Initiation: ACT II

Opening the door for me, he reached in and clipped the leash type contraption to the studded high collar wrapped around my throat. Bit like a martingale I imagined, like they used on a horse to control it’s head. I laughed inside. ‘No shit ‘ I thought.

I pouted, the lipstick I wore a blazing bizarre wet orange. Apparently kiss proof. All depended on what you were kissing, licking or sucking I suppose. It would be interesting to see how much of it remained by evenings end...

He wasn't rough, but he didn't wait or give quarter either. Instead pulling firmly so that the collar pulled my chin up higher as he brought me forth from inside the car to standing on the pavement beyond. I wore a long dramatic purple cape concealing the frills and fluffery of the antique corset and get-up, he’d patiently dressed me in. 

I never said a word. Kept my mouth shut. My head down as much as I was able and moved carefully a step behind him as we entered the club, and made our way down to the Playroom.

I was wet long before we even entered the room. The sights, the sounds, the raw smell of leather, lust, -both unrequited and sated hit me straight in the groin. I squirmed. He growled and leaned down close to my ear and reminded me that it was ALL for him. Every moan, every sigh, every dewdrop, every look. “Mine” he rumbled.

I trembled like a skittish filly and tried not to melt into a puddle barely a foot inside the door as I tried to see something of my surroundings through the half Columbine mask I wore. Instead…all I caught was my reflection in the mirrored wall across from me, as he moved like a big cat behind to remove the cape.

‘My tits are too big.’ That was my first thought. They overflowed the top of the corset, the cleavage deep and intriguing with the jeweled pieces he’d placed there. Each jewel was connected to filigree chains of gold that draped across the rise of each bosom and looped around the areola before connecting to a solid gold bolt that pierced the black cherry hardness of each protruding nipple. The corset made of heavy black silk had bands of steel sewn into it that ruthlessly held the shape when the ribbons in the rear were tightened. As long as I kept my breathing shallow, didn’t eat or drink, either laid flat or stood, then I could breathe. I looked like a bloody hourglass.  

As he had laced me, he’d pinched my waist in so tightly that he'd placed both hands around it. Then made me take his cock in my mouth, to suck it down and swallow as he shot his come down my throat in hot, heavy bursts. I licked my lips at the memory, hearing again my name on his lips as he came…

My lipstick tasted like passionfruit…

The corset ended in a sharp downward ‘v’ in front, pointing to the ridiculously frilled panties he’d slid up my legs. The only saving grace was the slit in the crotch of them, that he’d still have to find through the excessive folds of silk and tulle. Black seamed stockings, perfectly, correctly straight in the rear and high patent black heels completed the look except for the long orange satin opera gloves. I sighed in a shallow breath. This get-up should make me feel submissive and if I were honest, part of it did. Most of it just pissed me off.

I could feel eyes. Eyes that followed us, assessed, murmurs of interest? I always wondered what went through other peoples minds when ‘fresh meat’ entered… My arousal quickened once more, hot, heavy and needy, the scent of my own lust thick in my nose.

Master bent to my ear “You look...so sweetly fuckable pet." His voice deep and dreamy. "Alas there are dues that must be paid first. Keep your eyes on me at all times. Do not speak unless directly spoken to. Do you understand me? Nod.”

I nodded waited…

“Good girl” he said. “Let’s begin shall we? Come…” 

Lady Antebellum - Need You Now

Initiation. ACT 1 (Short Story Serial Fiction)

I took my time. 


Deciding to spend what was left of the day preparing myself for the evening ahead. Slave was seriously disrupting my 'chi.' He'd been twitchy, antsy even ever since I'd told him that I would switch when we visited the PlayRoom that night. 
Only then, I'd made him wait. And with each day that passed, his impatience grew.


Over the last two weeks, the facade of calm devoted Slave, catering to my every whim was unraveling and crumbling before my eyes. His inner Dom began clawing his way free of the submissive, until the eyes that had stared back at me this morning as I stood leaning against the kitchen counter, were fierce and uncompromising. I'd shivered and instantly grown hot and wet.


*On your knees and eat me now, show me with that delectable mouth of yours how much you want to please your Mistress!*


He'd growled and then I watched in startled disbelief as he'd blatantly ignored my demand, picked me up instead and threw me over his shoulders caveman style. His fingers tearing into the yoga pants I wore ripping them free, hard fingers that bit into my flesh, squeezing then roughly parting my thighs as he walked. He stroked along the slick folds and rubbed firmly against the stiffening nub of my clit... 
But when he sank two thick, long, fingers deep and started pumping them hard, I howled in pleasure and fury.


*Put me the fuck down now! 
Ohhhhhhhhhhh...or I swear....oooommmppphhfff*


He did. On my back in our bed, tossing me onto it like a sack of potatoes and knocking the breath right out of me. He tore my T-shirt and bra in two, which pissed me off no end. I'd really liked that one! His smirk leaving me in no doubt that it was simply of no concern whatsoever to him. It was the last coherent thought I had for awhile...for then he'd pulled my legs wide and shoved my knees back, then that mouth and that wicked tongue were on me and in me. His gorgeous face nuzzling and sucking, laving and ripping my disheveled senses to shreds. Fiendishly delicious fingers continued to slide deep and hard in a heady frantic rhythm as he pinned me without compunction to the bed and took me at his will. To hell with mine!
I couldn't think. 
Couldn't move, could only feel every sensation that skittered over my flesh like electricity, igniting a path to my erogenous zones, liquifying my belly, making me pant, gasp and mewl, as my nails sank into his flesh. He drew the responses he wanted from me and stared hard and uncompromisingly down at me, before taking my lips, filling my mouth with the flavor of my own juices... Ohhhh but he would pay for this...later...


So I took my time...when I could finally drag myself off the bed hours later. My limbs satiated and heavy began to feel less so as I stood under a hot shower, steamy heat penetrating fatigued muscles. Pinching my nipples tight, head back and eyes closed, reliving every exquisite moment we'd just shared. Indelibly engraved on my mind.  


It was time.
Way past time...

Charlotte Church - Call My Name

Just Smile...

As part of my research, 
into becoming a better writer, I decided to take on a role-play character, who also happens to be a BDSM Dominant and the opposite sex... 

My first response was "Hell no! I can't do that!" Then I began to wonder,  "Or can I?" 
Especially as I lack the vital, right equipment........


A male brain.
After all, we are wired differently.


Men think, posture, move, speak, look at their surroundings, drive, fuck, feel, rage, respond to and see humor, interact and socialize, -particularly with each other...differently to women. Their masculinity is always 'out there' and I don't necessarily mean in a macho way, though for some, there is a lot of that too. I think it's on a subliminal level, more of a "I'm a guy. There are certain expectations."


Women are hens. While they can and do have deep and meaningful relationships with other women. They also emotionalize everything and will talk, cry, cajole, bolster, inspire, advise, relate, commiserate, talk, and talk some more, tell their secrets and yours...and yet still, they are a mystery to the opposite sex.


Yet I was strangely compelled and excited about doing a role-play character, especially as I'd never done anything remotely like it before.  What better way to get inside the heads of the male characters I write, than to 'experience' a male persona first hand. The experience has been rewarding, intriguing, absolutely fascinating and deliciously liberating to say the least...


We are anonymous. From the fans, from each other yet and there is a freedom in that too. None one can judge 'me' for the me they see wears a new skin. It tickles my fancy to be a fictional character and see him develop and grow along with my understanding and appreciation, as time goes on.


Yet I am amazed at how in such a short time, I am beginning to notice subtle 'tells' from the other role players that indicate their REAL LIFE sex, regardless of their characters. Now I find myself consciously stopping before entering dialogue to consider the words and whether or not they 'sound' masculine or feminine. Who knew that male and female have certain words that blatantly belong to only one sex? I didn't. Never even considered it. Yet guys generally as a rule don't go around saying "Yay!" when another male walks into the room, regardless of whatever bond or family connection they may have.


Who knew? Not me. I was absolutely clueless! Something else that I never really thought about was how much work men have to do, not only to get us in the mood for sex,  but to stay in it with us and do most of the actual work. *Laughs* And make no mistake, it IS work! And make sure we've achieved bliss as much as we are going to, all before getting off themselves.
Suddenly puts things into perspective... 


We are one of the luckier groups as our "Fearless Leader" managed to secure the Authors endorsement. She allows us all to use her characters and their profiles for the purpose of role play. Still a challenge. You have to step into the role and 'become' that persona. It takes time and practice to become familiar, can be nerve wracking knowing that you are being critiqued for every 'performance' yet it's so incredibly rewarding too.
It's role playing. Acting. Without a script. With a live audience, working directly from the post before yours to come up with a believable one of your own that makes, or creates a Story Line. It's exciting and challenging, scary wonderful and thrilling and makes you 'think on your feet.'  I find myself delving into the 'files' in my mind of long forgotten experiences. Dusting them off and using snippets to 'flesh out' my character that will take him from a puppet to a 'real boy.' When it works...when the audience is ranting or writhing, laughing in cheer or drowning in sorrow or squirming in unrequited lust, that YOU stirred with mere words... The feeling of achievement is humbling and so fucking FABULOUS that it's almost impossible to stop the grin... 


The awe-inspiring talent of the wonderful writers I work with who have become an extended 'family' that I miss. Especially if forced through circumstance to refrain from 'playing with' for a few days or more. There has been the stretching of my 'writing muscles,' especially helpful when there is a tendency when writing a blog or two, to become self absorbed or myopic. And in my opinion, it would have to be the BEST writing course I could ever hope to have had the privilege of participating in, the improvements to my own writing, dramatic. If I ever get to meet our "Fearless Leader" or the Author...funnily enough, I'm not sure if I could find the words to express how grateful I am for the experience. But I will most certainly give it a try.  

Divinyls - I Touch Myself

A New Day Yesterday.

My mind wouldn't rest easy...


filled with fragmented and strange dreams. Memories that  lingered like embers, still hot enough to sear. I rose wearily from my bed, leaned over to brush the locks back from and kiss the child in my bed, who'd managed to find his way into it during the night. Pausing to marvel for the millionth time, how such a beautiful boy could be all mine...


At least for a little while longer. Just a few more precious years of bone-crushing hugs, butterfly kisses, sticky fingers and boxes filled to overflowing with every artistic impression, imagined or otherwise.
   
Making my way downstairs through the darkness until I got to the kitchen brewed a cup of Earl Grey and added a splash of milk. Then I opened the patio door and headed outside to sit awhile in the cane armchair. Wrapped in an old shawl I'd made one winter long past, I sipped at my tea and felt the world come to life around me in the darkest hour before the dawning. That delicious coolness right before, that made my skin tingle with sharp awareness.


I waited and watched as the sun came up...


The gradual lightening of the sky. That smeared canvas of arbitrary shades that tinted a new day into being.


Sometimes, it's the simplest things that are truly the most profound...


Yet still I miss the music of birds, serenading in the day.
Even after five and half years of living here, it's one of the few things that still seems strange.
There are birds that squark, chatter and screech. The grackles, the crows, carrion birds of prey, red cardinals, blue jays and I delight in the hummingbirds.
But still miss birdsong...


Sometimes...
I'll close my eyes and fall into a visual memory of yesteryear...


"It's morning already, I open my eyes to the bleary half light and wonder what pulled me from my dreams...
There's a Tui outside my window sitting in the Kowhai tree, trilling the familiar haunting call of the bellbird. Carefully easing back the covers, sliding quietly from my bed, I'm careful not to wake my sister who must have jumped in, sometime during the night. She's such a scaredy-cat! I steal closer to the window to watch as it sups at the nectar, poking it's black beak in imperious little darts into the bright yellow blooms, that hang like little bells complete with clangers. His one eye I see, restless, sharp, rolls and looks everywhere at once. The pure white tuft of feathers at his nape like a cravat, such a startling contrast to the glossy blackness of those that cover the rest of him. He's fat too. Maybe he likes the juicy huhu grubs that lie beneath the bark of fallen trees and rotting wood. 


Who does it call to I wonder? The morning? A mate? Maybe it has a baby and its calls are to it? I wonder why it is so rare to see baby birds besides the ones that fall from a nest. Sadness envelopes me when I think of their poor little bodies with barely a feather cold and stiff with eyes that seem too large for their heads, locked and frozen in an endless stare.


Later at breakfast, Da is cutting doorstop slices of bread and toasting them under the griller. The four of us, my two brothers and sister and I, are around the table wolfing down bowls of thick Thistle Oats porridge lathered with brown sugar and lashings of thickened cream. The toast is plonked unceremoniously in the middle of the table in front of us as four pairs of greedy hands reach out for a share. I grab my sisters piece automatically and smooth butter over it and wait to see if she wants the plum jam Da made or Golden Syrup...while she makes up her mind, I do my own and grab the vegemite just before my brother Peter grabs and misses. I smirk at him as he frowns and looks beyond me to Da, the threat of telling in his eyes...easier to give it up.


My sister is clinging to Da's legs sniveling as usual as they see the three of us off on the school bus. I wave goodbye, wishing I could stay home as she and Da are going to the beach today.
Staring through the window as the bus lurches off and grabbing at the railing of the seat in front of me...
For the first time, I see the grey hair threaded through the black wings over his ears and wonder what it means. Is it 'old'? Will he die? What would happen to us kids? I wriggle in my seat uncomfortably, worry putting a sudden scowl on my face.


Our small country primary school on the peninsula has lots of kids. Maybe even as many as a hundred of us. It was a beautiful summer day, we played on the field at lunchtime and made time to search the trees for locusts. Their buzz-saw cacophony only appreciated to the full when they suddenly fell silent.
Not long after lunch, when we were all settled back in class again, feeling drowsy and listening to the teacher with one ear as she gave a geography lesson on New Zealand, the big fire siren at the Firehouse went off. The fire department is made up of mainly volunteers and our principal, doubles as the fire chief. 
Someones home or property was burning...


Just before the end of the day, the loudspeaker above the blackboard crackled to life and I heard my own name called for the very first time to report to the principals office immediately. Everyone in class turns to stare, my face heats in embarrassment as I try to sink deeper into the hard wooden chair. My teacher tells me I'm excused, not to dawdle along the way and to get move on!
I move in treacle. Wracking my brains for a clue as to what it was that I had done, because it must have been something. You only got called when you did something bad, at least that's what Alistair whispered as I passed where he sat. I feel teary and frightened. A dread and a powerful sense of certainty washes over me. I just 'know' that my life is about to change forever.


Ushered into the mans office, he urged me with a wave of his hand to come closer, he didn't look up. I stood nervously chewing my lip before his desk, uncertain, not knowing what to do or say and waited. He strode a small tight path back and forth behind his desk, one hand fisted on his hip, the other rubbing the back of his neck. 
Finally he stopped, leaned over his desk on outstretched arms and looked me in the face.


"...There's no help for it and as you're the eldest, you must be told and there's an end to it."
Satisfied with that cryptic sentence, he rose up once more, pulled out his chair and sat before taking up a pen and starting to write.
I stood there. Hovering, wondering what it was that I was meant to do or say. I was surely as stupid as everyone thought for I was none the wiser. Hadn't understood the message at all! My panic rising...I blurted, "Please Sir, what must I be told?"
He looked up and at me, seemed almost surprised to see me still standing there. A skinny ten year old girl dressed in boys clothing, rattails for hair and huge brown solemn eyes staring back. 
"Your house is gone girl. Burnt to the ground, not a darn thing we could do about it...too fierce! No water with this drought and everyones tanks are hovering on empty. We even drained the pool next door you know. Didn't do a thing."
He paused to look at my stricken face, then gave me the rest.
"Thing is, we don't know where your Father is. Or..." he shuffled some papers on his desk, "Ahh...yes, you've a younger sister I see, ready to start school soon... Anyway, there's no sign of either one of them..."


I had heard the words he'd said. They just didn't make any sense. How could our house be gone? Gone where? Then the bit about Da and Tara sunk in and I couldn't help it, an agonized cry of pain so acute...tore from my throat, my body shaking as I crumbled to my knees on the floor.


The rest of that long day was a blur. I'd asked for my brothers and they were brought to me. We were herded into a corner of the library and huddled together like frightened puppies as the adults around us discussed what, if anything was to be done with us. Words like "Social Services" and "funeral expenses....no insurance...hot water cylinder exploded, no known relatives that we know of..." were bandied about and didn't make a lot of sense at the time. So I watched them, eyes burning with unshed tears. Peter had fallen asleep, curled into a ball beside me with his head in my lap. Aaron watched me watch them... He'd tried to ask questions of me, questions I had no answers to that agitated us both, so we clung to one another and we waited...and we waited. Too frightened to eat or drink when someone had thought to offer us a sandwich each and bottle of cordial each.


It was dark outside before the deputy principal put us in her car and drove the short way up the hill, from the school to her home. Silently we all sat in the back...still waiting.


But as we got out of the car, another screeched to a halt at the curb behind us and turning to look, I felt a weight fall away as the tears held back too long, burst free from the dam at last. Da as I'd never seen him before, with my sister Tara in his arms came rushing towards us dropping to his knees in the stony road. Gathering us all close in his arms, he was streaked in dirt and grime. Tears of his own that I'd never seen him cry until that moment, flowed in tracks down his cheeks. But he was alive. He and my sister were alive... Whatever else happened, at least we were still together. Still a family."  

Pulling myself back from the memory, I slowly rose, picked up my teacup and saucer and headed indoors. Maybe I'd whip up a batch of cheese or date scones or some pikelets for breakfast. I knew I had some buttermilk in the fridge....