“Do you trust me?” His deep, soft voice whispered in my ear. He was behind me, his hands gently caressing my shoulders and upper arms. Something in his voice made me hesitate. Did I trust him? I was looking at our bed. At the things he had laid on it. There were padded restraints fastened to the corners, a dark scarf on the pillows, and odd shapes under another dark scarf.
I was living in my parents house one winter because I was in between locked ward confinements, and, though not enough of an outlaw to have an actual price on my head, I was enough of a one to make living outside the family milieu difficult at best. I was in my 20's and had a neuroses now widely known but unrecognized back then by the quacks. I also suffered from a small number of other disorders but nothing really physically disabling, in fact, for a neurotic young man of aesthetic temperament and criminal tendencies my physical health has always been robust.
You've barely been online for five minutes when the email appears. The subject line is blank, but you open it anyway, curious to read what I have sent you. However, this is not a day for words, and you stare at the empty white box, momentarily confused, until you notice the attachment. It's a video file, and is simply labelled 'Watch me'.
I arrived at my Alaskan destination after four different flights, including one float plane. It was late in the evening but the sun wasn't cooperating; the natural lighting made it seem about 5pm. I was due to start a new seasonal job the following day. My first impression of my new "home" was positive: the air was brisk and clean, the snow looked pristine, and three absolute hunks came out of the bunkhouse to help me with my luggage!
Amber opened the envelope again and looked at the key, taped to a note. The key fitted the door to the hotel suite and she swung the door open wide. On the table, directly in front of the door she could see a bouquet of perfect red rosebuds. Swinging the door closed, she picked the card up, from the table, and turned it over. There were only two words on the car “For You.”
Not a soul in the long hallways of the University on a Saturday afternoon. I was trying to figure out where this office area had been. I opened doors on the sides, and found one leading to a cluster of offices which could have been the right place. I was probably going further than I should have, when I heard a voice behind me.
The two of them slept in. It had been a late night, and the day promised to stretch out before them. The extra sleep would do them both good. And the bliss of laying wrapped in each other's arms had its own attraction that was difficult to overcome. Tim opened a bleary eye to look at the clock and the glowing electric 11:12.
When I write my stories, I am concerned with one an only one thing - trying to create a mood of tenderness and longing. Sometimes I probably over do it.
And I end up getting into such heightened state, I get really worked-up - and I write most of the really "haunted" love stuff when I am right on the edge. When I re-read my stories, I can tell that parts were created in that shaky mind space.
Caitlyn Morris held her boyfriend's hand for moral support as they made the long trek up the aisle to his teacher's desk. If this talk didn't go well, Bobby would be benched Friday night—the one night the college scout would be watching the game.
Bobby didn't have a lot of options, if he didn't get recruited, he could kiss college goodbye. And with it any hope of getting out of their all-but-dead hometown.
You may call me MistressM. Simply Mistress or Ma'am will do as well. At least you may call me that when I ask you to speak, which won't be often, unless I want to hear you beg. Let me explain so your small one-track man-brain can understand. I have a hobby that I very much enjoy -- it's dominating men like you.