Vertical Line



The Basics "Professional gentleman, single, told good looking, seeks lost princess for encounters of the darker side leading to LTR. Decadent moments and twisted pleasures for the lady who would cross the line with me. You will be spoiled and tormented Used And adored. You will dress for me. And understand that when a certain look is in my eyes anything less than complete obedience is not an option." Seeking someone to complement my needs with her own desires. Looking ultimately for a LTR with someone who can both commit and submit. Had success in life and enjoy its rewards. Keep very fit and have a particular weakness for fast cars which I indulge way too often. Whether you see yourself as damsel in distress or slave in waiting I would like to hear from you. Superficial as it may sound to some my preference is for conventionally slim and attractive younger women. For someone this special I am aware that geography may not be on our side and some travel may be involved but then nothing worthwhile ever comes easy. If you would like to know then simply ask. And good luck in your search wherever it takes you.

You sit in the garden

Perfectly still as the early evening light begins to fade.

Though you will not feel the chill of the night on your skin for some time the sunlight has already lost its warmth.

It is time to take you back inside but I hesitate.

I know how much you love the garden with its tumbling rose bushes and creaking swing.

I see how much you love the sky and the breath of the breeze on your skin.

But you are weak.


The head cold you had last week is persistent. Your breathing in the night remains irregular and the occasional cough you stifle worries me a little.

I know you hear me approaching but your eyes remain fixed on the setting sun, an orange glow within soft blurred layers of azure pink and grey.

I carefully arrange the woollen blanket around your shoulders.

You do not acknowledge me.

“Five more minutes,” I say quietly before stepping back to allow you the last pleasure of your garden.

You sit, slender and so beautiful on the swing, blanket wrapped around you in your silk summer dress and soft leather sandals.

You are so perfect.

Only the plain silver chain that runs from the metal spike in the ground to the thin collar around your neck spoils the scene but you make even this ugly symbol of your confinement somehow sensual and hauntingly beautiful.

In this forgotten house miles from any other, with its high fences and impenetrable tangled bushes of thorn a Goddess is imprisoned.

And I am her jailer.

It has been over a year since you left your old life behind.

It has been a difficult time for you.

I so wish it could have been otherwise.

*************************************************** ********

A year ago

I drive in silence.

Passing through towns and long grey stretches of suburbs.

The relative quiet of the A roads give way to a sluggish crawl Westwards along the dual carriageway and the motorway.

The afternoon sunlight has faded and the first spots of rain have begun to blur the windscreen.

The traffic slows and finally stops.

Minutes pass.

Nothing moves.

In the boot you lie curled still and silent.

The drug will not loosen its grip for at least another three hours.

There is plenty of time.

But minutes stretch out into an hour

The traffic creaks along in first and second gear drawing us ever closer to the moment when you will awaken.

I so wanted to be there when the effects of the drug wore off.

I do not want you to begin your new life waking up bound and gagged in the cold and dark of the car boot.

I have planned for this eventuality but it is not what I would have wanted.

We are now nearly two hours behind schedule but the traffic has finally eased forwards and the speed increases.

I turn off the motorway and though the roads have grown clearer the rain is falling heavily now.

I keet the car to a steady sixty resisting the impulse to try to catch up the time lost.

The space between towns grows and the rain lessens.

It is over four hours since I placed you in the boot of the car.

You must be awake.

I scan the road ahead.

Ten minutes later I find the place.

The rest stop is sufficiently far back from the road for my purpose and at this time of the year deserted.

I pull the Audi to a halt.

I reach down towards the passenger seat and lift up the leather case from the floor. Then I slowly step out onto the gravel of the layby.

I wait for a few moments.

This will be difficult but necessary. Unavoidable.

I straighten my shoulders and move to the boot of the car.

The mechanism opens with a turn of the key gliding upwards.

I zip open the bag and pull it away from your body.

You lie as I have left you. The hood remains around your head and you are perfectly still.

But I am not fooled

The tape around your wrists has begun to come away.

You have been working hard trying to loosen the adhesive.

In another twenty minutes you may have been able to free your hands.

It's fortunate that I am by nature cautious.

I know that beneath the hood you are very much awake.

It must take a lot to remain so still when every instinct will be prompting you to do otherwise.

Such strength and courage.

I always knew that you were special.

I open the leather case.

Inside is small tank, the size of a small keg of beer. It is labelled Drager Vapor 2000.

It is a portable canister.

It's of the kind used in serious car accidents where a fast acting anaesthetic is required.

I've chosen sevoflurane.

Its effects are almost instantaneous and it has fewer side effects than its comparitors.

Alongside the canister is a thin rubber hose attached to a clear plastic mask designed to cover the nose and mouth.

The hose clicks into the canister and I put it carefully down alongside your curled and still form.

The gauge on the canister registers full.

I stare down at you.

Your clothes are crumpled and your jacket has pulled away from your shoulder.

Your skin is the colour of pale honey.

I would love to spend longer but time and circumstance do not permit such an indulgence.

I pull the hood abruptly from your head.

You flinch instinctively, brown eyes blinking in the sudden glare of daylight.

Your hair is damp from sweat and I realise how much effort you have made to work your way free of the tape.

You struggle as I move you onto your back.

You try to talk and though the ballgag muffles the sound I know you are simply saying no.

I hold you on your back with my right hand pressed against your midriff while with my left hand I turn the dial on the canister to full.

Your eyes dart to the right following my movements and you redouble your energies frantically working your wrists against the tape in a sawing motion.

You shake your head, eyes imploring as I very gently place the mask over your mouth and hold it there for a few seconds.

The mask fits securely over the ball gag.

I can see that you try to hold your breath but even now your struggles are weakening.

I feel the fight ebb from you.

Your shoulders slump and your eyes mist.

And finally you sleep.

I fasten the mask in place behind your head with the elasticated velcro strap and wait the required three minutes for the drug to take hold.

Then I turn the dial on the Dragger down towards the minimum merging the now faint stream of sevoflurane with oxygen.

The canister will last until we are home.

As I drive the final one hundred miles at a steady fifty miles per hour my mind revisits the day savouring again every moment.

Each risk weighed and taken.

Your level of resistance was more than I had expected.

I am very proud of you. That you fought so hard.

And with each day will come more discoveries.

The rain passes.

The roads are empty.

We're nearly home.

I reach for the radio and music fills the interior of the Audi.

The journey passes.

The main roads turns to a narrow single route where except for passing points where the road has been widened only one car can go.

Finally we have left the last of the tarmac roads behind and we follow a narrow gravel path through the forest. Steep climbs and uneven surfaces force me to slow to a crawl but the four wheel drive capabilities of the Audi more than cope with the challenge.

The last embers of daylight are fading as we drive up to a tall gate that stands in the middle of the road, dull metal against the dark swirling green of the forest. On each side the tall wire mesh fence, stretches out in each direction encircling the property.

I get out and release the padlock which secures the strong metal gate and marks both the end of the road and the property boundary.

We drive the last mile very slowly until we arrive at the house.

I use the plastic key fob to swipe open the security screen, which in turn disables the alarm and activates the lights.

The house was originally built in the early eighties.

I pass through the house, moving quickly beyond the ornate staircase to the door that stands adjacent to the kitchen.

The heavy reinforced door opens smoothly as I release the lock and the automatic light flare illuminating the long dark stairway that leads downwards.

In the darkness beyond, your prison-kingdom awaits.

I have no need to go further.

Everything is prepared for you in the rooms below.

It has been ready for a very long time.

I make my way back through the house to the car and open the boot.

You are still asleep.

There is no faking this time. The canister of sevoflurane is still three quarters full.

With my grey clasp knife I cut the strands of tape that hold your legs to your breasts and your head rolls back suddenly.

I unfasten the mask and turn the cylinder to off.

I pick you up slowly, effortlessly from the floor of the boot.

Your clothes are damp and in one place wet. Thereis smell of amonia.

But that is understandable.

You have been through so much.

I carefully carry you through the house and descend into the cellar.

I take you straight to the large shower cubicle in the corner of the cellar. It has been fitted to accommodate people with mobility problems and there is a small seat where I place you securing you waist and then your chest with the two straps.

Your head drops forwards but the straps take your weight.

I cut away the the last of the tape.

I slowly undress you placing each item in a neat pile ready for the incinerator.

Shoes, tights, skirt, jacket, pink silk top, underwear and your simple silver watch.

As each item is stripped from your body so you leave your old life behind.

Finally you are naked.

I keep the water warm as I wash you gently and meticulously.

I have no idea about what you prefer to bathe with so I simply bought the most expensive I could find.

I massage the lather into your skin and then wash your hair.

As I rinse the last of the shampoos from your hair. You make a soft almost inaudible noise.

It is nearly time.

Moving more quickly I dry you in large white towel before I carry you to the bed that sits by one wall.

You will soon be awake and given the unexpected level of resistance encountered before I do not want to take any chances.

I have no concern that you might escape, the difference in size and build between us would render that a no contest.

I am more concerned that you might hurt yourself.

And that would never do.

I pull a simple cotton nightdress over your head and smooth it down over your thighs.

Like all the clothes in the wardrobe which occupies most of the far wall, it has been bought online. I have had to estimate the sizes but now that you are here I will be able to take more exact measurements.

I will buy the things that will most suit you.

And I will buy only the very best.

But for now practicalities must be addressed.

The four black calf skin cuffs were another online purchase. One for each wrist and ankle. Though soft and carefully lined they have been specially designed. As I fasten each strap in place there is a small padlock which fastens the eyelet ensuring that the strap cannot work free.

When I'm done I move your arms and legs into a star shape.

Four thin metal chains are fixed to the solid wooden bedframe and I use these to secure you in a spread-eagled position.

Finally I wash the ball gag and strap it in place once more.

And then I wait.

And watch you from the side of the bed.

After several moments your eyes open blinking rapidly.

You moan, an almost anguished sound as you try to sit up.

You are able to move only a few inches before the chains go taut and you slip back onto the matress.

Your eyes focus on me filling with tears.

I let the silence lengthen.

And then I begin.

“You are here because I wish it. There is no one who can hear you and no one who will come to find you.”

I paused scanning your face for comprehension.

“I see you understand me.”

You nod slowly

“There is only me and I have chosen you. I am by any definition a monster because only a monster could do what I have done to you. But I am Your monster.”

You fix me with those perfect dark eyes.

“You are chained to ensure you do not hurt yourself and you are gagged not because someone might hear you but because I do not wish to hear you scream, or plead or even ask questions.”

Your eyes dart slowly around the room taking in the wardrobe, the shower and the two doors, one that leads back up into the main part of the house and the other that leads to the garden I have made for you.

You look down at the plain cotton nightdress.

“You had an accident in the car,” I explain “So I had to bathe you.”

Your eyes widen and I smile.

“Yes I undressed you and washed you but I did nothing else. But we will come to the matter of sex at the appropriate time.”

You have such expressive eyes.

All your emotions are there.

“Every day bad things happen in the world. People wake up, have plans and then along comes the bad thing. They die. The person they loves dies. But the world keeps on turning.”

You move slowly testing the chains.

The early days were always going to be the hardest.

“You need to accept that you have left your old life behind. You are not dead but nor can you ever go back.”

You say something then. A word of defiance.

I smile sadly. “We need to get through this stage first. Your resistance is understandable but we will need to move on.”

You swear again. Unmistakeable even muffled by the gag.

“I was hoping we could wait a bit before this had to happen,” I say standing up and removing the knife from my pocket. Instinctively you pull back against the chains eyes fixed on the blade.

I lean forwards and slowly slice up through the nightdress from the hem to the top. I pull the ruin away from your body.

This has to be done.

I walk to the small fridge and open the door. The light flickers briefly.

“Sex is not that important to me. But it is an effective way of demonstrating to you that I am in complete control.”

I swallow two Viagra tablets washing them down with a bottle of mineral water.

“I've found in life I need a little help,” I explain.

You shake your head pulling against the chains while I wait for the tablets to take effect.

Sitting by the bed I place the packet of condoms neatly to one side.

We can have no accidents.

Then I begin to warm the lubricant between my hands.

You start to weep, head moving from side to side.

And so I begin.

*************************************************** ********

That was a year ago.

Much has changed.

I lead you back down the small flight of stairs from the garden to the cellar gently holding the chain in one hand.

There are some changes within your kingdom-prison

There is now a small bath tub which I installed when I realised you preferred baths to showers.

And I run the water while you sit silently on the bed.

I bathe you and dry you.

You hold up your arms as I place the night dress over your head and secure the collar to the bed with its padlock.

You can move from the bed around the room but you cannot reach the door beyond. There is small switch for you to press to summon me if you need anything but you never do.

You lie in bed and I pull the cover up around your shoulders, brushing a strand of hair which has settled on your face.

“Who are you?” you ask.

I look into your eyes. “I am your Monster. I have stolen you from your life and brought you here.”

“Why do you hate me?” you ask in a tiny voice.

I shake my head. “I do not hate you. I love you. But it is a Monster's love, a harsh and all possessing thing. You are a Goddess in chains. I will care for you but I will never let you go.”

You turn your head away from me on the pillow.

“Sleep,” I say quietly and you close your eyes obediently.

I close the door behind me and walk up the stairs to the main part of the house.

The initial flurry of interest and speculation regarding your disappearance has died down. There has been nothing in the papers or the news but with the anniversary of the event fast approaching there will no doubt be questions asked.

And still the police have no answers.

Just a single grainy CCTV picture of a man who could be almost anyone.

It's time to sleep.

Tomorrow I will read to you again.

And there are recipes that I will cook for you.

I have you.

And I am truly happy.

No monster could be more content.

You were my life before you knew that I existed.

And I will never let you go.

(To be continued?)

By request

You sit alone at the table in the station.

Smiling as you check your Blackberry and sip your latte from a cardboard cup.

Beside you a laptop case and a shoulder bag.

This morning you chose to wear a short skirt that accentuates your long tapered legs with dark tights and plain shoes with a short heel.

A plain dark jacket matches the skirt though the flare of a pink silken blouse or vest top provides a vivid contrast.

Your make up is subtle and your hair tied back in a bob

The morning rush has gone and there are few passengers enjoying the late morning sunshine.

I step out from behind the ticket machine and walk purposefully to one side of the small group of tables where you sit.

Your eyes flicker in my direction and register simply another suit before you resume your scrolling check of emails.

As I pass behind you I let the folded slip of paper drop to the ground and carry on walking a few paces.

You are smiling still. Lost in your email world.

I turn. “Excuse me. Is that yours?”

You look up, a small puzzled frown crossing your face.

“Behind your chair. Have you dropped something?” You follow my gaze but the paper is directly behind you so you have to turn fully in your chair.

“Sorry,” I say taking a step forwards as you reach downwards to pick up the folded sheet of paper.

My left hand moves across the table, hovering for a second over the top of your coffee cup while you scan the sheet of paper.

You turn back to face me. “It's someone's insurance policy...cover note I mean,” you say “But it isn't mine.”

I look around the station and you follow my eyes.

I count down the seconds as you search for whoever has dropped the cover note.

Gamma Hydroxybutprate or GHB for short in powder form takes fifteen seconds to fully dissolve in milky coffee and ten for the incongruous specks of blue powder to disappear.

To your credit you scan the almost deserted station concourse for a full seventeen seconds before your eyes come back to me.

I always knew you were a lady of conscience.

“I didn't see anyone, I'm afraid,” you shrug apologetically.

Your eyes lift toward the departure board.

I nod. “I'll hand it in at the ticket office just in case. Perhaps they can do an announcement.”

“Thank you,” you say. “That's probably all we can do.”

I take the folded piece of paper from your hand and walk quickly towards the ticket office where an elderly lady is being served.

After a moment I turn round and smile at you briefly.

You nod and raise a hand in a wave of acknowledgement then glance at your watch.

I turn back to the ticket office watching your reflection in the glass. I count to fifteen, taking the IPhone from my pocket and then turn towards the departure board.

I see you lift the cup to your mouth and drink then rise from the chair picking up the bag and the laptop case.

I press Start on the IPhone stop watch. It begins to count down from twenty minutes.

I turn back to the ticket office window which is now free.

A middle aged woman glances up at me and smiles. “Sir?”

“Can I have a timetable please?”

From the corner of my eye I see you walk towards the barrier. I note with a smile that you are such a creature of habit. Three times I've watched you take this journey at this time in the day and on each occasion you've arrived with enough time for your Starbuck's latte. And each time you've taken the automatic turnstile furthest to the right.

When you've passed beyond the automatic gate I leave the ticket office and walk over to the table you've vacated. You've left the coffee cup for someone else to clear up.

A bad habit.

Perhaps it's something we'll be able to discuss when time and circumstance permit.

I take the cup and fold it flat for disposal later.

I note with satisfaction that, as always, you've finished the latte.

The stopwatch has counted down to eighteen minutes.

I walk slowly towards the barrier reaching inside my jacket pocket for my own ticket.

As I pass the third of the four CCTV cameras along the way

I pull the handkerchief to my face and mime a sneeze.

It's not particularly subtle but it is effective.

The handkerchief covers my face and I crouch slightly down distorting my height. I don't intend to get caught but prevention is always better than cure.

There are eight carriages to the train. If you continue to be the creature of habit I've learned to know so well you'll go to either the second to last or the last carriage.

You enjoy the privacy.

Safety is not something that concerns you on this bright spring morning. Primitive instincts are not always reliable.

Bad things don't always happen at night.

And Bad Men can stalk you even better during the day. In the distance I see you step up quickly into the last carriage.

I board the train through the first door avoiding the two safety cameras that cover the platform.

Trains like this one come from another age; when CCTV cameras did not come as standard.

I walk slowly through the first two carriages. Only one passenger so far, a young guy with a bike pressed against the far door.

I stop in the third carriage which is empty and check the phone. Sixteen minutes.

GHB kicks in between fifteen and twenty minutes after ingestion. After that it takes hold in seconds.

The train slowly begins to move.

I sit in the empty carriage and wait as the train glides out of the station and through the outskirts of the town.

I lose count of the back gardens I gaze into.

After five minutes give or take a few seconds it makes its first stop. The platform is deserted and no one leaves the train.

In a minute the doors slide shut and the train moves off again.

The stop watch registers nine minutes as I stand and resume my slow walk through the train.

It will take me three minutes to walk to the front of the train. I've timed it before.

By that stage you may still be awake, though the sedative will already be coursing through your system, clouding your brain, dulling your reactions.

And though I don't want you to see me too soon nor can I take the chance that, if the carriage does happen to be occupied, your predicament might attract attention. So I have to be on hand just in case.

I hope you appreciate the care I'm taking with you.

In the second to last carriage, again empty, I pause and check the stopwatch once more. Six minutes of the twenty left.

Through the darkened glass partition door between the carriages I see you.

And only you.

As I pass through the door and walk towards where you sit I cannot help smiling.

No time for breakfast, I suppose.

GBH on an empty stomach will work in almost half the time.

You sit slumped slightly but upright with your back to the engine.

Your eyes are open but glazed.

The Blackberry has slipped from your hand and rests on the seat next to you.

I check my watch.

Nine minutes to the next station which is where we get off you and I.

We're on schedule.

So I indulge myself with the moment I have worked so hard for.

You are such a creature of beauty.

So many things in life once achieved are a disappointment but not you.

Your eyes flicker.

Somewhere behind the mist you realise something is wrong.

Not to worry

That will pass as the drug works deeper into your system

When the narcotic euphoria kicks in.

But you can see me.

I know because before I could use GHB on you I had to use it on myself.

So I realise that you can see me, vaguely aware that you have met me before.

And what do you see?

A tall man, well into his forties in a dark suit and plain tie sits opposite you.

You wonder why you can't move but with each passing second the concern subsides.

He is looking at you fondly so everything must be fine.

The colours beyond the window swirl and merge as the Man reaches down towards his laptop bag.

Now this is very strange.

From the laptop bag he takes what appears to be a black canvas sheet and puts it on the floor.

He is saying something but you can no longer hear the words.

But that too is fine.

Everything is just fine.

And then like magic the man flicks the sheet out and it becomes a large bag, about three feet long which he lies in the aisle.

His movements are becoming slightly blurred but you watch him take something that looks like a thick A4 book from the laptop case.

He opens the book and it doubles in size.

Then he does it again.

And again.

When he has finished he has a board that he lays inside the big canvas bag.

It's like a trick from a magic show.

A big bag like this from such a small case.

If you were still a little girl you would squeal with delight and clap your hands.

Instead you watch as the darkness begins to form around your vision.

The man leans forwards and his face fills your eyes. There is a smell of aftershave which is not unpleasant.

Then he picks you up in his arms cradling you for a moment before he slowly eases you down and into the bag.

You stare up at him.

He gently brings your wrists together, both of them encircled in his hand but you cannot feel the adhesive tape he uses to bind them together in front of you.

He uses the same tape to bind your ankles and then brings up your knees to your chest while he tapes you into a small curled ball.

A thought passes through your head that like this he can see your knickers. But it passes.

Gently he eases your lips apart

There is something that fills your mouth which he fastens in place tightly.

Then he unfolds a small dark bag, smiling apologetically as he pulls it over your head sending into darkness.

After that there is nothing more to see.

For now.

I check my watch.

Our station is approaching.

The train slowing.

I look at you.

Confined in the loops of silver duct tape your body is even more desirable than I had imagined.

There will be time soon to explore so much with you.

And to talk about leaving your litter for others to clear up.

I place the two laptop cases and your other possessions beside you and zip the bag shut. Finally I pull the sides together with the cords attached.

I drop your Blackberry in the bin.

You are now a package no larger than a bedroom stool,

I lift the bag off the floor testing the weight. The heavy duty straps tense slightly but they have been manufactured to support loads much heavier than you.

I pull on the blue rain coat and plain cap that were the final contents from the laptop case.

Little things make all the difference.

The train comes to a halt finally and I lift the bag and you off the floor.

There are a few people waiting to the join the train but they all board towards the centre.

I'm so glad you're such a creature of habit.

It's a small station. With one camera at each end to monitor passenger safety or so they would have us believe.

I hoist you onto my shoulder as carefully as I can keeping the dark bag between my face and the camera as I pass.

The turnstile is open.

No station staff in sight.

In the distance the station car park and beyond that the small private road where my car is parked.

The car with the large boot.

Which I have to say is carefully padded,

For your safety and convenience.

It will be a long drive for you.

Three hours.

Traffic permitting

And at some point during the journey you may wake up.

Time for the mind to clear.

For realisation to dawn.

But the gag and the tape will hold you until we reach our detination.

There will be difficult times ahead.

I know there will be tears.

And there are things I have been longing to do to you for so long that I ache just to think of it.

I know you'll like the house.

I spent a lot of time and money modifying it with you in mind.

I know you'll be particularly impressed with the cellar.

The sun warms my skin as I leave the station car park.

It's not yet lunchtime but already I know it's going to be a great day….

(To be continued?)



She showed me once how to slap her face hard and not leave a mark.


She showed me other things too. So many years ago.


It was an interesting dynamic. The would be Dominant who had lived his dreams only in imagination and the experienced submissive who had for a time become the centre of his world.


He was an avid and apt student.


Her masochist freed his sadist. And for a time the world was a candlelit room, and a night with no end.


And then for all the usual tedious vanilla reasons it was over. Though it was good, great even at times, she was not 'the one'.


That was seven years ago. 


Though my own journey began much earlier and the visions in my head, dark and twisted adventures, have always been there it was only with her that they came out to play.


And now there is no going back.


Can't put the genie back in the bottle.


Or the toothpaste back in the tube. 


Not an easy road for any of us. 


Many cul de sacs and false dawns. Cold nights and empty bed waiting. Just waiting.


That is the price of being born like us.


The cost of what we seek is high.


Hard to keep the faith. Better to bow my head and shuffle away, to lose myself in the vanilla pretence.


Save for one thought.


That she may be out there still.


That somewhere she sits alone. This woman I do not know and have never met.


Lives her life and and hides her dark secrets from the world, fearing that He will not come in this lifetime.


Believing what she craves is an impossibility.


That she will never be able to reveal herself.


And if she is never to be truly known, then how can she ever truly be loved?


And that my twisted friend is why I am here.


Just an old dog flicking through the images and texts on profiles, searching, forever searching.


Messages deleted unread and no reply.


Online friends, fellow travellers encountered along the way who come along for a little of the journey.


And those whose motives are less genuine


Such are the characters I meet.


And though belief wavers and dims it never quite dies. Each day I run, push the weights as i have done for years though the aches from the gym that once cleared in hours seem to hang around for days.


But I would not have her say, on that day when she comes that I let myself go soft. 


To those who would find my story pathetic, or who would laugh I offer no response. I am simply made this way.


'Le Malfait' - The badly made one.


That is me.




A little scarred and broken in places. But nothing serious.


Nothing that can't be fixed.


When i find her.


When I come home.










"speak," he says to the darkness.


"come," he whispers to the night.



She was not his soul mate. But she had become a friend through the months he had been on the site. Chemistry or rather the lack of it had meant that nothing more would follow the stilted coffee conversation in Costa. But still they talked. Filling empty evenings. She with the multitude of implausible offers she received which somehow were never quite right for her. He with the general lack of offers at all.. Contact was erratic. Sometimes they'd talk for several evenings in a row. Other times weeks would pass when either or both of them were otherwise,occupied. But always they ended up talking. Miles apart. Different worlds. Then one evening she asked him a question A simple question. "If I was your captive. What would you do with me?" And he told her While she listened and typed the occasional question. He thought it ended there. But she would always return to the same topic. And then one evening she phoned. A rare thing. Almost unknown. Her voice heavy with wine she asked him if he would come. "I remember this one tv show. Years ago. I was very young. Ended up with one of those numbers where the damsel in distress is trapped in her appartment , the hero has been wrongfully arrested and the bad guy is already inside." He nodded. Not such an unusual tale among many of the women, self styled submissives that he had met, spoken to over the years. "Go on." "I want that. No sex. Just the capture. The rope. The safe fear." "Safe fear?" He laughed. "That's a new concept for me." "It means," she began patiently "that I can give myself over to the fantasy knowing deep inside that nothing really bad will happen. But I won't know or have any control over what will happen. If you get what I'm trying to say." "So bluntly?" "Bluntly? I want you to break in and rob me. " "That's it?" "Any more details would spoil the fantasy." And this was ndeed exactly what he did. A key thoughtfully left accessible. An almost empty house. And being true to the spirit of her wishes he came an hour early. Pulled her from the bath and led her naked along the dimly lit corridor connecting the bedrooms. Cable ties and a strip of duct tape were successfully deployed. Nothing too elaborate and purely functional. As he left her hair still damp, body pale against the dark laminate flooring he glanced at the dress, the soft lace Lingerie she had prepared for her big scene . And couldn't resist a smile. Because he had a few other changes planned to the script; all within the spirit of her wishes. He glanced at his watch. Three hours to kill. Safe fear. As a concept it had a future. Slowly and deliberately he walked back down the corridor towards her. Time to play the bad guy once more.

Romance Catherine Breillat's heroine has an adventure with an older man who introduces her to a deep dark and sensual otherworld. Now that's a magical fantasy. If you know the film you'll know what I mean.

Unusual day. Meetings cancelled and away from the office. Sun is shining and the urge to hit the road with the top down and explore the possibilities is growing. Seeking out adventure but it has been a long time.