This blog is intended for mature adults over the age of consent. If you are offended by BDSM and D/s relationships, please move along.
For those of you who "get it", no explanation is necessary. For those of you who don't, no explanation will be understood.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Coming Home Pt. 3

Coming Home Pt. 1 HERE
Coming Home Pt, 2 HERE

"I think what you're looking for is someone you can let your guard down with." He stood up, and taking her hand, led her over to the bottom of the stairs. He looked into her eyes, and she met his gaze. Something passed between them that made her shiver.

"Cat. I am not like any man you have ever been with. I won't take you for granted, or disappear after tonight. I won't sit back and let you take the lead, but I also won't beat you down. I want to give you a safe place to be yourself, and I'd like it if you'd learn to trust me, to lean on me." They climbed the stairs, and she followed him quietly to a door at the end of the hall. He opened it for her, and closed it softly behind them.

There was soft light coming in through the window from the light out by the barn. He turned on a small lamp on a table. A large brass bed sat under the window in front of them, a chair next to the lamp table to their right. A homemade quilt spread out on the bed in beautiful blues and greens made the room feel inviting. He turned her around to face him.

Wordlessly, he reached out to hold her face in his hands. Looking into her eyes for the longest time, he finally leaned down and kissed her. She could smell his cologne, a subtle, spicy scent. His kiss was warm, soft. He ended the kiss and reached slowly to take the hem of her shirt in her hands.

"Trust me, Cat. I know you've heard it before, but I know what you need." He slowly pulled her shirt off over her head, and she didn't try to stop him. He dropped her shirt into the chair, and reached around to unfasten her bra, watching her eyes.

Cat felt completely sober now, and a need for this man was growing rapidly. She did feel she could trust him, but it was her own reactions she wasn't trusting in right now. She'd never felt this connection with a man before, like an electrical current being completed somehow when he touched her, or even looked at her. Her defenses were melting away, and that in itself scared her.

He dropped her bra onto the chair and slowly cupped her full breasts with his hands. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, pinching just a little harder than was comfortable, and she thought her knees were going to buckle. leaning down to kiss her, he unzipped the zipper of her jeans, popping the button open with his thumb. Never breaking the kiss, he slid his hand into her jeans, down to rub his fingers along her swollen lips through the cotton of her panties.

A moan escaped her throat and she held on to his upper arms to steady herself. He pushed the jeans down now, and she stepped out of them. Leading her to the bed, he sat her down, and began removing his own clothing. As he took off his shirt, she reached out to lay a hand on his chest, but he held her wrist and shook his head, no. When he was naked he spoke.

"Cat, I want to take care of you, but you will have to let me. Trust me.Tonight wasn't the only night I've seen you in that bar. You are here because I could see you are tired of always being the strongest one in a relationship, I get that. Let me take it from here. Give your body to me, let it be mine."
Please, let me know what you think so far...

Monday, June 24, 2013

Coming Home, Pt. 2

Coming Home, Pt. 1 HERE
"Wait. You're not one of those serial killers, bent on setting women 'free', are you?" She suddenly wasn't sure this was a good idea.
"Don't worry, Cat. You will be alive and well when the sun comes up in the morning. I have no intention of killing anyone." He smiled. "You should probably think about that first, next time you let a stranger take you home."
Cat, who had been slumped down in the seat, sat up straight. "Yeah, well... I tend to not think very much these days. Only makes things worse. My life is in a rut, I'm bored out of my mind and I don't mind tellin' you, I'm tired of being the strong chick that's always alone."
Blake smiled again. His instincts were correct. "I could tell that in the bar. Those men didn't seem to be your type."
"Winpy-assed drunks, the lot of them," she said with a laugh, "Guess in my current state I can't throw stones, can I?"
"I can tell you don't get drunk often, or even usually drink much." He said as he slowed the truck down to turn onto a dirt road.
"How can you tell that?" She was watching where he was driving, in case she felt the need to escape later. She still wasn't sure she should be here.
"It only took four bottles of beer to get you stumbling drunk," he grinned. "If you were used to drinking, it would have been more."
She looked at him for a minute. "Yeah, well... I haven't eaten since breakfast." She laughed. "Guess I'm just as wimpy as the rest of them."
He pulled into a dirt lane surrounded by what looked like pasture. No mailbox, or signs of a house.
"Where exactly are we going?" She asked, a little more nervous than before. She could feel reality draining that drunk away.
"My house." He said. "Just over the hill, you'll see it."
They drove over a cattle guard and across a low-water bridge, then up over a hill before she finally saw the lights of his place. It was an old two story farmhouse, white, with a beautiful red barn and several other outbuildings. She could just make out horses in the dark pasture beyond the barn and several farm implements along the drive.
"You don't look like a farmer," she said as they pulled up in front of the house.
"I'm not... not exactly. I grew up on a farm, but moved to the city after high school. I recently inherited this place from my uncle, and I've got help to manage it. I'm enjoying getting back to it."
He got out and came around to open her door.
"Aren't you going to take the keys?" She asked. "Might get stolen."
"I'm not too worried about that way out here, Cat. Besides - you might need the truck if you decide to escape during the night. But I'm pretty sure you won't." She stepped down out of the truck, and he didn't move. His arm was stretched out holding the door, and she was almost against him. He looked down into her face. "I think there was a reason we were both at that bar tonight."
She looked into his eyes for a moment, and that warm feeling in her gut spread. Her knees felt a bit weak, and to cover her weakness she laughed.
"Yeah, Blake. We were both thirsty." She put her hand on his chest and ducked under his arm, turning around to smile at him.
He smiled back, and reached out to grab her hand. "Funny. Come on inside, I want to show you around." He shut the truck door and led her to the steps going up to the wide wrap around porch. There were wooden rockers and potted plants on the porch, ferns hanging in baskets, and it felt very homey and comfortable already to her. Reminded her of her grandparents house when she was little. She'd loved going there in the summers.
He pulled open the wooden screen door with a familiar twang, and unlocked the door.
"Welcome home, Cat."
She looked at him, thinking that was an odd thing to say, but her mind was still fuzzy from the alcohol, so maybe it was only in her head. She stepped into the entryway as he shut the door behind them. He led her to a cozy living room, a fire already burning in the fireplace.
"My housekeeper was here today, will have left some dinner in the over for me. Would you like something to eat?" He asked her, reminding her she hadn't eaten all day.
"Yes, please. I think I need something."
"Have a seat, we can just eat here by the fire." He went back out through the front hall and disappeared.
Cat wandered around a bit, looking at the things in the room.  She could tell he hadn't changed a thing from when his uncle had lived here. Floral couches faced each other in front of the fireplace, with a coffee table in between them. A curved glass hutch in the corner held figurines and memorabelia, small plates and bells with names of states, a few photos. A bay window extended out showing the seating area on the front porch, and at the far end of the living room was a table and chairs, a stack of jigsaw puzzles in the table next to the wall. Her head was feeling woozy, so she sat down on one of the couches. The fire felt good, it was a chilly night and she hadn't worn a jacket.
Blake came in then carrying a tray, two plates and two mugs of coffee.
"I thought you could use some coffee," He told her, as he sat the tray on the coffee table.
"You're probably right," she said, as he handed her the mug.
He set a plate on the table in front of her, and picked up the other for himself.
"So tell me about your life, Cat."
She paused in picking up the plate and glanced at him. "Um.. ok. There's not much to tell. I'm a forklift operator in a warehouse, I live alone in a very small apartment, and I go out every Thursday night with some of the guys from work. That is about all there is to my life." She took a bite of food. Even as she heard herself say it, she thought her life was pretty pathetic.
They ate for a few minutes in silence, and then he spoke up again. "What are you looking for?"
"Who says I'm looking for anything?" She answered defensively, her tough girl act kicking in automatically.
"We're all looking for something, Cat," He said calmly. "I hear discontent in your voice about your life."
A clock somewhere struck midnight, and the whole thing suddenly felt surreal. A stranger's home at midnight, eating tuna casserole, talking about what she wants from life. He made her feel comfortable somehow, though, and she felt she had nothing to lose by telling this man the truth.
"I guess I want to find someone who needs me. Somewhere to feel safe." She set the plate back on the table and picked up the coffee mug. The conversation was helping to clear her head as much as the coffee.
He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "And do you feel safe here with me, tonight?"
She turned to look at him and he kept his hand lightly against her cheek.
"I don't know how to explain it... but yes, I do."

Sunday, June 23, 2013

The Story Writes Itself

I've said before that these stories don't come from me, as much as they come through me.
These characters never seem to follow the story line I think they should.
It's like a movie playing in my head and I just follow along and write it all down... I'm as surprised sometimes as you are.

That being said, many times the places and situations these people find themselves in will remind me of a feeling or a conversation I've had in my past. Make me miss relationships from the past, make me want things back I don't have in my life anymore.

The stories write themselves usually, but that doesn't mean it's easy for me to write them.

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Coming Home, Pt. 1

A new story, written just for the blog.

It had been a long time since she'd had so much to drink.

She and the guys from work partied every Thursday night since they had Fridays off and the bar wasn't as crowded, but rarely did she drink more than a couple beers over a few games of pool.

"Why so much tonight?" She asked herself.

"Because tonight I just don't give a shit," she said out loud, to no one in particular. She'd been single for far too long, and there were no prospects in sight. She was tired of being the tough one. Nothing left but beer bellied rednecks in this town, usually missing a tooth or two.

She turned then to the end of the bar, where the geeky guy who'd been watching her all evening was sitting. He was actually starting to look more interesting.

He's built pretty good," she thought, "Might even be cute without the black frame glasses. Bet he's got a farmer's tan under that short sleeved button up."

"Hey Cat," Jeff yelled from the pool table. "Your money's up!"

"Somebody else can play it," she yelled back, " I'm outta here!" She stood up from the bar stool, and almost lost her balance as she pulled her bag off the bar.

"You shouldn't be drivin', Cat," said Katie, the girl behind the bar. "Let one of the guys drive you home."

" 'is okay, Love," she said, "He's taking me home tonight," as she turned and shakily pointed to the geek at the end of the bar. "Aren't you?"

He looked startled for only a second, then stood up.

"I can do that," he said. She even liked his voice.

"I gotta stop drinkin'," she told herself.

"Well all righty then, Let's go!" She walked to the door and he walked up behind her, catching up with her in time to open the door for her. "A gentleman even, aren't you nice?"

"Cat you be careful," Jeff hollered, even though he knew Cat could take care of herself better than anyone.
"I'll be fine, Jeff... don't you worry." She said as she stumbled out the door with her new found friend.

"What's your name, Baby?" she turned to look at him. Standing right next to her he was much taller than she'd imagined, and his broad shoulders looked strong under his shirt.

"My name is Blake. Am I taking you to your home... or mine?" His voice was low, and quiet, she felt something stir inside of her that hadn't been awake in a long time.

"Wow, Blake. You don't beat around the bush do you?" She leaned against him to keep from falling.

"I think you invited yourself into this," he said. "I'm just following your lead. For now." He held her elbow and guided her to a large extended cab Chevy 4x4, black as night with dark windows.  "My place it is."

He helped her into the passenger side of the truck, and walked calmly around to get in behind the wheel.

"Nice truck," she said, not quite as confident as she was before, and seemingly not quite as drunk.

He pulled the glasses off and threw them on the dash, fastened his seat belt, and started the truck.

"Hey, don't you need your glasses to drive?" She asked him, wondering what he was thinking.

"No, I don't. They're not prescription. Seat belt, please." He backed out carefully, and headed out of the parking lot as she struggled and finally got her seat belt fastened.

"Why do you wear them?" She was beginning to wonder what kind of man she'd gotten herself mixed up with. Disguises? Was he wanted for something?

"I wear them to weed out the girls just looking for a good time... from the ones who really need me." He sounded dead serious.

"Need you? What, are you a savior or somethin'?" She smiled a bit, this guy took himself way too seriously.

"In a way, Cat, that's exactly what I am." He turned then and smiled at her, and she saw for the first time how handsome he really was. She had butterflies in her stomach suddenly, like nothing she'd ever felt for a man she didn't know. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but she didn't think so.

Friday, June 21, 2013

Never Quite Gone....

I never go very far from this writing.

I'm back, this time for an intense time of writing and editing - I'm attempting to turn these stories and more into a collection of short stories to sell on Amazon Kindle, and maybe in e-book form. Both bread-winners in our home are unemployed currently, and we're in the process of moving, but while money is tight it does give me the time I need to write... and imagine... and remember... and write some more...

I've started a new story and already love my characters and their story...  I've deleted everything since Pt. 3 of "The Cowboy", the final two parts of the story which were previously posted here will now only be available in "the book". I will have to think about what to share here on the blog, maybe a story just for the blog separate from the ones I write for the book, I'm not sure. I hope that in the process some more poetry comes to my mind, the baring of emotions is rather addictive, an addiction that has been calling me back lately.

So many things change so fast in this world that many of the people I once "knew" here are gone... I hope to find at least some of them, and to find new friends who appreciate the stories I tell...

Thursday, December 13, 2007

The Cowboy, Pt. 3

It felt like flying through an eternity in seconds, and suddenly he was untangling his fingers from my hair, and with his forearms resting on my shoulders, I reluctantly opened my eyes and took a breath.

He lowered his head slightly, his eyes never leaving mine, until he was peering at me from under his brows. One corner of his mouth crept upwards in a slight grin that I had learned to recognize from him as a tease. His head tilted slightly to one side.

"Coffee's ready," he said, and before I knew he was gone he was halfway to the kitchen.

I watched him walk away, then I turned, speechless, toward the fireplace, assuming the same position I had occupied before the kiss. Wood was laid in ready for a fire. To the right of the fireplace was a ceiling to floor bookcase full of books, and a large brown leather wing back chair. I pictured him there, in my mind, reading quietly as the fire burned.

"Would ya like a fire?" He said, coming back with two steaming mugs of coffee.

I hesitated. "I think it would be nice, don't you?" My voice faltered.

"I do." He looked into my eyes for a moment, as if he were reading something there, then he handed me a mug of coffee, and knelt to light the fire.

"You haven't asked me to take ya back to yer truck." He said this more as a question than a statement. He wanted me to tell him why. How could I when I didn't know why myself?

"No." I sat on the edge of the couch, facing the fireplace with a large, worn oak table between it and myself. The flames were just starting to lick at the logs as he turned, still squatting, and looked at me again. He stood, picked up his coffee from the table, and slowly sat next to me.

He was looking into the fire as he spoke.

"Been a long time since anybody else has been in this house." He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, mug held in both hands. "I'm glad it was you out in them trees. Almost like it was meant t'happen, one way or another."

After taking a long drink of his coffee, he set the mug down and leaned back, putting one booted ankle on top of his knee and his arm across the back of the couch behind me.
I instinctively eased back, against his side, his arm curling around me as I laid my hand on his chest. I looked up into his face then, and he leaned down to kiss me.
Nothing existed for me beyond that house. We could have been in a box, floating in space for all I knew. I wanted him to lead me to places I'd never been, places only he knew the path to. His kisses were igniting a long dormant, slow burning fuse inside me.
Without lifting his lips from mine, he tugged the hem of my T shirt free from the waistband of my jeans. I felt his large, rough, hard-working hands caress my skin.

"My God, yer skin's so soft," he whispered against my lips, between kisses.

I couldn't answer him, my head was too full of the feel and the taste of him to form the words to speak.
Now, with both hands under my shirt, I felt him unfastening my bra, as he kissed and lightly bit the side of my neck.
My breath caught in a gasp, and my nipples were so hard they ached.

He lifted my shirt and bra as one, over my head, and in one swift movement his hands were cupping my large breasts, and his mouth covering one of my nipples. His tongue swirled around it, his teeth nibbling at it, and he moved to the other one, sending waves of heat and sparks through my body.

He groaned as I leaned backwards, and his hands squeezed my breasts until I felt pain, but the pain sent huge waves of pleasure through me, and I could feel my juices soaking through my panties.

"Let's finish this in the bedroom, woman," He stood, pulling me up from the couch, and holding my wrist so as not to hurt my scraped hand, led me to the bedroom.

Edit: 6/21/13
The final parts of this story will be available when I publish the e-book and/or Kindle version of my short stories - stay tuned!

Sunday, December 09, 2007

The Cowboy, Pt.2

I was sitting on the edge of the sofa when he came down the hall into the open kitchen. I didn't hear him, until he spoke.

"Come to the sink and rinse those hands off."
I jumped. Turning, I saw him grin. He liked that I was nervous.

I walked to the sink and he turned on the water.

"Put your hands under the water," he said. I extended my hands, and very gently he rinsed off the scrapes on the palms of my hands.
He dried the carefully, and then, with a gauze pad, started applying something that set my hands on fire.
"Aaah! What the hell are you doing to me!?" I pulled my hands away, and he patiently reached for them again, leading me to sit at one of the two wooden chairs at the table.

"Don't think of it as pain." I looked into his eyes then, thinking he was crazy. "Imagine ice in your hands, the feelin' is extreme cold. Then distance yourself from it. Step away from it, and ya won't feel it as pain."

I just sat looking at him, until suddenly I realized that my hands weren't burning anymore. I looked down, and he had bandaged them.

"Um... Thanks." I was nervous again, as he sat and leaned back in the other chair and just looked at me, his head tilted to one side.

"Why are you scared of me?" He asked me, quietly.

"I don't know.. Am I scared?" I tried to relax, not let him see how I was feeling, but he knew.

"Maybe you don't fear me, but you fear your reaction to me," He answered, leaning forward. "You're not used to having this reaction to a man?"

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," I said, getting up and wandering around like I was studying his kitchen.

"Ok. We'll play it that way... fer now." he opened the freezer, and took out a package of expensive coffee beans, and measured out some to pour out into a small electric grinder. "Don't look surprised," he said looking at me, "Cowboys enjoy good coffee, too."

I smiled, and walked back into the living room. On the wall above the fireplace, a huge painting hung, flowing grasses across rolling hills, under a sapphire edged evening sky... a few cottonwoods sparkling Autumn yellow in the distant fading light, but the movement of the grass is what held my eye.

"Who is the artist?" I asked, sounding a lot more calm than I really was.

"I painted it, I wouldn't call myself an artist." He was coming out of the kitchen, and I could smell the coffee brewing. "Just somethin' I do in my spare time, 'specially in the winter." He stood, looking not at the painting, but at me, with his large, work-worn hands on his hips. I imagined those hands on my bare skin. I looked up then, slowly, into his eyes.

He just stood, looking at me with those eyes that read my soul.

"Are you done pretendin'?" He asked me, quietly.

"Pretending? Pretending what?" I asked, lightly, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Pretending you don't want me," he stepped closer, and slowly reached up, pulling the two sticks out of my hair, letting it fall across my shoulders.

Leaning in, he reached under my hair, running his fingers up through it until they were entwined at the back of my head, and he gripped it tightly, as his mouth took complete and total possession of mine.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

The Cowboy, Pt. 1

(If you read the true post HERE, you will know more about who I based this fictional story around...)

Photography is my therapist. The only way for me to stay sane, is to spend time out in the country, taking pictures of my world.
That's what I set out to do today. Take pictures. Twisted my hair back with a couple of hair sticks, threw my denim jacket on over my t-shirt, and laced up my hiking boots. The fields, pastures and tree belts I trudge through looking for great shots are no place to go without sturdy boots.
Driving north of town, I was heading into territory I hadn't photographed much before. So many things had taken my attention east and south, I hadn't explored this part of the county before, not with camera in hand, anyway....
I found a treeline, with plenty of deer tracks leading into it.. I thought maybe I could get a shot of one, or at least find some shed antlers amongst the dead branches. I picked my way through the trees, must have been half a mile or more, when I heard something off to my right. I stopped... I couldn't see an animal, but I knew I heard something going through the grasses out past the edge of the trees.
Then I saw them. Cowboy, quarter horse, small herd of cattle... The cowboy was definitely in his element, expertly handling his charges... There was something familiar about him... When he turned, I knew - the cowboy from the store. My favorite customer... my hardest to get to know customer... the customer who loved to tease me... There he was. I had never seen him at work before... he was even more breathtaking on a horse than he was on his own two feet... I carefully stepped over dead branches to get closer... and promptly fell, letting out a yelp as I went down... Cowboy stopped, and stared into the tree row... Should I show myself? I stayed completely still, bleeding profusely from both my hands that I cut on the jagged branches when I went down, not wanting to move and show him where I was...
Too late...
"You might as well come out, I know you're there," he shouted, roughly. He knew someone was there, he just hadn't seen me yet. Should I get up and go out?
I slowly got to my feet, and made my way out into the orange light of sunset. Stoic as he is, his mouth hung open when he saw me.
"What in tar-nation are you doin' out there in the trees? Spyin' on me?" He came towards me, and when he got close, he dismounted, smoothly, sexily...
"No! I had no idea that you were out here.. I was looking for deer to take pictures of... see? A camera..." I said, tougher than I really felt.
He stood looking at me for what seemed like an eternity.
"You're bleedin'," He said.
No shit... I bit my tongue. "Yeah, um, I fell..." I gestured back, into the trees that I wished I could just slink back into.
"Yeah, I heard," he said sarcastically. "Where's yer truck?"
"Excuse me?" I said.
"Where did you park the truck?" He said slowly, as if I couldn't understand English.
"On the field entrance road, just on the other side of the trees..." I said.
"Come on." He said, turning back to the horse.
"Excuse me?"
"You hard of hearin' or somthin'? Come on, I'll take ya back to the house, we can doctor up those hands," he stood next to the horse, waiting for me.
"Um, both of us... on the horse?"
"Yeah," He very graciously swallowed the 'no shit!', "git over here." I slowly walked over, and he held his hands, laced, down so I could step up into the saddle. Stirrups and hiking boots don't fare well together, but I managed. He swung himself up behind me, and I could feel his heat, smell his smell - a combination of sweat, horse, and some spicy, clean smelling soap... I almost fell off the horse.
"Hold on." He headed into the sun, and in no time we came up to an old, low, paintless house in the middle of nowhere. His old flatbed was there, in front of the barn, and a dog lay on the wide porch that covered the whole south side of the house. He got down, helping me down behind him, and led the horse to the barn. Listening to him talk softly to the horse, I couldn't help but smile.
"What?" He said, noticing my smile.
"Um, nothing.."
"Uh-huh." He led me, wordlessly, to the house.
The dog slowly got to his feet, tail wagging, and came to greet The Cowboy. He stopped to pet the dog, talking to him, and the dog danced at his feet, pretty much ignoring me.

"Whats his name?" I asked.

"Who?" He stopped, and turned to look at me. Duh.

"The dog!" I said, trying to get the dog's attention.


Figures. I followed him up the two steps to the porch, and right into his house. The door wasn't locked, but then, out here in the middle of nowhere this far from the road...
Wait a minute. I realized that I was in the middle of nowhere, without my truck, in this man's house, and I really didn't know him that well.

"I see you just figured it out. Don't worry, I'm not a serial killer.. And I've never had to rape anyone," he said, as he read my face. "Not that I'm not dangerous."

I thought I had been nervous before... I barely registered the interior of his home when we went in, and I sat where he told me to sit as he went to get the first aid kit.

I looked around then, and what I saw was not bad. Rustic, a bit sparse, very masculine, and I loved it. It was him to a "T".

© 2007, Hidden Flames

Cowboy Ways

He was here last night.
I was straightening the shelves, when I heard the bell above the door. I didn't turn around right away, but when I heard the unmistakable sound of cowboy boots and spurs, I knew it was him.

I turned, and he was coming down the aisle. The best looking man in this county. The one man around who can make me consider... if only for a moment... adultery.

Not too many real cowboys around these days. This is one of them. His wavy grey hair, darker, bushy mustache, piercing blue eyes looking at me from the leathery face under the filthy black cowboy hat... Spurs, chaps, fleece lined denim jacket, bandana so old and used it's color can't be described...

A fifth of Early Times whiskey, and he asks, in his slow drawl, how my night is going... Better now, I think, but manage a generic answer and a reasonable smile...

I find it very hard to hold a normal conversation with him without my voice quivering... His words, with their hint of a suggestion in them, don't help me... He knows how I feel... I can tell...

He asks about the store being for sale. I tell him there are several people wanting to buy, but when it's sold I don't think I will be working here anymore.

"You can't quit until I come see you again," he says, with a slow, lopsided grin as he turns and walks out the door...As only a real cowboy in spurs can do....

My God, why does he do that to me!?

Because he knows he can.

What would I do if he was serious? Could I resist? I don't even honestly know the answer to that. I really don't.


I feel a cowboy fantasy story coming on.... Stay tuned....

Monday, August 21, 2006

The Punishment (Pt. II)

(I am so sorry this took so long. This blog had started to haunt me like so many other things on my "Have to do" list. I refuse to write from a feeling of guilt, or let it become a chore, so I waited until the need to write returned.)

Because Michael was due in fairly early the next morning, Clarissa decided to go to bed early. Naked, she climbed between the luxurious sheets on her king size bed, and quickly fell asleep. Her mind, however, was still concentration on that punishment session she was sure to get the next day.

“You know the punishment for disobedience! It will be even worse for you, the alpha slave, you should be setting an example for the other girls. Take off your clothes.” She heard Michael say, in a low growl. Immediately she was naked, and he led her to the playroom.
Suddenly she was standing tied, ankles and wrists, under the large steel frame. Her arms and legs were spread, and Michael was standing in front of her with the large flogger in his hand.
Saying nothing, he started, not slowly, like usual, but hard, not warming her up, but ripping the flogger across her chest and between her legs. Over and over, relentlessly. Tears streamed down her face, but her juices were beginning to run down her legs.
Calmly walking to the table, Michael picked up the one thing she hated more than anything, the cane. Tears of fear started now, as he approached her from behind. She couldn’t turn her head far enough to see him, and the mirror in front of her had been covered.
Thwack! The cane came down across her upper buttocks, nearly making her scream. Again, and again, all up and down her thighs and ass. If it weren’t for the chains holding her arms up, she would be on the floor. He laid down the cane, in its exact place on the table, and came around in front of her, hands in his pockets. She looked up at him pleadingly, but knew that she could not speak unless spoken to.
He pulled his hands out of his pockets, and reached out to her breasts. He held adjustable silver nipple clips in his hands, and he clamped them onto her nipples, much tighter than usual, and she grimaced. Reaching down on the floor, he picked up a length of rope. He patiently wound it around her breasts, artfully, and tied it behind her neck. Her breasts were red, the rope was tight, and the clips were throbbing. Reaching between her legs, he clipped a matching pair onto her pussy lips, and hooked a weight to the chain between them.
Clarissa leaned her head back and she was gone, her mind sailing away on the waves of pain. All went black.

The next morning, Clarissa awoke to sunshine streaming in her windows. Checking the clock, she saw that it was almost noon. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so late. As she got out of bed, she looked down at her breasts, sure that she would see the telltale blood-red stripes of blood vessels that had burst under the pressure of the whipping she dreamed Michael had given them.
After her shower, she threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, and went downstairs. The other girls were busy making sure everything was perfect for Michael’s homecoming. Clarissa went into the kitchen, and grabbed an apple.
“Clarissa, Michael will be home in just a few hours! You are usually keeping track of everything. Are you sick?” Jackie, who had been dusting the living room, sounded concerned.
“Not physically, no…” She turned her back on Jackie, and left the room before Jackie could answer. She had a feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she wasn’t sure if it was anticipation or fear.
Clarissa spent the rest of the afternoon reading, and checking her email. Anything but what she would normally have been doing on Michael’s homecoming day.
Michael came through the front door, expecting his girls to be waiting for him.
“Hello, ladies… How are my…” He realized that Clarissa wasn’t present.
“Where is Clarissa?” He couldn’t imagine Clarissa doing anything other than exactly what she was supposed to do.
“Um, I think she was awake late last night, and she is asleep in her room,” Jackie said quietly, feeling a bit awkward.
“Really… Well, it is nice to see the two of you. How were things while I was gone?” They assured him everything went smoothly. He could smell dinner cooking, and saw that the house was immaculate.
Going up to the master suite, he started to put his suitcase in the dressing room, when he realized that the suits he had sent to the cleaners last week were still gone. Funny, that was one of Clarissa’s duties.
Going to her room, he opened the door quietly. Clarissa was laying across her bed, asleep, an open book lying by her head. Shaking his head, he headed back downstairs to talk to Jackie and Sarah.
“Come here, girls.” Michael sat down on the couch, and the girls sat down on either side of him. “Tell me what is really going on with Clarissa.”
Both girls looked down, not wanting to rat out their sister, but knowing that they had to answer him.
“She thinks she isn’t getting enough attention.” Jackie blurted out.
Sarah looked up at him. “She thought if she was a brat, you would punish her, and that negative attention would be better than no attention at all.”
Michael thought a moment.
“Well, punishment she will get. Girls, I want you naked and in the play room in five minutes.” He got up suddenly from the couch, and strode purposefully up the stairs and down the hall to Clarissa’s room. Not bothering this time to be quiet, he barged in.
“What in the bloody hell do you think you are doing?”
Clarissa jumped up from the bed not awake yet, and not realizing what was going on until she saw the look in Michael’s eyes. She stood beside the bed, and looked at her feet.
“I… I was tired, and…” Clarissa suddenly wasn’t sure if her plan was a good one, or the worst one she had ever had.
“Why would you be tired, if you went to bed on time? And what about my suits that were sent to the cleaners? Where are they?” Michael stepped right up to her, and reached out, turning her face up so he could see her. “You know the penalty for disobedience.”
Suddenly her heart was pounding. She could hear the other girls going into the playroom next door, and knew something was up.
“You will have to withstand severe punishment for this. You are the alpha slave in this house; your behavior should be above reproach.” Michael leaned in, getting right in her face. “Take off your clothes, now!”
Clarissa hurriedly pulled off her jeans, and t-shirt. She had nothing underneath, and she now stood naked in front of him, shivering in anticipation.
Michael reached down and pulled back the covers on the bed. “Get in.”
Confused, Clarissa did as he told her, and climbed into her bed.
“Lay down.” Michael pulled the covers over her, tucking her in. “You are so tired? Your punishment will be confinement to your suite for the next 24 hours. On the plane home today I planned an elaborate session with the four of us, it should last for hours. I guess now it will be just three of us. Lucky for you, the playroom in right next door. You will be able to hear every slap, every cry, and every moan. Have a good night, Clarissa.”

© 2006, Hidden Flames