For The Old-timers by Lady Madeleine

For the Old-timers

A Tale of Exile, Survival, and Redemption

We left.

Not all at once, mind you. . . we wandered away from OWK in twos and threes. MadameA, the Queen dethroned, was one of the first. The First Mistress, Evangeline Eames left soon after. Blu Akina drew herself up in Panther fury and quit any place that would drive out her friend. I, the High Judge, stayed longer than I should have, thinking that something might be salvaged. Raffi packed up her medical bags and left nearly always under the threat of a ban by the sub owner. Many you would recognize (including our gracious Lady Eloise and Ember Camel) and many you probably don't recall (Shiloh and Seyrin and Vidor). Some of us left loudly and flamboyantly. Some of us all but snuck off in the night with the rent unpaid and the coffee pot still on.

We'd all found status in that strange Kingdom for awhile. But the warring had become intolerable and the owner's lack of will impossible to work with. We packed up our subs and such that was ours and set out to find a sim that didn't cater to subs, that wasn't owned by a man, that didn't treat its Mistresses as high-class call girls. In our Exodus, the promised land was not set up to answer the question "How can we find women to service all of these subs?"

We landed on a far shore, that proclaimed itself "light-hearted." We shuddered, but weary from OWK's battles, we sank gratefully into its conversation pit. The owner graciously welcomed us (and those who came before . . . and those who were to follow). Like little groups of refugees taking blankets and warm cups of soup, we settled in the "light-hearted" courtyard, where, for some reason, the pole-dancing never ended. We licked our wounds. We told war stories. We welcomed daily newcomers. We waited.

All the while, the pole dancing continued, but instead of pleasing subs, the dancers were getting steadily more rude and grating on our nerves. We learned that we were not meant for light-heartedness. Our place was no more where subs were encouraged to sit anywhere and say anything than it was where the focus was on subs' sexual desires. We ventured, occasionally, away from our little camp fires, but found no place we could go, at least not one big enough to take us all and with an atmosphere different enough to make the transfer worth the strength.

Yes, we heard whispers. There were always whispers. Maybe MadameA would open a place. And she did, but we discovered it catered to lesbians. Some of us moved. Many of us just stoked the fire and sighed. Tamar invited all to a sim opening and many of group spent a giddy few afternoons thinking that we'd escape the our exile's camp. The sim went as soon as it came. We returned back to the circle, to the pole-dancing. God...the endless pole-dancing! We brooded away the long summer.

We all knew Eva, or at least knew of her. She had been the First Mistress in that other place and one of the first of us to leave. She'd hired me as High Judge, which I thought made her an excellent judge of character, but we rarely socialized. She'd been quiet in our new outpost and then, mostly absent. When she returned, she said that she was opening a place, maybe we'd like to come see it. In true Eva fashion, she arranged for private tours for many of us and the offer of the title of "High Mistress." We approached cautiously.

I remember seeing The Dominion for the first time. The striking blackness of the ground, the towering castle, the seating area by a crashing sea. As I looked around, Eva explained that this was to be a sim for Dommes. Subs that followed the rules (please see the notecard) were welcome. But this was to be a sim owned by a woman and run by women. The community would not come to a halt because a man was not available to consult and make decisions. Our place was not to make sure all the subs were enjoying themselves. There would be a mall, but it would be a classy place, thank you very much.

"They can buy their collars and cocks somewhere else," she said. There was not a dancer's pole in sight.

By October, we were thanking our former hostess, picking up our meager belongings and wishing well the many subs milling about the light-hearted courtyard. She had not parted the Red Sea, to be sure, but Eva had brought us to the Promised Land pretty much intact. Exhausted from the journey, we sank into the conversation area with the few subs who made the original move kneeling at our feet. Quietly. Then, with her usual grace, Eva welcomed us home.