Finding direction

“To write you first have to have something to say.”

I don’t remember where I first came across this sage piece of wisdom, but it has held true over the years. It explains the rush of poetry I produced in my youth and even why I stopped writing in my early adulthood.

Seems I always had something I wanted to say when I was a teenager and in my early 20’s and then life evolved and the follies of youth had to be put aside and I stopped having something to say, or more accurately I stopped letting myself have something to say. Now as I’ve travelled through life and age and wisdom have caught a hold of me, I find myself more often with questions to ask or directions to explore than answers or opinions to give.

I’ve let go of the arrogance of youth where I thought I knew everything and embraced knowing that no matter how much I learn I still have so much more I could learn. Life in all its varied shades of gray is a melting pot of answers and I often find myself stewing in the possibilities instead of choosing a direction in which to focus.

This can make it hard to pick something to say. How do you choose what story to tell? How do you pick just one simple truth to impart, or mistake to highlight? How do you separate all the entangled lines of experience to follow a single journey and make your point?

I think in my search to discover life’s mysteries I’ve forgotten that sometimes the simple messages are the most profound and that it also doesn’t always have to be profound. Truth is found in the risks we take and the lessons we learn in the discovery.

Writer's process

My mind can often be a rather temperamental place to live. It requires a constant shifting structure of needs to keep it well fed and balanced so the creative juices flow. When I finally set myself to task in my writing and gave it true focus and attention, I’ve come to learn an amazing amount about my process. Like most creative pursuits it’s not linear. What I find interesting is how hard it can be to write in silence. I’ve found that instead of music, which I read or heard from a bunch of my own favorite authors being their go to background noise, I actually find I need to hear people in conversation. Sometimes its news or talk radio, other times its shows that I like or find thoughtful. There is something so rich and fascinating about human interaction that observing it even in fictional work inspires me to make those left turns where I have to ask what if. What if, the conversation went this way instead of that, what if the circumstances where different, or what if the ripples a particular choice made went further out or stayed closer in.

The thing about human interactions is they aren’t linear either, they resemble fractals: where each choice breaks off into a plethora of possibilities just waiting to be explored. People are constantly in motion because of these choices, never staying the same even when you can revisit the same choice and take a different path. Your perspective won’t be the same, you will never have that same space of unknowable you had when you first perceived the choice.

It’s also endlessly fascinating to me as a writer at how much my own personal growth projects and life experience play into the choices I interpret my characters having, which ones they see or will lean towards based on my perception of the world and people. The lessons I’ve learned through my own flawed interactions translate into needing to understand on a greater level what people want, what they desire, how someone goes about attaining that information and how their approach is interpreted. Is it too direct and seen as brutal or challenging, is it too subtle and seen as passive aggressive or missed entirely. How do you create a charged interaction between two people in a way that leads to the outcome you want?

It’s taken me years to overcome my own social conditioning on this topic to finally be open to exploring these questions and finding answers instead of having an aversion to even the thought of what I perceived as manipulation tactics or game playing. The truth is that what I perceived as game playing wasn’t necessarily the reality of the interaction. We all crave sparks or what most people most commonly refer to as chemistry in the interactions we have with others, and character interactions in a story are no different. They require it on an even more dramatic level in order to demonstrate a journey or inner/emotional struggle, to convey subtext in the written form, when body language would convey it in a visual way.

I’ve also come to realize, thanks to being involved in poly relationships that often times the perception of a thing can be more important than the reality of a thing. Especially in regards to interpersonal relationships, if someone perceives you as wanting something more than you do and it makes them uncomfortable because it exists outside of what they feel they can give or want to give, then it changes their interaction with the other person. It doesn’t matter if the reality was different. The perception is the only thing that mattered. True perceptions can be cleared up with simple communication, but that is often not explored because of the perception. If someone is already feeling uncomfortable about what they think another person wants from them, having a conversation about that only makes that discomfort worse when human nature is driven by a desire to avoid feeling discomfort.

So how does that translate into a story? How do I translate my intrinsic need to understand people and interpersonal relationships into writing dynamic but realistic explorations of the human condition in a way that both conveys profound truths and wisdom and is entertaining? How do I as a writer, write about these topics in a way that makes the reader feel personally involved without creating the perception that it’s based on personal experience from me, that instead of it being seen as my own personal secret desires/thoughts/struggles and have it be seen for the reality that it’s simply me taking an experience and the unexplored possibilities and going down the road not taken in a way that allows me to internalize it so I can make it feel real to the reader?

Chasing Helen

I should have listened to that small voice in my head. Its right more often than its wrong, but nothing was going to stop me from running head long into traffic. Or at least, I equated what I was about to do with playing in traffic. Either way I was risking being injured or harmed in some way, though it is interesting to notice how differently we define harm as an adult versus when you are a kid. As a teen I thought of harm in the physical sense, not once did I think about the emotional or mental harm I was at risk for. I, on the other hand, had thought about all of it. Being older I had to think of all of the consequences. Not that knowing what I was putting myself at risk for was going to stop me, but I was running out into that street at least aware of what I was doing. So here I was pulling into the parking lot outside of my own personal path to rack and ruin.

I found a parking spot to the side of the grey brick building and pulled my beat up relic to a stop. Never being able to be anywhere on time, I was of course half an hour early. Which was perfect as it gave me time to collect my nerves and firmly pound them into some semblance of submission. Christ what was I even doing here. This really was a monumentally bad idea; I had a nice safe life. What was I doing meeting some stranger, all because I had a dream. I was always having dreams, Haunting visions that would taunt me, singing sweetly to me to follow, to find them. I was a pro at ignoring them, so why now? Why was I suddenly unable to resist this dream? The answer was because this dream pulled at me and never left my thoughts, and truth be told I wanted an adventure. I was tired of being so responsible and always doing what was expected so I answered that ad in the paper because it called out to that stupid dream that has been tugging at me for years.

Looking in the rear view mirror I stared at myself, seeing my wide green eyes staring back at me.

“Okay you, we are going to do this. We are going to be someone else for awhile tonight and maybe that will finally ease this gnawing hunger that cries out to be fed. We are in this together you and I.”

After finishing my little pep talk, I got out of my car and headed into the club aptly named Obsidian for its lure to the darkest in our natures. Unlike most clubs, the pounding beat of the music was not overwhelming to the ears, instead it had almost a primal beat as you felt it vibrate along your bones, but was still quiet enough you could hold an intimate conversation without having to raise your voice to be heard. I settled myself onto a velvet barstool and ordered a vodka martini while I waited. I wondered how easily I was going to find what I was after. It’s not like I had ever done this before, but I had years of pent up dreams pushing me forward.

I felt his presence the moment he walked into the room all feline grace and power. My heart began racing in my chest as I watched him move into the room from somewhere in the back. I could only hope that this exotic creature was the stranger from the ad I was here to meet. There must be rooms back there since I hadn’t seen him when I first came in and scanned through the room. I checked my watch and saw it read 9 pm. I love promptness in a person.

My breath froze in my chest as his eyes locked with mine and I felt a blush creep up my neck when a slow smirk played out across his face. It was like he could see inside me and knew exactly what I was thinking and the reason I was here.
Wait, why was I here again?

“No not to run” I told myself as the flight instinct kicked in and I had the overwhelming urge to pull a cowardly lion. I was here to find out what lay beneath that nice veneer of my civilized nature. I was tired of being the good girl or of doing what was expected of me.

“Hello” His voice was all smooth glass like honeyed scotch burning you as it goes down and settles into a warm fire in the pit of your stomach.
My flush crept higher up the back of my neck as I responded with a simple,

“Evening” in return.

God what was I doing? I was in way over my head; clearly this man was a smooth operator and me? I had no game what so ever. I started to slide off the stool to make my escape when I felt his hand grasp my wrist.

“If you run, I’m just going to chase you.” That liquid fire of a voice slid through my ears and made my legs go limp.

“Which would be fun” he continued “but let’s wait for that? Why don’t you come sit with me, Cara, and talk for awhile, or did you not come to face your fears.”

Suddenly feeling vulnerable and exposed, I trembled under his hand. How the hell was this stranger able to read me so clearly? Jeez did I have a big sign over my head that said: “Fresh timid prey?” Reminding myself to breath I screwed up my courage and with a deliberate steeling of my shoulders turned into him and the direction he was pointing too. I watched that smirk dance across his lips again, apparently I must have been obvious in my attempt to get myself under control and he clearly liked watching the indecision play out against the features on my face.

I followed him over to one of the couches that lined the dark walls and sank into the soft buttery feel of leather. My hand instinctually reached out to caress the smooth surface as I indulged in one of my favorite tactile pleasures. There is just something about the suppleness of leather that makes me want to roll myself in it. I have a similar reaction to fur too, but not as strong as it is for leather.

I managed to stop myself from burying my nose into it and inhaling the sweet smell. When I looked up at him I saw a spark in his eyes as he caught what I was doing and I snatched my hand back to my side.

I took a sharp intake of breath as my body quivered underneath his predatory gaze. I squirmed in my seat as the muscles in my core tightened and released making me wet as his gaze made me feel like prey. Good god what was wrong with me. I should be running away not willingly letting this man stalk me like I was some tasty gazelle out on the African plain. I was going to end up dead and it would serve me right, but I couldn’t seem to find the will to do anything. My lizard brain bouncing between wanting to run away and wanting to let this predator catch me, I was lost.

“Tell me Cara, what secret yearning brought you here? What dreams tug at you that would make a sweet girl like you, come looking for a man like me?

“Wow, um that soon huh, No small talk first just dive right in?”

“Don’t be coy, Cara, We can hide behind small talk if you wish, but I see you
squirming in your skin dying to break free.” He leans forward. The scent of him surrounding me as he whispers, “You do want to break free don’t you? You want to run and be caught, perhaps once helpless; you can then give yourself permission to enjoy
how I will use you. Yes?”

Finding no safe answer I blush and feel my whole body want to melt into the couch. My hands slide off my lap and dig into the leather beneath me. I can’t escape his eyes. He sees everything I do and I know there is nothing I am going to be able to hide. I can feel the panic begin to well up in me and just before it starts to really take hold he sits back, his whole body changing to one of easy leisure and comfort.

“So you like leather, Cara? Tell me what do you like most about it?”

“My name’s not Cara, its Helen.”

“Cara is a pet name, my sweet Helen, and you didn’t answer my question.”

Squirming at the gentle rebuke, I thought about what drew me to leather and began babbling out my answer.

“It has energy to it, you can tell that it was once a living thing and it holds on to that memory. Leather is strong, supple, and still feels like it has life. It will stiffen up when cold, get brittle when dry, but come back to life when carefully massaged with the right kind of conditioner. I love the feel of a hard piece of leather as it begins to give under your hands when you work in some saddle soap or other product.”

“Yes leather is a living thing even after the death of the creature it once was. It
still holds onto that memory of life.”

“Sometimes I feel bad that I’m enjoying the death of something else, but I can’t help loving the feel and smell.”

“Why should you feel bad, Cara? All things die.”

“Yes, but it’s not like the animal chose to die.”

“Ah so it’s about choice? What is it that you would choose Cara? Would you choose to experience what this animal did? To feel the skittering heartbeat of fear, not knowing what is going to happen or what is in store for you?” Leaning forward and pressing a single finger into my chest just above my cleavage he asks “What do you feel here that scares you and excites you? Tell me Cara, what do you desire.”

“To be pursued”

“Pursued? Is it the thrill of the chase that draws you or the need to be caught?”

Stammering I squirmed at his knowing expression.

“Is it not the desire to be claimed that pulls you so strongly? The chase is just a way to make sure only the strong and powerful can claim you.”

“Yes.” I whispered

A tension that wasn’t there before suddenly came alive in his entire body as he slowly leaned forward and calmly said “Then run Cara. Run now.”

A girlish eek slipped from my throat as I tried to back away from the predatory gleam I saw in his eyes. The more I inched away the more he mirrored my movements.

“Run Cara” he almost growled out “If pursuit is what you really want you must run. There is only one rule. You may not leave this building. You can try to hide anywhere, as long as it is still in this building I will chase you.”

And with that he lunged for me. I spilled over the arm of the couch and landed on my butt. Quickly getting to my feet I fled towards the other side of the room where I saw doors. My heart racing with excitement and fear in my chest, I may have been scared but I was also feeling the beginning kiss of anticipation flood my veins. It was not about being forced, but about being caught. This was my dream running in the dark with a sensual man chasing me, but what I was running from wasn’t him exactly. I was running from what I wanted him to do to me. I wanted to feel hunted, stalked, and then caught and have wickedly debaucherous things done to me. I wanted to be claimed like some wild thing caught in the woods and turned into property. And what the hell was wrong with me for having such forbidden thoughts?

I looked back behind me to see how close he was and caught my breath as I paused to watch him glide towards me. His pace was deliberate but not rushed like he knew he had all the time in the world to catch me.

I went to the first door I saw and yanked it open. Darting into the hallway that was now exposed, I hurried down the painted walls, noticing the rich red color and the high sconces casting a dull light. It was both eerie and seductive.
I quickly cast about looking for doors to go through; when I heard the door open and his footsteps in steady pursuit.

“You’re not getting very far Cara, you must do better than this if you wish to be caught and kept. I throw back the easy ones.” His voice took on and edgy glint as it lowered in timbre to his threat.

I frantically ran down the hallway and skittered to the left as a new opening appeared; almost losing my footing I slid into the other wall and decided to kick off my shoes to gain better traction. Tearing down the hallway I ran to the first door I saw and tried the handle only to discover it was locked. Turning, I lunged for the door across from it only to find it locked too.

“Damn it” I muttered as I continued to try each door down the length of hallway. It was arranged like an old time hotel and I briefly wondered if that was what this building once was, when I found a door that would open and plunged through it and made a mad dash up the stairs I discovered waiting behind it.

I snickered at my own stupidity for running up the stairs. Didn’t I always mock the people who did this in movies? You can’t get away by running upstairs eventually you run out of places to go, but that was the point, wasn’t it? I didn’t want to get away, not really, so I ran. The strain of running up stairs quickly drained my strength and I could feel a sharp burning begin to creep its way through my legs. I ran up the first two flights of steps and paused unsure of how I was going to evade him, when I heard the door below me open. I decided to loudly open the door on the next flight and let it slam shut and then padded silently up another flight of stairs as quietly as I could hoping he would take the bait and go through the wrong door, giving me the chance to back track.

It wasn’t long before I heard the door open and shut and I peaked over the rail to see if the coast of was clear. Not seeing him I crept back down the stairs and as I passed the door it popped open and a hand reached out to grab me. I tore away. The sleeve of my shirt ripping in the process and I bolted down the stairs.

“Very clever Cara, but not clever enough. Keep running my little rabbit.”

His voice taunted me and I could hear him whistling behind me as he appeared to be magically catching up to me despite my frenzied pace. It was disheartening to be getting winded and hear that soft tune emanating behind me as if he was out for a jaunty little stroll. I understood in that moment what a gazelle must feel like being stalked on the open plain by some big cat. His gait was smooth and appeared unhurried and yet I could never get far from him. Every time I gained some distance I would look back and he would just appear like magic closer to me than he was a moment before.

My legs burned from the effort of bolting up and down so many stairs and I took the first door on the next floor I could find and ran down the long narrow corridor. There were a series of open rooms and I ran to the left looking for a place to hide. The first room was bare except for a bed pushed up against the far wall, but there was an open doorway on the right so I took it hoping it didn’t lead to a dead end. It turned out to be a posh looking bathroom with chrome facets against a grayish blue interior and thankfully another door. I decided to shut the first door and lock it behind me and did the same to the other one thinking he may think I’ve locked myself in and found myself in another Spartan bedroom. I eased around the corner to see if the coast was clear and not seeing him I bolted across the hall into another room. I barely got through the entryway when I heard him coming down the hall, the soft click of the stairway door sounding behind him.

I pressed my hands to my mouth to hold in the squeal of fear that wanted to escape. My heart was pounding so heavily in my chest I was sure he could hear it. I’m not sure how long I stayed pressed to the wall listening for any sign of where he was, but eventually my fluttering heartbeat could stay still no more and I slowly peaked around the door to have a look.

“Hello my little rabbit.” He said, his face meeting mine as soon as I rounded the door frame.

“Aaiii” I let out a high pitched squeal and fled into the room and through into the adjoining bathroom, through the other bedroom and out into the hall again. This time he was fast on my heels and it didn’t take long before I felt his strong arms sweep around my waist and lift me off my feet. I kicked and squirmed until he slammed me against the wall and pressed into me until my breath came in short pants. He pressed his thigh between my legs forcing them open and once I was pinned he changed his grip to wrestle first one arm behind my back and then the other one. The whole time I tried in vain to buck him free and the only thing I accomplished was to press myself more firmly against him feeling the hard length of his arousal cradled between the cracks of my ass.

“That’s it Cara, struggle for me.” He growled, his hot breath caressing the skin on the back of my neck.

My body wiggled ineffectively against him and his grip got tighter bringing my arm higher up my back until a searing pain pierced through my shoulder and I cried out, and with the pain a sudden easing of my body as I surrendered over to him. I was pinned and completely at his mercy.

“Good girl” he purred, “Maybe I’ll keep you after all.”

Pondering Emotional Fortitude

I’ve been thinking a lot about resolve and fortitude today. Questioning how we build stronger resolve to persevere or how we cultivate a strong sense of emotional fortitude so we don’t lose our self confidence when we hear criticism.

I’ve been reading this erotica series called the Marketplace by Laura Antoniou and the one consistent aspect about the book is how uncomfortable it makes me. It took me awhile to figure out what it was about the series that was making me so uncomfortable and it landed on how much the characters that were in training wilted emotionally whenever they are scolded or punished and it got me thinking about emotional fortitude and resiliency.

I can’t help but question if it’s possible for someone who is emotionally sensitive to learn greater emotional fortitude so when faced with criticism or moments of rejection they do not emotionally wilt. It’s left me meditating on how integral our self worth, feelings of self love, general self esteem, and self confidence are to our inner strength and if it’s something we instinctively have or if that kind of inner strength and fortitude is a skill set that can be acquired and practiced until it is mastered.

Mastered in the way that allows us to take in those moments when we feel rejected and cultivate the ability to bounce so that moment doesn’t become all consuming or blown up to be bigger than it is. A skill so finely developed that when a mistake happens or we fail to live up to an expectation of a Dominant that our entire self worth or confidence isn’t suddenly called into question.

I understand that emotionally wilting or withdrawing because you do something incorrectly or when you are corrected becomes exhausting for others to deal with. It becomes difficult to deal with someone who is that emotionally delicate that you can’t discuss issues because you don’t want to then watch them meltdown.
Often times that sort of behavior is viewed as victim behavior or the person is perceived as a doormat when they are in fact just very sensitive.

Does emotional sensitivity go beyond self confidence or individual feelings of self worth/love? Can’t one feel settled in one’s self and still feel the sting of rejection when hearing a criticism, or does that inherently indicate a fragile self esteem?

I’ll admit that a large part of my pondering on this has to do with how much strength and self confidence are valued, and at the same time it leaves me lingering on the thoughts of why submissive/slaves who become charged with feeling off balance out of the need to please and do well, by being criticized and scolded without being given clear direction or instruction on what is expected of them, is eroticized to the extent that it is in many stories.

Why is creating that unbalance and neurosis in a submissive partner eroticized when in reality it’s been my experience that most people are kind hearted and don’t enjoy inflicting emotional hurt onto others. So much so that even within the confines of a D/s relationship instead of confronting the submissive partner about their sensitive nature they end the relationship by backing away. Often times by not even confronting them and just slowly stepping away from the person until they no longer speak to them at all.

Fickle Summer Wind

*writing practice prompt: write a short interaction between two people that shows a shared history."

They lived in a small house, in a small town, with their small lives, but the fickle summer wind had other ideas.

“Agnes come quick.”

“What is it?”

“Come quick, you won’t believe this.”

“What Bess, what is it?”

“It’s a baby.”

“A what?”

“A baby, Agnes. You know a BABY.”

“Yes, I know what a baby is, Bess. What’s it doing here?”

“It’s in a basket. Someone must have left it here.”

“Well, where do you think it came from, Bess?”

“Where do any babies come from Agnes.”

“You know what I mean, where did this baby come from?”

“I don’t know, Agnes. Who would have left a baby here?”

“You didn’t see anybody?”

“No, I didn’t see anybody. Just the basket, I thought Biddy was leaving us more vegetables from her garden, not a baby.”

“You think Biddy left us a baby?”

“Don’t be silly, Agnes. Where would Biddy get a baby from?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who thought she left it.”

“NO I thought Biddy left us more vegetables.Do keep up.”

“Well what are we going to do with a baby, Bess?”

“I suppose we should take it out of the basket.”

“You’re not suggesting we keep the baby? What are we going to do with a baby?”

“We can’t leave it here Agnes, it’s a baby. I’m sure someone will come back for it.”

“Bess you can’t just take in a baby, it’s not a stray kitten. Do you have any idea how much work a baby is?”

“Yes I know how much work a baby is, I’m not daft Agnes. What else is there to do? We can’t exactly leave the poor wee thing out in this heat. She’ll die. Do you want that on your conscious? I don’t know about you, but I’d rather meet St Peter without having to explain why I let an innocent babe die for want of a little care.”

“Heavens, Bess I wasn’t suggesting that at all. I may be a cranky old woman, but I’m no baby killer. Best get the wee one in the house then. I’ll see what I can rummage up to feed it then we’ll call the proper authorities and see what is to be done.”

“Her.”

“What?”

“Not it, her. She’s a darling little girl.”

“Sweet Mary and Joseph, I know that look. You’ve gone all soft already, I’ve never been able to talk you out of keeping any of God’s creatures once you’ve got that look. Come on Bess, let’s see what we can do.”

(I rather like the story that is forming here, so many questions in my head that I want to have answered. I think I'll keep working on this piece and see where it wants to go.)

Voices in my Head

I've finally under taken writing my first play. This has been a project I've been trying to start for over a year and just having a terrible time adjusting out of the story format into play format.

Issues like how to introduce emotion or inner thoughts between characters or creating a mood soley through dialogue, but I had a huge epiphany the other day after a rather intense emotional night with my Sir and the play just came together in my minds eye and away I went with writing it. I've had some formating help from a couple of dear people in my life too.

I'm super exicted about this piece of writing. I'm shooting for a ten minute play give or take some pacing.

here is a bit of teaser dialogue to wet your interest.

Knight “You pushed her too hard.”

Imp “No I didn’t.”

Knight “Yes you did, look at her. She’s curled into a little ball and shaking. You pushed her too hard.”

Imp “No I pushed her just right. She needed this.”

Knight “She needed this or you needed this? You twisted fuck. She’s completely curled in on herself.”

Imp “She needed this.”

Knight “Keep saying that asshole, maybe it will be true. You better hope you didn’t push her too far and break her.”

Imp “I didn’t push her too far, she’s strong. She’s not going to break, not this easily, not this soon. Besides she’s crying that’s good. She’s still emotionally here and she needed this. She needed to be pushed past her self control.”

Knight “You mean you needed to push her. I think you just wanted to find out what lay beneath her polished well mannered composure. You selfish ass, you better hope she’s as strong as you think she is.”

Imp “That too.”

Knight “You’re getting off on this aren’t you, you sadistic bastard.”

Imp “and if I am? What of it.”

Knight “You’re sick, you know that right. How can you look at that poor sweet girl and be getting off on it. You’ve terrorized her. For what? So you could get your rocks off?”

Imp “She’s so open and raw, how can I not respond to that. You’re telling me you don’t want to fuck her like that all tear stained and vulnerable?

Knight “Not like that no.”

Imp “No? Liar, you’re just as turned on by that as I am. The only difference is that you want to rush in there and make it all better, make her turn to you for comfort and safety.”

Knight “And you don’t? You did this to her, you telling me you don’t want to make it better?”

Imp “You mean we did this to her, I didn’t notice you stopping me so who’s the sick fuck now?”

Knight “Fine we did this to her, I’m just as much to blame as you are. What now?

Imp “I want to root around inside this dark place with her and pluck the strings to see how beautiful she’ll sing for me. So yeah I’m a twisted bastard alright.”

Knight “You don’t sound all that repentant, you sound more like you can’t wait to dive inside her and swim around.”

Imp “there’s that too.”

Knight “There’s a special place in hell for people like you, you know.”

Imp “If I believed in hell, I’m sure your right.”

"Humiliating Lena"

She pulled into the dark parking lot outside of the run-down motel and got out of her car. The dank smell of stale urine permeated the street. Walking across the trash-littered pavement, Lena headed towards the office. The night air chilled her and brought her nipples to a hard point. As she passed by an open door a hand shot out and grabbed her, dragging her into the room before she could even call out. He made short work of subduing her and pushed her down onto the musty mattress.

Lena lay on the bed on her side, arms tied behind her back and rope running between her lips like a bit on a bridle gagging her. Her shirt was pushed up exposing her breasts, as was her skirt. She felt a sharp tug and heard the distinct sound of fabric ripping before the cool air kissed her where her panties had once been. She could feel his hands sliding across her skin teasing her as tears began leaking from her eyes.

Lena whimpered into her gag, an inarticulate muffled plea against her assailant and pressed her thighs together protecting her exposed bits.
He reached one hand up and cupped her breast then tugged firmly on the nipple while his other hand traced lazy circles over her hip and ass.
“You like this don’t you?” he rumbled, His voice wrapping around her reverberating down her spine.

A whimpered moan escaped from her throat before she could silence it.

“You do like it. Answer me, slut,” He barked out as his hand snaked out and slapped her across the face while the other hand yanked harder on her nipple.
Lena squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that continued to stream out. Mewling she tried to shake her head no, but he slapped her again quick and hard and her cheek stung with white-hot pain.

“Yes, you do. Don’t lie to me - I can see right through your little games. You are a depraved little thing aren’t you? I wonder what I will find if I touch you here.” He whispered as his hands slid down her side and forced their way between her closed thighs.

”Mmm, just what I thought.” He slipped a finger between her folds, sliding easily across the molten surface of her core already thick with fluid from arousal. He leaned in, the tiny hairs from his unshaved cheek tickling her ear, and whispered as he continued to run his finger across her sex.

“What kind of girl gets hot letting some guy tie her up and abuse her, huh? I’ll tell you. A sick twisted little girl, that’s who.”

Lena tried not to moan as the cruel taunting words danced across her ear. She tried desperately to hold still as his finger sawed across her clit.

“Tell me another lie,” he commanded. ”Tell me you don’t like it. Tell me to stop.”
She grunted against the rope. Her face scrunched up in an effort to get the words past the gag, but her body had other ideas as she moved into his hand.
“I’m going to fuck you and then come all over this nice skirt. Girl like you should know better than to try to dress above her station. Wearing designer clothes can’t hide what you are.”

Lena felt the slap of a belt buckle across her ass as the man began to open up his fly. She was quivering, with shame, and worst of all with need.
She could feel the rough denim against her legs, but soon forgot everything else as the Man spread her ass cheeks and slammed into her tight wet pussy. Humiliated that her body wanted what this man was doing to her, Lena vacillated between crying and moaning.

The man pounded into her hard and fast, one hand gripping her hair and pulling her neck into a painfully arched position while the other dug harshly into a breast. Lena tried to move away from the pain, but his grip was too tight, the rope too immobilizing. Before she knew it the hard penetrating rhythm and the cruelty of his use began to build up inside her until it came screaming out of her. The orgasm took her by surprise and her body thrashed against his hold; with a heavy grunt the man pulled out and true to his promise spilled his completion out all over her.

Lena lay panting for a moment on the bed wondering what the man would do next when she looked up and saw him closing the fly of his pants. He pulled the tie on the rope and the pressure on her hands slackened. As Lena began trying to uncoil herself from the rope the man tossed a wad of bills on top of her and walked out the door, laughing.