It’s a woman to woman ideal….

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Flatpack or bespoke?

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LIONESS

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We love bringing you great things, gifts that fuel the groove of your soul. Here is our latest music release – LIONESS – written and produced by Daniel, composed of great beats and uplifting lyrics, because we know that inside of you is a beautifully wild animal, one who naturally senses the depths of her true being whilst acknowledging the majesty of her lofty ideals.

Enjoy you mighty Lioness…..

 

Hey girl, don’t you know,

You’re a Lioness on the go

Strong and flexible,

From your head to your down below

The brains and the heart to match,

You’re the power of the human race

A lamp of confidence,

Go and shine a bit across your face

Stars and Venus ignite your steps

I’m impressed as night tracks you’ve left are of the fresh

And you’re on the hunt for the best

You know this hour has arrived

When your Lioness comes alive

You know Love Power’s on your side

When your Lioness comes alive

Girl, I’ve got to say

You’re a Lioness all the way

Bold and bountiful

As enduring as a Holy Day

Built like an animal

With the muscle of a human brain

Let’s raise you back to life

Bring your Lioness out again

Through savannahs we’ll trace your steps

I confess that you shall be blessed with tenderness

When you give it all for the best

Your hour is upon us now you will find

A photographic view

Of Destiny unleashed within you

No safari hut, no zoo

Could contain the strength

Of your Lioness breaking through

Break through, break through

Go on now, break through

Break through, break through

Go on now, break through

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Perfect Conquership

niceWelcome woman to my retreat, to the Boudoir of Bondaged Souls. You are here because you are seeking an outlet for your feminine frustration, somewhere you can go where you may relieve yourself of your mental baggage; a place where those deeper emotions that cause you to stumble will receive the loving attention they deserve. My boudoir is this place.

I see that your journey here has resembled a pauper’s pilgrimage, and I am aware that never again do you wish to travel in those tattered clothes. Your coat alone carries the trademark of despair; and those shoes, well, they are heavily trodden along the road of confusion.  But you need not discuss this heartache with me, for your soul has already spoken.

I heard her call several days before you arrived, as though she sent forth her dove in search of the olive branch, seeking dry land where her sailing vessel could come and rest for a while. She revealed to me the interior of your mind, the environment in which you house her, as though she is not worthy of anything more than darkened alleyways plagued by distorted shadows. She told me that you ‘run, run, run away and hide, hoping the demons will not find you. Too scared to leave your own mind, they know this and so they hound you.’

I must conclude that you have become a prisoner of your self, regularly taunted by the jangling keys of the cell block warden as she threatens to unlock the beasts that scream and shout from within your very being, as though from dusk until dawn you are dancing to her humiliating melody.

Take my hand and come with me to my personal suite, one of the few rooms in the boudoir reserved for very special guests. It is with infinite pleasure that I lead you to this private space. Yes, it is a beautiful room. Look at the way the sun’s rays diffuse through these windows, gentle beams of light that choose their own destination. Reach out with me and touch one. Look at the small particles dancing around your fingertips, as though they come alive when they know they are being observed.

Let me show you something even greater by placing this blindfold over your eyes. Do you feel the rays casting their warmth upon your face, the same particles now infusing your skin as though they are carrying the essential elements of life? Keep the blindfold over your eyes, take my hand and I will guide you to the bed. Lie upon it, make yourself comfortable, relax, and feel the softness of its covers underneath your body. I will sit here, in this chair, watching your every breath whilst guiding you to a place where you may achieve liberation for your soul and therefore your self.  Submit your mind to my dominance, and heed my instructions.

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Into your hands I place a long rope, neatly wrapped, one constructed from nature’s strongest fibres. Enter through the door ahead, leading you into a dark place, the eerie jangle of keys being the only sound that you hear. Attune your senses and follow this sound until you see the warden sitting at her desk, a large bunch of keys dangling from her forefinger, a grimacing snigger upon her mouth, her expression sturdy and unyielding, as though she is the lead character in a game that promotes fear amongst its players.

Seductively walk towards her, your eyes focused on hers and your lips slightly open, just enough to be able to gently wet them with your tongue. As you walk, the contours of your body cause gentle ripples to cascade down your lacy gown. When she notices you approaching, she fixes her gaze and silences her keys. Like a thief in the unguarded hours of the night, lust catches her by surprise and begins to consume her demeanour, perspiration forming upon her forehead like the early morning dew that covers the leaves. This is her lucky moment to take you captive as her plaything, she believes, oblivious to the fact that you are now the jailer and she the prisoner. Even the bundle of rope in your hand is not enough to distract her distorted judgement.

She slouches into her chair and begins to unfasten the top buttons of her shirt as you, her special treat, move nearer, her eyes undressing you whilst your mind undresses every aspect of the situation. As you come within touching distance of her chair, you begin a tantalizing dance, writhing around her body like a snake in a series of sensual movements that ignite hungry sparks in her nerve endings. She feels your sweet smelling breath on her cheek, and her lips tremble in a desperate desire to fuse them with yours. You put your finger on her lips – sshh, you instruct – as you continue with your movements. By now she is fully hypnotised by you, numbed to her surroundings, a slave to your seduction, a devoted pet upon your leash, unaware of the actual rope that is constricting around her limbs like a hungry boa upon its prey, its body tightening with each gasp of excitatory anticipation that she expels.

When her breath is trapped in her throat, uncertainty of what will happen next etched upon her face, you stop, you step back, and smile: a sweet smile of perfect conquership. You pick up her keys and jangle them in front of her face, laughing like a child who has discovered a wonderfully conspicuous den. But it is a laugh in admiration of your power, which you cleverly disguised as teasing foreplay. At this moment it dawns on her that she has been deceived by you – tricked into becoming your meal – and that your erotic dance was but a decoy for her unguarded senses.

Her lust undergoes a flashing metamorphosis into anger, her natural reaction being to stand up and strike out at you. But she cannot move. She is immobilised, because the rope that she blatantly ignored now tightly binds her hands and feet to the chair upon which she sits, an anchor that fastens her to the position of authority she once believed she held.

She vents her fury by calling you a multitude of derogatory names, threatening you like a bully who has been defeated by her weakest target, humiliated in the face of innocent power. Then she shouts ever louder, her feminine growls awakening the beasts in the only prison cell that, up until now, she has guarded with military precision. In response to this display of rage, the beasts shriek like a tribe of monkeys watching the slaughter of one of their own, their sounds echoing through the stagnant atmosphere.

Teasingly, with your eyes still focused on hers, you tear a strip of cloth from the arm of your gown. After rolling it into a ball between your palms, you use it to fill the cavity of her wide-open mouth, restricting all movement of her tongue and muffling her distorted grunts of venomous expression until they are crushed into pitiful moans under the full weight of her obedience to you. To complete your task, you gently remove the sash from her waist and use it to secure her mouth gag in place, wrapping it firmly around the circumference of her lower face and finalising it with a tight knot that presses into the back of her head, causing the geometry of her face to compress into submission beneath her cheek bones. With a whimpering serenade of absolute helplessness, she accepts her defeat.

A torch sits upon her desk, while a distant light suspended from the ceiling casts minimal luminance over a darkened corridor. This is the alley of demons, home to those that have hounded you for years, who have tormented your mind, and who have enjoyed seeing you live in the dingy places where they thrive. But today is your day.

With the keys and torch in your hand, you walk along the corridor until you arrive at the cell that houses the demons. You are confident, happy, playful, as though these wild creatures in the cage are but purring little kittens that need to feel the hand of your affection. You recognise the beasts when you reach the cell, their disfigured faces peering out from between the bars. You shine the light of your torch upon them, and they shield their eyes and cower, terrified by the light and being instantly brainwashed by the fear of their impending death.

You unlock the cell door, and they scurry away from you to the furthest corner, petrified of their fate. You continue to shine your light upon them, even reaching out your hand to touch them, as if to say, be not afraid. But your fingers find no place to rest because, to your surprise, they are holograms, illusions; mere shadows with colour tinted forms. And as you realise this, you laugh, wholeheartedly – at yourself, at life, at the discovery that you breathed power into nothingness, and at the realisation that you have conquered all.

And now that I see you laughing with joy, I will remove your blindfold, symbolic of peeling back bandages following intensive eye surgery. How do you feel? Like a mole fresh out of hibernation, as though the world is new and you are seeing everything for the first time? This is good.

Come. Let us celebrate the birth of your freedom.

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She Is A Naked Raver

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House of the Rising Female


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AVAILABLE VIA OUR Art & Design BOUTIQUE

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Prisoner of yourself

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