After taking a nearly 2 month break to get over a pretty serious illness, rediscover my passion for domination and generally clear my head from some pretty nasty personal issues, I'm ready to slip back in the corset again.  It's been a while since I had so much fun writing as yesterday, so I thought for the benefit of my readership, I would post something that made my blood sing.  Over the school Easter holidays (late this year; early to late April) I would sit down and start writing a book.  Only you, my loyal readership will be able to tell me whether this is worth my effort, so get your nasty cocks out and start with the feedback.  If I have sufficient positive feedback, I will attempt the novel that's been eating me up since I was 14 years old.

Bright blessings on you all,

Gloriana

Muse

Stand before me Muse,
For this day I will create you.

A day like today; such days should be written out of the history books, so I will write a new one on your body.  Once I would take out the fury of my day on squash balls and fletched arrowheads.  Not now.  Today I create you and you will serve me.

Stand before me Muse.

Yes, clothed as you are for I will unwrap my gift, break your eggs and create.  See, how proud you stand, tall, unbending, dark, brooding.  Like I care.  I will bend you, crush you, paint you my colours and you will be grateful for every blow.

Stand before me Muse.

Now, yes now, you hear some new song in my voice.  I sing your creation and so I will create you.  Come here, and do not pout.  There is no place for sullen glances where you stand.  You look scared, as well you should.  There is no fury that God nor Man has conceived like a woman's intent and that force is directed upon you O Muse.

Shirt first, Muse.

See how your eyes cloud, unused to this tone, unused to my intent made manifest.  Yes, the buttons.  Go smoothly, do not falter, do not tremble for you have not earned that right.

Yet.

Turn round Muse.

Show me your back, broad, muscled and taut.  There is no slack for you take pride in that which was once yours.  I can see shapes rippling under that fine pelt yearning for my hand to give them form.  There is potential within.  Now off with your trousers; quick quick for I have use for them.  Well might you sigh as I run one finger from crotch to ankle, well might you sigh for later you will

But that would be telling.

Now socks and boxers Muse.  Stand naked before me.  I marvelled once and I will marvel again at what you could become.  If I desire.  Stand tall man!  Have you no pride?  Have you no inkling of the quality that stands before me?  Yes, look at me as if I have slapped your face.  Look at that rage within, that me, a mere girl might intend creation with Apollo before her.  Yes, I pull your head to me and give you one sweet kiss.  Yes, I see your eyes close as pictures of my breasts bound and inflamed dance before your lids. 

That was then, this is now Muse.

No, you may not have more.  See as I take your trousers and bind your wrists.  See as I hang them from the pulley and you, six foot three, dangle.  I know you see for I have set the mirror before you.  Your reflection is as helpless as you are.  Ankles kicking free now are they?  This will not do.  Pinned now, divided by four feet of ash and locked in steel.  I am so pleased, how sweet you look.  How you grimace and fight the moan I see welling in your throat when I sweep one finger, ankle to femoral pulse-point.  I feel your heartbeat quicken Muse.  Is this trepidation or antici

pation?  No matter which, for it is not for you that this banquet is spread.  Keep your hunger and fear and protests behind your teeth Muse.  When I am sated, you will be nourished.  See my nine-tailed flogger?  Each strand corded charcoal silk to etch the beauty within on the beauty without.  Down comes my hand left-shoulder to right-buttock.  See how you twist Muse, see there in the mirror before you, you writhe like the worm on the hook all too cognisant of the horrors of the pool.  Down again my hand, right-shoulder, left-buttock.  Long strokes of heavy silk trace lines as indelible as my will on your vellum-bound back.  See, you dance for me, Muse.  You inspire each new pain I bring you.  Serve, serve you say; you serve me well.

Pigskin, dragon-tail to bisect you, flay out your spine, shred your oh-so-delicate rosebud beneath needle-sharp prickles.  Your lungs fill, primed to roar your pain and devotion.  Sing for me O my Muse.  Sing as David sang and please your Lady.  Your front now, left-shoulder, right-hip, slashing with knotted silk, clothing you in lividity.  Right-shoulder, left-hip blushes hard with the force as if I'd suggested something improper.

How shall I carve you Muse?  How shall I divide your front?  Fair means or foul.  Foul means or fair? 

See me braid my hair down my back, take my scissors and shear it off.  See o my Muse, see this the instrument of your intercision.  Left-arm raise, counterbalance, counterpoise and carve you larynx to cock.  Now you sing Muse.  Now your tears come crashing like cymbals and gongs.  See me tie the Hangman's Noose of my own precious hair, slip it oh so softly behind your cock and scrotum and pull it tight tight tight.  Watch me now, watch me O my Muse wind the rope round your hips and tie it tight tight tight.  Gird your loins in me O my Muse, gird them well for it shall be the blaze of my honour and frame of your inspiration.

You look glorious O my Muse.  Livid, bound and sacrified.  By this act made sacred and unsurpassable.