Paladin

The world goes wrong when D/s becomes d/S.

Submission is a deliverance, of responsibilities.

Domination is the imprisonment of responsibilities.

Some years later I was walking up Piccadilly in London’s west end, when I was startled from my thoughts by someone calling my name.

I turned and saw that it was a woman, who only seconds before I had just walked straight by.

For a moment, I was at a loss as to who this woman was who had called out my name, a name known only to those who inhabit my world of D/s.

“It’s me, Rosina”, this woman said, “don’t you remember me?”

Momentarily I was lost for a reply, for of course I remembered Rosina, it was a rare day I had not thought of her and cursed myself for missing the chance she had offered me to possess that which I had coveted so painfully all those years ago.

But this was not the Rosina I knew.

Embarrassingly, we exchanged pleasantries. I asked her how she was and she said well, which belied her looks and figure which had become anorexic and ugly.

She asked me if I was still a Master and I said that I was and had a good young submissive at that moment whom I was training.

I asked her if she had a Master and she nodded, seeming to not want to go further on the subject.

I told her that I had, because of my work, moved to the Midlands.

She said she still lived in North London, and could never imagine living anywhere else.

One dead end question led to another and at last, I said that I had to go as I had a train to catch and a seat booked.

The awkwardness of the moment was unbearable.

We were like two lovers who had fallen out of love over some silly dispute and both regretted our stubbornness, but would not concede our guilt.

Finally, I made a move to go and as I did Rosina caught my arm.

She looked at me with such sadness that I felt my heart melt.

“You could have saved me,” she said and let go of my arm and walked away.

I never heard from or about her again, and to this day I do not know what cards fate dealt her.

I often wondered if what Rosina had said that day on Piccadilly was true, and did I deserve the guilt she so obviously believed I should carry for her degeneration.

Perhaps I could have saved her.

But then again, perhaps, she could have ruined me.

Was it ever that important?

Then there was a funeral.

A well-known Dom in our circle died of AIDS and I attended the funeral.

I was without a submissive at that time, and so went on my own.

Rosina was there with her owner, surprisingly the same one she had had the previous time I had seen her.

Like so often happens fate plays a trump card and the game suddenly changes.

Her Master, a man known for his excesses, became too drunk to drive and I was asked if would drop both Rosina and her Master off at her Master’s apartment.

For nearly a decade, Rosina and I had never exchanged a word, only glances, which in themselves, now I look back, were tiny intimacies

Once in the apartment we manhandled her Master into bed, and I made to leave.

“Can you not help me”, she asked, at the apartment door and, knowing what she meant, I replied, that honour bade me that I could not?

Soon after I moved from London and lost touch with all the old group.

New submissives came and went, but I could never rid myself of what might have been, had I not allowed honour to stand in my way to having Rosina.

Continuation:

Every now and again I would see her, in the clubs, or at a D/s party. She seemed always to have a different Master or Mistress from the time before.

If anything, she was more beautiful than ever, more desirable and her obedience was often shaming to other subs and their owners.

Yet, to my eyes there was something missing.

That sparkle that a submissive has when they are content and at ease with themselves, knowing they are owned.

Rosina, for that was her name, lacked that look, and when I looked closely at her owners I wondered if she were more trophy than submissive, that she was more actress than owned.

We had never spoken.

Yet from time to time we would catch each other’s eye and there was a kind of questioning in her look.

A sort of plea for help.

For my part, she could never had failed to see that I desired her for my own.

That I longed to have her as my submissive.

But there is a code, amongst Master’s, well at least amongst those who are gentlemen as well, and I would not approach her and break the code.

TBC:

I met her at a club frequented by the D/s community, back in the eighties.

She was looking for a Master, I was on the scout for a submissive, or even a slave.

She was beautiful, and I got the sense that she knew it.

In those days I was still learning, but knew enough to know she wasn’t for me.

I watched her work the room, albeit by just standing in the same space looking demure, innocent and, oh so very desirable.

Her skill was in drawing Master’s and Mistresses to her, and then, having got their attention she would somehow step into that area of proximity, the psychologists call a person’s, ‘personal space’. It is that space where intimacy begins and things can start to happen.

Well healed Masters and Mistresses were her prey and, I was told, she had fed well and had never gone hungry.

TBC

“You're not a very nice person, are you?"
"I was once"
"What happened"
"Life"

“Please Master, may I ask a question? “

“You may. “

“May we make an exception to one of the rules Master? “

"That is not so easy as you may think, sub."

“Once a thing, in this case a rule, has an empirical presence it is a real thing and therefore it 'exists’.“

“Our rules exist, they are real things. “

“If we make an exception to a rule that exception then becomes a rule, a new rule. “

“Now we have two rules in conflict with each other. “

“So, no, we cannot make an exception to a rule. “

“We will have to make a new rule. “

“I want you to imagine that you are my submissive…”

“That I own you...”

“That I have complete power over you...”

“And that you must do whatever I demand of you…”

“Can you imagine that?”

“I can Master…”

“But Master, I am your submissive…”

“Why do I have to imagine it?”

“Ah! My innocent young sub… “there's the rub”

Beware of the Dominant who behind the facade is no more than abully.