Authors: Kristina Lloyd
I tried to moisten my lips but my tongue had no power.
‘Nats?’ Liam was at the top of the kitchen stairs. I tugged open the cutlery drawer, stuffed the note inside, and slammed it shut. I didn’t want to worry him, and anyway, he wouldn’t understand.
‘What happened?’ Liam was at the foot of the stairs, looking as if he’d just run half a marathon. He was naked, no pocket for a penknife.
I took four wobbly steps to the back door and opened it fully. Rain sluiced down, a hard, glittery fall against the backdrop of dark shrubbery and overhanging trees. Light from the house glinted on plant pots, wet stone and on my cast iron chairs, huddled around the barbecue. Cool droplets tickled my toes and night air curled around my ankles.
‘I think someone’s in the garden,’ I said.
Kagami says:
Hey Natalie, good to hear from you again. Phew, that was one hot email! Great to find a woman so sexually self-aware. I admire people able to stand against a puritanical, sexually-repressed culture and find their own truth.
We appear to share common ground in our relationship
to D/s. Sensation play is fine but it’s the psychological aspect I’m most drawn to. I want to be able to get inside her mind, to know what she likes and hates. I want to discover her darkest places. Nothing shocks me. I want to slowly overwhelm her until she can’t help but give in and become a thing for me to use. Damn, I’m getting hard just writing this!
But as you say, chemistry’s key. Just because I like to dominate and you like to submit, it doesn’t mean we’re going to make sweet music together (although, based on these messages, I think we have the potential to create the world’s most mind-blowing opera!) Sex isn’t a mathematical formula (yeah, I know; I’m mixing my metaphors). A burning fire starts with a spark. So we’d need our spark. And to that, I’d add mutual respect. I strongly believe that to play at being unequal, you must operate from a bedrock of equality.
I’m in New York right now, at a conference over five thousand kilometres away from you. I hope video-conferencing never takes over from RL conferences. I love travel and NYC is one of my favourite cities. I find hotels fascinating too, full of strangers passing through. No one belongs here. Liminal spaces bring out the beast in me. Boundaries are blurred, the usual rules don’t apply and new rules haven’t yet been formed. Here, it feels you could do something wild, decadent and twisted. Explore a dark fantasy with a stranger then walk away, leaving it behind along with the damp towels and messy room. Someone else tidies up and it’s over, folded away. You return to your regular life, nothing to deal with, no consequences, not a ripple to betray the madness you shared. It’s as if it never happened. And once again, life’s as smooth and neat as a freshly made hotel bed.
I’ve never been to Madrid but your descriptions make me want to go there. Well, your descriptions of many things make me want to go there! ;) I’d love to hear more about the kidnap fantasy you mentioned. Sounds incredibly hot. Right up my alley!
This was just meant to be a brief note to say thanks for such a great reply, Natalie. I appreciate your openness. I have to head down to dinner soon so no time to list all the cruel, debasing things I’d like to do to you. Oh, fuck it, I just found time! Here goes: I’d like to make you mine. I’d like to see you on your knees, tied up roughly, your clothes torn from my eagerness to get at you.
You’re powerless but you’re also desperate and horny because you can’t help yourself. I’m fingering you, making you wetter and wetter. You’re moaning. You want to get fucked so badly but I make you suffer, make you wait for it. I tease, caress and twist. I stroke from your neck down to your nipples. You’re vibrating under my touch, shivering, breathless, pleading for more. I want you in my control, want to make you bend and sway to my tune. You’re increasingly turned on, lost in what I’m doing to you. I take you to the point of insanity, obsession, and then you’re there, mine. You’ll do anything for satisfaction. You’re begging me to fuck you, begging and pleading so much it makes me laugh.
But I’m not done with you yet. I like to see you humiliated and suffering. So I carry you outside into the street. I set up a stall. I’m your owner. There’s a sign saying ‘Free Whore’. I make you lean across a big wooden crate. It’s the crate I put you back in when I’m done with you. I lift your skirt so your buttocks are on show to all the passersby, so pale and innocent-looking. Your wrists are chained to the railings. A stranger comes along and asks how much to fuck you. I tell
him you’re free because you’re so greedy. He fucks you hard. People walk past. A few stop to look. When he’s finished, somebody else is in line waiting to take his place.
OK, I really must go down to dinner now. Christ, how the Hell I’ll be able to sit down with my dick in this state is beyond me! Let me know if I’ve gone too far. Sharing fantasy is always a risk but I really think we’re on the same wavelength here. I hope so.
Can’t wait to hear from you again. I noticed you didn’t respond to my ‘shallow’ questions from my previous email. Don’t feel obliged, they’re not that important. But I’d LOVE to know more! You’ve really piqued my interest. Take care.
Den xx
Natajack32 says:
You’re making my head spin! That fantasy is so dirty! Makes me nervous. Excited, but nervous too. Maybe that’s to be expected. I’m finding it strange being so open with a man I’ve never met. I have to confess, I’ve only explored this aspect of my sexuality with one other man, B, and that was a couple of years ago. I’ve dabbled with a few other people but nothing major.
I don’t have enough experience to know how well my fantasies might translate to real life. It worked with B, but I don’t know if it can work again. Submission seems to mean different things to different people. I know I don’t want to be an obedient slave to a strict master. That’s not my cup of tea. I want him to be driven, slightly out of control, loving his power over me and relishing how he makes me suffer. Or maybe that’s all I know and I’m trying to recreate the past.
Anyway, those questions! I’m 5
'
6
"
(I think it says this in my profile.) Dress size 10 and 34C bust (So shallow of you, yes!). I run three or four times a week so I’m in pretty
good shape. The photos on my profile are a little out of date (taken last summer). My hair’s longer and darker now but still wavy. And no, you can’t have an undressed photo of me! I haven’t even seen your face yet. Besides, you’ve had an awful lot from me already. I’m far too honest. I need to retain some mystery!
I’m envious of you being in New York, although not if the heat’s anything like it’s been here. So hot and muggy. I’m having to sleep with the windows open and just a single sheet as my bed cover. If it weren’t for the sea, I think people would be fighting in the streets in Saltbourne. The sea’s like a pressure valve, takes the heat off. Even so, everything requires so much effort right now. It’s like wading through treacle. Or molasses, since you’re in The Big Apple. We need a thunderstorm to clear the air and give the plants a good watering.
Anyway, you asked about my abduction fantasies. Like I said, I’m not usually so open with people I’ve recently ‘met’ but I feel comfortable with you. We seem to have complementary kinks, yes, and I feel as if you understand where I’m coming from. You don’t think I’m weird or damaged, and you seem to recognise I’m not submissive as a person. This is a sex thing not a personality trait.
I appreciate your point about us starting from an equal base. Trouble is, we don’t live in an equal culture, do we? Sometimes I struggle with that. I worry I’m a bad feminist for saying I want to be dominated by a man. But then I remind myself, this is how I get my rocks off and so do lots of women. It doesn’t mean we’re stepping back in time or we don’t want equal rights. If anything, it’s a step forward. Because what I’m saying, really, is ‘Hey, this is how I like to get fucked so could you please take note, mister?’ Historically,
women haven’t been able to say that, have they? Lie back and think of England. That’s what we’ve had. And the fear of pregnancy or being called a slut puts a downer on things. But times change, thank God. And for whatever reason, this is me. It’s how I’ve turned out. I’m sexually submissive. Who can say whether that’s innate or acquired? And does answering that even matter? The result’s the same, isn’t it? I want to be tied up and taken over. I want to be hurt and used. I want him to do bad, wicked things to me so I’ll have gazillions of orgasms and feel whole as a person. I have a strong submissive streak, sure. But I’m not a Stepford wife. I’m horny. Big difference!
Anyway, I think you get what I’m saying. I hope so. I liked your thoughts on hotel rooms. In that spirit, I’m putting a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on our door so I can share this fantasy with you. Be gentle with it, please!
How it starts doesn’t matter too much.
It’s being his that counts, being his prisoner, having choice removed from me.
I might be in a forest, running scared, aware he’s on my tail. I might be bundled into the back of a car, two men keeping me quiet while he drives to a secret location. (I like that idea the most. He’s driving, glancing in the rear-view mirror. He says something along the lines of ‘What’s she like? Is she wet? Test her for me.’)
I might be in the Australian outback. I might be walking home from work, from the supermarket, the pub, the moon. But somehow, I’m captured. Strong arms, harsh words, a struggle, a threat. Then I’m taken to a place far away from my life. It’s like your hotel room, I guess. The usual rules don’t apply. (I work in admin for the local council – maybe I just hate my job and want an escape!) Anyway, he has me, he
w
ants me. It’s mainly him but he has allies. No one knows where I am.
Sorry. I wish I could turn my fantasy into a proper story for you but I can’t. In my mind, it’s just a jumble of bondage, blindfolds and gags; of being held captive and used by a stranger or, if I’m being honest, by several strangers.
I like the idea of being afraid and not knowing what will happen next. Someone else is running the show, a man who enjoys my fear and distress. It’s impossible to truly fantasise that part because I’m creating it in my head so I know what’s about to happen. But I suppose that’s the emotion I’m chasing here. With sex in real life, not just in fantasy, the more authentic the danger feels, the hotter it is for me.
Sorry, I’m rambling. Where was I? Oh yes.
The place I’m held prisoner is off the map. It’s derelict, hidden. No one can find us. I have to co-operate or things will get worse. Usually, my captors are a gang working together with one guy at the helm. He calls the shots, he’s the manager, the ring-leader. He decides what I need or, more likely, what he needs.
Sometimes, he wants to see me get fucked by half a dozen men while he watches. Sometimes, he wants to fuck me himself then pass me around when I’m used and exhausted. Sometimes, he brings me food, slaps my face, and tells me I’ll get cock tomorrow. Sometimes, he chains me to his bed so I’m there for him in the morning. He calls me his ‘little bitch’.
Yikes. I should probably stop there or I might regret this in the morning!
I hope my fantasy doesn’t sound too pervy. There’s other stuff as well. More detailed scenarios. Stuff I masturbate to or think about when I’m with someone and close to coming.
But to go back to B, the guy I mentioned at the head of this message. Since we split about two years ago, I’ve been looking for a man who could satisfy my darker side as he could. A man who wouldn’t be freaked out by my fantasies, a man who’d understand that even though I like to be overpowered in bed, it doesn’t mean I’m a soft touch or a doormat.
Sometimes I wonder if B and I had a sexual connection I’ll never find again. I hope not. I loved where he could take me. I want to go there again, to hand over control to someone who knows what to do with it.
I haven’t seen a proper photo of you so this is kinda unfair (Send me a photo! You keep promising!) and I might be getting ahead of myself. But it does feel, sexually at least, that you’re close to the kind of man I’m looking for. A pity you live 70+ miles away. How about we talk on the phone when you’re back in the UK? You have my number.
N xox
Kagami says:
Natalie, I’m closer than you know
.
‘There’s no one here, Nats,’ said Liam. ‘Maybe the window got blown open and it knocked the vase over. Come on, let’s go inside.’
We were in the garden, soaked, Liam starkers and me in my flimsy slip, the pair of us like some latterday Adam and Eve. The noise of rain on foliage surrounded us, and on the other side of the end wall, water gushed down the steep stone gutter of Tanner’s Passage. A lantern bracketed to the brick of the passage cast patches of white light over the highest leaves, rainfall shimmering in the glow. I’d found the wooden
door leading from my garden to Tanner’s Passage unbolted. I’d eased the bolt back, saying nothing to Liam.
I figured he must have climbed in over the passage wall then exited by my gate. Either that, or he’d scaled the wall I shared with my neighbours, Benjamin and Steve, who were away celebrating a wedding anniversary in Berlin. But the latter route seemed unnecessarily difficult. My house was the last in the street, adjacent to Tanner’s Passage. The wall between was easy enough to climb if you were fit and the coast was clear. And who on earth would be out on a night like this?
All my windows were open because of the heat. What had I said?
So hot and muggy. I’m having to sleep with the windows open and just a single sheet as my bed cover.
The kitchen window’s invariably open because I don’t have a catflap and Rory needs to come and go. Kagami must have climbed in that way. He must be back from New York. Had he listened to us fucking? Would the sound carry from my bedroom down to the garden or kitchen? Would he have heard us above the storm? Or had he been deeper inside my house? Closer than I knew? No, the footprints stopped at the table. He was here to deliver his warning.