Preston and Manchester Mistress - Madame Margi - Diary - Page 48


2011 – Diary 1st March




I have just read another fantastic heart wrenching conscience stirring historical novel by Philippa Gregory. The Respectable Trade is a fascinating story of men women and children kidnapped from their homes in Africa and brought to England, naked and in chains to be owned by a lady and taught and trained as her personal slaves. Philippa is a genius at painting a picture in such fine detail in her books that you become both the slave and the Mistress as each chapter unfolds. What is the difference to enslavement of this kind throughout history and enslavement between myself and my many slaves? My slaves gave themselves to me freely. They begged to be owned, wear my collar, to be kept in bondage, to be flogged without mercy. They crawl naked on hands and knees and relish their slavish duties at my command. They polish my boots with their tongues and wear cruel hoods, arm binders, cuffs and anklets. I crush their naked bodies with my sharp heels. I slap them across their faces and spit into their mouths. I treat them with contempt and tell them how pathetic and useless they are.


Many of my slaves fall in love with me. They become totally enchanted by my dominant spell. This also happened in the novel and concludes at the birth of the child conceived with love and passion on a bed strewn with daffodils and violets. I wept buckets when their Mistress died in the arms of her true love who had once been her property. She set them all free and this was the beginning of the end of the most cruel trade man has ever inflicted upon man.  My slaves belong to me until the end of their days whether they have given their permission or not. They can leave my dominant company after their visit of control and pain and remove their collars and chains but even in their smart business suits, driving away down the motorway their minds are still in tune with my strict voice. As they lie down to sleep at night they can see my hypnotic blue eyes gazing into theirs. They long for the kiss of my whip and the caress of my cane. They never want to be set free and would die rather than never be allowed to serve me until the end of their days.



Madame Margi


Reflecting on Enslavement