MISTRESS IN BLACK (wicked wednesday)

Black. Black lace. Black leather. Black latex. Just black. What is it? The contrast with the pale skin? The absence of colour? Why is it so easy to fetishise black? I know I do.

In my recent double Domme session with Mistress Elita and her Dominatrix colleague, Mistress A, the latter wore an all-over black latex catsuit that incorporated a corset. It was very similar to the one in the image below. Mistress A looked no less stunning, a vision in skin tight latex.

If you’d asked my what style of Dominatrix dress I prefer, I would probably have described something more revealing, but Mistress A is already a striking woman and, shaped and defined by the latex, she was as beautiful an apparition as I’ve ever been presented with.

The latex highlighted her body while simultaneously making her off/limits; it accentuated her otherness, emphasised somehow that I was in the presence of a High Priestess of her people, someone fully in command of herself and those around her. Submission to this vision in black was not an intellectual challenge; it came naturally. To have her calm, penetrating gaze fall upon me was to become hers in some deep and uncontrollable way.

Despite not being, in many ways, a natural submissive, I was happy to give myself up to this person. Had she wanted me to kneel, I’d have knelt for her, without embarrassment or discomfort, marvelling that so ethereal and wondrous a creature was willing to pay attention to me.

I recall a particular passage of play; me over a bench, Elita in front of me, somehow both offering me comfort while urging Mistress A onwards, seemingly enjoying the contradiction inherent in those two acts. Mistress A had a single tail whip. It felt different to Elita’s, somehow more weight in its end, so some thud arrived with all the bite. A fearsome weapon that, it having been used earlier in the session, I was, indeed, in fear of.

I look round at her. She is Catwoman with her whip, a vision in black latex, and I am her victim. I can’t take my eyes off her, as she swings the whip at me. Its impact is fire, it’s a knife, it’s steel cord cutting into me. I lunge forward, grabbing Elita’s arm in shock. Again and again; high, low, hardly any pause, wrapping round onto my thighs; I’m gasping, I’m fighting, I’m desperately needing it to stop. The safeword surges into my mouth like bile and, like bile I know I absolutely have to spit it out.

But…But…

Its the sight of her that stops me. The turn of her lithe, black-clad body, the force she puts into the whip, the way time slows so I can see the acceleration of the end just before it reaches my tender skin, knowing where the pain will be before it comes. 

It’s Elita that stops me, so beautiful in her lingerie in front of me, holding me, telling me how well I am doing. She’s both enjoying and sympathising with my anguish, and both reactions are equally erotic to me.

The scene is so unreal, so filmic, so fucking beautiful, that I don’t want to dismantle it. I’m just as much part of it as they are; we are three actors who have made this together and my strength, my resistance, is what allows it to exist.

So I take thee next strike of her whip and the one after that. I bloody well take them all.

I never intended to write this post but, having already added a Wicked Wednesday badge to yesterday’s, I spotted that this week’s theme was black and that reminded me of Mistress A. I wrote it quickly, fingers bashing the keys. The last part (in italics) just flew out of me, only the spelling later corrected. When I got to the end I realised I was breathing hard, almost panting with the force with which I had been transported back to Mistress A’s lair.

Bloody hell. This is quite a road I’m on now. I wonder where it leads next.

(There’s a more detailed description of this session and it’s after effects, as well as some images here)

More Black Wednesday wickedness here: