Preston and Manchester Mistress - Madame Margi - Slave Fantasy 6


Stories from Hugh


STORYLINES from Hugh Horn in the hope... the humble hope....

When I found myself referred to Dr Margi, Psychiatric Consultant, specialist in sexual disorders, I thought naively that I might at last receive treatment that would free me from my lifelong submissive yearnings. But to my distress things didn’t turn out like that. Au contraire… for Dr Margi proved to be a predatory dominatrix of a most sophisticated kind. As strictly commanding as she was seductively alluring, the doctor (Madame as one quickly learnt to address her) used her position to prey on those who found themselves delivered to her charge. Her aims were simple: to reduce her victims to permanent brain-dead dependence, sadistically to take over their lives, and she had innumerable ways of doing so, tailor-made, case-by-case. No psychological nuance or subtlety was absent from her repertoire. Not that my case was unusual or challenging. To tell you the truth, I was a lightweight, a highly unpromising, untalented push-over, and I will say now that it did surprise me that Madame considered my case worth her while. But for reasons best known to her she did. It seemed that once a male object’s case-notes reached her desk, ‘it’ was locked into the system, a mere name and number (HORN, H. 194/6), its fate sealed, regardless of clinical status or potential…. and an appointment immediately ordered. Being naturally nervous and faint-hearted I was bound to find a consultation on such a matter to be a troubling prospect. So I was in quite a panic and confusion by the time I pressed the doorbell next the brass nameplate… Had I suddenly been advised just what awaited me beyond the door… I would have turned and run while I had strength in my limbs. The door opened. I stepped in… and found myself in Madame’s daunting presence, at which circumstance, of course, all strength drained from my body, and I functioned as if in shock, like an automaton. And here I better pause and try to pull myself together while I find a way to describe Madame, who now ushered me into her lounge and instructed me to sit, while she went off with my referral letter and consultation fee… It was a wait that seemed at once to take for ever and yet to be far too brief for my balance of mind. Storyline 2

Just as in a real life and not a fantasy situation, or almost just… Madame was attired like an haute-bourgeoise, her manner immediately de haute en bas as befitting an elite professional in her line of work. In a pencil slim long black leather skirt and smart red satin blouse she stalked in classic black court shoes on six-inch stiletto heels, from which ascended in strict alignment with the heels, classic fitted black stockings, their seams disappearing too soon up her skirt… like penile exclamation marks, warning of danger… you might say, very appropriately, that she dressed to kill. (As a psychiatrist deeply trained in psychology she knew everything there is to know about the appropriation of the penile by such containing signs as are expressed in such objects (and words) as stiletto heel, seamed stocking, suspenders… and how penetratingly devastating and exploitable such signs are, especially when preceded in each case by the epithet ‘black’, in mocking and commanding the male.)  Her bosom, evidently encased in a black conical bra of a rather forcefully overbearing kind, seemed only just containable. She was effortlessly imperious, a deadly presence. Exquisitely made up and coiffed, with rather pronounced red lipstick, she expressed her formidable elegance and daunting distinction. In manner and attitude immediately forbidding and expert at exploiting silences, when she spoke she tended to speak sharply, impatiently, for the most part in few words. Her presence seemed to dominate the whole house, even when she was out of the room you were in, and the atmosphere felt oppressively tense. Her absence, because it could only await her presence, was no reprieve. As I awaited her return I struggled to hold on and to steady myself, in the hope that I might cope with what was to come, and not provoke Madame into losing patience with her patient.