Gold Around One 20/10 There are writings on her body. I haven't noticed those last night. They are very pale letters on her skin, as if made with a sun block. With artificial light I never got around to noticing them. Obviously there were other matters that needed my attention. But this morning, my bedroom bathed in bright sunlight and me being a lot more composed, I noticed them. I knew there was something about her that made me do this, something I couldn't put my finger on. Now I know there is. She has those words on her body, on her breasts and her pubis. Words like "cunt" and "slut". It is as if she knew this moment was about to come one day, as if she had marked herself in a special way. Strange as it may seem, I feel like I have done the right thing. I was actually wondering what was going to happen this morning upon entering my bedroom. What would she look like, what my reaction would be. My heart was pounding very heavily. After all, I did something I never seriously thought I would or even could do. But I am pleased to report it all went very well. After opening the door, the sight was like something out of a De Sade novel, or at least the way I imagine De Sade's novels would look if he was to write them in this insane times of ours. She was tied up on the bed all night and her clothes have had to suffer a rather harsh treatment. Mind you, that was not my wish, but in all the struggle, it was only natural that her clothes would suffer the most. I am glad that it wasn't her body instead as I had no intention of hurting her bad. So she was alone in the room, her wrists tied to the bed, in the dark, not knowing what actually happened or what to expect. I can only imagine the fear she had to suffer. And my first look at her confirmed it all. Her clothes half torn, her wrists tied up and her face a mess of smeared make-up and tears, she was an image of misery. I presume a normal human reaction should be either repulsion or compassion, or at least most people would claim that was their reaction. Since I have no reasons to pretend in front of you (you know me to well), I can tell you what my reaction was. I thought she looked irresistible. I thought she looked extremely sexy, helpless and scared and humiliated as she was. She was awake (I doubt she could get any sleep, in the circumstances) and she looked at me the second I walked into the room. Her face was a mixture of fear, pain and something else too. But I can't yet put my finger on it. She tried to speak, but with her mouth gagged, I could only hear faint noises. It sounded like she pleaded to be realised. Or at least I imagine that was what she was supposed to say in such a situation. I am as yet not quite sure why I am writing this to you. You haven't replied to my previous two e-mails so as far as I know you might not even be there. It has been a long time. It has. I know that what happened between us can not be denied or forgotten and I have no illusions in that regard. I knew what you thought about my decision to move and you knew what my reasons were. What's done is done. There is no turning back, not at this point. Yet, there are certain things that run deeper than your everyday occupations and I know there is only one person in the whole world that would actually listen to me telling this story, this person being you, Piotr. I don't know what I imagined would happen after sending you that first e-mail a couple of days back. Since there is no reply from you, I don't know if you aren't there at all or if you have just decided to listen. In any case, none of the two e-mails have bounced and that at least means that your account still exists. Whatever it is, I can go on telling you about this little adventure as it unfolds. I'm not sure why, but I feel it should be documented, and me never being a person to keep a journal, I feel this is the only way. Just imagine, if once there is a trial, you will be the key witness of my sins and crimes. A leading role in a spectacular show. You know you always loved being centre stage. She was in pain, obviously. Her wrists were tied up for several hours and it probably wasn't too comfortable either. Not to mention that, for obvious reasons I wasn't able to be particularly gentle with her. And looking at me entering the room, she made attempts to get her hands free, and she thrashed around the bed. I just walked slowly towards her and watched. She had no idea what I was up to. And I had no particular plan for the moment. I just watched her: my late night prey, my loot. God, she did look gorgeous, for all the misery she was in. I destroyed most of her clothes last night, but she still had her lingerie on and her stockings, and remains of her skirt and blouse too. Her beauty struck me really hard. Of course, I have noticed she is an attractive woman before, but a woman rendered helpless and at your mercy gains special beauty. I felt the excitement in me rise and I got an erection just standing next to the bed and looking at her trying to free herself. My smile must have looked awkward to her. Oh, yes, it feels good having an erection over a real-life woman and not over printed images or bodies on screen for change. There is something to be said about actually having to abduct and tie up a lady to make her stay in my bedroom, but that was my moment of glory and I enjoyed it to the fullest. It isn't like it has been easy, I have to tell you. Plans are nothing but planning is everything as they say. The comparative ease with which I was able to conduct this little stunt of mine was all due to the extensive planning and the work that was invested in considering all the possibilities. I knew that there would be an adrenaline rush and I was ready for it. I knew that there would be fear on my side and I was waiting for it and was able to control it. Once I really decided I would go through with this, it was done. All that was left was to sit and think of all the possible reactions on her (and mine) side and of all the actions necessary. She was really surprised, naturally, but I left her no time to even think about it. I had to be quick and efficient and first: prevent her from screaming and attracting anyone's attention and then second: immobilise her limbs so she can't fight me or run away. I practised the moves for a couple of days until I could be satisfied with the routine. You would be proud of me as it was you who was the perfectionist and the advocate of endless repetition, opposed to me, always valuing the inspiration of the moment and on the spot improvisation. I felt there was no room for improvisation there, I had mine and her moves narrowed down to the last and she never had a chance to scream. The ball went into her mouth effortlessly and the straps just clicked in. Then there were her hands. Thank God for the handcuffs, the little wonder of the technology of evil. In no more than mere seconds she was gagged and tied up helpless. And she did fight. I can assure you she did. She fought like a cat cornered and it was only thanks to my extensive planning that I was able to get her into the back seat of my car and have her stay there for long enough to be properly tied down. It felt great. I felt young again. I felt like I could do anything that moment. Anything: grow wings and fly, raise the dead. It was the same feeling that I had at those early piano concerts as a youth full of hopes and ambitions. The feeling that I have the world at tips of my fingers. That with one move of my wrists I can shift mountains and cause oceans to kiss the sky. I am sure you know the feeling. I just took her to my bedroom and tied her to the bed then. She struggled but she never really had the chance. I was not trying to hurt her more than it was necessary to make her obey and tried to rely more on fear than pain. And I just left her there. I know what you must be thinking: why did I just leave her and did not go all the way to the end? Is this the Andrew you used to know? The impatient, instant gratification or death one? Oh, you haven't seen me for such a long time, my friend. Such a long, long time. My hair and my beard have grown a lot more silver since then and I have even learned to value patience. I have learned to thrive on the anticipation, I have learned to enjoy the wait as much as the actual thing. So I just left her there and closed the door behind me. I was feeling too well to just go and sleep right away so I stayed on for a while, sipping at the wine, listening to the Indian court music, my mood being way, way better than for as long as I care to remember. I just enjoyed my moment of triumph, my feeling of power and I tried to not even think about her back in my bedroom. A funny thing is that at one point I just felt the urgent need to smoke a joint. Funny. I haven't smoked one in years. You remember our times. I wonder if you have kept away from it since. I know I never really could get interested in smoking it without having you around any more. But last night, if I had any around the house, I would have smoked it. So I went to bed and slept surprisingly well. Must have been the combination of adrenaline and wine. I couldn't hear any sounds from the bedroom but I decided not to check on her until the morning. So, I told her, standing next to the bed, I told her that I can release her mouth. "You see, the gag was there just to prevent you from ruining my sleep last night. I can remove it now and I hope you won't scream. But if you really feel like screaming, I have to tell you there is noone here to hear you. The house is far enough from the road and I guess you will soon find out that not many people come over." I wasn't lying to her. God knows it has been a while since anyone was here. Ever since my cat passed on I have gotten used to just talking to myself instead of addressing anyone else. At least I had an attentive auditorium, unlike talking to a cat that falls asleep every couple of seconds, bless her. She didn't scream when I removed the gag. Oh, she did shout and protest and all that, but it wasn't a movie-screen scream of damsel in distress. She pleaded to be released and asked me who am I and pleaded some more. All that only made me shiver with excitement some more. I ignored most of her pleas and started examining her body from up close. After all, it is my property now and I might as well get to know it better. I removed her torn clothes and left her in just a bra, panties and stockings. All black and transparent at that, this woman is serious about her underwear and I salute her for that. Not to mention she has a pierced belly button and a chain going through the ring, with chains on both her ankles. And then there are those writings. I took my time removing remains of her clothes and touching her skin and all the time she was begging and trying to move away from me: an attempt doomed to fail when you're tied down to the bed. I had to explain to her: "Please, understand: I am not planning to let you go any time soon. You are now my property and I will do as I please with you. I have no ideas what your intentions in life are nor do I care, to be perfectly honest. I will use you for my pleasure only." She called me insane and struggled even harder but she only made me laugh really. I slowly touched her skin and her body and could feel my erection getting harder and harder. It was a good feeling, oh yes. She started crying again. I had no intentions of torturing her, really. I was aware that she must have been in a lot of pain and that she needed to eat but I decided it could wait. But then when I mentioned the subject, she cried even more and finally said what I was expecting her to. After all, when I checked and saw that she didn't wet the bed until the morning, I knew sooner or later the question of going to the toilet would be asked. And I just told her that she will have to do it right there. My God, how she was crying. It was downright heartbreaking and incredibly sexy at the same moment. My mood was improving with every passing second and I don't think I exaggerate in telling that I think I sounded very friendly and relaxed while talking to her. I certainly didn't want to sound threatening like those villains in films. In cinema, the abductor always tells you he is not going to hurt you if you behave well and seconds later he chops your little finger off and mails it to your family asking for ransom. Well, I for one am not looking for any ransom, I have no idea if she has any family, and sure as all hell I wouldn't want to see that gorgeous body of hers damaged in any cruel and clumsy way. But I did make it clear to her that she has to do it right there. And finally she cracked. The sheer sense of surrealism of the situation must have influenced her decision and she just cried large tears as a golden stream of urine made its way through thin black fabric of her panties, down her buttocks and onto the bed. The plastic sheet that I placed under bed linen the last afternoon has just proven its worth. "It feels good, doesn't it?" I asked "It's a relief, isn't it?" She was waving her head left and right trying to deny my words, trying to retain whatever was left of her dignity and I thought that was really valiant. She didn't give in just like that, she wasn't going to be cracked that easily. So I just took a pair of scissors from a drawer and when I turned back to her, her eyes widened and she started screaming "Nooo, please" and I had to smile and tell her not to worry and that I wasn't going to hurt her (though, as already stated, the American cinema teaches us that those sentences, when delivered by the abductors have completely the opposite meanings). I steadied her on the bed and used the scissors to cut the panties off her body. They were wet with her urine and then I just started gently touching her breasts with those, her face and hair. She cried and tried to move away, but with no success, naturally. I put the panties down on her belly and started touching her vagina with my fingers. Her screams were getting louder but I didn't mind that. Her crotch is completely bald and the skin there is so soft. I took my time with touching her labia, with touching her clit and with putting my fingers in there. Feeling her wet, hot vagina close around my fingers was almost like touching a live wire. I almost forgot the feel and anyway, it was never like this: a toy just for me, a woman who can't say no. I bent down and started sucking on her nipples, one and then the other, they became hard really fast. It made me laugh and I told her that she is obviously enjoying this. She begged and pleaded and cursed and my erection became unbelievable. So I just got up and left her there, in her own piss. I went to the bathroom and took my penis out. It felt good to just hold it for a while, to admire the erection, to feel the intense sense of pleasure with every heart throb. It only took a couple of swift wrist moves to make it shoot its load out and I was surprised to see the amount of semen I unloaded. Five regular masturbation sessions could have fed on that. I got back to the room and informed her of what I had done. "You're such an incredible slut" I told her "I think you and me are going to have fun here." So then I decided to type this message for you, my friend. I left her to wallow in her own piss for a while and now when I finish this message, I will have to give her a bath. I can only imagine myself getting another erection in the process. I will be happy to report on the proceedings later during the day. Love you, Your Andrew 20/10 (later) Oh, the joys of having your personal slave, I wish I knew all about this sooner. In all seriousness, I feel a different person now. And, no, I don't feel I have become a monster, even though maybe I should. But my mood is just too bright, I feel younger, I feel full of life. I feel reassured in whatever it is I am doing. I have changed, I am not the same old Andrew you used to know so long ago and that you abandoned without a second thought (I know you may have different views on this than me, though). I waited long enough before going back to the bedroom. She was in tears and looking really pitiful. My heart skipped a beat here and there. A curious conflict of emotions there: on one hand great pleasure at seeing her being so completely stripped of all her dignity, so completely in my power; on the other hand: warm human compassion for her, a wish to be there for her and help her out. I even felt the need to tell her something like "Don't worry, everything will be all right, you'll see" but decided not to succumb to this cheap American TV sentiment. She didn't curse me when I made it to the bed, she was crying and choking in large tears. I explained to her that she needs a bath. "You pissed yourself, love, like only a dirty slut knows and I need to do something about it right now." I untied her wrists but not before handcuffing them together first. You can't be too careful in situations like this and I wasn't going to let anything unforeseen happen. I made sure my movements were a little more energetic than necessary so that she is in constant fear that I might hurt her should she try to do anything. But she was calm enough. I took all that remained of her clothes off and there she was gloriously naked in front of me and again I have to stress how happy I feel. I imagine you are wondering have I lost my mind, but I have to assure you I am perfectly rational. I know that future may well hold prison sentence for me at this point or another but right this moment I feel it is all right. Really all right. It will be worth it. Her body, her face, her limbs tied down, her voice, words on her skin are worth it. I took her to the bathroom and made her step into the bath tub. I handcuffed her to the pipe and took a step back to look at her. She stopped crying, obviously getting out of bed and being able to walk at least a short walk from bedroom to the bathroom did good for her. She followed me with her gaze as I slowly walked around her to inspect her from all sides and her look was calmer and I may have or may have not imagined that there was a streak of defiance in it. When hot water touched her body, she let out a loud sigh. I imagine it was a mixture of pleasure and pain. But I imagine too much. Then again, that is the beauty of my current situation: letting my imagination loose as it ever was and turning as much of it as possible into reality. I have never given a bath to anyone in my life. You know very well what a disaster my marriage was and thankfully it never got far enough for children to be seriously discussed. So this was my virgin experience. You could tell that by the fact that it never occurred to me that I should take my shirt off. I think that she being completely naked and me being dressed somehow nicely fitted our slave and master roles. But when drops of water started bouncing off her tanned skin and wetting my shirt, I thought better of it. I was wet within seconds and even though that might have taken away a bit of my authority here, it failed to ruin my mood. Actually I laughed a heartfelt laugh and I noticed her baffled look. When I started unbuttoning my shirt she almost unconsciously tried to move away from me, but standing in a bathtub and being cuffed to a pipe doesn't exactly give you too many options, does it? It probably looked to her that this was it. That this was the moment when I will get to the point of this whole charade and actually rape her. But of course, I already decided to have some more patience in order to increase the tension and the eventual pleasure. After all, as our transatlantic cousins would put it: I want to make the first time special. "Don't get your hopes too high there, love", I told her joyfully. "I know you need it really bad, but you have yet to convince me you mean it." She moaned when I started washing her body, using a sponge and a body shower gel. I decided to take my time and it lasted a lot longer than it needed to. I made sure every inch of her skin is touched, rubbed, soaped and rinsed. I enjoyed every moment of it, inspecting my property, revelling in it. I paid particular attention to her breasts. Her nipples seem to be very sensitive and it took only a couple of light touches for them to stand up. I tested her and applied harder and harder rubs against her breasts, squeezed them, pinched the nipples. She moaned and tried to get away, but there was nowhere to run naturally. Then I took care of her crotch in the same dedicated fashion. She tried to press her thighs together but it wasn't too difficult to convince her to spread them for me. I pinched her nipple hard and whispered in her ear to spread them for me. She let out a painful scream but spread her legs. One of the many things you have taught me is that a hint at brute force is often better and more efficient than brute force itself. It worked for her lovely and she let me into her city, guarded so well only seconds ago. I took my time with it, touching, feeling, caressing. My fingers were slippery with shower gel and I rubbed her clit and opened her labia and inserted two at first and then three and then four my fingers in. She moaned but they all fit in nicely. I alternated between fingering her and rubbing her clit. The feel of her wet, extremely hot flesh was electrifying. You can imagine the erection I got from this (that's the second huge erection the same day, this woman has made me feel young again) and for a second I was really tempted to climb into the tub and take her right there. But age brings not only grey hairs but wisdom and patience too. There will be time and I know very well that the further I delay it, more confusing and strange it will be for her. And I want her confused, wondering. I want her to witness logic falling apart, to sense her will being not only denied but rendered completely meaningless. So I just went on using my fingers and I swear her sighs of pain and humiliation and protest had a barely audible note of pleasure there. Or it could again be my imagination. There will be time to analyse this. I had nearly as much fun using the towel to dry her body and hair. I think I could get used to this. To think how much I hated spending time with my wife in the closing months of our sorry marriage. I hated all women for a long while afterwards. If only I knew that all it took to erase the hate and bad blood was having a woman turned into a slave, a personal possession... I got her back to bed after changing bed linen. The colour of the sheets I put on is pale blue, the colour Hollywood producers imagine sky is in the early morning. Since all of her clothes are only good for burning I let her use my old dressing gown that I stopped using ages ago. It is black and feels good against the skin but I just stopped caring at one point. But I imagine it is a lot more comfortable for her this way. Now, here's what planning is all about: not only about taking care of with things the most convenient way (although this is also important), it is also about letting the other side know that she is not dealing with just a random lunatic here. Demonstrating to her that there is a method, a system, a lot of thought invested in all, making her realise that everything has been thought about and that I will always be one step ahead of her. I put her in bed but rather than tying her wrists again, I cuffed her hands together and produced the item that is hopefully going to make it a lot easier for both of us. A leather collar that I placed around her neck and then I chained her to the bed. "See that, love?" I asked her, "You are going to be just like a nice puppy here." This collar was a pretty good idea I must say. It just came to me while I was contemplating my plan. I wasn't yet sure what I was going to do with her, but anything I am going to do I might as well do the most comfortable way. The chain length can be adapted and at this point I made it fairly short, so she can position herself on the bed any way she wants, make it as comfortable as possible, but can't really leave it. I looked at her, pleased with my work and she gave me a very defiant look. You know me very well, my friend. Better, I might add, than anyone ever got to know me. You know me so well that I sometimes feel fear overcoming me from the thought that I let anyone ever know me so intimately. You know how shy and insecure I am at the core of it all. Beneath the layers of irony and knowledge and calmness there is gaping void, a screaming hollowness and fear of falling. She gave me a look of defiance, a look of such strength. Piotr, if she wasn't chained and utterly helpless, I would have just turned back and walked out of the room, walked out of the house, maybe left town altogether. I would have been scared down to my very heart. As it is I explained to her that she will be wearing this collar and the chain as long as I think she deserves it. Once she starts making trouble, she is back to being tied down. I managed to sound very calm and bright and I think my tone was cheerful and carefree. I did notice several emotions change on her face: sorrow, fear, anger, apathy. Finally I fed her. While I was preparing food, I could still feel my erection. My body screamed at me that it needed its share. Oh, the sweet torture. I didn't let her eat by herself, even though she would have been able to use her hands now. Instead, I set on the bed and fed her personally. There is something profoundly intimate in feeding someone with your own two hands. Of course, from her point of view I imagine there is something profoundly humiliating about this whole situation. But the mood in the room was one of tranquility at this point, I felt strange, almost unnatural peace with sun coming into the room, with silence of our surroundings as only the late morning in this part of town knows. My movements were slow and I felt pleasure with each repeated gesture I made, putting little pieces of toast into her mouth, watching her chew and swallow. There is music in her face when she does this, a music that can't be heard but I sensed it there. Maybe it has just been too long since I have had the chance of watching a woman from such a short distance, but there has to be more to it than this. With this woman, I don't have to worry about what she will think of me, about things I say, or about my looks. For the first time in my life I feel completely free and the air of freedom is making me drunk. So Fromm was wrong after all, I realised. He claimed that you are never actually free if your fellow person is not free as well. Now I see that the only way to be actually free is to enslave your fellow person. Make her a slave, an object. When she finished eating I explained to her that the cute white bedpan with pink rhinos is to be used when she feels the need to go to the toilet (I thought this bedpan was a nice touch when I ran into it in one of the shops in my days of preparing this action and I laughed for myself all the way back to my home). She must have thought I was raving mad but I laughed a healthy laugh again. "Oh, you make me so happy" I finally said to her before leaving the room. I knew the moment would come and I was ready for it. Again, good planning is everything. Her cellphone started ringing around noon. She heard the ring and did exactly what I anticipated. She started screaming her lungs out. I was there in a second and used the old ball-gag again with skill. She fought and struggled and I was forced to hurt her a little to make the ball slide in but it was all over in a matter of moments. Then I cuffed her to the bed again and then picked up the phone. No more than fifteen seconds passed. I was rehearsing for this moment and I think that I produced the most convincing, good-natured "Hello" that there ever was. A female voice asked for Karen. "Excuse me, who?" I said, pretending I was just a little bit distracted from whatever it was I have been busy with. She then repeated the name and I told her, still maintaining my good spirits that she must have got the wrong number. As I was telling her this I was standing in the door of the bedroom and watched Karen thrash on the bed and scream muted screams. Her helplessness was amusing. Enchanting even. I winked at her letting her know that this is our secret only. The woman on the telephone apologised and hung up. "Let's wait for her to call again" I said to Karen with a rascally smile. We both knew she would and the phone rang only a couple of seconds later. I made a few steps closer towards my slave on the bed so that her helplessness becomes even more obvious. The phone conversation went in a predictable direction. The woman claimed that she couldn't have been wrong twice and I made her tell me what number it was that she dialled. And when she did I told her in a triumphant voice that that is my number exactly and that she got her information wrong. Naturally, she was starting to get infuriated and I barely managed to suppress a giggle. I was looking at Karen on the bed screaming and struggling with her bonds and I rolled my eyes as if to tell her "Some people need written explanations for everything". I very carefully explained to the lady on the telephone that this was my number for a couple of years already and she was beginning to lose her patience. She asked my name in an authoritative voice and that's when I put a whole show on, telling her that I don't find this funny at all and that she has to stop and that I will call the police if she dials this number only once more. Then I hung up on her and looked at Karen again. She was screaming but only almost inaudible little cries could be heard, her forehead wet with sweat, spit running down her jaw. I approached her, switched the phone to silent mode and placed it into her lap. Now with her hands cuffed to the bed she could not touch it but it rested on her body. It rang again and she could feel the vibrations. She looked at me with a mixture of anger and despair and I knew just what to do. I took my time unbuttoning my trousers and taking my penis out. It only took a couple of moves to get it back to full erection. I slowly moved my fingers up and down, moving the foreskin against the head, feeling the pleasure growing in me. My eyes were fixed on her and seconds later she closed her eyes as my semen started falling all over her face, eyelids, cheeks, forehead. I groaned and moaned with pleasure. After there was no more sperm I rubbed my penis against her face and neck and told her how dirty I think she is. Then later I used a wet towel to wash her face. Without make-up she looks harder, stronger. I have to think about it. Well, my friend I will stop here as my unusual guest might need something from me right now. I still hope you are out there, receiving my messages, reading and being wise in silence. Yours Andrew 21/10 She asked me for my name. This woman is full of surprises. I still don't know what to make of her. I have worked really hard on stripping her of anything that could resemble ego, free will, even proper reception of her surroundings and then she comes up and asks me about my name. Today was magic. We spent the night separated. I felt really good yesterday. The expression "child in a candy store" does not fit me perfectly because, unlike a child I am old enough to take only small slices of heaven's own bread and let them melt into gold inside my mouth, cherishing every single moment. I do not intend to take as much as I can physically bear to at once. Like with very good brandy, one glass in very special occasions is what it takes to make the moment perfect. So, the answer to your unasked question is no, I didn't sleep with her last night. I felt pleasantly drunk from everything that went on during the day and it would have been an overkill to try and do everything in one single day. I spent the afternoon reading, listening to the music, talking to her. I have quickly slipped back into a habit of telling her just about everything that is on my mind, like I used to do with my late cat. In a way, you could say she is my best and most intimate friend now. And, no, she has in no way taken your position, Piotr, fear not. There is noone in this special room in my mind with your nameplate on the door. But at the moment, she is the person that knows me the best, that I have no real secrets in front of. I have said things in front of her that most people wouldn't dare whisper to themselves in the middle of the night, on their own pillow. Then it struck me: I wonder if she thinks that I plan to murder her eventually. After all, do not all those films about abductors and their victims teach us that there always is a sense of intimacy between the two, a relationship of confidence, nourished by the abductor's awareness that his (it's always "he", isn't it?) victim will never live to make use of the secrets he so selflessly shared? Well, I for one do not know what my plan is from this point on. But I know murder is not on the cards. It never was and it never will be. Strange as it may sound, I never meant to hurt her in any way either. I do not enjoy hurting her, I just enjoy her helplessness and dependence on me, not the pain she has to suffer as a consequence. The pain is there to fine tune the instrument, not to be the central motif of the piece. I feel for her, really, every time I do hurt her, I apologise to her in my mind. And at the same time I get excited. But I didn't tell her any of this. Keeping her confused and wondering is part of the game. And I tend to speak in really carefree voice when I speak to her. Even I am surprised by this, I sound to myself at least 15 years younger, like I don't have a worry in the world. I can't really recall when it was the last time I addressed anyone with "love". It cracks me up, actually. A lot of things I say to her I only half mean and I'm sure she doesn't know what to make of it. I have to consciously refrain from laughing after telling her many a thing. I'm sure she thinks that I am not only evil and depraved but also quite mad. Well, in all honesty, the last thing in the world I'd want would be to sound like some grim dungeon keeper from bad gothic novels. This is 21st century, we are free at last. I played my piano and even sang badly for a while. I wonder what she thought of it. I actually explained to her what I will be playing before every song, taking time to go into amusing historical details. I wish my audience was always chained and handcuffed to their seats. There wouldn't be much in the way of applause, but I know I'd have their undivided attention. She didn't exactly cheer after every song, but she didn't boo either which is I guess a good sign. In all honesty, I doubt she will be mad about Monk and Cardew once this is all over... Her cellphone's battery ran out by early evening, so that part was finished. I released her hands again and even extended the chain a bit so now she could not only position herself on the bed more comfortably, but also sit on the bed, even stand next to it if she felt like it. I looked for but a small sign of gratitude in her eyes but there was just pain and defiance there. Fair enough. To spice things up a bit and to add to her frustration and sense of helplessness, I put my own cellphone next to the bed. The bloody thing hardly ever rings anyway. "If it rings, feel free to pick it up, love" I told her cheerfully, "And be my guest to call anyone you like". Of course, I made sure the keypad is locked and protected with a code first. So it's a four-digit code. Theoretically, she could try and go through all possible combinations of digits before the battery runs out, but I imagined she'd just try random numbers, then give up in frustration, than start all over again. Funny how strong a drug power is. I could have raped her right there, right that moment, stick my trembling member right into her and burn all the frustration that accumulated over years in a matter of seconds. But I didn't need to do it. Not yet. Watching her play with the phone was enough. I actually felt so good that I did something I didn't do in years. I told her to be nice, watch the house and take any messages that there might be, and went for a walk. I didn't go anywhere in particular, just took a slow, lazy walk, enjoying unusually pretty autumn, watching birds and children and their grandparents and dead leaves. I even smiled at them as they passed me by, filled with the sense of tranquility and sweetness. "What a nice person!" they must have thought and indeed I feel like I am. Finally there is a purpose to what I do, but not only a purpose, not just that. More importantly, there is a lot of grace to it, a sense of ritual and significance. I wasn't afraid at all. Now, I am aware of the risks present in my actions. After all I left Karen all alone in my home, chained and with a locked cellphone, yes, but still, there was a fair amount of possibility that she would manage to break free/ contact someone/ attract unwanted attention. I kept this thought, toyed with it, looked at it from every possible angle, but I couldn't get myself to be worried. I feel there is a point in life after which you know that this is it and nothing that comes afterwards matters. I feel like a person becoming aware that they are dreaming and that the awakening will ensue and just making the best of the dream before it inevitably ends. And controlling a dream is closest anyone ever will get to divinity. So I am just a dreamer and she is just a dream. What could possibly go wrong? Where? In reality? WHAT reality? The morning was bright again. For some reason the gods let us have it the easy way this year. I took her to the bathroom again, leading her on the chain and this time I let her do the bathing herself. Of course, I watched closely and in no time she had me aroused and hard, even if her movements had nothing consciously seductive about them. Midway through I moved closer to her and started touching her. As her hands were free, she pushed me back, but that only amused me and I grabbed her breasts and started squeezing. She cried in pain and then I transferred my hands to her crotch, spreading her and penetrating her with little patience. She begged me to stop and tried to push me away from her, but with little success. Overwhelmed by excitement, I pulled the chain and forced her down to her knees. In a matter of seconds, my throbbing, wet penis was out and I wasted no time. I grabbed her hair and forced my penis into her mouth. I told her all sorts of nasty things as I moved my hips, my knees going soft from the intensity of pleasure I felt. I called her a whore, and a slut and told her that her oral performance is equal to that of top prostitutes (not that I'd know, mind you, as those prostitutes I did have contacts with in one brief, sad period, were far from top drawer). I managed to stop myself just short of ejaculating into her warm, wet mouth, pulling back in just the right moment. The shadow of surprise that flew over her face when I told her to finish her bath was heartening. The breakfast was a special treat and I told her that red wine is there for a reason. Her hands were free but she refused to eat and only after holding her wrists pressed together with one hand and brutally pinching her nipples with the other she obeyed. I made her drink the wine and I drank myself. Then I dipped my finger in wine and traced lines across her face and neck and shoulders and breasts. Red, wet lines, that I then followed with my tongue and mouth, drinking wine from her skin, getting drunk in more than one way. I kissed her on the lips, savagely, stuck my tongue in her mouth through her lips, pressed tight together. I put my hand between her thighs and felt how soft, warm and wet she was. I was on her. This was it and she knew it. She screamed loud. She didn't let me down. She fought to the end, screaming, begging and thrashing. To the end, just like I knew she would. I know I wouldn't have liked it any other way. Of course, her fight was lost from the very beginning as I made sure I have several unfair advantages over her. And when I finally penetrated her, I nearly fainted from the feel. The heat, the wet flesh, the spasms, it was like grabbing a live wire. It was like licking the sun itself. Up to that point I managed to be fully in control and called her all kinds of names, telling her that I know she wants this because she is a dirty whore etc., but all I could say when finally I was in was "God, God, God!" over and over again. The orgasm was similar to birth of a nova, I lost sense of time and place, I couldn't even see anything, I felt like I was tearing her apart with my thrusts. I imagine I shot my load directly in her uterus, so deep inside her was I. She cried a weak, quiet weeping after I left her on the bed. I was trying to compose myself and start breathing normally, trying to remember who I am, since I felt disembodied, my personality annihilated in one hot, fiery moment. She cried and I wanted to take her into my arms and whisper into her ear that everything is OK. And this thought was so funny that I laughed aloud. In the afternoon I went shopping for her. After all, there is no sense in having your own whore and not making the best of it. Nudeness is not half as exciting as semi nudeness, shrouded in mystery and barely hinted images. I spent best part of the late morning browsing the Internet looking for sexy clothes that I'd like to see my pretty slave in. I didn't tell her about this, though as I wanted it to be a surprise. What a joy it is to be able to spoil yourself: I never once had to care about her preferences, about whether she'd like this model of stockings or panties, I picked the items that made me excited by just looking at them. It was a long shopping session and I loved every minute of it. I chatted with sales ladies, asked their opinions, made jokes. I felt great and it showed and my good spirits rubbed off to everybody I came into contact with. "Ooh, she is really lucky to have someone like you." one of the staff said and I laughed a healthy laugh at that and everybody laughed with me, as if they understood the joke, as if we all were parts of the scheme. Upon leaving the shop I left a huge tip. I giggled to myself driving back home, imagining those ladies in the shop talk about me. I will have Karen try all the clothes (mostly lingerie anyway) on later this evening. So, giving her a late lunch, she asked me for my name. She looked composed and almost normal, the morning experience apparently well behind her. I felt a distant sting of pain right that moment there. Just for a second I saw the woman she was outside confines of these four walls she was incarcerated in. Just for a second I could envision the encounter between the two of us under different circumstances, almost make out the path that lead from that point on. Just for a second and then it was gone. The encounter never happened, thousands of possible futures folded into only one, the future that I can not see clearly, but can feel. It is there, it is the one. "Why do you need my name?" I asked. But I didn't wait for her to reply. I told her my name. But not the name I use to sign my e-mails to you, my distant friend. Not the name you used to know me under, not the name the world has got used to identifying me with. I told her my real name, the name I got at birth, the name that roots me in history of my family, my nation and the world, for better or for worse. The name almost forgotten. She knows my real name now. But she isn't aware of it. I will report back tomorrow my friend. There are duties to be fulfilled now. Yours truly, Andrew
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