"No Ordinary Commuter"

Would that I could sit opposite Mistress on Her train ride to where the streets are paved with gold. Observe Her in the vanilla world, where I used to be trapped, away from the comforting shadow and light of My Lady's chambers.
Does a Goddess stand out from the crowd? How does such a woman blend in with the grey 'normality' of life?

I would gaze for awhile into the thoughtful, mysterious green of eyes deeper than an ocean of tears. Those perfect, aristocratic cheekbones. That slight knowing smile of self-awareness. This is a woman of depth; of substance.

Down, down my gaze is drawn, over soft womanly curves, all the way down to where a floaty summer dress reveals shapely thighs. Legs crossed and I cannot look away. That curve from knee to ankle, once more holds me entranced; catching my breath.
Does anybody else notice the soft sheen of silk in the warm, fragrant light that surrounds Her and the soft sigh of stockings as She slowly, elegantly crosses Her legs?

And what of our carriage-mates? Men hiding behind 'The Financial Times' or the latest offering from Waterstones', trying to catch a glimpse of the most exciting woman they are ever likely to meet? Perhaps the odd brave or brash one; a young pretender who tries to catch My Lady's eye.

And the women on board. A stern once-over, or a casual glance? Barely concealing envy at Your natural poise, glamour and air of calm sensuality.
Some want to be You. Perhaps some with You. Sometimes one will get a spark from You and realise what latent power she too may possess...

Do You blend in, chamaeleon-like when required? or is Your vibrant sensuality constantly simmering under that flimsy material? A barely suppressed sexuality, like a beauteous garden in May where Mother Nature could never, thankfully, be tamed?

How many here would ever imagine that amongst them sits the Perfect Lady; the consumate Dominatrix? And that just the other morning, the adoring submissive now sitting opposite, gave You freely the power over his life or death, taking away his breath, yet breathing life into his very being. The position of ultimate control over another.

And of the ones who watch You, dreamily, as You move poetically, heels clicking across the railway station platform this morning, how many long to be with You; to be under Your spell, or to be under Your heels?
How many sit blankly at their desks, unable to concentrate after being near You, having been deeply affected by You?
Your heady presence which lingers like a favourite dream...

MiCamino )0(;-/