Archived Articles

• Tied 'N' Teased, March 2003, Issue 44

• Tied 'N' Teased, May 2003, Issue 45

• Tied 'N' Teased, July 2003, Issue 46

• Tied 'N' Teased, September 2003, Issue 47

• Tied 'N' Teased, November 2003, Issue 48

• Tied 'N' Teased, January 2004, Issue 49

• Tied 'N' Teased, March 2004, Issue 50

UK Fetish Scene, Spring/Summer 2003, Issue 01

'Interview with the Marquise'

The Marquise is an elegant woman with blonde, bobbed hair and eyes that may be blue, green or turquoise. What is beyond doubt is the intelligence shining through. The lights are on. Someone special is at home. She is slightly over six feet in her high heels and it is likely that she will be wearing high heels, also that her slim but delicately curvaceous frame will be draped in some designer outfit.
Although she has a responsible position in a difficult job she is also a dedicated scene person with many years of experience. She brings to s/m an endless stream of fresh ideas.
She has recently become a contributor to one of our sister publications Tied’N’Teased. And you can be assured that her writing will be elegant, intelligent and erotic – like the woman herself.

Should you meet The Marquise she will be dressed immaculately and her perfume and accessories will be of the highest quality.
It’s a shame that the men she consorts with may not always be of a similar quality but this may be a design flaw in human evolution. You just can’t get the staff. And it is indeed a tall order for the lesser species of mere men to come up to her exacting standards.
At one of our first meetings she was wearing an enormous hat suitable for the royal enclosure at Ascot, a well-cut cerise velvet jacket and various bits and bobs that a fashion ignoramus like me had no hope of identifying.
Fortunately she told me that her chunky chrome necklace was by Jean-Paul Gaultier.
As the Marquise has about thirty pairs of shoes it is a shame I didn't notice her footwear. She wasn't wearing one of her pairs of boots that cost upwards of three hundred quid but I have a vague recollection of pointy toes and high heels; we can be sure these items were not as sensible as her mother may have wished.

This personal ad was placed by the Marquise on Informed Consent:

What ignorant men are unlikely to ignore is the sight of a beautiful woman in fine clothes and discreetly accessorised. The general effect was of a more knowing, less innocent version of Audrey Hepburn, although she looks closer to Helen Mirren in her prime. A rude tramp actually stood in front of her on the Charing Cross Road, trying to see whether this beautiful creature was actually for real. I suppose it's one sort of compliment but also a reminder of the endless harassment women suffer. Another unfortunate reminder of harassment was when the present writer got a little over-refreshed and spent a whole evening in a leopardskin teddy and blonde wig gyrating lewdly around her sitting room in a desperate attempt to get her to play. But play isn’t really enough for the Marquise – unless she can play with your heart and soul.

Continuing in the scene through My early thirties, I felt that something was lacking in the mere enactment of a man being My slave but accepted this scenario, believing that 24/7 or total power exchange to be unworkable in reality. However, I owned a collared slave for four years and so My main BDSM interest is now the Mistress/slave relationship, involving the transfer, not just of power but also authority.

I remain interested in Bondage and Discipline as tools for reinforcing and deepening M/s, and in the application of methods and rituals to enhance the sense of ownership of My slave but My emphasis has shifted.

I am no longer interested with superficial, external methods of control,
rather I attempt to achieve a deeper understanding of a slave's thoughts and emotions. With patience, a submissive's mind and heart can then be enslaved and possessed if such be the relationship they seek.

The manners and acceptable behaviour for submissives are a relatively simple matter of training. But neither of these mean that the submissive has truly surrendered personal power of any significance. A sub may kneel to greet Me as instructed, thinking, "I'll kneel and call her Mistress then she will fulfill My fetish”. Whether this is seen as manipulation, self-centeredness or simply the only realistic way BDSM can be, if you believe the submissive in reality runs the scene, depends on your perspective. It is common-enough phenomenon, but in a 24/7 D/s relationship, it is wholly inappropriate and not inevitable.

Anyone can "bottom," that is, play a sexually submissive role during a scene, sometimes to someone they have only just met. Nothing wrong with this of course, but not where My interests lie. The internal style of enslavement is the relationship that gave me a deep sense of satisfaction and fulfillment. I enjoyed having a slave who was committed to the wider welfare of his Mistress to perform even the most mundane of duties. His thought processes no longer revolved around the personal pronouns "I" and "me." Motivation had shifted from self-gratification to deriving joy from pleasing Me, with no thoughts of receiving anything in return, save My approval. The idea of displeasing Me caused him far more anguish than any physical punishment ever could. The relationship was symbiotic. My loving him did not detract from the process or authenticity of the roles, in fact it made me expect more of him.

The vast majority of submissives have no desire for this kind of commitment or find themselves unable to achieve it if they were to attempt it. Everyone to their own of course, there is nothing here to imply that I had a superior relationship to others, simply one which was distinctly different to any previous experience in bdsm and one that I found infinitely more satisfying although it's corollary is that it requires a lot of hard work to be an owner!.

I have little desire to top a bottom, I always got very minimal enjoyment out of that. Owning someone is the greatest responsibility that I know of and has been the most fulfilling and enriching experience of My life. Only being a parent, which I am not, and have no desire to be, could compare to it. It requires me to continue to learn and grow, and constantly be one step ahead.

I am a dominant by nature, but that does not cause me to seek to be in charge of everything. It has nothing to do with being a bully. It's not all centred on sex either, it revolves around energy exchange and I am becoming increasingly interested in the links with spirituality. It's not about demanding my way all the time, that's an indication of insecurity. However, I am not interested in submissives who have many conditions.

Currently, my understanding of Dominance is about providing the focus so that others meet my requirements. There is a qualitative difference between "submission" and "surrender." Surrender is something that takes place in the heart and the mind, not under the sting of a whip. I am not interested in BDSM as an elaborate game. I live this for real, the rest is history and for some of you who are fortunate it is part of your history too...

So what will My forties bring? I remain convinced that I am an artist, not a technician. My greatest asset is my mind, not the latest piece of equipment.
And I ain't done yet!

Refreshingly, she is not one of those Dominatrixes who attempt to stay in role whatever the circumstances - often becoming an embarrassment in the process. There is no sign of Mistress-itis here. She was open and friendly as we talked, in contrast to her print persona which is much more imperious. Her fiction and reviews have appeared in a number of erotic magazines including Fetish Times and Shiny. (I have included an excerpt later on which will give you some idea of the ferocity of her writing.) While elegant and refined, she is not remotely stuck-up.

She likes to dance to Northern Soul - not the sort of activity where you usually meet It girls. She certainly likes a full programme. "There’s my Argentinean Tango nights, cinema, the theatre, and I do a philosophy class on Thursdays." She also likes tea at the Ritz, riding in Hyde Park and Grand Opera, although The Marquise finds the plots unsuitable for some of her male escorts. She would prefer to see fewer downtrodden women and a bit more female empowerment.

"It's a shame that whenever they feature a femme fatale they have to die or be punished in some way,” she says. She makes up for this by not allowing her slaves to look at the stage if she feels they may be affected by unsuitable images of women. When her slaves accompany her to an art gallery they must gaze at her heels. They may lift their eyes only when The Marquise feels the picture will not them give them ideas above their station. In restaurants she orders for her slaves - who are paying, naturally. When attending the Globe Theatre to see Shakespeare as it might have been presented in the bard’s day she will be upstairs with the quality while her slaves must be down in the pit with the groundlings.

She is a jazz fanatic - amazing in itself when most fans are about sixty plus – or already dead - but she likes to be challenged by this complex yet rewarding music. Her horse riding is good training for the occasional slaves who wish to be harnessed and ridden. She has been a member of a fetish pony-carting club, enjoying the sight of naked buttocks jiggling up and down as she whipped them along.
Anyone eager to see this Goddess in the flesh should attempt to find one of the rare screenings of the work of avant-garde film-maker Steve Dwoskin. His stuff sometimes surfaces at venues such as the ICA or perhaps on Channel Four, usually around three a.m.. Dwoskin has a big reputation among those who claim to enjoy narrative-free cinema, (i.e. some, but not all, avant-garde film directors and about three art students) but you may rest assured that, whatever the grinding tedium of the rest of the proceedings, The Marquise looks stunning on the screen. I was privileged to see one of Dwoskin’s shorts, shot by himself in that shaky camera style which may have been intentional. The theme of this was a schoolboy showing his teacher how he masturbated and her punishing him for being so rude. With the director handling himself as well as the camera. This may explain a certain huskiness in his voice and shortness of breath as the proceedings developed. But then who wouldn’t be losing control as The Marquise unveiled her full, firm breasts for her ‘schoolboy’ audience. As Lady Boss is one of her favourite looks she doesn’t tend to flaunt these magnificent appendages. They are a discreet but insistent presence. It may also be a little early in an article to froth on about a lady’s underwear but she recently had an amusing encounter with the jazz singer George Melly at Ronnie Scotts. She wasn’t going to wait in the endless queue for the ladies so she nipped into the Gents. “Oh very good,” boomed the old goat, “Don’t want to get your Anne Summers knickers wet, now do we?” “They’re Agent Provaceteur actually,” she replied.

Her persona throughout the film was kind and considerate, not as hard and vicious as I had expected from some of her fiction, which often has an icy Other World Kingdom feel to it. The video was lovely and charming, a far cry from another she showed me which featured three stone-faced Essex girls in PVC effing and blinding their way round a shopping centre.
In contrast to these somewhat brash young ladies, The Marquise has been around long enough to have acquired a gentle, understated presence. Younger, coarser Dommes sometimes betray their lack of experience: The Marquise has matured well having been involved in public s/m games for twelve years, what is sometimes called 'the scene'. And whatever you may have done in private you will probably find that public interaction raises the stakes. Being an all-powerful dominatrix is hard when there is just one person in the audience, keeping up the pose in public is as hard as playing a part on a stage. There are lines to remember, difficult audiences, the occasional fluff to surmount.

What does she want from her slaves?
"I want obedience. Heartfelt worship!" She smiled again. A particularly fiendish form of torment is making slaves write her poetry. And it's not easy either. They may have to write an acrostic on her name. This is a poetic form in which the first letter of each line spells out a word or several words downwards. Here's one respectfully dedicated to the Marquise;

Tyrannical
Haughty
Exceptional

Magnificient
Autocratic
Refined
Queenly
Unique
Intelligent
Superb
Elegant

All of the previous is true, but I dare say that the Marquise would have preferred it to have taken a few weeks rather than a few minutes. She sets her slaves difficult compositional tasks and then says, "be concise and lucid. By Friday!"
"What was the worst thing you made a slave do?" I asked.
A lovely smile appeared. "I made a QPR fan wear an Arsenal shirt for a day."
"Was that so hard for him?" I asked, terminally ignorant of football etiquette.
"Oh yes, he was in agony. I used a slave as a mattress while my boyfriend fucked me. I like it when they're not good enough for me."
The Marquise likes to keep her image intact and also for scenes to be serious and long-lasting. I recalled an earlier conversation we had on the subject of the sort of sloppy sex parties I attend; free and easy events where people get stuck in on arrival with many a quip along the way. "I'm not saying anything against it but I don't really like what I call 'the cheerful bum-bashers'," she said.

She much prefers psychological torture. Like some other dominatrixes I know she hoots with laughter at some of the things she has managed to make men do.

Many heterosexual men can't stand dancing. In fact, nearly all of them can’t unless drunk or drugged. So her slaves have to dance to burlesque music like 'The Stripper' theme. And they must bump and grind like a real lapdancer. "They always hate it," she said, with a fond smile. Slaves will also have to sing to her in a number of styles - usually what they're least comfortable with, too high or too low for their voice, whatever makes them sound most ridiculous. Having to sing 'Ten Green Bottles' as an opera-singer, a rock'n'roller and a jazz scat singer is probably more cruel than any mere thrashing. Flesh can recover. But the mental scars left by this sort of humiliation will remain for ever.

"Are you attempting to destroy their personality? To break them down completely?"
"Preferably" she said, laughing.
If her slaves want to play with themselves during a session they have to kiss her feet. Just as I was thinking this might well be a profitable way of spending the rest of my life she said; "and I'm always raising my feet just that little bit higher so they have to crane their necks upwards." You might think you can't win with 'ordinary' women: playful Dominatrixes are in another league altogether.

I asked her about her outfits; expecting to hear a long list of various uniforms and outfits making up the 'theatrical wardrobe' that some sex workers still advertise. But, rather than the familiar rubber or leather Goddess persona, The Marquise prefers to play the part of the Lady Boss. She wears haut couture well.

"I'm always fair," she says, talking about scenes. This means that once the rules of a scene have been established she will stick to them. Having said that, the rules are similar to those insisted upon by Casinos. There is an inbuilt bias toward 'the house', not that there needs to be. Submissives are usually trying to 'lose', although mostly they are trying to lose an identity which may be socially acceptable but does not fit all of their needs and desires.

It can be liberating to lose one's ego and social identity for the sake of prolonged bliss. And it takes courage to do so, but that's enough about those who would worship. We really should be focussing on the object of adoration; her many admirers would certainly prefer it that way.
"What do you personally get out of it?" I asked.
"It's the power exchange, the groveling, the humiliation. I like the progression, taking a slave through a long scene. She particularly enjoys bondage, wrapping her submissives in complex layers of knotted rope that give aesthetic pleasure to the onlooker, in addition to the sexual thrills enjoyed by all concerned. She interviews her slaves in detail before starting on a scene as she specialises in psychological torment rather than mere physical brutality. She can certainly dish it out with the best of them though.

Men who are occasionally masochist on their own terms need not apply. She doesn't need tourists: only real slaves will do.
Despite her earthy sense of humour, she does not swear. At one point she referred to an ex-lover as 'taking the Michael', a more refined version of a phrase we are all familiar with. Perhaps her refreshing lack of profanity is a legacy of a religious faith she kept till her early twenties. There remains an exasperation both with the established church and her earlier God - both of which I would agree are too male-orientated. And why worship anyone else when you can personify divinity? Like many another female Goddess she has decided that if you want something doing properly, you have to do it yourself...

"If you must invoke a deity, invoke the Goddess in this house."
This comes from one of her stories, all of which are at the harder edge of fem-dom fiction. "In the domicile of Mistress Violet and Miss Laura" features a man who has his head shaved before preliminary whipping and bondage. The tale concludes..."The unfathomable Mistress Violet leads her prey towards the bedroom and he thinks of the embrace of Miss Laura. This is how they have begun to tame him by giving him hope that there is the possibility of conventional sex at the end of his quest. The truth is that he will never reach perfection and will therefore not be fit to sleep with either of the two ladies. It may be possible that they will desire penetration but this will be granted as a rare privilege, which he must spend his days in unending toil for. Even then he will be masked and tied. He will be totally passive, fucked unmercifully with Mistress Violet's dildo so that he is reminded that even if he does enter the temple of their mystery he will never ever have them in any sense. He is nothing more and nothing less than a useful appendage to them."

Well that's us told. There is of course a vulnerable person who has been hurt many times also inhabiting the same body as The Marquise, but her slaves have no idea of her existence. The mask does not slip. Most men have no idea how difficult it is to be a woman - in a number of ways - but 'merely' looking conventionally good requires a lot of care and attention. That's before you start wearing six inch heels and squeezing yourself into skin tight rubber.

"Men don't make enough effort with clothes," she said, a familiar scene complaint. And it's true that too many elderly chaps wonder around in the nude fiddling with themselves when the objects of their desire have spent three hours getting ready to make a spectacular entrance. All of her slaves wear a figure of eight made of rope on their breast pocket by their hearts.

She has been known to buy job lots of uniforms and did persuade one man to change his entire wardrobe to her specifications - incorporating her personal crest - but she still has a lot of work to do, given the state of many submissive men.

Men wishing to worship this particular Goddess had better start saving up for the tributes she requires; holidays, jewelry - that sort of thing. The Marquise wears fully-fashioned nylons at fifteen pounds a pair. The seam in these is woven into the original fabric. It may be hard to see the difference between these and high quality fakes but she knows the difference and once you've set high standards for yourself it's very hard to go back. It's all part of stepping into the character that her slaves yearn for - the beautiful, all-powerful unobtainable goddess. One of these fortunate men has worshipped her for eleven years. "He's nearly perfect," she said, a faint smile on her lovely face. For there can be no end to the process of transformation. There's always a few more adjustments to make; punishments to be administered, rewards to be bestowed upon those deserving of them. The journey never ends. "I'm a great believer in training," said a formidable lady at a recent party. And there are many men out there who would just love to be trained by The Marquise. They had just better be prepared to devote every fibre of their being to pleasing her; nothing less will do…

Written by Mark Ramsden
Photography by James & James
Makeup by Anita Brulee
Clothing by Inner Sanctum
& Atsuko Kudo

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