It’s official. I’m a water nymph.

I spent a rather marvellous day at the Luxe Femdom party in Leicestershire, much of which involved a jacuzzi. I bought two gentlemen at a slave auction, then instructed them to partake in an oily, homoerotic, Greco-Roman wrestling match together for the entertainment of my fellow ladies. They went at it with surprising gusto.

The rest of the afternoon was spent luxuriating in the tub with Ms Tytania and Theda Vamp while boys provided us with wine. Bare breasted, chatting and laughing with my wet, slippery, powerful female companions, I felt like one of the nymphs from John William Waterhouse’s famous painting. Men bowed their heads in nervous reverence at the sight of us.

There’s something particularly thrilling about the combination of water and women. A couple of years ago, I wrote a blog post about the deadly allure of mermaids, nymphs and sirens, as well as a number of posts on my lingering preoccupation with erotic water torture. As elements go, water’s connotations are refreshingly female. When I was younger, I wondered why so many of my dreams and fantasies, especially the more – ahem – Sapphic ones, involved water. Often, water didn’t feature directly, but the settings for these imaginary erotic encounters would range from hot springs and seascapes to spa baths and communal showers. I can only assume that my libido works on a level that is more symbolic than practical.

Anyway, here’s my favourite painting: Hylas and the Nymphs by John William Waterhouse:

(By the way, all proceeds of the slave auction went to Cats Protection. Not only did I make some chaps strip naked and grapple with each other, but I also helped some cats. A good day all round.)