Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Sometimes it's the tightness of the bonds that releases the dark beast inside us.


Sometimes it's the tightness of the bonds that releases the dark beast inside us.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Norderney

Author Chapter Note

Sometimes to free the wild spirit inside of all of us, we must first bind it in chains.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 09, 2012

Reads: 5906

Comments: 4

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 09, 2012



altSix weeks had passed we’d last been together. That was my choice. I’d read in various blogs online about how being separated by from one’s Owner was pure agony. Well, they were right… except that it seemed to be a kind of agony I never envisioned. Most of those blogging subs filled their pages describing their private hells filled with loneliness and morose sadness. That wasn’t how I felt. And that was the problem. My private hell was not even understanding how I felt, or how I was supposed to feel. I held my breath waiting for that descent of loneliness and sadness they had described, but it just wouldn’t come.

Mr Lennox was a patient man, in the sense he knew when to push me and when to wait. Though he’d had to return to Montreal for the time being, he’d kept in close contact with me. He did this via messages, because after the third time I let my mobile ring all the way to the message box, he concluded I wasn’t ready to speak to him… yet.

Despite the distance between us, and my reluctance, he didn’t relinquish his firm grip upon my mind. Though the letters we exchanged were often long and detailed, we allowed that white elephant to snooze between our feet, while we digressed about everything else under the sun. Certain things were still required to be upheld, such as his rules. Though he seemed to accept my reluctance when it came to speaking over the phone, he wouldn’t accept anything less than immediate answers to all his letters and questions, and a log of my daily thoughts. This went on for five weeks until he gently prodded, writing me, “Please tell me what the last time was like for you.”

The Last Time.

As if I hadn’t asked that question myself every day at least ten times a day for the past five weeks. My mind still didn’t want to venture there. That was a very, very dark place. It felt like standing at the top of the stair gazing down into the dark cellar. The light bulb had gone out, and he was there behind me, prodding me to down there. There I stood at the top of the stair, frozen and staring down into that abysmal darkness.

Mr Lennox’s message was not a request. It was a demand, and I obey.

Unless… my mind betrays me. So. I sighed, his patience has come to an end. I stared at the question glaring at me on the mobile, and repeated it again. And still, there was no answer. But I knew damn well that no answer would not be acceptable for Mr Lennox. I started to type a reply, then erased it, then started again. This went on for nearly half an hour, until I tossed my mobile on the bed and buried my face in my hands. My fists balled and I hit my knees. Sighing I picked the instrument up and wrote, “I honestly don’t know.”

He texted me a return message, “I understand. Go to sleep now.”

I lay down in bed not knowing if that was going to be the very last message I ever received from him. Then I remembered all those blogs. Part of the problem of separation must be that one couldn’t look into their Dom’s face and know what they were thinking. That was the horror and the agony. And now, I too, found myself in my own private version of Hell.

Relief came in the morning, when he complained about me forgetting to greet him properly. I didn’t care whether or not I was in trouble. I was relieved he was bothering to talk to me at all. I quickly sent him my apologies.

The next three days passed uneventfully. Then, in the evening he sent me a cryptic message, “You should arrive there by Friday afternoon at the latest.”

Arrive? I thought. Arrive where? I typed into the tiny screen on my mobile.

“Norderney. Didn’t you receive the reservation confirmation sent to you?”

My thoughts raced.


Yesterday I remember seeing some letter addressed to me from some spa resort at the North Sea. I’d assumed it was just another advert mail, and I’d tossed it without reading it. I went the kitchen to rummage through the waste paper bin and found it. Opening it, I discovered he’d made reservations for us on the Isle of Norderney on the North Sea. My thoughts went to a tail-spin. Why there? Then I remembered telling him months ago that Norderney had to be the one place I’d been to that seemed to have the ability to suck stress out of your body like a vacuum cleaner. The reservation was made from Friday afternoon to Monday morning. My face broke out into an appreciative, affectionate smile.

“Thank you, Sir. I’ve found it. When are you coming?” I messaged him.

“I come whenever I choose to, my dear, but I should be arriving sometime early Saturday evening.”

I laughed softly and returned the message, “And so you do, Sir, and I very much look forward to you doing both.”


I hadn’t been there in ages. Standing on the flat sandy beach, with the cool slick oozing between my toes was a sensuous pleasure I’d long forgotten. The sea had run out so far I couldn’t see it on the horizon at all, but the salty-seaweed scent was balm soothing my nerves.

I’d received specific instructions from Mr Lennox. I was to arrive at the Strandgut House on Friday afternoon. I was instructed to speak to no one else, unless absolutely necessary. I was to take long walks out onto the Wattenmeer and think about The Last Time. When I returned from the walks I was to write all of my thoughts down on paper and leave it on the dresser, face down.

The Last Time.

Time to face the music and dance.

The Last Time had been in Mr Lennox’s hotel room. Entering his domain was intense as houses. He was in complete control there, staging and directing his own version of Wagnerian operas playing inside my head. It started with my natural inhibition to touch anything, and usually ended with me completing forgetting my sense of self. Every time I knocked on his door, I felt like the proverbial village virgin sent to feed the dragon. When I walked in The Last Time, it was dim, save for a low-watt table lamp and a few votive candles.

John Lennox was dressed to kill in a dark charcoal wool suit, crisp white dress shirt and a blood-red silk tie. After greeting him, he had me strip naked and kneel before him where he sat on an overstuffed armchair. I looked down at the tips of his soft-polished Bally shoes, my knees apart, back erect, hands clasped behind my back.

He touched my cheek and tilted my chin up. “Tonight I’m going on safari, my dear.”

Naturally I didn’t know what to say to this. I had my problems with role playing games. Pretending to be Master’s Hello Kitty seemed to be a near impossible task under the spell a man who could win a Tony Award playing Goethe’s Mephisto in Faust.

He stroked my cheek. “I’m on the hunt for wild game this evening.”

My stomached knotted, because I had serious doubts he wanted me to pretend to be an elephant or a gorilla. No there was no trace of playfulness in his voice. He seemed to want something else and something dark kindled deep inside making me cringe.

“I’m hoping to find a wild animal, my dear, and I would like your help. Do you suppose you could do that for me?” His voice was soft, but his smile cruel.

My brow furrowed. Oh… so you do want to play Hello Kitty… okay… I felt clueless as to where this was leading.

He laughed softly at the sceptical look on my face, but said nothing while he left the room to get something. He returned with a set of soft black ropes and some other things. In the pale light of the table lamp I could see him lay them out. Rope, a folding knife, and one of those things used to cut automobile safety-belts in an emergency. He left and returned once more with the cane.

I felt my heart sink like a stone all the way down to my belly, where it paused a long time between heartbeats. My mouth felt dry and I’d lost my voice. Somehow I’d found my breath again, and tried to stifle a long slow sigh.

Dare I speak?

My mind was reeling. What had I done now? The cane was his answer to a major fuck-up. I’d already made its acquaintance once, and once was more than enough.

“Stand up!” he ordered.

I do as I’m told, and closing my eyes, I braced myself for the bite of cane, but it didn’t come. Instead he took a measure of soft black rope and laid it around my neck. Quietly with deft fingers he positioned me, pushing my legs apart with the tips of his polished shoes. In smooth motions, he criss-crossed the ropes, pulling them quickly through loops, as it wound around my back, under my bare breasts, over them, and down to my crotch again and back up along my backside. In between he stroked my skin in slow warm caresses, taking the edge off my nerves.

I felt an indescribable mixture of dread, uncertainty and sensuous longing. All the time one thought repeated itself with every rapid beat of my heart, What is this? There was no room for judgments or doubts. My insatiable curiosity shut them up as my reckless desire to experience exactly what this was spread through my mind like a raging wildfire. At the back of my mind I heard the voice of reason tell me, you could stop this, and you really should stop this… Oh, be gone you reason, logic and doubt… show me what this is and what I am…

With a few more slips of the rope through loops I was beginning to feel like a parcel he was going to send back to Montreal with the post. Somewhere in my dim recollection I recognised he was trussing me up using those decorative Japanese kinds of knots. I’d always presumed it wasn’t part of his repertoire, but I said nothing. We’d never spoken about ropes specifically.

“Arms front, palms together!”

I pushed my palms together, fingers tip to tip, watching him wind the soft black rope around my wrists in utter silence. Now and then my eyes would glance over to the sinister pale cane on the table. Unconsciously my muscles tensed staring at it. Mindful of everything taking place in my body, he grabbed my shoulders and turned me away so I couldn’t stare at it anymore.

“On the floor and on your back, girl”

Carefully I got down on my knees. The ropes were snug. Bending my back pulled the length of rope running from my sex through my crack and up my back uncomfortably. I’d never been tied before, and I was beginning to wonder way people found this erotic. Having dry rope cut into your crotch didn’t seem that exciting.

Lying on my back, he pushed my legs up, pressing my knees towards my breasts. He kneeled next to me and stroked my cheek with his knuckles. “What is the safe word, my dear?”


“Good. You will use this word if you need it.”

If I needed it? What was going to happen?

I nodded slowly. He took another length of rope and bound my ankles like he’d done to my hands, before tying them to the rest of me. He checked my bonds for tightness, before he pushed me up to sit hog-tied on my pelvic bone. I anticipated he’d start ravishing me as soon as I was tied, but he elected not to.

Instead he went to the mini-bar and made himself a drink. Then he returned to his arm chair, sat down, took a sip of his drink, watching me. I sighed, blinked and stretched against my bonds. They were strong and snug, and I found myself as helpless to move as that armchair my Owner was sitting in.

We stared at one another wordlessly for the longest time; I looking at him with guileless wonder on my face, desperate for his next clue as to what was expected of me. And he started at me like… he stared at me with the same expression of expectation on his face that a friend of mine had had just before her mare gave birth to its foal. He was waiting… waiting for me to do something but I had no idea what. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask “What now?” but I simply couldn’t.

After a few more minutes of this he got up and announced, “Well, no lion in sight.” He stroked my hair affectionately and went to his pilot case to take out a magazine. He settled back into his arm chair again and began reading his issue of Publisher’s Week.

I shifted in my bonds. They were neither comfortable nor sexy. They pulled on my crotch. I felt cold and I was beginning to feel sore, being trussed up like this. I longed to scratch my face, so I bent my praying hands up towards face as best I could to scratch. When he heard the rope groan under the stress, his eye shot up from the page he was reading. A small smile quirked across his lips, but he said nothing.

The carpet fibres irritated my behind, and it was beginning to hurt to sit so long like this. I wiggled about, lost my balance, and toppled over onto my side. The moment he heard me move, he set his magazine to side and watched me intently. I was lying on my side now, which was only a little more comfortable than sitting on my pelvis bone. He got up to check if the ropes had cinched against my body. Satisfied they hadn’t, he picked up the phone and ordered room service. I sighed, watching and waiting; waiting for something… anything… to happen. It began to gnaw at my impatience.

A few moments later there was a knock at the door, and I could hear the waiter push the trolley in. Oh, shit! That poor waiter was going to freak when he saw me. I closed my eyes. I did not want the waiter’s horror-struck face burning into my cortex. Even with my eyes closed, I still heard it the moment he saw me. His squeaky push-cart came to a dead halt and I heard him gasp in surprise.

Mr Lennox had this rare talent of appearing chipper in the most embarrassing situations. “The man would like to know if you’d like anything to eat or drink, my dear.”

Oh, shit! I am going to die! I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes, but in the most polite voice I could muster under the circumstances I answered, “No, thank you. I’m really not thirsty or hungry at the moment, but thank you for asking.”

I could hear Mr Lennox signing the tab, and the cart wheeling out of the room on double-time. My eyes snapped open to glare at Mr Lennox when I heard the door close. It made me all the angrier to see him gloat. He came over to pet my head again, saying, “Doesn’t look like I’m going to find a tiger, either.”

He ate in silence, glancing at me speculatively as he sipped his wine. My bonds were making me ache, but I forced myself to close my eyes and relax against them. Soon, I told myself. I could feel the tension mounting in this room. You could cut it with a knife.

He got up to wash his hands, and I could hear him unzip one of his cases besides the bed. I couldn’t even begin to guess where what he was going to do next. He came back into the room and went back to his reading. He turned the page and after a minute then he cast the magazine to side, and walked over to me to stroke my shoulder. “No, definitely no tiger. Let’s see what else is in there.”

In where? I wondered what he talking about, but before I could make any sense of it, he pulled something out of his jacket pocket in a rush, and put it around my head. Before I could even jerk my head away, he’d strapped some kind of blindfold around me. The thing had leather caps covering my eyes and a strap that ran from the back of my head around my forehead, with another running from the crown around my chin. My world was plunged into darkness, leaving me completely disoriented.

“Hmm?” he taunted. “Let’s see if there’s a leopard in there. They only come out at night.”

His voice was inches away from face. Suddenly I could feel my heart racing. Something touched me in the middle of my back, and I shuddered in fright, flinching and rolling away. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly and soothed his hand down my spine. Denied my sense of sight my nerves were raw and on edge. Every sound and scent suddenly became dramatically intense, and I found myself wondering, what the hell is going on with me?

My voice dried up in my throat, and I could feel this primitive creature taking hold of my body, possessing my senses, robbing me of my humanity. I felt like I’d been washed overboard in a storm at sea, so raw were my senses. I clamoured to that dissolving sense of rhyme and reason, hoping it would save my sanity. What was the safe word again? Words failed me in my head, like they so often did when he led me to this edge of the abyss inside me. Rational thought deserted me in this void where only my raw senses existed, and thought was only a vague imagination. I swear to this day I could hear the cockroaches chewing in the pavement cracks in the alley six stories below through the closed window. I knew he was standing next to me on the same proverbial precipice where I was. I could hear the tension in his tightly controlled breathing; feel the faint heat dissipating from his body, though he stood at least a metre away.

The electrical charge flowing between us was tangibly mounting, threatening to discharge in a powerfully raw natural force, like the arcs releasing on a Tesla coil. The faint perceptible scent of his body, moving from aroused to consumed-by-desire, filled my senses along with every faint perceptible sound in the room from the creak of his expensive shoes to the dull sound of the rope pulling in the groove of my sex.

Charged by this mounting tension, I rocked until I could roll to an upright position, cocking my head in every direction. I could sense everything without even seeing it; his every gesture. I pictured his look of fascination betrayed by the soft folding of his jacket sleeves as he folded his arms. Sounds that had escaped my ears up until now flooded my mind: the hum of mini-bar refrigerator; the slip of the ice cube in his glass; the faint ticking of the analogue travel clock on the nightstand next to the bed – and every move of his body.

altThere was no explanation for this metamorphosis. I couldn’t even begin to understand it. Although Mr Lennox had put me into a number of forms of free-fall, this was like never before. It wasn’t just his usual throwing me out the plane to sky-dive into the empty heavens; I was now falling with a 20 pound weight on my back. And it wasn’t the earth rushing up to greet me, but a dark, dark abyss of spiritus incognito. I felt like some sort of wild animal caught in a trap. All rational thought had left my mind, leaving behind this animal tied on the floor, whose greatest desire was to escape.

All I could feel was a primal fear and this burning desire to escape these bonds and… do what? Run? Chase? Hunt? Hide? And then I remembered hearing him pick up the cane. I remembered the way it rattled along the edge of the table and the dull ring of it as his fingers touched its length. I froze, not daring to breathe. All of the tiny sounds of the room grew silent in my ears, as my senses focused on that object he held in his hands.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

He struck the air with it, testing it. The sound terrified me, freezing me to a stone statue.


He struck the couch cushion with a resounding force. Then something broke inside me. Like animal whose paw had been caught in a trap, I struggled in panic to free myself of my bonds. I thrashed on the floor pulling with a strength I didn’t know I possessed, desperate to free myself of my bonds. The harder I struggled, the harder they cinched, cutting deep into my flesh. The squeezing only made me thrash all the harder, my fear mutating into animal frustration. I cried out, not in words, but something primal. I writhed struggled as my bonds threatened to strangulate me. Somehow one of the loops slipped over my shoulder and cinched against my neck. I gurgled against it, thrashing harder as the loop began to constrict.

My Owner was on top of me immediately, pinning me faced down to the floor.

“Ssshhh! Ssshhh!” he tried to sooth me, but my fear and frustration had since mutated to anger; in an all-consuming primal anger. He pulled my hair back in an attempt to check me, but I thrashed hard to the side, and when my face found his arm I opened my mouth and bit him as hard as I could.
“Ow! For fuck’s sake!” he spat, pinning me to the floor with all his weight. He seemed to fight to keep his calm. “What’s the safe word?” his voice loud, demanding and strict.

His struggle to remain in control of himself only fuelled my rage. I’d lost it now: my rationality, my sanity, my sense of self. Beyond reason, the only thing I could feel was this all-consuming rage burning; an angry burning lust. I could hardly move with his weight on me, but still the fire inside me fuelled my body to struggle all the more.

“Do you remember the safe word?”

I screamed at him in response.

He cursed again, forcing my head down onto the carpet, and held me still until my struggles subsided. “Stop!” he ordered again and again until I did stop. In reflection, I suppose he could have done something to make be stop immediately, but for some reason he wanted me to stop by myself. I struggled for self-control, though breathless now. The primal animal went still to wait for the moment of respite, where he’d get off me and I would free myself.

“Okay, my dear, I am going to get off you, and when I do I want you to be still, do you understand?” He was breathing hard, but his voice was calm and commanding.

I was beyond rational, because the person he was talking to wasn’t there anymore. The moment he got off me, I thrashed about again my teeth longing to bite him until I could taste blood.

He was back on top of me in a heartbeat, pinning me down with his weight again. I could feel his fingers gouge into my neck as something plastic pressed against it. Suddenly I was free of the constricting loop around my neck. I stopped for a moment, panting to catch my breath. He pulled the blind off me. My eyes blinked under the sudden flood of bright light, focusing. He’d turned the room lights on. He was still on top of me, pulling the safety-belt cutter through the rest of my bonds.

“Better now?” he asked me.

I growled my anger, tensing under him.

His voice was more forceful. “I am going to cut your hands free. Lie still when I do.”

He stroked my hair, but instead of the calming effect it usually had on me I could feel the coil-spring of my irrational anger tense all the muscles in my body. He must have anticipated what would happen, because the moment he cut my hands free, my arm swung around like a shot out of the pistol, trying to knock him off me. He caught it easily and pulled it behind me. I thrashed around harder again yelling incoherently. My wrists were bound just as quickly again as he’d freed them, this time with a cable tie. I don’t even remember it cutting into my flesh. All I could remember were the scabs from cuts I’d seen the next morning. He stopped me from struggling by lifting my bound hands behind me. As soon as the pressure pushed hard enough against my spine, I stopped and froze.

Now effectively immobile, panting and seething in full rage, he laughed. “Yes, I do believe I’ve found a leopard and a very nasty one at that.”

I snarled at him trying to roll to the side to pull my arms away.

He pulled my arms up to force me to be still. “Say the safe word, and make it stop!” he demanded, his voice terse.

I lay face down, panting and the only thing filling my mind is how delightful it would be to rip his arms off his body. He waited for me to say the word. I tried to remember what it felt like to speak, drawing a blank. My blind rage had muted me, turning me into something inhuman.

“As you wish, my dear. Now… let’s see just how nasty my little leopard is,” his voice was taunting, and I could feel my muscles tighten again.

“On your knees, now there’s a good girl,” his voice was surprisingly soft. He lowered my arms just enough to be able to move. I didn’t obey him immediately. He reached down and pulled me up by my hips, pushing his knees on the backs of mine. My legs buckled and I fell to my knees. I pulled hard on my restraints, feeling my rage tense through my body until he lifted my arms again. He pushed me by the back of my neck until my face went down onto the carpet. Suddenly I stilled. Face down on the carpet, on my knees, my naked arse motionless in the air, I suddenly went quiet.

He pushed knees apart slightly. My breathing slowed. The rage simmered, slowly subsiding. Being put into this position strangely calmed me in a way I’d never imagined. I felt much like a cat being held by the scruff of its neck on the vet’s examination table.

His hand began to run the length of my spine, slowly stroking it from base of my neck, warm, slow and leisurely down my back to deep furrow between my arse cheeks. He paused before his fingers sunk between the folds of my labia. He gasped, and again I went still, holding my breath as my heart beat wildly. I felt his lips plant a soft kiss on my arse cheek. My eyes darting from side to side in utter confusion. He slipped two fingers in the depths of my sex. It felt… I closed eyes and sighed, not understanding this cyclone of emotions coursing through me. Suddenly I felt found myself in the eye of the storm gripping me.

“You are so delightfully wet,” he whispered.

Was I? All I could recall was that burning rage that was slowly leaving me. How could I be this way? What was wrong with me?

“I am going to fuck you hard now,” his voice was charged with desire, confusing me all the more.

Was this the same man I’d just tried to bite a chunk out his arm? Normally an announcement like that would have made me all the wetter in anticipation, but I only felt confused. I wasn’t sure I wanted this. I wasn’t sure of anything: who I was, or if wanted to be here. I could pull the emergency cord, if I could just remember how to speak. And while I tried to remember who I was and how to speak I heard him undressing behind me.

Before I registered what he was doing, his hands were on my hips and his cock sank into me to the hilt in one smooth motion. He took me hard, thrusting his hips until they slapped against my bare arse cheeks. And suddenly it was back; the rage inside. But it wasn’t alone. It fought a battle inside me: primal rage against primal lust. I grunted my lust-anger with each hard thrust of his hips, feeling the pleasure build. Yet I felt enraged at it, because it seemed out of so place and wrong. My body tensed as he drew me higher and closer to release, but I didn’t want to be released – not like this, not in rage.

“Give it to me, girl!” he demanded, his voice savage now.

The animal inside wanted to refuse, but it was trapped and helpless against his onslaught.

“Give it to me! It’s mine!” he demanded harsher. His hand moved to rub against my now-swollen clit. It was my undoing. My vision went white as I climaxed. I remember hearing a voice sounding far away as it screamed in ecstasy before consciousness left me. I’m still not sure whether it was mine. I’d never screamed when I climaxed before.

I must have fallen asleep. I remember when I opened my eyes again it was dim. The bright lights had been turned off. My arms were no longer bound. I lay on my side, with a pillow under my head and a blanket covering me. I felt numb and sore all over, but at least warm. Then I realised why I felt warm. I felt his body moulded around my back, his arm around my waist. I stifled a moan as I stretched my legs. My joints felt stiff and ached. My movement woke him. I felt him draw me tighter against his body. Wordlessly his lips pressed against my shoulder. His fingers slowly stroked the skin from my breast down to my belly. It was liquid balm to my shattered nerves. I sighed, my thoughts in utter shock to what had happened. I could not believe what I had done. It felt like a surreal nightmare superimposed on my conscious.

Tu es ma bonne fille, chérie,” he whispered into my ear. His words scratched my heart, and suddenly I felt tears fall from my eyes. They seemed just as surreal as everything else; not a part of me. I didn’t feel sad. I only felt empty; empty as cast off bottle in the desert.

“No, Sir,” I mumbled my denial, “I’m anything but a good girl.”

Tears followed. They were slow and almost apathetic. I had no idea why they were there. I was too empty to feel sad. He found them when he touched my check, and squeezed me tightly as he kissed my shoulder again.

“Tell me,” he demanded me against my ear.

What was there to tell? What did he want to hear? The echo of the cyclone of emotions returned and the only question that settled in my mind seemed ridiculously banal.

“Why did you call me a leopard?” I asked quietly.

His sigh was a soft breath against my neck. “In every girl there is a wild animal. It just needs a little encouragement sometimes to show itself. There’s a lioness in a proud girl, and it usually doesn’t take long for the lioness to reveal itself. If a girl’s too proud, then you’ll see her animal in minutes. But if there’s no lioness, then you have to wait… wait and see if the tigress will come out. The tigress is lurks inside girl whose dignity comes under attack. But you surprised me, chérie. It’s difficult to scratch your dignity. You carry it deep inside you, where no one can touch it.”

He paused for a moment apparently reflecting, before he continued, “The leopard lurks in sensuous girls. Deny a girl one of her senses, provoke her, and the leopard will appear. The leopard is a remarkable creature, because it needs to feel and I like that in a girl best.”

I sighed, not knowing what to make of his metaphorical zoo. In fact, I didn’t know what to make of this entire evening.

© Copyright 2019 Celeste Neumann. All rights reserved.


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