"Are we alright in there Thomas?"
"Aye, everything's peachy. It's a whole other world in here! Nae stress & nae bother, ye ken?"
"Aye, I was in there myself yesterday. I can still taste & smell
the memory."
"Aye, youknowzit Christine..!"
Thomas does possess a great line in patter, really makes me chuckle. He
totally hams up his Scottishness for my amusement. It's like being in a
benign version of an Irvine Welsh novel, only with no drugs & a lot
less violence.
I skip & dance over to the toybag. Kneeling down I have a good &
thorough rummage. I select a riding crop, a feather duster, some nipple
clamps, a huge bag of dildo's & butt plugs, a large bottle of lube
and a small bottle of amyl nitrate (Oops, there goes
the 'no drugs'. But still, it's pretty tame compared to smack,
right?!).
Now I'm really in a state of what artists call flow. I affect a posh inner voice, and announce to myself : "But I
am an artist, daaaarrrling!" A pro-domme friend of mine puts
'Performance Artist' on her tax returns, and I might just start doing
the same. Pro-domming
is a form of performance art when done well (and when it's done badly!).
Although right now I don't feel like I'm performing. Instead I feel I'm inhabiting
the role, and truly living it. I embody the many excesses of 'The Method'.
Rather than acting I'm simply 'being'. And loving every second of it.
I look at my selection of implements, and smile to myself. "Now what would The Artist like to play with first? Hmmm...The Artist is spoiled for choice methinks...".
After considering the options, I zone in on the poppers. Thomas is
already deep in subspace inside that hood. He's in a deep state of
relaxed arousal.
But what I want is to crank his intensity levels right up to eleven in
one feel swoop! And the quickest & easiest way to do that right
now is with a big hit of poppers...
I just about manage to balance all the gear on my arms & under my
chin. It's neither a very dignified nor sexy look, but he's wearing a
hood with the eye blackout strip of latex firmly affixed over his eyes.
So I'm allowed this little uncouth luxury, as you
Dear Reader are allowed this little 'backstage' peek.
I creep up to the bed, and stand beside him grinning. Before dumping
the entire load (steady on now! 
) onto his belly without warning. He emits a muffled panicked
yelp, before registering my barely stifled giggles.
"Arghhh Christine, you got me like a good'un. Touche!"
"You haven't seen the half of it yet. Not that you'll earn the gift of sight anytime soon though, I suspect."
"I'm all ears. And nipples & mouths &...whatever other areas you deem appropriate to misappropriate."
"...is the correct answer, Thomas. Well done!"
I unscrew the lid from the bottle of poppers. And take
a small whif myself, for silliness’ sake. Although to be fair I do want to get a fair gauge of the correct dosage to give him, so it makes sense to have a wee whiff.
All
of a sudden I feel like legendary Chemist & 60’s Psychedelic Innovator Alexander Shulgin. As well as a genuine Artist, lost in a state of
flow
Plus mildly intoxicated now, to boot! I'm building up quite a roll-call of silly alter ego's today.
As the Amyl works it's warm wonders across my brain, I move in for the kill...
tbc...
