“Accidentally my ass.”

D’jaevle says “Not wearing white today, by any chance, are you?”

Madeleine laughs. “No…”

D’jaevle says “Damnation. So much for accidentally knocking water onto your pretty white clothes.”

Madeleine says “Accidentally my ass.”

D’jaevle says “You sure you want to bring your ass into it?”

Madeleine says “Not entirely, no. :)”

D’jaevle says “Just part of your ass?”
D’jaevle looks you over with a slow spreading smile.

Madeleine just looks at the ceiling.

D’jaevle circles you and then places a hand on your upper back, forcing you forward, stumbling close to the wall. His hands slip down your ass slowly, feeling the curves through the layers of clothing.

Madeleine glances up at you and murmurs, ‘Stop making me want you so damn much.’

D’jaevle moves his hands to your waist, pulling you back hard against him, your ass rubbing along the length of the hard lump in his jeans, “Or what?”

Madeleine whimpers. “Or… I may get weak(er) in the knees…”

D’jaevle presses closer, grinding your ass back against him, his voice low, “It might be hard, but I can live with you getting weak…in the knees…”

Madeleine leans her head back against your shoulder, her breath hot along your jawline. And whimpers again. “It’s not fair to tease me this way when you’re so far away…”

When is a Kiss Just a Kiss?

Sometimes I dream of a kiss.

D’jaevle lowers his head to draw your lower lip into his mouth.

Katelin closes her eyes tightly, kissing you back more intensely, hungrily, her tongue searching for yours, not even realizing anything else but your lips and your kiss. She breathes out slowly.

D’jaevle smiles, but it is hidden against your skin as he slowly traces a line of small kisses along the front of your throat.

Katelin moans and presses close to you, lost in your kisses, not paying attention to anything but that.

D’jaevle draws back just slightly, his voice soft, “When was the last time you felt this?”

Katelin says, “Oh……too long ago…”


Eyes, said to be the gateway of the soul. The difference between staring and gazing is…what? The barrier of soul being raised or lowered?

I’ve seen pretty eyes, sorrowful eyes, intent eyes – yet I do not believe that you see through them and into a person. They tell just as much when closed, as when open.

Let us take your eyes, for example.

Do they look away during a particularly intimate moment of the conversation? Do they flicker down and to the side when I mention how warm your skin is? Do they widen when my fingers find the pulse on your wrist? Do they go half-lidded when I whisper the details of my plans for you? Do they close entirely the first time my teeth find that spot along your inner thigh?

D’jaevle leans over and whispers softly, “If I were to fuck you, how would you want it?”

Madeleine hmmms. “I think I’d want you on top of me, so I could look into your eyes.”

D’jaevle looks down at you, “Could you hold my gaze while I slid into you?”

Madeleine says “It would be hard… but I think I could try.”

D’jaevle draws the hair from your face again, “The whole time I drove into you?”

Madeleine nods. “I think I’d like to try… I can imagine it would make me squirm.”

D’jaevle says “Yes, it would. Especially if you saw in my eyes what I think you would.”

Madeleine says “What do you think I would see?”

D’jaevle says “You sure you want to know?”

Madeleine nods.

D’jaevle says “I think you would see me taking everything away from you. Each time I slid inside, you would see me laying you open, driving into you just exactly where I’ve placed you.”

Madeleine says “Or I’d see anger. I often think you look angry when you’re above me that way. It makes me feel very small and helpless.”
Madeleine says “Which, of course, I kinda like. ;)”

D’jaevle smiles, “You might see anger.” He leans over, “And you might see something…else.”

“I’m about to float out of my skin”

One word after another, weaving the lines tighter and tighter, devolving thought into instinctual pleasure.

Djaevle: Press your hand in against your pussy.

Reine: yes

Djaevle: Feel the heat.
Djaevle: The wetness.
Djaevle: The hunger, under your hand.
Djaevle: Feel yourself stroking, for me.
Djaevle: Feel it build even higher.
Djaevle: Until you feel it in your pulse.
Djaevle: Your breathing.
Djaevle: Your hand.

Reine: god
Reine: it is ethereal
Reine: i’m about to float out of my skin
Reine: may i?

Djaevle: Almost.

Reine: please

Djaevle: Think. On that edge.
Djaevle: Think about the wicked things I make you do.
Djaevle: That I can make you do.
Djaevle: That you’re playing with your pussy at my words.
Djaevle: That I could make you be even more wicked.
Djaevle: Feel that.
Djaevle: Taste it.
Djaevle: Do anything for it? 

Reine: YES

Fill in the Blanks

Here is one half of a conversation I had with someone I consider to be deliciously adept at being the right kind of prey. This was…just under two and a half years ago.

The half missing? Mine. See if you can imagine what it is I am saying between each of her responses.

Mischief moans and presses herself against you. “Never mind.”

Mischief gasps involuntarily at the thought of being punished.

Mischief smiles mischievously, “And what if I said it was?”

Mischief groans, “In that case, I have a confession to make…”

Mischief inhales sharply, a growl escaping her lips.

Mischief says, between clenched teeth, “Harder. Bite harder.”

Mischief says, “Ohhh…” Mischief arches her back as she moans in pleasure.

Mischief squirms and purrs, “So have I.”

Mischief is breathing hard now, lost in the feel of your lips on her soft flesh.

Mischief groans, “Ye gods…what do you think?”

Mischief pants, “I’m dripping…the crotch of my panties is practically soaked. And that’s *not* hyperbole.”

Mischief leans over and moans softly in your ear, “How’s this for a voice breathless with anticipation and need?”

Mischief says, “Unh…” Mischief digs her nails into your back, whimpering with need.

Mischief just decides to dispense with the panties altogether, after which she slowly buries not two, but three fingers inside.

Mischief leans back on the couch, purring deeply with pleasure.

Mischief rests her hand on your head, entwining her fingers in your hair.

Mischief writhes back and forth, alternating between moaning and growling as she feels her clit become hard and swollen.

Mischief looks down at you. “Please…”

Mischief whimpers softly, “Oh…I want you to hear me moan for you…”

Mischief trembles, being driven almost crazy with the urge to climax.

Mischief whimpers, “Don’t stop…”

Mischief stares at you and whispers, the need in her voice apparent, “Call me? Please?”

Mischief growls. “Ohhhh…you…”

Mischief pants, her need making her rather dizzy. “Please…please call me…I need to cum.”

Mischief growls, “Now.”

Vibrance Isn’t Necessarily Sanity

What cost, awareness?

Madeleine says, “Mon maitre, you never bring sanity to my life.”

D’jaevle says, “I bring the best kind of sanity possible.”
D’jaevle says, “You’re never more alive then when my hand is on your throat.”

Madeleine says, “You bring more like the pleasant numbness of complete upheaval. Vibrance isn’t necessarily sanity.”

“Going to make this difficult?”

Someone once asked me what ‘kind of man’ I was. A leg man? A breast man?


Finally, she suggested I was a brain man. For some reason, despite being more accurate than the first two guesses, I found this incredibly amusing.

Yes, I love a woman’s mind. More than that, I crave the contour of her soul, the cracks in the casement of her life.

I crave, want, desire, a woman’s mind. But when I look at a woman’s body, there are three places my gaze goes. Her eyes. Her throat. And her ass.


D’jaevle throws you onto the bed, face down.

Madeleine grins and scrambles up to all fours in a futile attempt to escape, her hair tousled around her face.

D’jaevle slowly arches a brow, as if to say “Going to make this difficult?” He shakes his head and steps up to the edge, eyes watching you intently.

Not really having time to make it difficult, Madeleine decides not to, and snuggles back down the way you threw her in the first place.

D’jaevle’s hands rip your pants over your waist roughly, yanking them off. His fingers snag your panties with them, leaving your bottom half, naked, exposed, and facing him.

Madeleine is suddenly cold, and wishes she’d run when she had the chance. On the other hand… “Spank me hard,” she murmurs, with a flutter of eyelashes.

D’jaevle nudges your thighs open with his knee, his hands doing his speaking for him. He doesn’t give you what you want, content for the moment to run a finger down the edge of your ass, between each cheek, a delicate trace along your back.

Madeleine shudders and pouts, glancing at you over her shoulder. Even after a moment, she’s already saturated with arousal.

D’jaevle finishes the trace with his fingers brushing your heat from behind. He drags his wet fingers back over your ass, and then leans down to lick your skin clean, his hands on your hips, holding you still.

Madeleine tenses in anticipation of the bite she thinks is going to follow that lick.

D’jaevle does indeed nip your skin, but it’s along the small of your back as his hand comes down *hard* on your ass, causing your whole body to shake under the intense impact of his hand meeting your vulnerable skin.

Madeleine yelps, and falters on the bed a little, burying her face in the sheets.

D’jaevle brings his hand down again, flat across both cheeks, leaving a red imprint of his hand burned into your skin. His breath is harsh against your back, your pain inspiring his own hunger.

Madeleine squirms away from the blow at first, but warms to it a moment later as the pain dissipates across her skin and fades into arousal. “Again…” she begs.

“Not going to let me hear you?”

I will share one final conversation between Madeleine and I. There are many others, all of them as delectable, or more so, than the ones I’ve already shared; but they will remain solely mine for a while longer.

The first time I met her (not the first ever, but the first as the person I have grown to be) I bit her neck and drew her to the ground. There were tears in her eyes when she came for me.

The second time I met her, I left her body battered and bruised. I was rougher with her than I have been with anyone else in my life. I let myself the freedom to enjoy her absolutely, and in return she found within her a place of absolute peace. A place of balance where everything, for a few hours, was simply right. For someone who is constantly moving, seeking, pushing, testing, wanting, this was a small gift, an important gift. And she earned it with her devotion and hunger.


D’jaevle grips your wrist and pulls you closer with a rough tug. “Knees.”

Madeleine kneels, sliding down your body, and looks up at you sweetly. “After you’re done tormenting me, may we play?”

D’jaevle looks down at you, eyes hard, his lips parted enough for you to see his bared teeth. His fingers wrap around your neck. He gradually tightens his grip around your throat, adding pressure. “Perhaps.”

Madeleine’s cheeks flush. “Thank you Master…”

D’jaevle bends your head back and his teeth flash before he throws you back roughly, forcing you to put your hands out behind you.

Madeleine looks a little puzzled by the sudden show of ferocity, and catches herself, inching back a little.

D’jaevle watches you. He steps closer, straddling your waist as he looks down on you, his dark eyes flickering across your body.

Madeleine looks wounded, somehow, in her eyes. “Why are you angry, Master?” she wonders, guilelessly.

D’jaevle slowly lowers himself onto his haunches, both hands slipping behind your head as he looks at you, “Is it anger you see when you look at me?”

Madeleine looks at you again, curiously. “Perhaps not anger… violence,” she muses. “Volatility.”

D’jaevle allows himself the hint of a smile, and his hand comes down, almost as if he was going to slap you, but it stops and his fingers rest under your chin, “Where does that put you?”

Madeleine lifts a brow, but nuzzles against your hand. “In a scary place… like I’m going to fall through that door, and you’re going to step back.”

D’jaevle does nothing to stop you from nuzzling, but neither does he encourage it. His eyes simply watch, “Do you think I would let you fall far?”

Madeleine shakes her head. “Just enough to bruise my rear end. To make a point.”

D’jaevle leans closer, lowering himself further, almost kneeling against your chest, his weight hard against your body, “And what point is that?”

Madeleine shakes her head again. “That’s what I don’t know… that’s why I asked why you were angry.”

D’jaevle leans down and kisses you. His lips are dry at first. “Must I have a point?”

Madeleine moans softly, dry or not, and hazards a slip of her tongue along your lower lip. “No,” she admits.

D’jaevle punishes you with his mouth, his lips parting and teeth grazing your tongue, biting lightly as he lowers himself until he *is* kneeling over you, pinning you to the ground.

Madeleine squirms beneath you, more from pleasure than any desire to escape. “Maybe that’s your point,” she whispers. “That you don’t have to have a point.”

D’jaevle doesn’t answer you. Instead, he kisses harder, tongue fighting its way against yours, teeth biting your lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Madeleine yelps against your lips, her own lower lip quivering from the shock of being bitten so hard. And liking it.

D’jaevle reaches for your wrists and holds them over your head. He lifts himself far enough to reach down and roughly yank your shirt up over your chest, leaving your breasts exposed. He settles down again, thighs just under each breast so that they rest against them slightly.

Madeleine looks up at you curiously, as if she’s just having a hard time figuring you out today. Her wrists flex beneath your grip, and her little pink tongue strays out to taste the blood on her lip.

D’jaevle rakes his fingernails down the tops of your breasts, until they reach your nipples, fingers cruelly biting into the hard tips. Again, his eyes don’t leave yours.

Madeleine gasps, arching her back into your touch, however painful it may be.

D’jaevle actually brings his hands back up – this time slapping each breast along the side, much as he has your ass, turning the skin red.

Madeleine’s eyes darken a little as she looks up at you somewhat obstinately, and bites her lip to avoid making a sound.

D’jaevle peers down at you, finally smiling, “Not going to let me hear you?” Once again his fingers rake across your skin, fingers cutting white swathes through the red as they slip down.

Madeleine shakes her head determinedly, trying to hide the shiver at the bite of your fingertips.

D’jaevle his fingers pause at your nipples and they spread around the abused skin and then close, twisting slowly, “Are you sure? Not one small cry?”

Madeleine’s eyes flash with hesitation and uncertainty. But she clenches her jaw and remains petulantly silent.

D’jaevle pinches even harder, his fingers unrelenting as they pull back. He leans closer, inches from you.

Madeleine stifles her whimper at great cost to her willpower, and squeezes her eyes shut tightly.

D’jaevle remains that close, his fingers cruel, harshly twisting, “Must I do this to your clit to hear you cry out?”

Madeleine yelps aloud at that, and shakes her head quickly. “No…”

D’jaevle slowly relaxes his fingers, and watches your face as the blood returns to each nipple, “You sure?”

Madeleine pants softly and nods her head eagerly. “I’m sure…” she murmurs, breathlessly, whimpering again as her nipples throb with pain.

D’jaevle lowers himself, moving down your body until his head is level with your chest. His breath tickles your skin, the home of suffering nerve endings, but his touch is gentle, light, softly nuzzling your skin.

Madeleine purrs softly, basking in the weight and warmth of you atop her.

D’jaevle slowly begins to bathe your skin, tongue running the length of each breast, leaving it glistening as he tastes you.

Madeleine sighs softly. “You’re tormenting me again…”

D’jaevle chuckles, his lips lightly brushing your nipples, and underneath, “Now, or before?”

Madeleine mutters. “Both…”

D’jaevle rests his head against your chest, his breathing soft and slow as he finally closes his eyes, lost in the warmth of your skin.

Madeleine runs her fingers through your hair slowly, combing it back away from your face.

D’jaevle finally stirs himself and crawls up your body to look into your eyes with a smile, “Poor dear.”

Madeleine resists the urge to stick her tongue out at you and instead smiles sweetly.

D’jaevle chuckles, “Still want to play?”

Madeleine nods vigorously.

D’jaevle finds his feet and pulls you up, “Roles?”

Madeleine hmmms.

Madeleine says “Perhaps we should reprise our earlier roles… me the living sacrifice, you the evil monstrous lord of the village.”

D’jaevle says “You up for that, ma fille?”

Madeleine grins. “I think so, mon maitre.”

Hues of Something Darker

If my chat logs are a wine cellar, my conversations with Madeleine are the rare vintages, to be savored and sipped at sparingly. And yet, I have so many gems. So many moments captured that still have the power to make me pause. I can feel the wolf stirring. She is prey he knows well; she tastes of the chase, the sublime submission when teeth meet throat. The scent of her, when she is close, is enough to bring him fully awake.


D’jaevle says “You are more then welcome to sleep here, against my chest. I will keep away all the bad dreams…except the ones I want you to have.”

Madeleine smiles at that and snuggles her head against your chest. “You are perfect, you know, as a master. As my master. I know you care about me, and would never do anything to really hurt me. But at the same time, you aren’t one of those masters who’s so coddling and adoring that you wonder who the master is, really.”

D’jaevle says “My position is to take care of you; not serve. It is to protect; not appease. It is to give; but only what I think you need.”

Madeleine smiles. “That’s what I mean. I’ve had doms before that were so desperate to please -me- that it made me wonder who had which role, there.”

D’jaevle shakes his head with a faint smile, “Don’t get me wrong. I do adore you. But I adore you as my pet.”

Madeleine is happy to be adored, in whichever way it comes.

D’jaevle says “I adore your neck, for how well it marks, and how the tightening of my fingers causes the same tightening between your thighs.”

Madeleine says “I don’t adore the way my neck marks ;)”
Madeleine says “It’s likely to get me in trouble.”

D’jaevle says “Ah, but I do. It would not be as much fun if there were no marks left at all.”

Madeleine thinks the back of her neck is a good place for those… or lower. ;)

D’jaevle wouldn’t mind leaving some very pretty ones along your breasts next time.

Madeleine says “I’m kinda surprised you didn’t last time.”

D’jaevle says “Why is that? I left plenty of marks elsewhere.”

Madeleine shrugs. “I don’t know… maybe you were too busy on my thighs. They got more than their fair share.”

D’jaevle arches a brow, “More? Too much for your thighs?”

Madeleine says “Biiiig dark bruises.”

D’jaevle smiles, “I will make sure to spread them out across your body more evenly. Happy?

Madeleine laughs. “Actually, that’s probably not good. It’s easier to hide them if they’re only in certain spots.” Madeleine adds “If they’re everywhere, kinda hard to hide. Plus I don’t want to look like a leopard. ;)”

D’jaevle rolls his eyes, “Make up your mind, fickle beast.” He bites your ear lightly.

Madeleine laughs. “I’m a woman… you shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

D’jaevle looks down at you in his lap, “And I am cruel. I shall leave one here, ” His finger runs over your neck, right where it meets your shoulder. “And here,” Fingers slip down to your breasts, tracing the curve of one, stopping along the side, “Maybe here…” Fingers continue to your hip, lazily teasing the skin.

Madeleine grins. “All new places… perhaps one day, there won’t be a single part of me below the neck that you’ve not marked.”

Habits of Contention

I’ve done some writing about my past, as if writing about how I became interested in certain themes might provide context to the rest of the writing I do here.

I’ve given glimpses into my relationship with NE (my best friend and my submissive). I’ve posted several conversations showing my interaction with women I’ve spoken to in the past.

But there are a few women I haven’t spoken about, for various reasons. There is one I want to speak to now.

She is the closest thing I’ve had to having a partner in crime. She can be submissive, but never an unequal. She can be tempting, but never quite the innocent. She can be stubborn, but never truly unreasonable. She is devious, evil, curious, and occasionally cruel. She is the only person I’ve ever driven more than two hours just to meet.

I love the predator in her. Especially when I see it behind her eyes, under me.


Djaevle nuzzles your wrist, finding the broken skin, his mouth hot against you as he licks again, slowly, “And I…” his mouth slips lower, along your arm, nipping the skin, “..will ensure…” his body shifts as he kisses up to your neck, “…that you enjoy it.”

Madeleine gasps softly as she tilts her head to the side, her hair falling away from her neck. “This is a good beginning,” she whispers, her eyes still closed.

Djaevle leaves small wet kisses along the edge of your neck. Pressing you back on the bed, he looms over you, hands pressing the silk up and away from your breasts, “I once held someone’s hands over her head…” Fingers trail down the top of your breasts, “…and teased their nipples, breasts, skin…” his hands press in, tugging on the tips lightly, then harder, “…until they begged to cum…they would have done anything…”

Madeleine groans at that. “And did you let her?” she asks, looking up at you with impassioned, but curious eyes.

Djaevle lowers his head to your nipples, blowing gently against them, his hands slipping along your arms, drawing them over your head, “…now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” His teeth draw down on the nipple, and back, tugging slowly, and then rolling it, teasing it as he would your clit, taking his time to lick slowly, then abruptly bite down, only to gently tease it again.

Madeleine looks at you for a long moment, watching, then asks, “What do you get, personally, out of being a dominant? What do you value most about it… what part is your greatest personal thrill, and why do you think it is?”

Djaevle chuckles, not releasing your hands, but drawing his attention up from your breasts, “I enjoy making women want something. I enjoy feeling and watching their pleasure. I enjoy the place I can put them, when things are felt on an entirely different level.”

Madeleine hmmms. “Interesting perspective,” she muses.

Djaevle looks down at you for a moment and then shakes his head with a smile.

Madeleine grins. “What…? I’m intrigued by psychology.”

Djaevle says, “Right.”

Madeleine is, really.

Djaevle leans back on the bed, away from you, “Anything else you wish to know?”

Madeleine hmmms. “Do we ever get to roleplay? As in the entirely fictional sort? I miss that.”

Djaevle smiles, “Very demanding, aren’t we?”

Madeleine gasps indignantly. “I demanded nothing… I just asked.” She grins.

Djaevle says, “Did you have a particular setting in mind?”

Madeleine shakes her head. “Here… we can just make up something.”
Madeleine wants to play at vampires and indians.