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Chapter
1
I always wondered how
to tell my boyfriend that I am interested in dominant sex play.
So, I've asked a friend to write me a story; one I could leave on
the coffee table where he is bound to find it and read it.
:-) Becky
Maybe I never outgrew
my childhood fantasies. As a little girl I remember thinking what
it would be like to be a cavewoman; to have a man come over to me,
hit me on the head with his club, and drag me off by the hair. As
I got a little older, my tastes became more sophisticated. I spent
many hours imagining myself as a helpless princess in need of rescuing
by a handsome prince. In my teen years, my idea of romance was the
thought of boys fighting over me.
These were the images
running through my head as I lay on the bed barely able to move
in my restraints. I had time to reflect; in addition to bonds I
had on mittens and booties; I couldn't so much as wiggle a little
toe. I had a wonderful fur-lined blindfold that comfortably caressed
my eyes and was 100% efficient at its intended purpose. In my ears
was the constant hiss of white noise. I sort of sensed motion around
me originally but that stopped a long time ago (how long ago I wondered).
The temperature on my body was perfect, neither too hot nor too
cold. I couldn't feel so much as a breeze on my mostly naked body.
After a while, the soft blankets (or whatever they were) under me
ceased to be felt at all. Gravity seemed to stop; yet I felt I couldn't
move even if I weren't restrained.
My master was thoughtful.
He assured that I had plenty of rest before starting. He fed me
lightly. Had me drink lightly. He helped me with my shower using
a loofa on almost every part of my body. The last thing he allowed
me was bathroom privileges before putting me into stasis.
That was ... minutes
ago? Hours? A day? I honestly couldn't tell. Under these conditions,
my mind was capable of taking many trips. They were as real and
as vivid as if they were actually happening. These were no ordinary
dreams -- I could see images, hear voices, taste, feel and smell.
Every sense was alive, and sometimes more than alive.
Suddenly I was sitting
in the bar chatting with my friend Kelley. We were deeply engaged
in a conversation on out favorite topic: men.
Kelley ordered another
glass of Merlot. I sipped at my Chardonnay. As I watched the pale
yellow liquid swirl around my glass, I mused. "What ever happened
to men?"
"What do you mean, Becky?"
Kelley responded.
"Something's happened
to men since our younger years. There are no more heroes ... no
more knights in shining armor."
"I'd settle for Mr.
Right," Kelley laughed.
"I'm serious, here,
Kel. It seems that most of the male population are insensitive boors
or out-and-out wimps."
Kelley sipped at her
wine. "Just what kind of man are you looking for?"
"I don't know." I responded.
"But don't you remember how boys used to be? They used to be interesting.
There was something romantic about their masculinity. Nowadays they
seem to go overboard being sensitive. They've become nothing more
than women with penises."
Kelley giggled, feeling
the effect of her wine. "A penis can be a very handy thing to have
around when you need it."
"Well, I want more than
that. I can buy a penis at an adult store -- at least it will be
there whenever I want it for as long as I want it. What I want is
an entire man -- a real man."
"Well, why don't you
tell me about this real man. What kind of man is he?"
"I never really thought
about it." I responded. "I suppose the most important feature is
his sense of values."
"Values?"
"Yes, he's got to be
interested in something other than expensive cars, sex, sports,
or all the other things guys are usually into. He has to have some
sort of a mission beyond himself." I couldn't believe my ears. I
was beginning to sound like my college philosophy professor.
I could tell I was losing
Kelley so I clarified it for her, "Look, the guy has got to have
interests beyond today. He has to be interested in other people,
events, things ... not just things he can buy or own. I mean, I
want a man who can look after himself, but at the same time isn't
selfish."
Kelley nodded. "Go on,
girl." she encouraged.
"A real man has self-confidence."
"So what's the big deal
there? Most guys I know are willing to show off their stuff. They
can be tough guys and very competitive."
"That's not what I mean,"
I countered. "Real men have so much confidence that they don't have
to show it. They are big enough to take the hits. They can afford
to gamble because they can afford to lose. They don't have to win
every battle. They don't have to even fight every battle. They can
pick their fights and limit themselves only to those things worth
fighting for."
"Oh," Kelley raised
an eyebrow, "and just what things would be worth fighting for?"
"The values I just talked
about -- the woman they love." I shot back with hardly a thought.
"Very good!" Kelley
acknowledged. "What next?"
I closed my eyes and
pictured my perfect man. "He has to be smart."
"Oh, yeah, just like
all those jerks we met in college?" Kelley responded.
"No, not like those
jerks in college. There's a lot of difference between being intelligent
and being educated. In fact there's a lot of difference between
being intelligent and being smart. Bill Gates is intelligent, he's
also very successful, but when it comes to women, I don't think
he's smart. He's merely very intelligent and very rich."
"So what do you have
against money?" my personal advocate for the devil prodded me.
"I don't worry about
what I don't have. You know, money is important -- up to a point.
I imagine that after you get so rich, getting richer doesn't matter
much unless you're keeping score."
"OK, so what do you
want next?"
"A good sense of humor.
He'll need one to put up with me." I laughed. Kelley joined me.
"Great eyes," I pressed
on, suddenly realizing that this was the first physical feature
I mentioned. "And a great smile."
"How about a great butt?"
Kelley asked.
"And a seven-inch perpetually-hard
penis." I answered.
"And a seven-inch perpetually
hard tongue." Kelly said, not to be outdone.
Needless to say, our
conversation, fueled by the wine, went downhill from there.
All of a sudden, I was
a little girl again. I could see my mom and dad just as they were
in their early 30s. My father, a man of few words, was intensely
concerned about me. He never failed to praise me when I did something
good. On the other hand, he didn't hesitate to turn me over his
knee for a sound thrashing when I deserved it. Because of this I
turned out to be a "good girl" and I associated stern discipline
with a loving relationship.
"Be careful, Becky."
I heard my mother say as I ran out the door into the street to play.
"I'm just going over
to Peggy's house, mom."
I heard the screen door
slam behind me.
Peggy lived just a few
doors down. I ran around the back of her house, up the porch, and
into her kitchen. There was no use knocking. Peggy and I were like
sisters. Each of us belonged in the other's family.
I ran into her older
brother, Kevin. Kev was a couple of years older than we were and
really cute. Sometimes he was the world's worse tease, other times
he was an angel.
"Mom's shopping, so
Peggy has to stay in," he commented to me.
Peggy and I went downstairs
to play with her Barbies. After a short while Kevin came down with
his friend Rick. We decided to play pirates, and Peggy and I became
the captives of Rick who tied us up to the pole in the basement.
Rick was good at tying
knots and I really couldn't get away. Most of the time when we played
games like this, the person doing the capturing just threw a couple
of loops of rope around his victim. It was easy to wiggle out. Not
so with Rick, he really did tie me up.
He and Kev had a mock
fight where Rick beat off Kevin's attempts to rescue us. While Kev
regrouped for another attack, Rick turned his attentions to Peggy
and me. He started to leer over us. He undid the buttons on my blouse
and pulled it open. Then he lifted my undershirt up. I had nothing
to show at this age, but I felt very embarrassed nonetheless.
Rick didn't touch me
or anything. I think he was acting something out that he saw in
a book or in a movie. He didn't know what to do which confused me
(I know what to do -- how do I know what to do? How can a young
girl know what a woman knows? How can a young girl know that there
is something women can know.) All I remember is being naked between
shoulders and waist and not being able to do anything about it.
Peggy was bored, but
I enjoyed this position. I didn't have to do anything. I just had
to watch events unfold. I liked being the prized possession -- something
to be fought over and won.
Kevin eventually did
win the day and rescued Peggy and me. He took his time and untied
me carefully. I noticed that he didn't pull my shirt down. He waited
until I was free and then helped me with the shirt and the buttons
on my blouse. Oddly enough, it was just as exciting getting dressed
as being undressed.
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