12/17/2009 1:59:14 AM: 'Her - Trial no.3 - Abduction' She loved travelling by train, the rhythm of the carriage over the tracks, people-watching…guessing what each was doing, where they were going. Never before had she been the one with the secret, her cheeks coloured quickly at the thought and she turned to look out of the window, eager to hide her blushes. Difficult to describe how she was feeling…nervous? A little…excited? Like a child…’apprehensive anticipation’ was a phrase she recalled Him using before. That described her state of mind best. The letter had arrived 2 days earlier, handwritten in His neat, elegant script, His unique style…brown fountain pen ink on parchment paper, delivered in a tissue lined envelope. Even His stationery spoke volumes of Him…refined, precise, controlled. Each act deliberate and considered yet overlaid with the most incredible creativity and imagination. Who else could make such a planned act seem spontaneous? This was to be her third trial of devotion, as usual there was no ‘name’ given to the trial…only afterwards would he reveal it as He had with the first, ‘patience’, and the second, ‘fire’. She felt a tightening deep inside at the memory of ‘fire’. Her mind span, trying to work what could follow fire? Ice perhaps? What would He have in that mind of His, that glorious, sensual, fetish-filled mind? She opened the letter. The envelope contained a first class rail ticket from her home town to a station she had never heard of, a strip of black velvet and 2 sheets of writing paper filled with His words, His instructions, His will. She read. Dusk quickly turned to dark as the train sped across the December landscape, industrial backdrop turning to acres of flat fields. A hint of silver moonlight giving a vague blue tone to all her night adjusted vision could pick out. She recognised the station name as they pulled out…her heart began to race…one more stop to Him…’breathe through the panic’…His words came to her again. Fields raced past, it seemed to take only moments, all too soon the train slowed, heart in mouth, not ready...the station name scrolled across her window…she was here…He would be here. ‘Apprehensive anticipation’ As instructed she waited for the crowded platform to clear…for commuters to find their cars and head home for what? Dinner with the wife, Coronation Street and the kids…while she did what? cast herself into the unknown? The last mobile shut off, the last car departed…headlights carving the darkness. All quiet now. She walked into the carpark and stopped…reached into her bag and took out the strip of black velvet He had sent. She tied it, as instructed around her eyes…blindfolded in the dark…she almost giggled at the absurdity of it…but thought better of it. She stood, and she waited…His patient devotee. She could tell it was Him approaching by the steady pace of His step, the sound of leather soles on the hard gravel, smelled His Ralph Lauren Polo Black before she felt His fingertip brush her lips. Him. His voice, ‘It begins’. She was wet. He took her arms behind her back, tied them with something coarse, rough rope, it bit into her wrists. Her shoulders were pulled back as He tied her again above the elbows…this didn’t feel like a game any more. Her head sprang forward as He gripped her hair by the roots and marched her across the tarmac, her one involuntary whine greeted with a harder tug on her new haircut. A car door opened, she was pushed backwards …but not a seat, the lip of the boot, more fabric pulled tight to her mouth, stifling any protest, tied tightly behind her. More of the rough rope around her ankles and thighs then, trussed, gagged, blindfolded He thrust her into the boot and slammed the lid shut. Door opening and shutting, engine starting…jolting her back against the boot lid, something cold and metallic stung her cheek, the rope burning her wrists…the skin now raw. Every twist and turn in the road pressed some foreign object into some part of her body, bumps, grazes, scratches everywhere. She had lost her left stiletto and could tell that the sole of her stocking was shredded. Sadness gripped her…she so wanted to look perfect for Him, to see His admiring gaze. The bumps and knocks blurred time, no concept of how long passed or how far travelled. The car swung sharply and the metal bit into her cheek…warm blood trickled down her cheek, the ferrous scent sweet in her nostrils. She heard gravel crunch beneath the wheels then…nothing…silent…motionless. Cold air kissed her cheek as the boot opened, she was shivering uncontrollably now, the shivers nothing to do with the temperature. Strong hands gripped the black velvet of her dress and lifted her from the boot, carried her across the gravel…her nerves calmed by His strength…but her mind in turmoil. Suddenly she was airborne…thrown…panic…the air was knocked out of her as she landed, the air filled with the musty aroma of straw bales. A barn? His hand gripped her hair and pulled her to her feet…fatigue washed over her, mental fatigue…she just wanted to please Him, that’s all. Momentary relief as He released her hands, only to retie them in front of her…rope on wood…her hands hoisted over her head, pulling her up almost onto tiptoe. He secured the rope…his footsteps left…quietly, calmly. Silence. Leather shoes clicking on concrete floor, a warm hand on her thigh made her moan against the gag. He stroked her…fingers sliding down her leg, cupping her calf, lifting her foot and replacing the lost stiletto. Prince Charming and Cinderella. The sound that followed was familiar, scissors snipping alongside her ear. Her beautiful vintage dress, straps cut…peeled away…lay at her feet. He circled her…she could feel his eyes touching her, appreciating her curves, clad in the basque, thong and stockings He bought for her. Snip, snip…her thong pulled away…His mouth at her throat, his hands on her buttocks…lifting, her legs wrapped around His waist…felt Him…where she needed Him. That voice, that whisper… ‘You belong to Me, My pretty cockwhore, My slut, My toy...your body exists for Me to take and use whenever I want...and that time...is now'

12/15/2009 2:33:53 AM: 'On Writing...'If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it. Anais Nin

12/13/2009 2:05:23 PM: 'Yearn on'I want you to feelthe unbearable lack of me.I want your skinto yearn for the soft lure of mine;I want those hints of redon your canvasto deepen in passion for me:carmine, burgundy.I want you to keepstubbing your toeon the memory of me;I want your head to be dizzyand your stomach in a spin;I want you to hear my voicein your ear, to touch your faceimagining it is my hand.I want your body to shiver and quiverat the mere idea of mine.I want you to feel as thoughlife after me is dull, and pointless,and very, very aggravating;that with me you were liftedon a current you waited all your life to find,as though you were wadingthrough a soggy swill of inanity and uglinessevery minute we are apart.I want you to drive yourself crazywith the fantasy of me,and how we will meet again, against all odds,and there will be tears and flowers,and the vast relief of not I,but us.I am haunting your dreams,conducting these feversfrom a distance,a distance that leaves me weeping,and storming,and bereft.Katie Donovan(no, this isn't posted for you)

12/9/2009 4:30:18 AM: 'Time'It saddens me to think that so many think that the duration of a relationship can be measured by the ticking of a clock not the turning of the pages of a calendar...

12/7/2009 3:49:30 AM: 'Her - Trial no.2 - Fire'The bags were stacked neatly on the folding suitcase stand inside the door. Testament to the shopping trip, Christmas nearly sorted, one more week and she would be finished, all bought, all wrapped. She could still smell the roasting chestnuts from the street corner, still recall the starry eyed children pleading for gifts and treats...Mums everywhere uttering the well rehearsed line...'put it on your Christmas list'...the line they started using in September...He uttered a theatrical cough to regain her attention...she could tell from its source that he had moved again...now off to one side. Oh God, He was going to start again...She hadn't expected Him today, but this was all part of His routine, to use surprise to disarm her. He appeared from nowhere just as she had kissed her daughter goodbye and headed back to the car park with her hard fought purchases. 'It's time', was all He had to say. He sat, she drove, his directions.The hotel was already booked, His planning meticulous as ever. He took the keycard from the receptionist, effortlessly charming... understated. In the lift He was silent, touched a fingertip softly to her lips when she had tried to ask...silencing her. He stroked her hair. Smiled.Room 212. She tried to work out a significance in the number, was there a clue to her fate? A single cool bead of sweat dripped at her armpit, the first time she had become aware of her rising nerves, anticipation...apprehensive anticipation. The lights flickered into life as He walked into the room, He had a manner about him, a gait that just reeked of control, composure, confidence…so complete, irresistible. She recalled how he paid attention to every detail of their messages and conversations and led her to investigate new experiences, art, music, architecture….life. He made her feel the sole focus of His life…had shown her the light…now the trials had started and He was leading her into the darkness. He turned and with a silent gesture of the hand, instructed her, He sat to watch…she sat on the edge of the bed and took off the tan and gold cowboy boots, the gold & cream scarf she folded by her side, pulled the tan v-neck over her head, folding it neatly, deliberately. He would not tolerate rush nor haste nor slovenliness. She unzipped the jeans and stepped out, adding them to the collection she had worn just moments earlier. A sideways glance in the mirror and she wished she had chosen something more alluring from her underwear draw. Simple plain soft white cotton bra and thong, chosen with comfort in mind rather than display. He placed a chair for her, she sat. From the inside pocket of his suit jacket He produced a pair of scissors. He cut each shoulder strap then reached behind and cut the main strap…taking the front of the bra between thumb and forefinger he slid it away exposing her…yet his eyes remained glued to hers. She ached for Him to admire her but his gaze stayed fixed. He repeated the actions with the scissors on her thong. Each cut, each action deliberate and controlled. Naked. Exposed. His cool fingertips pressed her knees apart until she was wide open for him. He reached into a small leather bag and to her surprise (and alarm) took out a small sharp vegetable knife. As her panic and wild imaginations reached their height He withdrew a small wooden chopping board, a red chilli pepper, a white linen napkin and a paperback book. (She couldn’t see the title). Ritual…He managed to make the simplest acts into significant events. He laid out the napkin, placed the board upon it and proceeded to slice the chilli. He approached her, took her hands in His and rubbed the cut chilli all over her hands and fingers. He lifted the chilli to his own finger, then touched the finger to her lips and tongue letting her feel the burn of the chilli heat. He took the scarf from the pile of clothing, folded it deliberately and tied it around her eyes. Darkness. Bathroom...He washed his hands. She heard Him manoeuvre His own chair, heard Him sit, heard Him flick through the book to a pre-selected page…and He began to read. His voice washed over her and oh the words He was using! The scene He described! the words reverberated in her head, around her head...making her light-headed, drifting into another space...she felt the involuntary warmth and the wetness He brought simply with His tone and His words. She begged Him to stop, squirmed in her chair trying to find some relief without having to use her chilli infused fingers but He pressed on and on and on…ever more graphic, more descriptive, using the rhythm of His voice to drive her insane, ‘in and out and in and out and in..’ time and place melted away until all the was left was his voice and her ache...and at the point when she could bear it no more He lowered the book and said simply, 'touch yourself'… …that’s when it started....Fire.