De sköna konstarterna berikar livet

Triaden (startsidan)



Rektors för LäroVärket sidor



LäroVärk för olydiga undergivna flickor

Administration och regler


Regelvärket. Regler och rutiner.

Klädsel, skoluniform

Undervisningsmateriel, Kurslitteratur  

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Kursplaner och betyg


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Temaarbeten, läger, utflykter, exkursioner mm

Lagar och förordningar. Aga i skolan

SLUg /Skollag för undergivna 2009

LUg09 /Läroplan för undergivna 2009

IUP  /Individuell utvecklingsplan för undergivna

Undergivnas vård, KUV

Aga i skolan

Bestraffningar i skolan



Snabblänkar till samtliga sidor


BDSM ur dominantas perspektiv


BDSM från undergivnas horisont


Om undergivnas vård

Konferns om Undergivnas vård, KUV






En sida om tillverkning av kläder, läromedel och annat som ger skönhet i livet


Noveller, Filmclip och Humor

Sinnenas rum

Rum för njutning


Skolan förr i ord och bild                


Skolans övriga utbildningsformer som

Inkvisition, Tortyr mm


Triadens sångbok

Sånger till slavinnorna och andra sånger

Länkar till klubbar mm

Om Du söker likasinnade

i Göteborg, Sveriges "hetaste" BDSM-stad sök här.


Konst Musik Teater Litteratur Handarbete
Länk till vacker konst        

Är grafitti konst?




The Ballroom Aftermath

Her fingers caressed the keys with a tenderness only his touches could match. Her eyes were glowing as she reminisced the night that was slowly turning to dawn. The ball had been a blast. Everyone seemed to like her, nothing but a simple girl with an innate high sense of class to conceal her not being part of a rich family. She could play the piano like no other, and could talk anyone into agreeing with her, not only due to her charming arguments, but also thanks to her provocative looks whenever she needed to underline an idea.
She played a perfect canon in D, grasping every note the German composer set right. Approving, he smiled to her, standing so she would understand her manners were no longer important. The ballroom has long been left behind, her black dress has vanished once the zipper was pulled down, and her hair pins were about to fall. So was her guard.
He bowed to her, letting her feel self-assured for a while, then grabbed her wrist with one hand, while the fingers of his other were working the little black bow around her neck, trying not to undo it in the process of getting her to come closer. She obeyed, submissively looking into his eyes, where she made out a spark of order, and she knew what she had to do. The lady was gone. Long live the rogue. She knelt before him, carefully weighing his jewels as if they were hers to become. Opening her lips, she took him in, making circles with the tip of her tongue while her lips were moving up and down its whole length. She felt it grow with the wetness of her mouth, and soon she knew that would not be the only moist place he'll reach. His hands were tangled in her hair, and holding each side of her head, he lifted her up to his mouth, giving her the promise of an even longer night ahead, apart from the waltzes they had danced for hours.
He laid her on the bed, suddenly giving no damn about the golden sheets, and spread her open, his index drawing a perfect line that split her in two, starting at her hairline and ending at the point where nature itself designed the separation. One half was the perfect lady she was in society, the other was her wild side he was willing to possess. And he broke into the temple, pushing his way through chambers until he found her core, the core that made her start, the core that made her cry to heaven, in an attempt to be redeemed for the burning passion consuming her minute by minute, orgasm by orgasm, along with his thrusts and acid spots his slippery tongue marked on her nipples. With a moaning roar, he finished. He let go of all the boundaries and unleashed his inner abstract painter, spattering her abs with the satine-hued product of his pleasure. Her pleasure.