"Unclaimed Riches"

What cruel words you taunt me with, to hear such sweet praise from your lips.

Unrequited promises lay, of future worth that remain unclaimed.

It is rejection you do speak, when love is a taunt held just out of reach.

A polished jewel, honed and cut.

It sparkles and dazzles and makes you want.

How then do you handle so carelessly,

A precious gem you claim to see, but just like others have left to gather dust.

"Heart's Longing"

If I built a cave to hide myself away in would you battle the dragons at the gate to pull me from my self-imposed isolation?

When I’m standing naked and trembling before you, will you soothe my fears and spin a protective cocoon around me?

Sometimes I am too stubborn and proud to ask for help, will you fight for me because you know what I need better than I do?

When my faith has slipped away, will you whisper the words I need to silence the doubts?

If I get lost in the chaos would you come find me and bring me home?

The walls have all crumbled to dust around me and I am bare before you.

Will you still love me even though I am flawed?

Erotica: Pony for Sale

A fine sheen of sweat began to break out over my skin as the sun soaked into my naked body. The small breeze felt good and I shifted trying to catch more of it, pulling against the rope that hitched me to the post and shifting my shoulders trying to ease the tension from my arms being bound behind my back. There was a long line of us, two rows perfectly lined up shifting around in our spots with impatience. I nervously chewed on the small bit that was in my mouth, thankful that I could swallow around it instead of having a steady stream of drool escape from the corners. I could hear voices, but couldn’t see around the blinders that obscured my vision. I could see the broad body of the boy across from me, all strong lines and hard muscle of him. I could see the lean lines of the boy to his right, and the graceful curves of the girl on his left, and if I turned my head I could catch glimpses of bodies to my right and left. The mix was erratic, no reason or purpose to the line up just a mishmash of body types: some strong built for labor, some lean and graceful built for speed, and others soft and yielding built for pleasure. Some of my fellows stood patiently with a calm ease, while others twitched in the late morning sun, some from boredom and others dancing with eagerness or impatience.

It was hard to tell who was new here and who had gone through this before. It was my first time here and my own nervousness was making it hard to stand still and be calm against my doubts that were creeping in. I had an overwhelming urge to break free and run. I didn’t belong here. I was too new and uncertain, too unsure of myself and my ability to please.

A crowd had started to gather and soon we were no longer alone. Men and women began to move down the line inspecting the merchandise laid out before them. I could hear bits of conversation here and there.

“Fine selection today, don’t you think?”

“Yes, very fine. It should be a lively auction.”

“See anything you like?”

“I have a few favorites, what about you? Have you decided what you are in the market for? You have a pretty large stable already.”

Chuckles, “They have some fine racers today, I may have to pick up a few.”

“I want a pretty one to pull me in a carriage Daddy.”

“Look at that one, strong legs, broad chest, firm muscles.”

I could see the couple examining the boy across from me and cringed as the man grabbed his head and pressed his mouth open to check his teeth. He stood there placidly as they poked and prodded him, clearly unmoved by the attention.

The increase in noise began to pick up the tension around me, causing my fellows to show it in increased movement of their own. I felt the muscle down my back twitch as someone approached me. My heart began to race and I jolted when a hand touched me gently on my leg. I tried to shy away from the touch, angling my body off to the side to little effect.

“That one’s skittish, I hear a woman’s voice say.”

“Yes.” The low timbre of a man’s voice hums through me as his hand reconnects and runs down my leg, “But such graceful lines, she’ll be a beauty in the ring trained up right.”

Pulling against the tie, I try to crane my head around to see them, a fine blush blossoming across my skin as they continue to discuss me, embarrassed at such an intimate examination and critique of my form. He squeezes my calf getting me to lift my foot and I tense as he runs a finger down the center of my foot before placing it back on the ground, then proceeds to repeat the process on my other leg.

“Not likely.” Says the woman, “more trouble than it’s worth, the skittish ones are never reliable.”

“I disagree. They just need more guidance, but with patience you usually find a bright jewel waiting to be carved.”

“She is pretty; I’ll give you that, lovely caramel coloring on her. She would definitely be flashy to own.”

“You’re a sweet girl, aren’t you? Just a bit scared is all.” His voice was a soothing caress as his hands continued to stroke up my leg squeezing the muscles of my thighs and across my ass. I began to settle at his touch and the soft glide of his hand over my back, while his voice crooned at me.

“That’s a good girl, easy now. No need to be frightened.”

My belly tightened as I began to tingle between my legs at being pet by a stranger. His hands felt good despite the embarrassment of being so exposed and in some regards ignored while his hands were on me. He was aware of my body, yes, but I could have been anybody, instead of being this bit of flesh in front of him he was inspecting.

I jerked as he came around and was suddenly just there in my face, his hazel eyes peering at me.

“SA SA, easy girl, settle down now.”

His hand reached up and grabbed my halter lowering my head back down below his, pulling me to him. My breath exploding out of my nose so sharply it moved his hair.

“Careful there Wickham or you’re likely to get bit.” The woman said before she moved down the line continuing her browsing.

“You’re not going to bite me are you girl?”

I chewed on my bit, but settled down at the soft vibrating sound of his voice. His eyes bore into mine. They were soft eyes with a glint of steel in them, and he had a subtle commanding presence to him that eased me.

“Pay no attention to Lady Arianna, my pretty girl. She lacks patience and fails to see what lay beneath the surface.”

With a final pat, the man walked off and I was once again alone. People continued to come down the line touching, feeling, examining. Some of the comments were scathing and others flattering. I hated the attention; hated feeling strangers’ hands on me, while they judged my worth. I didn’t think I was the only one feeling this way. I could hear the restive stamping of others around me, even an admonishment or two over some unwelcome behavior. I was getting itchy and sweaty and restless from the waiting when the announcement came over the crowd for the auction to begin.

We were taken in two’s and three’s off our hitches and lead across the field to a ring. I waited, anticipation making my stomach churn, for my turn to head off into the ring. I could hear bits of the announcer describing what was up for auction.

“Nice strong racer, see his long lines, well muscled legs.”

Then there was a flurry of noise and numbers and then next description would start.

“Good work horse, strong, built for endurance, good temperament. Who will start the bidding?”

It felt like eternity before a young boy came and grabbed my lead, although the shadows cast from the sun hadn’t changed their angles so it couldn’t have been all that long. I picked up my feet and carefully followed him to the entrance of the ring. It wasn’t large; a small oval surrounded by a fence and beyond a cluster of people lined up around the fence on a raised dais, almost like bleachers or a stage. The dirt packed floor was firm under my feet and kicked up little dust as I was led into the ring.

The boy handed my lead off to a man in the center of the ring holding a whip. I balked at the sight of the whip and the sounds of all the people. The man gave a sharp tug on the lead to get me moving and then sent the whip sailing across my ass. I stumbled at first before picking up my feet and finding my rhythm.

“Not very graceful.” Came a voice from the crowd followed by laughter

I cringed at the rebuke and started moving around the ring in a slow circle, the whip grazing my ass encouraging me to pick up my knees and pace. It was disorienting having my vision obstructed. I could only see directly in front of me and had to keep my focus in front of me so not to turn blindly into the curves. I was desperately curious to see the crowd, see their reactions and yet I was afraid to see displeasure on anyone’s face. A sharp crack on my left thigh prompted a lead change as I continued to prance prettily around the ring. My skin flushed with exertion and embarrassment as I felt the eyes of so many strangers drilling into me.

“Next up we have a beauty to offer, untrained and new, well toned and sure to please. Who will start the bidding at $200?”

Hands shot up as the auctioneer began his routine.

“Who will give me $250, 250, 300,325,350,375,400?”

As the numbers grew, I continued to prance around settling into the heat that was growing in my legs and the short quick sting of the whip as it kissed the skin under my ass in sync with my movements. I tried to catch glimpses of who was bidding on me and hoped to see the man from earlier, but was moving to swiftly around the ring to see who was raising their hands. For the second time that day I began to question why I was here and fought against the sudden urge to run.

The man holding my lead must have sensed my change because the whip sung out and struck me hard on my ass, a welt already rising and throbbing before a second strike followed in its wake. I leapt forward into a run guided by the hard pull of the lead keeping me in my steady circle. I was happy for the movement and the demanding pace that was being pressed on me, as it soothed my nerves. I couldn’t help fretting who would purchase me. Would they be kind or cruel? What kind of work did they expect of me and could I please them? I was terrified of failing.

Slowly the sounds around me began to recede and I lifted my head to feel the breeze and sun on my face, my chest thrust out as my arms trailed behind me pressing into my back, and I gloried in the feeling of freedom that came over me while I ran.

I was shocked out of my reverie by a hard yank on my lead pulling me to a stop.

“Sold for $1000”

I jerked my head looking around to see who had purchased me, my heart thudding wildly against my chest. There he stood, my new owner, it was the man from earlier with his soft voice and demanding eyes. My legs trembled and I froze suddenly very unsure of my future, but drawn to him despite my fears.

I was led to a holding pen with another boy in it. A strong lad with well defined muscles, I’d guess he was a racer, but he could also be one of the jumpers too, whatever he was meant for it was clearly athletic. I wondered who had bought him and thought about asking, but he was paying me no notice and seemed content to wait, so I left him alone. Instead I pressed against the fence trying to watch all the activity and hoped to see my new owner come to fetch me. I could see there were plenty of other pens set up like this one, small enclosures holding anywhere from a single pony to several.

There was so much movement and excitement it was hard to contain myself from calling out to others. I wondered how long we would be waiting here and if there would be others joining us. How long was the auction going to last and where would we be going when it was over?

I couldn’t believe all the different types there were. Some of the ponies were already kitted out in fancy finery, while others were in harnesses waiting to be hitched up, probably to a cart.

I eventually grew bored of watching the crowd and was restless and impatient, when I noticed two men approaching my enclosure. I brightened when I realized one of them was my new owner. Hopefully it was time to go to my new home and begin my adventure with him. We were quickly collected and tied to the back of a carriage, pulled by a glossy pair of raven haired beauties, their skin shone in the sunlight, slicked down and oiled to a glossy sheen. The stood quietly, backs arched into lovely lines as their chests pressed forward into the leather harnesses around their breasts. They had the same kind of blinders on that I did, only they also had a harness around their necks stretching it into an awkward angle, arms bound behind them.They had slick boots that hugged their legs coming all the way up only inches below their asses. I stared in amazement at how lovely they looked and how proudly they stood there.

Then my owner bid goodbye to his friend and climbed into the carriage, he grabbed the reins that trailed from the neck harness of the fillies and used a quirt to flick them both on the ass to get them moving. The carriage pulled away at a slow pace and the man occasionally would strike each of them on their ass alternating cheeks to keep them moving forward. It wasn’t long before the each sported a bright lattice work of red lines across the firm mounds of flesh.

We travelled down a dirt lane, the ground warm from the sun and only slightly dusty. The lane was surrounded by a lush growth of trees and other plants. There were little dips and rises, and as we would approach a rise the quirt would sing out and strike the girls harder to encourage them to gain some speed, making it easier on them to pull us up the hill. Occasionally there would be a break in the plant life to expose an open meadow or a branch in the lane. In some of these breaks I could see houses. Most of them were modest, with small barns and enclosure next to them; a couple of them were extravagant numbers with wildly decadent gardens in front, and one had what was clearly a race track off to the side of a barn.

The dust tickled my nose and I could feel it itching at the back of my throat, but despite this the steady rhythm of the movement and the soft sound of the lad tied next to me breathing took on a meditative quality and my surroundings began to fade away as I drifted off into a peaceful reverie, enjoying the feel of the sun on my skin, the birds in the field and the simple pleasure of being free from the steady thoughts that churned in my mind.

I’m not sure what broke through my daydreaming, but as I became aware of my surroundings again I saw that we had moved down a smaller lane and was heading toward a cottage, the dirt lane gave way to a brick paved drive and we came to a slow stop just past the house.

My owner was efficient in getting us both untied and led away from the carriage into our new home. Our arms were freed and the blinders taken off before we were turned loose into very comfortable stalls piled high with hay. I breathed in deeply enjoying the smell of leather, and the clean crisp smell of the fields filling the box stall.

“Okay pretty girl” he said, “I’ll let you take a rest before taking you out and seeing what you can do. I’ll be back later with some food and then we’ll start training.”

He reached out and stroked my head giving me a little scratch at the back for good measure before closing the stall door and shutting it tight. I curled into the hay and found a comfortable position and before I knew it I was fast asleep.

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.