The Prisoner

When it comes to writing, especially erotica, there’s always one concept that comes to me and I have no idea from where it originated.

Why did my mind piece together such a surreal, sensuous image? What does that mean for me? Is the image heralding the return of my dominant side? A side that has, I must admit, taken a back seat in the days following a particularly nasty bout of anxiety.

Or was it there all along? Influences and memories and turns on all stitched together under a pale grey sky within my mindscape, waiting to come out?

I ponder all of this as I ponder her – the nude woman lying on her back on the hotel bedroom, illuminated by the soft glow of the room’s television, the only source of light in the room.

I think of this woman – blonde hair folded underneath her, her breasts caught in the quickened rhythm of her breathing. Her nipples, stiff, pointing upwards towards the ceiling.

I can see the faint trace of her ribcage, the slick glean of sweat across her body, beading across her stomach.

I can see the soft fuzz across her slit and, if I peer hard enough at the image, I can see it glisten under the eye of the television.

And I can see the wires – thick, grey, sturdy – wrapped around her body, coiling around her chest and weaving down, snake-like, across her legs and under her ass.

She is bound, held tightly in place. I can only guess how the cables feel across her skin, how they pinch, how they are cool across her breasts.

I can see her arms held high above, locked in position, the cables winding up around her wrists, and I can see that she does not resist. That there is no struggle.

No, quite the opposite. Her body reverberates with an intensity I can feel worlds away. I can feel her pleasure, just as I can feel the pain bite at several points in her body where the cables cling tight.

I can hear her breath catch in her throat, hear her heart in my own ears. I can see her eyes, glued to the image on the television, static. A prisoner of the times.

This bound woman comes without touching one part of her body, is held by the cables as the orgasm hits every inch of her. An electrical current.

I’ve no idea where this image comes from but I feel her there with me every step of the way.

Four Year Anniversary

Today marks the four year anniversary of my blog – Tall, Dark and Dominant. Which is absolutely insane to think about because when I started this, I was looking up at the mountain wondering how in the heck I’m going to climb this – and now I’m moving through a new phase of adulthood, finding myself growing at ease with shifting dynamics and the blurring or vanilla life with the more naughtier.

I want to thank each and every person that visits my blog – from the casual commenter to the hidden lurker to the person that works up the courage to write in to me to open up a dialogue or say thanks. Your support and constructive criticism and your challenging of my perceptions and concepts is valued in ways I couldn’t properly express.

Some days I can’t stop writing. Sometimes, like now, there are lulls where nothing comes. Where life comes first and the ideas and concepts that spark something in me come slowly.

Nevertheless, for now I will leave you with a concept that came to me late at night yesterday or the day before —

A woman, wearing nothing but an oversized sweater, heads to the bedroom where she finds her husband standing in the shadows at the foot of their bed.

His right arm, exposed by the light of the hallway casting its way into the room in a stretching shape, holds a whip. This woman doesn’t know how he got one but she’s intrigued all the same – she slips off her sweater and gets on all fours.

Her husband whips her ass and back numerous times in silence before taking her from behind. The moment is unlike anything she’s experienced from him – it’s all very erotically charged.

Suddenly a voice calls out to her from her left – and the woman, bent over and aching with pain, looks to see her husband standing in the doorway.

‘What are you doing?’ He asks her.

The woman is frozen. Who was behind her this whole time? Who wore the face of her husband?

Good evening from Australia!

Let Us Pray

‘What are you doing?’ He asks her.

They’re in her bedroom, away from the world. Him, 26 and her, 17.

She’s closed the door behind her, unbuttoning her plain white work blouse button by button.

He can already glimpse the lace detail of the black bra beneath her.

‘Dear God…’ She says, unbuttoning another button.

‘Thank you for bringing Henry to me in my time of need.’

Another button comes undone. Two to go.

His eyes want to sink down and take in how her small breasts are kept hidden behind the cups of her bra, but there’s something in her eyes – something dangerous. Manic.

‘Thank you…for this moment together, O Lord”

One button to go.

‘And in all the moments that have come before.’

The last button is gone. Her eyes, greyish blue, are locked on to his as she peels away the blouse, revealing a lightly tanned stomach, freckles sprawling sporadically across the skin. The blouse floats down to the floor.

Her hands are reaching down to her jeans, unzipping the fly.

‘Alex…’

‘Please instil with me the p…the power, God..’

‘Power’ comes on loose lips, wiggling out of her shaky voice. Her voice is airy, dreamy. Possessed.

‘The power to be good. To do good. To be better.’

Alex is wriggling out of her jeans. They fall to her knees, revealing pale legs and skimpy black lace panties.

She kicks the jeans off to the floor.

‘And please watch over me, over us, and fill our hearts with love and magic. And passion.’

She unclasps her bra, letting it fall to the floor, revealing her bare breasts, her dark areola. Goosebumps trailing across her skin. The slightest hint of veins running beneath, pumping blood through her body, silky warm.

‘I’m thankful for what you’ve shown me, God, and who…you’ve ‘ – the words catch on her throat, her chest tightens as she breathes, excited and nervous. ‘Brought to me.’

She hooks her fingers around the waistband of her panties and slides them down, revealing the thin line of hair marking her slit.

‘Amen.’

Her eyes never break contact.

——————————————-

For some reason it came to me – the idea of a religious teenager praying to god while undressing for the person she lusts after. I found the psychological interplay – her eyes on him, in command, betraying the idea of religion or subverting it in a wholly different environment – to be very sexy. Hopefully you enjoy it too!

Do What Makes You Feel Alive / Late Night Ramblin’

As I sit here, half naked in front of a fan to avoid the scorching Australian summer, half trying to tiredly map out Valhalla chapters, a thought comes to my mind.

I’ve been on my Tumblr, scrolling through my feed, ghosts of stories coming to me from the remnants of safe-for-work semi-sexual pictures and I think to myself – we need to do what makes us happy. We have to be in it, whatever IT is, for ourselves.

I mean, when I was starting out as a Dominant and I was on Fetlife looking for answers, everyone had their own code, built up from whatever they felt right – and that’s fine. Everyone has their own customised role from the pre-established basic rules of BDSM and it’s many dynamics. But I struggled to find what was right for me.

The thing is, you need to – we need to – follow our own hearts and minds and desires and see where that leads, especially when it comes to our interests in BDSM. Sure we might fall. Sure we might hurt ourselves or even someone we love, but if such an event occurs, there is an opportunity to learn from that. And with learning comes growth.

I almost didn’t start this blog you know? I thought for sure that there were other, more experienced people – experienced Dominants, male or female – though I confess, I did initially think ‘experienced dominant males’. I mean, I thought: Oh I’m some joe blow from down under, I’m 26, what do I know? What can I add to the table?’ – I still think this.

I still think – what have I got to offer, even now? After all these years? I don’t know. But I’m not the point – the point is – you can’t think like that. You can’t afford to.

Who cares who is more experienced? We all grow, we all adapt and learn in different ways. At different times. We all bloom as flowers in different seasons – and we all make our own way.

More importantly, our differences are validated and can be thought of as unique. And difference can be beautiful to behold. I know that from learning the slow, slow SLOW way.

So, lurkers and readers I don’t hear from, don’t be too hard on yourself. Don’t compare. Don’t dwell. Try not to ruminate on how others run their lives – you’ll only find that leads to torment. Focus on what makes you laugh, what makes you giddy. What makes you alive.

Goodnight world. Sleep tight.

12 Days of Kinkmas: Day #10: ——— —

lonely-slave-girl-dark-cell-bondage

Nothing mattered but her.
Her soft moans, her delicious whimpers, her frantic breathless voice begging for him to fuck her sweet self, the words that came out of her mouth.
Their bodies were one, lathered in sweat, united in ecstasy, a symphony of sight and sound. The purest form of pleasure, pain and anything else in between.
He had never felt so high than he did now, slipping out of her drenched little cunt before tearing back into her again, not even bothering to ease gently.
The rhythm was an addiction, feeling his cock ease into her, pushing past her smooth lips, feeling him becoming absorbed in her. Lather, rinse and repeat.
No word, in any language, could describe just how it felt to fuck this woman – not make love to, not gently – fuck.
This was life. This was death. This was madness.
When his cock slipped from her, she grunted, frustrated playfully, whimpering for him to put it back in, hurry please. He did. He found her again. The rhythm came and he was not far behind. He

 Held onto her hips as they met each other, her back into him and he into her. Her cries were different now, genuine. Sad. Mixed with pleasure.
A terrible uneasiness slithered over his body, casting an icy chill over the sweat lathered across him.
Where was he, who is this bent over him? He went to pull away and something cool and solid pulled at him. Chains.
He was naked, mid-intercourse with a woman, a –
He looked at her; the blonde woman was now turning around from where she had knelt before him, glazed with sweat. Her eyes were furious, yet questioning.
His chest tightened, a scream was gestating in the pit of his stomach. He looked around and saw only darkness.
His senses were kicking in. There was hay at his feet, pinching at his knees. The floor was cement – cold, hard exposed cement.
He could hear movement around him, other gasps, other moans, and feminine, masculine, other sexes.
He opened his mouth to scream, it was rising in his throat.

“Don’t” The woman before him spoke in hushed tones. “They’ll hear and they’ll punish..”
“Where….”
Speaking felt strange. His throat was sore; Freddy Krueger was at work down there. Dehydrated maybe? He blinked, eyes adjusting to the darkness.
“Are you? Who knows? Not me. Not them…”
“What the fuck is going on….” His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours or days.
“You don’t know….” The woman said. Realisation was in her voice.
“’Course. That’s why you took me so willingly…you were still drugged…”
“Drugged?”
“What do you remember?”
He racked his brain. What did he remember? He was….someone….where was he? Home? At work? Shopping? How did he get here?
“It’ll come back to you.” The woman spoke. “My name’s Alex. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Days? Weeks? I can’t tell. Anyway. You better get on it with it.”
“What?”
“You better finish…you know….You’ve got to come within me.”
“Why the fuck for?”
His body was beginning to tremble. Anxiety swept over him, bringing with it the wave of panic.
“Because that’s what they want you to do. To get us pregnant.”
“I can’t!”
“You must, else you’ll end up like the rest – dead. And someone else will replace you. There’s always someone else.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“I’ve seen people refuse, I’ve seen them leave this room and never come back. Look around you, the others…they’re ignoring us. Why do you think that is?”
“I….”
“Look, I don’t want to die. You’ve got to come. Otherwise, we’ll both be punished..”
Footsteps. Fading in from somewhere. Shuffling on the floor. Getting closer.
“You’ve got to do it” The woman hissed.
“This is absurd –“

Door hinges squeaked, light flooded the room.
He blinked at the light, shielding his face, as footsteps broke the deathly silence – and then –

Nothing at all.
The man blinked until his eyes adjusted, he looked down the barren room, spotting two other couples – no, three – all nude, all huddled together against the grey concrete walls, all looking back in the direction of the light.
“I’ve been told you didn’t want to proceed.”
A male voice from the light.
Tightness gripped the man’s chest. He kept his head low – how did they know?
He cast a look at the woman named Alex, her eyes wide and terrified.
“I can’t. You can’t ask me to rape this girl. She’s what…? Barely 17?”
The man at the far end of the room huddled against the wall. He looked like a dad – thin grey moustache, shaved head that could’ve been bald. The woman in question did indeed look barely 17, it was in her face. Her body, though, was different, her breasts were large and her pubic hair was trimmed well.
The figure strode past the man, his cologne choking the air. He was dressed all in black, a hood concealing his hair, a mask concealing his face. His voice deep. Changed. Altered by something. His boots seemed to have a presence all on their own as he walked, clomping down on the floor.
“You are wasting our time then.”
“Look, please – you’ve got to let me, I mean her, go.  I will do what you ask but this is no place for a girl.”
The masked man sighed. “Fair.”
The Dad sighed in a relief the man felt in his chest. “Thank you, that’s all I ask. We won’t tell anyone, I won’t –“
Sound exploded through the room.
A woman screamed.
Muffled voices and – ringing, emerging above it all. Ringing so loud it throbbed in the pit of the man’s ear.
“Get him out of here, dump him with the rest. Consider him a lost cause.”
Sobbing came low quietly as two other figures dragged the corpse of the dad out of view and into the saturated light.
To the figure left behind him, the masked man said – “Find another for the girl. Quickly.”
The figure left, leaving the masked man, seemingly in charge, alone in the room.
Silence.
“You.”
The chill swept over his body. He felt like he needed to vomit.
“You’re new. Aren’t you?”
The masked man didn’t wait for a response.
“Let that waste of a life be an example to you. We are all part of…one great cause.”
Even digitised and altered, the voice seemed to relish saying we are all part of one great cause, as if it aroused him.
The altered man cocked his head at Alex, who sat with her back against the wall, looking down at the floor.
The altered man then turned and left – the light retreating from the room until they were covered in the darkness once more.

The man listened for the footsteps…waiting to hear them fade….and then turned to Alex.
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
A voice hissed at him from the darkness. “There is no escape, don’t you get that now?”
“Ssshut up” Another voice hissed.
To the man’s right, there was movement, low moaning. A man groaned in the throes of his climax. He peered back to Alex, feeling her eyes on him.
“Hey” She said softly. “It’s okay. You’re….you’re nice, you know? I can sense that. It’ll be okay…”
Her body scuffed the concrete, her arm reaching out gingerly in the darkness to find his.
“Make it quick. Hope for the best.”
Light flooded the room. Door hinges screamed. Two masked figures stepped inside as the man blinked the light into his eyes and accepted its warmth.
He looked to see one figure stride over to his right, where the man was still coming down from his climax.
The figured shoved this man aside into the wall – paused – then knelt down and studied the whimpering lady.
The woman, freckles across her body, fair red hair, sat against the concrete wall, her head buried in her arms.
“This one’s got spunk dripping outta ‘er.” The figure spoke, voice altered.
“Good.” The other said from the doorway. “Means he’s working well aye.”
The first figure laughed, which came out as a distorted garble. “Let’s go.”
He turned to leave, following after the one in the doorway.
The room fell back into darkness.
To the man’s right, the woman was breathing shakily. The man went to speak, when he felt Alex’s hand on his wrist again. “Leave it.”
A beat.
The man looked to the right then back to where Alex was before him, bent aon all fours in front of him, her cunt glistening in the darkness.
That was when he had an idea.
“I’m done! Hello? Hey, I’m done over here. Finished!”
Footsteps.
“Definitely done. All of it.”

The light flooded in the room. A sole figure stepped through and looked across the room at the men and women inside.
“Who speaks?” Came the garbled voice.
The man raised his trembling hand. He was working on pure adrenaline.
“I do. I’ve, uh…I’ve done it. What now.”
The figure approached, toting his rifle.
“Now you wait. And do it again.”
“Really? Is that how impregnation works? I’m…”
The figure stepped closer.
“I’m not sure…you know?”
Just a little bit further.
“Just do it again.”
The figure was over him now, gun in his face.
“Okay.”

A beat. The figure looked down at him, his breathing coming out in short altered bursts. He turned to leave.
The man grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him down. He hit the concrete with a hard THUNK and let out a garbled groan. The men and women panicked but the man was dragging the figure towards him by the leg.
When the figure raised the rifle, Alex yanked it free, clumsily ripping it from the hands of this man.
The figure was now reaching for the walkie-talkie attached to his belt, the walkie-talkie that the man hadn’t noticed yet. The man swirled the chain linking his hands together around the neck of the figure and pulled.
The figure, heavily built, leaned back into the man, kicking his legs out. Somewhere a woman was sobbing quietly.
The man didn’t know what he was doing, he hadn’t killed anyone before, he didn’t think, he had never strangled anyone, so he gripped the chain around the neck tightly, pulling, pulling with all of his might.
Alex freed the walkie-talkie from his belt and tossed it aside.
The figure was now reaching back to the man, his hands swatting at anything to get a grip of, to pinch, to pull, to get some ground.
The two men were grunting now, straining.
How hard did he have to pull the chain against his neck? How hard did he have to choke him before –
Alex raised the rifle. The butt of it came down on his head. Once. Twice. Three times.
Alex was grunting. Crying. On the verge of screaming.
The figure had fallen limp, sprawled out on the floor. Dead weight.
This time it was the man who put his hand gently to Alex, telling her it was okay, it would be all right, even if he weren’t sure, not entirely.
She quivered, sniffled, and shakily said, “Okay.”

A beat.

Quietly and quickly, Alex and the man searched him down for a key, finding nothing but cigarettes in only his left pocket.
“Fuck.” Alex spat.
The man searched across the floor, squinting in the darkness where the light from the doorway couldn’t reach. Nothing.
Alex was already on it.
“Put your arms on the floor.”
“What?”
“Just do it. And be still about it.”
The man did so, not yet realising he was holding his breath.
“Whatever you’re doing, do it fast.”
He could hear footsteps in the distance.
TWHACK.
His hand flew loose, the chains dangling from his wrists.
“What the fu-?”
TWHACK.
His right arm flew free of the wall chains.
“You shot me?”
“Quick. Do me.”
Alex stuffed the rifle to his chest.
“I don’t know how to shoot.”
“Hold your breath. Watch your eye. Realise your aim. Aim with your heart.”
“What?”
“Do it.” Alex hissed quietly.
The man aimed, shakily; now realising he was holding his breathe. He exhaled, his hands sweaty, trickling down his wrists.
Thwack. Thwack.
Alex grabbed the rifle, rose to her feet. The man watched in awe as she went from man to woman, freeing them of their chains with the silenced rifle. One by one the men and women rose to their feet, shakily, gingerly.

When all of them were freed, Alex seemed to take command.
“Who were you?” The man asked breathlessly.
“I….don’t know.” Alex replied matter-of-factly.
She handed the rifle to the man, who didn’t know how to hold it.
When he took it, she peered down the hallway, her eyes scanning, and her pupils large.
“Looks to be empty. But….
She turned to the small group of people. “We’ve got to go. Stay low and follow me…”
They moved low as one – one after the other, through a dilapidated hallway, the wallpaper peeling, water damage in the corners. Everything smelt of mould.
Up ahead – double doors to the left. Alex tried the rusty doorknob, the door squeaked as loud as the door to their prison.
Beyond the double doors was a stairwell only leading up. They were on the bottom floor.
“Okay, let’s go.”
The group travelled up three flights of stairs, following the faded painting on the walls till they reached words saying GROUND LEVEL.

Bursting through the double doors, Alex came face to face with infinite darkness.
Beyond that, the man peered, eyes once again settling into the dark – “Snow?”
The landscape before them, ‘neath a black sky, was a floor of snow leading out towards a tree line and into the night.
“Okay. What we need to do is –“
A flash blinded the man’s eyes. A spotlight? A searchlight?
An alarm, deafening their senses, blaring shrilly into the night, warbling low, warbling high, screeching, bloodcurdling.

“We’ve got to…keep….our”
The alarm silenced Alex’s voice.
Men and women began to panic and scream.
The man looked to his right to see a woman stumbling on her feet as if losing her balance, she turned around to face him, a bullet hole where her left eye should be.
The man felt panic seize his chest as the woman fell face forward into the snow, melting the surrounding blanket of ice with her blood.
He didn’t hear the gunshot, nor did he hear the next one that took the man next to him off his feet. Alex was dragging him away; their backs low to the brick wall behind them.
The man resisted, seeing lights flash through the tree line before them, seeing the bricks spray dust clouds ahead of him, seeing bodies in the snow, piled on top of one another.
“What the fuck?”
“We’ve got to…round this….” Alex was screaming over the alarm.

Up ahead was the corner of the building. They rounded it in a heartbeat, the man half expecting to be blown away by gunfire.
The cold was everywhere now, all over his body, gripping his chest, seizing his bare cock.
“….car…..”
“A car?”
He couldn’t hear Alex.
“It’s…we’ve got…”
She was dragging him along, like a ragdoll, his back scraping against the brick wall behind.
They made it into open space – the infinite darkness ahead of them and all around them. Beneath their feet, numb and falling asleep evermore, the man saw white lines marking the ground. He took a breath and peered before him – a car park.
A light switched on behind him, engulfing him in its presence, and he looked behind to see –
A sign – glass cracked, light flickering in and out of existence, reading – N CANCY.
The doors of the hotel, boarded up and crossed with a black X. It’s windows equally barred by rotted wooden planks, as is fighting off an impending attack. Cracks were splintering across its structure, forking out in every which way. Whoever stayed here, owned this place, had not been here in quite some time.
The whole place, lit by the searchlight and covered by the surrounded darkness, looked like something out of a hellish dream.

“Hey, let’s go!”
Miraculously, they made it to the car. Miraculously Alex found the keys, smacking an overhead visor and knocking the keys loose. Miraculously, she got it started under duress.
The man looked behind him, taking one last look at the remnants of the area before turning back to look at Alex, her face covered in grime.
They drove into the night, the alarm beckoning them to come back.

 

 

 

N I G H T M A R E     I N N

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #9 – ‘The Interview’

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ELIZABETH ABIGAIL QUINN

PART ONE OF RECORDED INTERVIEW

Date: – 9/12/18

 Duration: – 14 Minutes

No. Of Pages: – 3

 

 

Detective Andrews: This interview is being tape recorded at 10am. My name is Detective Aaron Andrews. Miss, what’s your full name?

Elizabeth Quinn: Elizabeth Abigail Quinn.

Detective Andrews: Okay. Just start whenever you’d like to, Miss Quinn.

Elizabeth Quinn: Uh…I’m not really sure where to start.

Detective Andrews: From the beginning – what do you remember? Or we can do this when you’re feeling up to it.

Elizabeth Quinn: I remember…I…I….It was late. I was…heading out to drinks. A get-together. Only…uh…someone….I mean, I don’t remember the next part…

Detective Andrews: That’s okay.

Elizabeth Quinn: I woke up in the room. Cold, I remember it being cold but it was like a bedroom. Uh. Unfurnished but with a bed… in the middle, the bed that I…uh…was tied to on. And there was this man…A santa, with a santa mask but with the full outfit, the red suit and…He would…He dressed me. Candy Cane socks and….green and red underwear and…this stupid elf hat. I was his Elf, he would say. His sweet elf. He’d..uh…he taught me things at first. How to, uh, kneel. To kneel with my back straight. If I was wrong he’d…

[Elizabeth turns around and lifts up her blouse, showing scars on her lower shoulder blade where she had been struck by the unknown assailant.]

Detective Andrews: He’d hit you.

Elizabeth Quinn: Sometimes with his fist. Other times with his belt. Most times he’d…punish me by uh, forcing me to….orgasm by….by….[inaudible]. A candy cane…. [inaudible]. Other times he would rape me. As a gift each morning he would say, and uh, each night as a goodnight. Sometimes I would wake up and I couldn’t tell what day it was, except that I was…..soaked. And he’d tell me. He’d say it in his santa voice – he’d always use that Santa voice – he’d talk to me about hypnotic suggestion. That he could cause me to…..orgasm. To squirt. I didn’t know what to believe, but sometimes I’d feel…well, I’d feel out of my body. But watching. And I would feel there, and present but I was only watching. And I could see myself… touching myself and….enjoying it? And…orgasming and squirting on cue and on myself and on the bed… I don’t know what to believe now. What was a dream and what was not…I mean I could see myself doing things I…..

Elizabeth Quinn: Before all that…he’d sit and read to me, gently, like some sort of children’s television host. He’d teach me about kneeling, yeah, and behaving – about slave discipline. About obedience. About servitude. About….about….my….

Detective Andrews: When you were found this morning, er, nude in an alleyway off of the CBD, you were talking about….other Elves?

Elizabeth Quinn: Other helpers…willing helpers.

Detective Andrews: Willing? Could you describe them?

Elizabeth Quinn: I can’t…I…I mean, they had their own masks…

Detective Andrews: Anything you can give me.

Elizabeth Quinn: One was a woman…she’d love to…She sounded…foreign? Uh, English I think? The other was a man. I couldn’t tell where he was from.. The both of them would help train me to be…what they’d call obedient, in the name of Christmas cheer. They’d take turns. Sometimes she would come, and feed me breakfast…uh…sometimes fruit…sometimes not. She would force me to watch porn with her and if I didn’t, she would hit me with her…paddle. I would come, for her amusement. Sometimes with her too, alongside her. A double…

Elizabeth Quinn: Other times I would be chained beneath them sometimes, while they masturbated over me, watching me and each other. Sometimes I’d be forced to…perform oral while someone took me anally. It was like being in a nightmare. I never knew it would end. When they would decide to stop flogging me, both of them. Almost in time. Almost.

Elizabeth Quinn: Sometimes…sometimes I could be above all four of us, watching. Like something out of a dream. Hovering and watching me, seeing how pink my….behind was. How raw my skin was, like I wasn’t me anymore. Like I WAS this elf….or that I no longer existed anymore. That I was viewing a dream of myself. Or that I was waking to reality.

Detective Andrews: This was the hypnotic suggestion?

Elizabeth Quinn: Yes. Or. So I think. I don’t know. Is this what you want?

Detective Andrews: Anything you can give us, about who these criminals were, about where you were for so long…Your family filed a missing persons report back in June…

Elizabeth Quinn: June….I can’t believe it’s been so long. This elf – I mean…I’m sorry. I’ve been trying not to do that this whole time.

Detective Andrews: No, do not apologise.

Elizabeth Quinn: They called it speech protocol. If I got it right without missing a beat, I’d be fed. And if I didn’t…

Detective Andrews: We don’t have to talk about it.

Elizabeth Quinn: I’m sorry.

Detective Andrews: There’s really no need to apologise, Miss Quinn.

Elizabeth Quinn: Please don’t [inaudible].

Detective Andrews: I would never. Er, we can stop this here for now.

END OF PART ONE

 

 

 

 

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #8 – “The Gift”

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Thomas Jackson heard the crash of the collective shopping items, he heard the shriek of his wife Theodora, and turned from locking his Toyota to where his wife was standing in the doorway, unmoving.
The two had just come back from braving the unnervingly slow crowds to squeeze in their Christmas shopping and had found everything they needed to with relative ease.
“Tom…”
“What is it?”
Yet Tom saw as soon as he peered over the top of her, something their height difference allowed for.
Standing just a few metres from their front door, insidetheir own house was a completely nude woman; back straight, eyes blank forward, hands behind her back.
“The fuck?” Was all Tom could say.
“Who are you?” Theo was raising her voice, her dark brown eyes now seemingly black, filled with fury or confusion or both.
“How’d you get in here, huh?”
“She could be mentally ill, Theo.” Was all Tom could say.
Theo couldn’t hear him; she was talking over him, right in the face of this woman.
“Is this a prank? Whom do you work for?”
“Theo..”
Tom had moved from the open doorway, and then thought of any spectators from outside that might hear – and shuffled the shopping in and gently closed the door.
“Do you not speak, huh?”
Theo’s Italian heritage was starting to show. She had that way about her, Tom thought, where she could speak like her father, the most intimidating man Tom had ever met.

The nude woman did not flinch despite the ferocity of Theo’s tone. She simply stood, unblinking, eyes forward, posture perfect, hands behind her back.
Her eyes were grey..or blue…or green, Tom couldn’t tell, they seemed to shift as he moved slowly towards her.
She was slender, the slightest trace of her rib cage poking through her skin. Her skin itself was pale, with the ghost of colour, a light honeyed colour, ever so faint.
Against her pale skin, the dark patch of pubic hair that marked her landing strip was striking, drawing Tom’s eyes down to it. He instantly looked away, this time to Theo, who was nearing the silent woman.
“Honey…”
“Hold on…”
Theo was reaching out with her hand, towards the collar that was around the woman’s neck. The woman never looked down at Theo, her eyes didn’t register a single thought.
“What in the fuck…?” Was all Tom could say.
Attached to the thick leathery collar was a silver metal circle pendant, with writing etched into it – unreadable from where Tom was standing.
Theo slowly reached her hand out towards the metal pendant, her mind ready for a potential violent outburst in which it would have to react.
Yet she grabbed a hold of it and was able to lean in to read the writing, all the while the nude woman kept her eyes forward and her breathing relaxed.
“My name is Snow. I am a gift to you both. Please take good care of me.”
Theo read the words aloud slowly, confused, bewildered.
A pause, then:

“This is a fucking joke, right? It’s gotta be. Who would give us this..this…woman as a gift.”
Theo released her grip from the pendant, letting it fall back against the nude woman’s neck.
“We need to get her to the police, Theo.”
A pause.
Theo was looking into the eyes of the woman so named Snow. The woman was looking away from Theo. BeyondTheo.
“Can you talk?”
Keeping her eyes focused on a point beyond Theo, the woman spoke in a voice barely audible. It was soft and graceful to the ear.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Well, why didn’t you lead with that?”
Theo’s anger went into overdrive again, prompting Thomas to touch her gently on the arm. She shot him a glance with a flash of anger but deep down she knew what he was saying – lower your voice, this woman needs our help.
“Snow doesn’t speak unless directly spoken to, as instructed.”
“Instructed by whom?” Thomas beat Theo to this one. “Somebody sent you then?”
“He sent Snow. He instructed Snow. He said that you needed help, more now than ever.”
If you don’t want to go, don’t fucking go but you better start packing while I’m gone.
Theo was looking at Thomas now. “He? Do you have any idea-“
“He is the watcher of all. He sees all truths.”
The woman named snow had her eyes forward, focused and calm. There was no wide-eyed wonder there, no cult-like fanaticism, and just blank eyes telling facts.
“Maybe you ought to go to the police after all…” Theodora said. “I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine and have a bath.”
Thomas nodded, looked to the woman and sighed.
He went to grab his overcoat.

The woman named Snow stood in the reception area of the downtown precinct, wrapped up in Thomas’s overcoat. Her eyes were glassy, focusing on a distant point, somewhere behind the officer at the desk in front of them.
“And where did you say you found her?” Said the middle-aged officer with a five o’ clock shadow, his eyes blue and tired and sinking into his skull.
“My wife and I found her nude in our house and-“
“Any sign of forced entry?”
“I’m not sure…I came right here when she started mentioning a watcher of truths or something…”
The tired officer regarded the woman with his weary eyes then looked back to Thomas and let out a sigh.
“Alright, well we can take her in, call up the local hospitals, and see if we can find anything. You get home to your wife. It’s cold outside.”
The man was coming out from behind the desk and into the open area. He gently took the woman named Snow by the arm and escorted her down the corridor to the left and out of view.
The woman didn’t look back.

 

If you don’t want to go, don’t fucking go but you better start packing while I’m gone.
Theodora laid back in her bath, listening to the sound of rain falling from her phone resting on its charger on the bathroom sink.
The argument she had with Thomas on the drive home from shopping played over and over again in her mind.
It all started when Thomas brought up that he didn’t want to go to Theo’s family Christmas, for he felt uncomfortable at how her brothers spoke to him, and sometimes lack thereof.
She didn’t know why she had gotten so mad and yelled so fiercely. They certainly had been arguing more so than usual, the product of a looming Christmas perhaps, but was that really an excuse?
Sighing, Theo emptied her wine glass and stepped out of the bath.
“A towel, ma’am?”
Theo jumped, her instinctive reaction kicking in to cover her exposed body, and stumbled back to rest against the wall behind her.
The woman named Snow stood with her arms outstretched holding a towel, still completely nude.
Theo regarded her a moment with shock, then realisation kicked in.
“Ugh, Tom hasn’t left yet? Really? All this time and he hasn’t…?”
Theo grabbed the towel, wrapped it around her and went to open the door and exude all her fury on the man that, for some reason, had been loafing around.
Theo stopped, a thought emerging ahead of all the others – what if the woman had done something to Tom and all this time was luring her into a false sense of –
The woman named Snow rushed Theo, slamming her against the wall, holding her tightly in place. Theo struggled against the sharp pain squeezing against her wrists, her eyes darting around for something anything, to fight off the woman.
Theo tried leaning across to reach the empty wine bottle resting on the edges around the bath but the woman grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around so that Theo was facing the wall, her ass exposed now, and held her there.
“I have an idea what you want, Ma’am.”
“Who are you? What have you done with Tom?”
Theo looked to her side to try and catch a glimpse of the woman, just in time to see her reach to the bathroom railing and slide off Tom’s black belt that had been sitting there for months since the last party they went to in June.
Theo heard the leather slink off the railing and braced herself, bowing her head against the wall.
She didn’t realise she was panting until the first strike against her ass, the force of the act causing her body to jolt against the wall.
Her head throbbed with pain, her ass feeling like it was stung by a wasp – childhood memories came washing over, absurd and forgotten, of being bitten by a wasp as a six year old.

“Confess how you feel..”
“Wha…?”
“Confess.”
“You don’t know shit about ho-“
Another crack, another outburst of blinding pain. Her skin felt like it was on fire.
Theo went to move back, to knock the woman off guard but the woman held her in place, her force bizarre and disquieting.
Theo went to scream, it came wailing out of her lungs.
The woman struck her again; the scream warbled and fizzled to a low strangled whimper.
“Confess how you feel.”
“Listen, you little psycho bitch, you don’t know the first-“
The woman struck her again, this time across her cunt. Excruciating pain shot through her lips, zigzagging across her ribcage and to her skull.
Theo tried to catch her breath, to load another insult ready to fire.
The woman struck her again – and again – and again, each time repeating the same words to her – confess.
Each times the same words, each time the biting pain, all consuming, unyielding.
“Stop!” Theo screamed in an outburst, throwing her arms out with all her might to throw the woman off. The woman kept coming, raising the belt to strike upwards across Theo’s body – her back, left to right then right to left, down across her legs, each side of her ass, then back under to her cunt.
“Stop…” came Theo’s wavering voice.
“Confess!”
Another stab of searing pain hit Theo right across her lips, this time knocking her off balance and face first into the wall. Hitting her head felt like someone had taken a concrete slab to her temples.
Every inch of her body was searing with red-hot intensity, biting and pinching and on fire.
I’m not happy!”

Theo turned her head upwards to look at the woman, who held her hand in the air mid swing.
With that admission, everything began to crumple.
Theo fell to her knees, embracing the stiff coldness of the bathroom tiles and sinking into the pain coursing across her entire body.
The tears came fast then, building in her eyes, blinking away down her cheeks.
I haven’t been for a while I don’t really know why there just doesn’t seem to be any…any…”
Words ran freely from her lips but one caught in her throat, one she couldn’t get out.
The woman named Snow dropped the belt. It clattered to the floor.
She knelt down besides Theo, eventually sitting down on her folded legs.
The woman named Snow stretched out her arms and Theo crumbled into them, sobbing fiercely, her entire body heaving with every mighty sob.
In that moment, Theo felt guilty. It swirled in her gut at full steam.
Yet she felt child like, clinging to this stranger, her torturer, and their breasts brushing up against one another.
n that moment, her body still taking its relief from her latest choking sob, Theo looked into the eyes of this stranger. What met her was calming green eyes, relaxed, warm, understanding – accepting.
Something within Theo drove her to this woman’s lips.
It was an aggressive kiss – forceful and hungry – yet the woman met it with full force, finding a tuft of hair behind Theo’s hair and pulling sharply.
Theo panted, a tangled moan escaping, and allowed her to be led gently down to the cool bathroom tiles.
The woman fed upon every inch of Theo’s body.

***

Thomas stepped through the door and kicked off his shoes.
Now that the weirdness was sorted, it was time to get back to the regular weirdness that was dealing with Christmas – first step – wrapping presents.
When he rounded the corner into the living room, what he saw froze him still.
Theo was curled up, on her back, on their couch, completely naked. Her eyes were fixed above, her expression calm.
Such a sight wasn’t normally this strange – Theo was very upfront about her nudity, as was her family, but it was her calm expression that made him pause. It was something about this image, now, after everything, after their fight.
Theo regarded him coolly. “There you are. Where did you go? And why did you tell me you weren’t sending Snow to the police yet after all?”
The words slashed at his gut. He swallowed loudly.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb, silly. I’m not mad. She’s upstairs having a nap. I…we….look, I have an idea.”
Thomas couldn’t find the words, he suddenly felt cold, very cold.
“Theo, are you alright?”
“Better than ever. Snow is a gift, Tom..”
Something didn’t feel right.
And I finally figured out what we need to do to solve everything”Snow is a gift, Tom.”
Theo’s face lit up in a smile.
“We need to fuck.”