gets.js'/> Follow @jl_author Instagram Instagram 'POETIC RAPTURE ~ THE GENTLE DOMINANT© J.L. Thomas 2017



“Is such devotion, loyalty and delicacy within a D/s relationship really possible?”  © J.L. Thomas 2016  As my warm lips co...

Friday, 18 August 2017










  When the handsome, and wealthy, twenty-seven year old, Sébastien Beauchene returns from his recent business trip to France - A visit that was not for pleasure, solely just for business - He finds that in his absence, life at his Nightclub in the heart of Soho, London is not the same as when he left. Unbeknown to him, while he was attending to matters of professionalism in Paris, the co-owner of the club, and his sister Anais, both had hired a new member of staff. 
  The new girl is no ordinary employee. Her name is Amber. From the first moment Sébastien sets eyes upon her while she is pole dancing on the podium, he is left bewitched and beguiled by her delicate beauty. 
  With the trauma of his tumultuous past still burning raw in his heart, he tries everything in his power not to fall for Amber. Can true love ever be tempered down? Watered down until it is dilute?

'Sebastien Beauchene'


Thank you for your recent membership to
‘Le jardin pas si secret @ 21 ans’
An exclusive nightclub that is situated within the beating heart of, Soho, London

I must say that it is most kind of you to join us.
Now that you have become a part of my collection of unique clientèle, I would like to take this opportunity to introduce you to myself.

I, French born and bred, Sébastien Beauchene, am the CEO of this fine, relaxing establishment.

For those not affluent in the French language, I will translate for you the name of my club. I have aptly named your haven, your new found place of secrecy
‘The Not So Secret Garden @ 21’

Welcome to my world.

I have one golden rule along with a handful of silver and bronze ones.

The golden rule is as follows ;

In my world, we don’t participate in drugs of any kind.
There is no need for here we get high in numerous other fashions.

Anyone found breaking my golden rule will automatically have their membership revoked. 

There will be no room for negotiation.

The bronze and silver rules?
They are just common sense.

And before I go I ask of you one thing.

Please respect the world that I have created for your pleasure, and finally always remember to please play responsibly.

Thank you.

Sébastien Beauchene

Wednesday, 9 August 2017




The Florist’s Boutique

Le souffle du bébé celeste
‘Heavenly baby's breath’


There are two people you’ll meet in your life. One will run a finger down the index of who you are and jump straight to the parts of you that peak their interest. The other will take his or her time reading through every one of your chapters and maybe fold corners of you that inspired those most. You will meet these two people; it is a given. It is the third that you’ll never see coming.
That is the one person who not only finishes your sentences but keeps the book.
 Author unknown.


With a tone of utter amazement, my boss and my closest friend Angelica shrieks out the most piercing of sounds and sings, “It’s him, Helena. Honestly, I truly swear to you, that it’s most definitely him!”
While the shrillness of the sound of her voice makes me feel as if I have just jumped out of my skin, I shake my head from side-to-side for I am assuming that my boyfriend-less friend is off on one of her I am currently available and I am looking for a partner mission. Picking up the bouquet of red roses from the countertop, I place the floral arrangement to my nose and deeply inhale the delicate, fresh fragrance that is buried deep within the abundance of soft, dewy petals.
 “You have to see him,” she urges. “For I can guarantee you that when you set your eyes upon him you will most definitely find yourself swooning.”
“What on earth are you waffling on about, Angelica?” I exclaim. “And would you care to enlighten me as to what you mean by swooning?”
Amused, she gleefully questions, “Yes swooning. I know what it means but do you know what it means?”
“Of course I do,” I say. “It means to feel, to feel...” I pause, inhale another soupçon of the alluring scent of the flowers and add, “It means to feel, faint.”
Clapping her hands together, showing appreciation of my answer, the loudness of her actions making me jump yet again. She then tells me I am correct and replies,
 “And by the way, my dearest friend, I’m not jabbering on, but I am telling you, sweetie, that that man sitting across the road in that beautiful, vintage Porsche is most definitely that single, sexy screen god, Darius Carter.”
“Well as lovely as that all sounds, I don’t think it could be him. It’s not possible.” is it?
I shudder a little at the thought that there could be a slim chance that the mystery man may be him – and that there could also be a chance that he may be unattached. Darius Carter has always mesmerized me when I’ve seen him imaged in issues of celebrity glossy magazines. With him now firmly invading my mind, my fingers trembling slightly, I clumsily secure the green ribbon around the stems, as I go to try to fashion said ribbon into an acceptable looking bow, I hear her quiz,
“Why do you assume such a thing, Helena? Anything’s possible in life, don’t you think?”
Now feeling a tad curious at who this man may be, I shrug my shoulders, and reply,
 “I don’t know. It just can’t.”
“Well if you don’t know then come and take a look and then you will know.” She coerces.
I sigh, give in to her ask and swing around. While she waves a hand in the air, beckoning me forth, she hastens, “Quick, quick… Hurry before he decides to buckle up and drive off into the distance.”
On reaching the window seat, I plop myself down next to her, place the bouquet on the sill and gaze out of the window. When I see the mystery man run his hand through his mass of dark curls, by that gesture alone of his, my curiosity arises. I promptly arrive at the conclusion that a little spying on this man won’t do any harm, would it? So with my interest now stirred, I give in to this ridiculous scenario, playfully jab Angelica on the arm and say, “I’m going outside to sneak a closer peak. You are coming too?”
She jibes me back and giggles, “Of course I’m coming! You know how the old saying, Helena - Safety in numbers?”
“Yes, I do.” I laugh, “but I also know the other old saying that two’s-company and threes-a-crowd!”
Grabbing my hand, she titters, “Touché, Mademoiselle Helena.” Giving my palm a light squeeze, she rises to her feet, pulls me up and in a hushed whisper of a voice, as if she is guarding the holiest of secrets, quietly says, “Now I suggest that we stop wasting valuable time, go outside and begin our undercover mission!”
We’re both now tittering like a pair of naughty schoolgirls who have decided that to play truant would be much more fun than taking dreary, educational lessons, so as we step out onto the pavement, our childlike moment is interrupted by the shrill sound of the shop phone casting its urgent ring. Releasing hands, I turn to face her and suggest, “I think you’d better answer it, Angelica. It’s most likely our latest, overbearing bride-to-be, Ms Prim-and-proper!” I roll my eyes and pull a grimace. She mirrors me and we laugh again. Continuing, I say, “I bet Ms PP is panicking about her flower order again because the last time we spoke, she demanded that the next time she calls she wishes to speak to the boss, and since said boss is you, my dear friend, she’s all yours!”
Flaying her arms in the air, she wails, “Why oh why do I have to be the boss right at this particular moment in time, Helena?” she pitifully cries. “I so want to be you – the lowly paid understudy!”
I stifle a giggle at her drama-queen like performance, shrug my shoulders, and then sympathise with her that it’s such a shame that she is the boss. She then, with a hint of amusing annoyance upon her face, turns, and reluctantly marches back inside the shop. Now all alone, I look over towards said car and when I see the door open, and a pair of well-attired, long legs gracefully rotate out, for some reason, I find myself pointing my lashes down, only to quickly flick them open to finally see the mystery man in his entirety. It would appear that Angelica was correct in her assumption of who this man may be, for the aforementioned man is indeed Darius Carter. He is now casually lounging up against the side of his car and I have become even more curiously intrigued by him.
Trying to remain inconspicuous, I busy myself among the foliage and floras that Mother Nature’s beauty has provided, and as I come to the end of my make-believe-fumbling-flower arranging, I clap my hands to signal that I am satisfied with my work. Next, I don’t know what made me do this, but I span around on my ballet-pumps, stilled and then focused directly upon him. It appears that he too is carefully surveying me. While I held him in my stare, I became aware that my lips were curling up into an ‘O’ and my thoughts rapidly wandered off as to what it would be like to press my lips up against his and lose myself in a deep, lingering entwining of tongues. With my mind now crammed chock full of silly, girlish romantic thoughts, I broke into one of the sweetest smiles I could muster and tilted my head to one side. As the late spring’s breeze wafted through my flowing tresses, I smiled as he slowly removed his sunglasses. Those dreamy, steely-blue irises of his. A dead give-a-away. Confirmed – it’s most definitely Mr Carter.
While his stare penetrated my very soul, again I averted my gaze down, and turned around. Feeling a little overwhelmed at our silent contact - This is a form of quantum entanglement, isn’t it? – Two atoms colliding and never wishing to separate? I then, as elegantly as I could manage, walked back into my place of work. My mission had been accomplished!

I do believe right before my very eyes, the man of my dreams may, without consciously knowing, have just captured a small fragment of my delicate soul.
- Helena.



Outside ‘Heavenly Baby’s Breath’



   After applying the handbrake to the latest addition of my ever expanding fleet of cars, I switched off the engine to my silver-grey Porsche 1958 356A Speedster and relaxed back into the seat. Feeling absolutely chuffed to smithereens with my latest choice of vintage extravagance, my frame of mind soon changed to one of a darker, broodier mood when I pushed back the pristine French white cuff that graced my wrist and noted the time on the most favourite of all my timepieces that I owned – A Blancpain Fifty Fathoms watch – it read, eleven-forty-five. Giorgio, my right hand man, had now been gone just a little over twenty minutes, and as I was due to attend a meeting, well more of a tête-à-tête, (one which I must admit to you that I am not looking forward to in the slightest) in just under an hour. I was beginning to turn rather impatient for his return. Now drumming my fingers upon the steering wheel, I narrowed my gaze and spied in the wing mirror. Hoping to see Giorgio striding down the street with my new pinstripe suit, fresh from the bespoke tailors of Saville Row carefully draped over his arm, I was distracted from looking out for him when my vision was drawn to a svelte figurine of a female across the road. She was wearing a rather unflattering, baggy, green tabard over a three-quarter length sleeved polka dot dress, and that ghastly uniform did absolutely nothing to flatter what I assume was an enticing petite figure hidden beneath. While I carefully surveyed her from head-to-toe, she appeared to be fumbling away with an array of flowers, vases and the like on the pavement outside the quaint little florist’s shop, which I noted was named le souffle du bébé celeste. Being affluent in French, among a few other tongue twisting languages, I translated said shop name as ‘heavenly baby's breath’.
“What a charming name.” I whispered out. So pure. So innocentmuch like her perhaps? Now wouldn’t that just be perfect if she was untouched, untainted by another’s hand?
Now curiously intrigued by this woman, I stepped out of my car, leant back up against it, and crossed my arms. Focusing intently upon my flower girl, who was now busying herself among the foliage and floras that Mother Nature’s beauty had provided, I don’t know why I couldn’t help myself from ogling her from the top of her head down to her tippy-toes, but nevertheless I was doing so, and truth be told I was rather enjoying the pleasant distraction from thinking about that damn elusive suit of mine and my forthcoming meeting with my soon-to-be, ex-submissive, Alice. On noticing the rich, dark colour of heavenly baby’s breath employee’s long tresses, I half-smiled, for this radiant beauty was much to my delight, a brunette, and over time, as you get to know me, you will realise that I have always had a secret penchant for hair tones of that particular shade. As she seemingly came to the end of her fumbling-flower arranging, she clapped her hands to signal that she was indeed finally satisfied with her art. I gasped out when I was taken by surprise at her following actions. She span around on her peachy coloured ballet-pumps, stilled and then to my utter and complete amazement she focused directly upon me. Removing my sunglasses, I blinked a few times, adjusted my vision to the soft hues of the daylight, and as she transfixed me within her magnetic stare, I was aware that my jaw had gaped. The reason for this mannerism of mine was because I had just seen her lips curl up into one of the most delectable ‘O’s’ imaginable, and it was then, without any prior warning, my darkest thoughts rose from deep within my soul and I found said thoughts wandering off into the direction of my personal room of pleasure.
Oh what I could do to this woman in the confines of that room. I can assure you that if I was so privileged to have her in situ, I would be feeding that pretty little mouth of hers with more than just an abundance of tongue claiming kisses.
Next, she broke into a very, very sweet smile – one that was almost too sugary for my tastes but nevertheless, it was an amusing expression, and I was quite looking forward to becoming acquainted with her mouth and, as the adrenaline began pouring into my bloodstream, in response to this hormonal onslaught, my heart reciprocated to the adrenal fluid by thumping wildly in my chest. The metronomic beats gained even more rhythm when she tilted her head to one side, and as the late spring’s breeze wafted through her free flowing hair, I was mesmerised. She finished me off so to speak when to my complete and utter amazement, she looked down at the cobbles beneath her feet and fixated upon the ground for what seemed to me to be for several minutes. Per-fec-tion.
 By her, well let’s call it a non-verbal gesture of submission to me, my manhood made no hesitation into joining into this chance scenario by letting me know it was too indeed aroused by her. While I mentally forced the pleasing sensation in my cock to ebb away, and thankfully said sensation did, I looked up to see that she, my flower girl, had disappeared from my view.

I do believe that the perfect submissive; one than I had been craving for, for so, so long, may have just been birthed right before my very eyes. For me, it was now just a matter of time before she wholly belonged to me.


©JL Thomas 2017

Thursday, 3 August 2017




When the handsome, and wealthy, twenty-seven year old, Sébastien Beauchene returns from his recent business trip to France - A visit that was not for pleasure, solely just for business - He finds that in his absence, life at his Nightclub in the heart of Soho, London is not the same as when he left. Unbeknown to him, while he was attending to matters of business in Paris, the co-owner of the club, and his sister Anais, both had hired a new member of staff. The new girl is no ordinary employee.        Her name is Amber.
   From the first moment Sébastien sets eyes upon her while she is pole dancing on the podium, he is left bewitched and beguiled by her delicate beauty.
  With the trauma of his tumultuous past still burning raw in his heart, he tries everything in his power not to fall for Amber.
Can true love ever be tempered down? Watered down until it is dilute?

Sunday, 30 July 2017


                                                        THE GENTLE DOMINANT



Chapter Four


...In the wee, small hours of Christmas morning...

   ...With us both sitting cross-legged, and facing each, and with a tartan blanket draped over our laps, Helena leant into me, and with each undoing of the pearl buttons on my shirt, I could feel her fingers sweeping lightly along my chest. As she paused, lingering upon the pinking scar central to my heart, I shivered.  The reason for me shaking suddenly was not only because of the lightness of her delicate touch, but it was also because of the following, frightening moment from the past that had just resurrected from the hidden depths of my memory;
  Helena was standing by my side, and as she rested her hand upon my shoulder, she asked me if I was sure that I was ready to see what the operation had left imprinted behind upon my chest. I nodded, and as I stared straight ahead into the full length mirror, she again asked me if I was completely confident with my decision. Truth-be-told, I wasn’t feeling in the slightest bit sure, but I would never, ever, ever let the woman I love and cherish know how scared I truly was. That just wouldn’t do, would it? Grasping the lapels of my gown, I then, without hesitation, drew open my clothing to reveal the scar that had been left over the shaven flesh that coats over my heart. As I fixated upon it, mentally counting each pinking, puncture mark that was once holding together the edges of the wound, - the injury that aided Helena into coming back to me - my spine stiffened, and my stomach violently churned over. She then entwined her fingers with mine, and came around to meet me. Rising onto her bare tippy-toes, she tentatively draped her arms around my neck, toying with the rogue curl at the nape of my neck. She looked deep into my eyes, and as hers misted over, she assured,
     “Over time, the scar will fade, Darius.”
   So now, I am here and I am looking into her tired, red, rimmed, big brown eyes, I draw in a breath. –how I wish… how I want to be at one with her again. I am so determined not to let her see how shocked, how frightened I am at one again seeing the trauma left behind on my upper body, so I quickly regain my composure, and dip my head low so she can’t make eye contact with me.  I brush my lips along hers, and murmur to her that it would take a lot more than the brutal ripping of my heart to prevent me from living. She doesn’t say a word in response to me, and I guess at emotional moments like these in life, sometimes there is no need for the exchange of twenty-six mixed up letters of the alphabet.
   Presently, as I feel her lips settle upon my neck, I eradicate any negative thoughts from my mind, and while she slowly brushes my shirt from around my shoulders. I tremble. I now feel a little short of breath. I took in another gulp of air, and she raises her head.  Her eyes are cast with a dewy glaze. – Not a sad look, I may say but more of a look of sympathetic love and honest admiration. She is so beautiful, so gentle and so very alluring. – I don’t think someone like me deserves her unconditional love. 
   As she slowly bats her unmade-up lashes, she tentatively pushes her naked body into mine, seeking out my lips.  I hitch a breath, dip my head low and sweep my lips along hers. -She tastes of the sweetest nectar imaginable – I wish I could explain to you just how much I have missed her. Rolling my shoulders, I free myself from my shirt, and with my cuffs still secured; I extend my arms to her. My voice a quiver, I, like a forlorn child ask, 
    “Help me, Helena?” 
   She blinks, smiles and then obliges by taking my left hand in her right hand, and slowly trailing her finger along the centre of my palm.  When she reaches d my wrist, I can do nothing but watch in silence as she, with such gentleness, releases the wolf carved, onyx cuff-link from its hand stitched buttonhole. She then repeats her actions with my right. With the nakedness of my torso now on full display to her, she looks directly at me, and as I go to speak, within one fluid motion, she is kneeling behind me, the blanket trailing with her. With the warmth of her skin upon my bare back, I let out a deep sigh – she feels so very comforting. Wrapping her arms around me, while she holds me, she whispers into my ear, 
    “Make love to me, Darius? I’ve missed us so, so terribly.”
Her gentle voice alone is enough to bring some self-assurance back to me, and so as she whispers to me that she is going to strip naked, I stand up, shimmy out of my trousers and silk boxers, while she undresses, and I then re seat myself before her.  Placing my hands upon my upper thighs, I bow my head and momentarily fixate my stare between my legs. On seeing my manhood standing proud, I then find myself emitting the hugest sigh of relief imaginable. The reason for my gasp was for the first time since my accident, I have finally succeeded in... Well let me just say, my physicality has finally returned! 
   With my courage now fast returning, I shuffle around to face her, and within moments we are entwined within the softness of the sheet sized, blanket. Shakily supporting myself on my elbows, as she breathes out my name, and admits to me how much she loves me, my heart swells and my confidence  peaks, and once again within the moments that follow, I found myself cosseted within the safety of her undying love.  
    I am now one hundred percent ready to ask her a question that will, hopefully if she answers me positively, change our lives forever.

                                                                  ©JL Thomas 2017



Tuesday, 11 July 2017




Chapter One

Basel, Switzerland

   Placing the photograph of my late mother back onto the black, highly polished surface of the grand piano that graces the lounge, I blink away the tears that have welled up in my eyes, and I wonder if I will ever be able to stop feeling so emotional over the loss of the woman who was never consciously able to hold her newborn son, me, in her arms.
   ...Probably not.
   At twenty-nine years of age, even though I never felt her, I still miss her dreadfully- I feel as if a vital part of me has always been missing. While I whisper into the air that I will always love her, I feel an intrusion invading my privacy – I’m guessing that he, the cold-hearted bastard, has just resurfaced from the guest room, and I at present, I am not in an approachable mood.
   The air around me turns to an icy cold, and I shudder as its enveloping blast washes over me.   Swinging around, I see him clearly – I see my father, if you can call him that. I see Portier Beauchene Snr. casually leaning up against the architrave of the doorway. My gut churns over. He really is here in my house. It wasn’t a nightmare that I have been enduring over the last sixteen hours. He most definitely is mortal and standing right opposite me.
   This scenario is unforgivable, unbearable and wholly unendurable to say the least. I just want him to leave. I just want him to vanish. I want him to leave me, Amber and out son, Oliver alone, so we can all continue to reside happily within the private world that we have created for ourselves. I sigh wearily, and with much reluctance I focus upon him.
   He appears morning ready. I am too. I have every single mental guard of mine structured in its correct pecking order, and my ammunition will only be armed when the precise moment of battle between him and I commences.
   Last evening, Amber, after much coercion on her part finally managed to override my decision to not to let him stay with us, and thus my father slept over. I didn’t sleep a fucking wink. He was shown to the guest room on the ground level of our luxurious, chalet home. I didn’t wish for him to be on the same plateau as me, Amber or Oliver. Truthfully I didn’t want him anywhere near us at all, but I gave in for the sake of my beloved wife. One night and one night only he can stay and never, ever again – That is what I told Amber and him – And I meant every single word.

©JL Thomas 2014



   When the handsome, and wealthy, twenty-seven year old, Sébastien Beauchene returns from his recent business trip to France - A visit that was not for pleasure, solely just for business - He finds that in his absence, life at his Nightclub in the heart of Soho, London is not the same as when he left. Unbeknown to him, while he was attending to matters of professionalism in Paris, the co-owner of the club, and his sister Anais, both had hired a new member of staff. 

   The new girl is no ordinary employee. Her name is Amber. From the first moment Sébastien sets eyes upon her while she is pole dancing on the podium, he is left bewitched and beguiled by her delicate beauty. With the trauma of his tumultuous past still burning raw in his heart, he tries everything in his power not to fall for Amber. 

   Can true love ever be tempered down? Watered down until it is dilute?

Friday, 30 June 2017



CH 15 PG130/31

Chapter Fifteen

   I fall a little closer into Amber, and while my fingers chart the topography of her spine, I shiver with delight. Deeply inhaling the captivating scent of her perfume, as the aroma pleasantly invades and enraptures my now heightening senses, I find myself instantly lost within an ever-expanding dimension. She blinks at me and when I see the love exuding from her green coloured irises, I liquefy inside because this is first time we that have been this close to each-other. 
    I can hardly believe this is happening to me, to us and when she tenderly snakes her hand around the back of my head, she draws me a little closer to her and breathes,
    “Do you know what you do me, Sébastien?”
    I am now lost within this most sensuous of moments, and as I go to answer her, her arms curl around my naked body and in the split of a second, I find myself pinned beneath her. She’s now bearing down upon me and the sexy; smile that’s lighting up her face is a true picture to behold.
    “When I kiss you, sweetheart,” I softly whisper to her, “It won’t just be a meeting of our lips it will be the joining of two souls that have been aching for so long to feel the moment when each-other’s hearts finally entwine.”
    She kisses me on the tip of my nose, and so sensually whispers,
    “What are you doing to me, Sébastien? I can barely take any-more of your endearing words.”
From out of nowhere, I breathe,
    “I feel a little anxious, baby, “I declare. Do you know what effect you have on me?”
    “Yes, I do,” she smiles, “I always have…but you have something so captivating about you that I can’t bear the thought of being without you”
    I gently flip her over. And she parts her legs. Maintaining eye contact with her, I slip my hands underneath her buttocks, and gently lift her into me. While my lips hover above hers, I stun as she breathes,
    “You’re my first, Sébastien.”
Remembering my thoughts of her when she first came to my suite....
    ‘She looked somewhat unbalanced in her thoughts...Almost virginal like in the purest sense.’
…The only response I could find to reciprocate was,
    “And you will be my last, Amber.”

©JL Thomas 2014