.

"All right," She exclaimed in reply. She unlaced it from the
dress form, reached inside, and tossed me a laundry bag.
Inside was a pair of black lace stockings, a pair of black
high heel Maryjanes, a black half slip to the mid calf, and a
garter. "Are you menstruating?"

"No," I replied. "Do you want to put these on or shall I?" I

She grinned, "I'll do it."

I sat on the stool and offered my left leg. She sensuously
rolled the stocking up my leg, slowly. I put the leg down
and offered the other. She was... tender. Smiling. Her
touch... well, it had new meaning now and I was thrilled. I
jumped up and stood on the stool as She clipped the garter in
place. She tickled my derriere and I smiled. She opened a
briefcase and removed a strap, inserting it into Her new toy,
and locking it in place. She bunched it up to make it easier
to step through and offered it up for me. She was bent down.
I put my hands on Her shoulders, stepped through the restric-
tors and stood up. She stood up, pulling the garment up my
leg to my knees, then over my thighs, then over my hips. She
reached between me and the garment adjusting the thong She
just locked into place a moment ago. She made adjustments,
started to lace the cincture and said, "Suck it in, darling,"
as She quickly bound it in place. It cut into my waist line
and was a little uncomfortable, but it also cut four inches
off my waist.

She reached in behind the placket closures and buttoned the
front placket closed. This was even more constrictive, but
not unbearably so. She asked, "Want to try walking?" I did
and I did. My steps were short. "Here," She said, "try it
with these." She helped me step into the heels. "Can you
buckle these," She asked. It took five minutes of bobbing up
and down catching my breath, but I buckled them. She
applauded my little feat. "It's nice to know it will be that
hard to take them off."

"Try walking now," She said. It was much easier with the
heels. "It seems we've proven the design." She looked on as
I experimented with walking. In the end I settled on a
swaying gait where I throw my ankle out and step over my
forward foot as the most efficient, although it wasn't that
at all. The simplest was just a straight step, but they
weren't overly long steps. "I'd like you to finish
dressing," She said. "I'd like us to go out tonight. Are you
ready for me to finish closing this thing?"

I hesitated at that, but, just a second. "OK!" I replied.

She came to me and finished fitting the flap. She threaded
it closed, passing the retaining wire from each hip through
the last bar, one from one side, one from the other. The
ends of the wires, with loops woven into them, were drawn
through a small D-ring sewn to the front of the garment. The
loops just ran through the ring. The Mistress produced a
padlock, from where I never saw, and locked the ends
together, the D-ring holding all in place. A pocket for the
padlock was sewn just under the D-ring. She inserted the
lock in the pocket.

"Finish up," She said.

"Wanna help?" I pleaded.

"You need to figure out how you're going to do this everyday.
You should do it yourself." She replied.

"Still planning on keeping me locked up in this thing, huh."
"You bet." She said.

"I still have some misgivings about that plan."

"We'll have plenty of time to talk about it. Later. I took
the liberty of buying you a new suit. I'll go get it."

"Skirt suit?" I asked.

"Well, darling, no more pant suits for you, especially if I
have a thing to say about it, and I do."

Resigned, I sighed, "Yes, Mistress."

"I'll be back in a little bit. Finish," She commanded.

I was quick to reply, "Yes, Mistress."

She grinned, then left, locking the door. I guess She didn't
want me peeking. My first priority was checking this gadget
out, not dressing. But, after many minutes of inspection and
attempts at circumvention I discovered it was futile. I
couldn't work my fingers into the open spaces to affect
anything. I couldn't walk it down over my hips, nor could I
work the hem up for the restrictors. I pulled the slip down
over my head and settled it in place over my hips as the
Mistress unlocked the door and walked back in. She carried
with Her the suit.

A forest green/grey tweed skirt with a silk button down
blouse in the same green, and a dark burgundy blazer. She
also had my punishment bra and my purse. She hung the suit,
dropped the purse and backed me up against the back wall.

"Go away. Get that thing away from me. I hate that thing,"
I screamed in fear.

"I know," She said calmly. It was obvious She expected me to
wear it anyway.

"But, it hurts so much."

"I know," She said quietly.

I just stood there waiting.

"You're the one who said you wanted to be my slave. Do you
or don't you?"

I took it from Her and put it on, then turned my back so She
could latch it closed.

She stepped back and picked up my purse, handing it to me.
"Make-up, perfume if you choose." I freshened my mascara and
put on some lipstick. "All right dear, time to dress," She
said, reaching up and handing down the suit.

As I pulled the blouse from the hanger, She grabbed a hand
full of hair and pulled it back, pinched my left nipple, and
kissed the left side of my neck sending chills down my spine.
I moved to kiss Her back, but She backed away. "More, later,

"Not fair," I replied, though I knew it wouldn't get me

I donned the blouse. Struggled with the skirt. Turns out it
was just right to hide the slip. I slipped into the blazer
and buttoned the front. It looked great in the one way
mirror. Hard to believe it was me. The colors She choose
were strong, bold, noticeable. Very much more intensely
colorful than I would choose myself. Still, perfect fit,
terrific fabric, like it was tailored for me, and I'm sure it

The Mistress handed me a jewellers box, covered in velvet and
said "a gift from me." The box contained a pair of diamond
studs. "You should always wear diamonds, darling. Come, I
know your habits. Alcohol is in the medicine cabinet in the

We went back to Her quarters, an apartment, penthouse really,
on the top floor of the building. Access was provided by a
private elevator to which She appears to have the only key.
Two keys, really, one a conventional key the other an
electronic card key. Evidently it requires both keys to gain
access, which She confirmed, "Yes, dear, both keys. Same at
the top. I require privacy, this assures it. The security
certifies that if I leave someone there in the morning
they're there when I return."

We rode to the top and exited the car. The apartment is a
story unto itself, best left to another time. I did note
that She had Her own torture chamber. Chains, high tech
stainless steel rack, restraints of all types and orders,
whipping post, all these and more in plain sight. Who knows
what lay hidden. Probably I'll have plenty of time to find

"That room has been used to train only the hardest of
resistors. You'll never be subjected to a session in that
room unless you want to be." She reassured me.

I asked, "How can you do that to someone?. I should think
that if they're that hard to train you'd just let them go.
Is it really worth the trouble."

She replied, "Dear, not everyone came into this looking for
some nice easy afternoons of light bindings and a gag. Some
get off on resisting, being willful, or obstinate."

"In that room you cure them of this?"

"Cure them? No dear, I don't cure them. They aren't asking
to be cured."

"Then what?" I asked.

She replied, "Controlled, dear. Like you, they want to be

"You control them then?"

"Control them. Make them want to be controlled. Then make
them willing to do anything to be controlled." She said.

"You can do that?"

"I do," She said.

"To anybody?" I asked.

"Pretty much," She replied.

I exclaimed, "Interesting job!"

"To say the least."

"What cause?" I asked.

"Say what?" She returned.

I clarified, "How do you choose? What singles someone out?"

"They ask," was the simple reply.

"Then, what do you plan for me?" I asked, pleadingly.

"Oh, dear, I love you, I couldn't dominate you to the degree
required to produce that behavior. I takes absolute
detachment, and with you I wouldn't have any."

I inquired, renewed, "Then you have no such plans for me?"

Then She deflated me, "No, 'I' have no plans. But we should
talk about this, later."

I wanted to probe further, but, I've seen Her when She gets
like this. Not unpleasant, but She won't reveal anything
more until she's ready. So I just looked at Her,

She stared back for a moment, then took me by the elbow and
guided me toward the bath saying, "Come."

She left me in the bath. I applied mascara, lipstick, and
some pressed powder. I opened the medicine cabinet and found
the alcohol. I washed out the glass on the counter and
poured in the alcohol and the diamond studs. I dipped my
fingers in the liquid and rubbed at my ear lobes. Then I
placed the studs in. I turned on the tap to pour in a little
water. Then I gargled. I applied a little perfume. I turned
and exited. Out side the door She stopped me and set on a
diamond pendent necklace. She turned me back toward the bath
room door which She had closed and turned on the room lights,
revealing a full length mirror and me in it.

The view stunned me. It was me. Understated. Prettier than
I ever remember being. Beautiful. Definitely me. Me! Me?!

I was very excited. "Mistress, I'm beautiful! Are we going
out tonight? I'd really like to go out! Please?!"

"You're in luck, darling," She replied, with a laugh. "Turns
out I have a venue, a place to show you off. We're going
out. I'm pleased to see you taking a little joy in your

"Oh, thank you Mistress," I gushed.

"Don't thank me yet, dear" She replied. "There are condi-
tions, you go restrained, and you must remain within five
feet of me at all times."

"What are the consequences for failure."

"Let's say by obeying you escape the consequences. Conse-
quences I have no method to affect once set in motion."

I asked Her, "Mistress, there is a place where you have no

"Yes, dear," She replied. "That should tell you something
about the people you may meet. Still, I'm certain you'll
make quite an impression."

"Yes, Mistress, I hope I please your friends. I hope I
please you. You've pleased me so, showing me this side of

"Maybe I'm wrong," She said, "I seem to have made you happy.
At least for the moment," She mused, referring to the point
in our conversation where She said She didn't think She could
make me anything.

I just stood in the mirror admiring my new self while She
went about Her business dressing. Sapphires and diamonds
seemed to be the theme. When finished She was as pretty as I
was in Her alabaster white gown and diamond and sapphire
jewelry. She came to me and draped a coat over my shoulders
and I shared the mirror with Her a moment, then backed away
leaving Her to it.

She pointed at a bar stool and said, "Sit."

I complied and She gently ran a brush through my hair.
"Feels good," I moaned as I relaxed. When finished She said,
"It's almost time. Are you about ready?"

"Will you bind me now?" I asked.

"Just your wrists and do you want to speak or should I gag
you." She replied. She pulled my wrists away from my body
and turned my hands palms out, back to back. She locked my
wrists together with a wrist restraint; half of a pair of
hand cuffs with a 24 inch chain. She reached in and drew the
chain around my back and with a padlock secured the chain
back to itself, and my wrists to my waist.

"Soft gag." I replied.

"Are you sure dear?" She asked. I just nodded my assent.
"All right. You're a glutton for punishment."

The soft gag is a design unique to the Mistress. It begins
as a standard ball. A hole is drilled through from right
side to left. Another is drilled from the rear to the shaft
just drilled. An anchor is inserted in the rear and a screw
eye is inserted in the anchor. A ribbon or similar device is
used to secure it in the mouth.

This device itself is no more uncomfortable, or soft, than
any regular ball gag. In fact the detestably ingenious
addition to this apparatus is what caused the Mistress'
comment about glutton for punishment.

"Mistress, with the soft gag in place my concentration will
be on controlling my gag reflex. It will be difficult to
maintain the distance requirements you imposed earlier." I

"That may be true, dear," She replied.

"Might I suggest a collar and leash as a method of ensuring
my compliance."

"Oh, no," She replied, "you're on your own. However the
collar, that makes me think."

Panic gripped me. "Mistress, I know what your thinking.
Please, I beg you, No!"

"Begging, I like to hear you beg. This is all set. Open

"Mistress, please! Please don't apply the... mmm mmmmnm,"
and then literally speechless.
She inserted the gag. To the eye at the back of the gag She
had knotted on a full length condom partially filled with
liquid. Not so empty it can be pushed out of the way, not so
full I can't breath around it, the condom, because of the
ball gag, had no place to go but down my throat. The condom
brushed past my tonsils and caused me to choke briefly
bringing tears to my eyes. I moment later I regained control
and used my tongue to push the condom to the back of my
throat. Placing it in this position allows me to open up a
channel to breath past it.

The fact that the condom was only partially filled means it
is much more likely to deform and move, up, down, left,
right, I couldn't know. It made it all the more neccessary
to remain vigilante to counter the inevitable movement of the
condom. Even so, I would choke many times this evening.

Tipping my head back helps me cope with keeping the condom in
a "safe" position. What the Mistress had in mind..., "Where
did I put that neck corset? Hold on dear, I won't be a

I thought I was doomed. The neck corset, which the Mistress
was contemplating applying, tips the head forward, level,
making my chore of keeping the condom in place exceedingly

The Mistress came back into the room. "Found it, dear." She
draped it over my shoulder and cleared my hair, drawing it
around my neck. She started lacing it taut and my head
started tipping forward. Tighter and tighter, until finally
my chin was leveled and my head stopped fast. The condom
moved. I choked. I cried. It was the first time I felt
truly helpless. My heart beat fast. It took all my effort
to control my panic.

The Mistress cheerfully cried out, "Time to go." She reached
in, grabbed my elbow, and gently guided me to the elevator.
She inserted and turned the key, then swiped the ID card
through the reader. The downward lurch of the elevator
caught me by surprise. My stomach leapt into my throat where
there was precious little room. I gagged; almost wretched.
It kept running through my mind, "control, it's all about
control, this time, and from now on."

We exited the car on the ground floor. There was an
automobile waiting outside. The Mistress guided me through
the doors and into the back seat. Taking the seat beside me
She slammed the door shut. It made me start. The auto
moved. We were on our way. On our way to my doom, at least
that's what I thought.

I could tell you I was fearful. I could tell you I felt
helpless. I could tell you I was dreading upcoming events.
I could tell you I was counting the minutes to my release.
It would be a lie. I wasn't thinking about anything but that
gag rolling around in my throat. Well, that is not quite
true. I was also thinking about a way spit it out.

"I wouldn't try that." It seems that the Mistress was
watching. "Don't try to turn your head dear. Just listen.
Pushing that gag out with your tongue is impossible. If it
weren't impossible I wouldn't have used it to begin with.
Persisting will lead to a sprain. Besides the pain, in your
tongue, in your throat, in your jaw, a liquid diet is
required. It is not worth it. Stop thinking about it.
Consider that an order."

So I stopped. Why would She lie to me now?

"Relax, dear. This will be easier if you relax."

I tried. The gag slipped. I choked. I gagged. So much for
relaxation. In the meantime the car glided down.

"Concentrate on your breathing, dear," She whispered in my
ear. I didn't see Her coming and started, confused. After
all, in my ear was a voice I had become accustomed to obeying
telling me to divert my attention from an activity I thought
imperative for my survival. It took a moment to regain my
composure and comply.

"Breath more slowly, more deeply," She whispered, so low I
struggled to hear. She turned down the radio. "Deeply,...
deeply,... there." The noise of the wheels on pavement,
sometimes a swish, sometimes a whine, a thump when it went
through a pot hole, the sound of a gravel road as the stones
strike the under side of the carriage, I'd found something to
concentrate on.

"Diverting your attention is one way to relax."

The car drove on and on, but as it went on I became calmer
and quieter. My heart slowed. My breathing, though not any
easier, became more regular.

In a quiet, but audible whisper, "Well done, dear. If you
stay calm this night will go much easier on you. Who knows,
you may even enjoy yourself. I'd like you to enjoy yourself
and meet people. Don't worry, they will obviously do all the

"Do you like to dance, dear? There will be plenty of people
willing to dance." I couldn't tell Her that all I could do
was waltz. I gave Her smilling eyes anyway. She smiled
back. be continued.

* *
* Implied *
* Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, *
* And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd, -- *
* Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, *
* And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay. *
* *
* Milton's Paradise Lost, book iv, Line 307. *
* *
* Something to say from the submissive's point of view? *
* Hard to find the "right" words? Want it in a story? *
* Tell me about it by mail at *
* *


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