The Goddess Chronicles

Assisting the Countess today was her private secretary d, who supported her in all her endeavours and was considered with jealousy by others. He held her in fascinated admiration and helped her to present a desired image to the outside world, supporting her in everything and anything she desired. As her trusted confidant he was an assistant in her journey to know herself and his priorities were the same as hers, female. His mask was that of a falcon, a heavy hood of black leather covering his face apart from small eye and nose holes, and laced tightly at the back. A thick dog collar was around his neck with a tag, bearing the inscription "Property of the Countess". He was dressed neatly and impeccably in the braided livery of a three-piece white suit. His will was almost totally attuned to hers, which made him close to achieving the blessed state of being the ultimate slave. He was at this moment acting as her footstool, while quill in hand, the Countess tried to elucidate the principles of her calling. She threw the paper to the ground and kicked him with her pointed stiletto shoes. He instinctively knew what she wanted and made her a drink, resuming his position but this time retrieving the paper and checking her work for errors. The tedious job of proofreading was not one that fitted her station.

As a perfectionist, the task of committing to paper the darting thoughts that appeared like lucid flashes in her mind sometimes eluded her. On other occasions, her quill seemed to have a demented mind of its own, and then she felt like a conduit as if a force outside her wanted this sacred tract written. Her writing was based on the school she ran for aspiring Mistresses. Women came from all over the world to practise on slaves who volunteered their services. Being the overseer of this organisation was exceptionally demanding, but she embodied the elegance of another age, behaving according to her impulses, never measuring the consequences of seeking that which she desired or rather needed.

As well as her indomitable will, the Countess's image assailed you. She stood over six feet tall and looked as if she was about to devour the world. Her almond-shaped eyes were striking, their flashing incandescence having just a touch of dark cruelty. They were a strange mixture of blue and green with small, golden flecks that seemed almost iridescent. Her long, blonde hair was bound up with a slide in the shape of a knot. Her slim, curvaceous figure was corseted to a 20-inch waist and her bosom, firm but tantalisingly soft, thrust forward atop her powerful shapely hips and legs. It was impossible to guess her age; although her sort of sophistication and style almost never came with youth, it was rumoured she might be forty.

Great care and attention were given to her clothes; all were skin tight, of sensual fabrics, black leather and rubber being particular favourites and she held a serious fetish for high-heeled shoes and boots. Her great attention to detail enabled her to choose eye-catching accessories, including a vast selection of gloves and a necklace of emerald and diamond gemstones. Superstition had grown up around her enchantment and some said it was the jewel that had the power to hypnotise a man. In truth it was her will and body that controlled them but her mystique was increased by myths. She did nothing to disabuse anyone, her masterpiece would set down the eternal truths of her ancient art, dispelling with superstition. It was no surprise that people sought a supernatural explanation for her force. What else could explain her personal magnetism, the contained, disciplined energy? This was something she could not impart to women who wished to practise her way of life; she could only cultivate what they had within them.

Her home was lavishly ornate. In the large room where she studied, enormous, ornate gilt mirrors adorned the walls, which only she was permitted to look into and she viewed herself often. This self-satisfaction and absorption was unnerving for a slave, being reminded of her disregard for them. Sumptuous fabrics covered the furniture and beautifully bound books graced the library shelves on two walls. The Byzantine influence of Venice was everywhere, the walls covered in silk and the splendid windows with their heavy cream curtains tied with gold twill. A dramatic long black table displayed gifts from the many men who had been in thrall to her, eclectic objects in a baroque setting, from all cultures and centuries, depicting the theme of decadent eroticism. She had broken the hearts of all these men; being, and feeling superior to them she had always exceeded their challenge. These tokens represented the trophies of her conquests. The room was lit from a chandelier, a confection of baroque crystal and amethyst and unusual shaped candles. Three coromandel screens, wildly decorated with fantastic and mythological creatures, added to the extravagant atmosphere still further.

The question that so vexed her was how to make people understand that she practised an art and a science. When she wielded her whip to bite into the swollen, smarting flesh of her inferiors she inflicted intense, insidious wonder-working pain. She laid her marks on immodest bottoms in a way that those being disciplined never forgot, but it wasn't a mere brutality that she exercised. As a predator and tamer of men, her methods ensured that slaves gained the necessary skills and attitudes to serve another person. Her lessons were rarely easy and her means often subtle, accomplished by penetrating into the minds of submissives. She revelled in reigning over the so-called lords of creation, knocking them about like puppets, trampling them ruthlessly beneath her heels. She felt a peculiar thrill run through her as her divinely modelled legs walked all over them or the glories of her bust bore down on them, suffocating them between her magnificent cleavage. She derived deep satisfaction from ordering their lives and to see tasks she had outlined performed with skill, devotion and initiative. Men were captive and powerless to do anything but desire her madly. The ardour of her sex attracted them; its fierce fire burned, but greater than even her passion for making men the objects of her savage sexual attention was the tutoring of a sisterhood.

Her school was renowned in discreet circles for employing the best techniques and turning out the most obedient slaves, some sold to prestigious owners. There was a demand amongst rich women for men who thought of nothing but their pleasure, especially when the hard work of reconditioning them had been taken care of. She preferred to own, give or sell men rather than work as a professional dominatrix. No amount of money could persuade her to make a mere male's fantasies come true. For the privilege of being part of her fantasy a male must pay dear, with his life if necessary, and what she had them do might have little or no bearing on their conception of being dominated. Having formed a reputation for offering something ethereal and rare, only true acolytes found their way to her. Slaves lived in right relation to themselves once she had divined their deep need to serve. Dominant women learnt not to allow their gift to be abused or exhausted, as well as acquiring an expertise in erotic pain and corporal punishment that made them the superior of any man in the world.

The Countess resumed her work, using her slave as a table. She issued the command "Strip"; perhaps working on his prostrate, naked frame would inspire her. She struggled to explain the pleasures of relaxing out of an ego state and into the sensual flow of intensely shared energy; that her world was atavistic, intimately bound up with spirituality and mysticism; what satisfaction there was in having a slave take you to their deepest places and elaborate their darkest fantasies. Her greatest skill was in determining a slave's temperament and then tailoring her training methods so that he would respond with the minimum of problems.

With those who only had an acquaintance with the school and not its proprietor, they might have supposed that the woman behind the academy was austere. This was because the building was decorated in black and white, minimalist in design both without and within. The only decorative touches were tall, plain vases filled with gardenias. The Countess could not have been more different; she had a passion for life and a reverence for luxury and love. The training rooms had to be free of distraction and she believed that the art was provided through the work, a living tableau. There was no need for furniture or statues; there were plenty of slaves that could be used in place of these objects.

Mistresses were guided not to rely on complicated equipment, no matter how impressive, but to concentrate on the link forged with a slave that a whipping stool was powerless to bestow. It was a central tenet of her philosophy that all men revealed who they truly were when dominated, which meant no one knew a man as well as a Mistress. Exercises were designed to facilitate an ability to reach inside a slave. It was possible to pass on her methods by repetition but like a language it was better to understand the underlying grammar than parrot a few words.

The Countess stopped for lunch. d guided her to a tent pitched in an adjoining room that he had built with painstaking care. He had furnished it with sumptuous fabrics, of crimson, violet and gold, the colours of her crest, and tropical plants. She lounged on a richly upholstered chaise longue in purple velvet, languorous as an empress, reclining on the leather cushions that were embroidered with her insignia, a figure of eight knot, and finished with tiny mirrors. This ottoman was placed on a carpet of hand-woven silk. The centrepiece was a fountain made of multi- coloured mosaics. Agreeably she heard the water's rejuvenating sound and smelt the burning of aromatic herbs.

The Countess outlined what she wanted and d was given specified time and materials to execute her wishes. Her request had been for an ancient shrine to luxury, a pleasure garden with an oriental feel. She was satisfied with the result, especially when two Adonis-like slaves performed an erotic dance, and another recited an ancient Middle Eastern poem, praising the rose as the greatest symbol of love. d did not view being a procurer of men for her unappeasable appetite ignoble, even when he knew that in some cases this meant fine specimens might experience her in a way he never would. At a snap of her fingers d began to massage her shoulders. The Countess gazed into the distance through a cloud of smoke, from her cigarette residing in a long amber holder, smoking with ostentatious adroitness and with disdain, as if she were observing the world beyond the one she had created. She felt a responsibility to relay the blueprint that led to a luminous and ecstatic escape from the suffocating squalor of life. Surrounding herself with mystery increased her attraction so the book would be published after she had moved abroad. There was nothing she cared about enough to regret its loss and she would reinvent herself.

Her food arrived on plates monogrammed with a double M, the cutlery made of silver. Picking at the delicious sweetmeats, she decided to visit the school. It was obvious she was not going to get much writing done today. She snapped open her fan, which was fashioned from mother of pearl ribs and great plumes of white feathers, decorated with a stylised version of her crest. d proceeded to gently fan her. Then she permitted him to eat baby food from a dog bowl, as befitted his delicate stomach, and lie on his back to drink milk from a baby's bottle.

The Countess indicated that her carriage was to be prepared. d gave the order and then assisted her to change, executing her dress and makeup impeccably and with great precision. She shuddered as he applied her lipstick, it always excited her to have this intimate service from him. He knew exactly what her riding outfit comprised. A short, rubberised mackintosh, gleaming leather riding boots with elaborate silver spurs, leather gauntlet gloves, close fitting leather jodhpurs, a veiled dressage hat and a rubber-riding whip, all in stark black. d began to paint her fingernails a deep purple, blowing on them to dry before affixing her gloves. Seeing her standing there, hands on hips, d was awestruck. His face looked like that of a frightened fawn and momentarily this elicited a feeling of cruelty in her. She gave the command "present" and he bent from the waist holding the back of his knees whilst she viciously slashed his bottom with her riding crop. He hadn't done anything wrong; she didn't need an excuse, she simply felt like working off some frustration. She needed a whipping boy and he gladly accepted a continued rainfall of strokes. Then he was knocked to the floor.

She roughly strode past him, her riding boots echoing on the marble floored hall as she marched to the stables. He crawled, wriggling on his belly after her. The air was thick with dust and the smell of straw and leather. The human horses had been tethered to the carriage and their elaborate headpieces were fitted, harnesses with black feather plumes. Black butt plugs bulged from their cheeks with real horsehair tails attached. She never tired of seeing men bridled, and watching their swaying bottoms as they provided transportation. Gracefully entering her carriage she pulled the reins high, as she wanted their heads held in an awkward yet classical position. In their blinkers they could not see her but could only slavishly respond to her expert control on the reins. They were honoured to reside in the shafts of her chariot and neighed, whinnied and snorted at the sound of her voice. On cart duty today were b and g. b's endowment was almost three inches thick when erect and swollen as it was now. g was hard and muscular. They made a fetching pair. Working horses, with their feet forced into boots on which a horseshoe had been nailed, the cruelly elevated position forcing their legs to be displayed to their best shape and advantage. Girth belts were about their waists; tied so tight they could hardly breathe. She indicated to the stable Mistress that she would like a tight cock band secured around b's cock before they could proceed; it would be completely unacceptable for him to shoot off whilst Madam was trying to enjoy a genteel ride. The strap included a small tight harness for his balls that made them stand out proudly. The riding mistress, Midnight, suggested that g should be made to wear the same contraption and the Countess agreed. He was fitted, stirred within himself by the sight of Midnight's blood red dragon lady fingernails.

A long riding whip with a carved handle lay beside the Countess. She forcefully picked it up and slashed it across their backs, "Move" she commanded and they went forward. "Keep those hoofs and heads high," she cried as she drove them on. d's role was as a dog at her side, running after the carriage. He wasn't good on all fours, and he scampered rather clumsily. His main area of deficiency was his poor physical condition. He made up in devotion what he lacked in athleticism but there were certain duties he was unsuitable for, being an unredeemable weakling. He yapped as he tried to keep up, running along on his hands as she drove along the deserted country road. The Countess was amused by this display from her grovelling acrobat; "You men are really ill-trained animals". d's only reply was to whimper in a pitiful, soft puppy voice, which he knew by experience was the only way to temper her mood. The Countess's orders grew more violent as she continued to slash outward with the whip, crisscrossing her pony boys' backs in red stripes.

It was a short distance from her home to the school and they had never been observed. d dreaded the day when they would be seen, three naked men reduced to animals to please her. While she ascended, via the day's events, to a further pinnacle of her art, to her slaves it was just a circle of anticipation and inevitable degradation. The cycle for her was a spiral through similar events, each day bringing a refinement in detail, another "lord of creation" brought to heel. For subordinates the start was the end, the end the start, and another round of subjugation. She realised that her supreme treatise must reflect this. It would end as it began; the last word, unintelligible to a male reader chancing upon the tome, would be "begin". Males would read and reread the same words, an endless repletion of their own selected fantasies. A woman with the "gift" would understand the deep message of the Goddess within. Poor fools, she thought, a soft smile on her lips. Now, dear reader, begin!

Marquise