At least I have my business. I have my blogging, my books, and my friends, even if they're all online. I almost didn’t start over. I almost gave up and poured my heart into a book of my own. But my life is no romance. And writing it down would make it real. Once I’d gotten over the fear, I didn’t want to relive it. So I did my best to move on.
I was hesitant to start from scratch, but I pushed myself to do it anyway. Within two months my new blog had taken off, and I’d revitalized my income. I log on and see twelve new messages in my email. The first few are easy enough to reply to, requiring nothing more than copying and pasting from a template of other answers I've already given. The next email takes some time to write out though. I'm responding to a new author who messaged me looking for advice on her series. I'll have to get back to her in the morning. I don't have the energy right now. But I take this business seriously, and it shows. And it pays. Just before I close the laptop, I hear a ping.
It’s a message from a new book friend. She joined my book club a few weeks ago. Right now it’s just a small Facebook group, but it’s my baby. Although she’s not very active in the group, she’s messaged me a number of times. I get so many messages a day. Some are from other bloggers and columnists who are just starting out and looking for advice. Others are from authors wanting to send me advanced reading copies and beta reads. I can read two books a day, so I’m always happy to help where I can. But Val’s messages are different. They’re more personal.
What did you think of the book?
I scan the message twice as my fingers hover above the keys. I read and receive so many books that most of the time I have to sift through my emails before replying in order to make sure I'm keeping everything straight, but not this time. I know exactly which book Val's referring to.
Smut, also known as erotic romance to some, is a genre with which I'm intimately familiar. I prefer the term smut though, because it fills me with life. Like I'm naughty for reading it. The book she picked out though is exceptionally taboo. Arousal heats my core. The idea of being taken by a strange man has certainly been a dark desire of my own. I clench my thighs and bite down on my lip. I won’t admit how I touched myself to some scenes.
I decide to respond with a professional answer.
I thought the author did a fabulous job of depicting the scenes with vivid imagery and capturing the heroine’s emotions and character arc. Overall a well-written book.
She’s quick with a reply. So you enjoyed it?
I did, I message back.
Is it so wrong that I’d want it to come true? Her reply makes me stop and consider her words.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the fantasy. But I’m sure real life would be much different.
You don’t think you’d enjoy it in real life? Her question forces a small laugh from my lips. Although it’s wonderful to get lost in them, these books aren’t real. I know I’d enjoy some things. I’ve often fantasized about them. But this conversation is veering a little more into the territory of my personal preferences and is less about the book. It's also late, and I need to go to sleep while the melatonin is still active or I'll never get to bed. So I settle for a quick reply with a little humor that she’d enjoy.
Oh there are scenes I’d enjoy, but I’ll stick to role playing for that ;) Gotta go to bed, ttyl!
Night!
A shiver of want travels through me as I exit her message and look at the list of remaining emails. I’ll get to them all tomorrow.
I close my laptop, but I feel more awake now than I was when I first sat down. The book Val mentioned is all I can think about as I change into a nightgown. The imagery of a dark, damp cell and chains flood my mind. I can picture being the heroine. I can understand her desire to please her master. I wasn’t a huge fan of the ending though. It wasn't the happily ever after I enjoy from romance. It was more realistic. After all, how could you ever fall in love with your captor, but still be sane? Would it even be possible to have both the sweet fantasy and the dark reality?
As I crawl into bed and lie on my back, I let my fingertips gently brush along my clit as I think about the book. I hear the clinking of the chains and the smack of the whip. I see her back arch as she raises her lower half to him for more. He takes her however he wants, and she’s more than happy to let him use her body. My legs part, and I dip my fingers into my slick pussy and run the moisture over my clit. A small moan escapes me as I see the scenes play out in my head.
She’s been trained to love the sting of the belt, and the feel of his hand slapping her ass. His bites. His marks. My hand grips my breast and I pinch my nipple between my fingers and pull, imagining it’s him. I turn my head as though his lips are touching my neck, as if his teeth are about to pierce my skin. Anything and everything he does to her is a reward. He thrusts into her and takes his pleasure, over and over. Using her body. And she enjoys it. She thrives under his touch. I circle my clit, wanting him to reward her for her obedience. It’s all she lives for. She is his, and that’s all she desires. She only lives to please him. He doesn’t stop until he has his fill and cums deep inside her. That alone is enough to bring her over the edge. And I find my own release with her.
You don’t think you’d enjoy it in real life?
I remember Val’s question as my breath steadies and I turn on my side, feeling exhausted from cumming.
In real life, that scenario would be a fucking nightmare. Just as I close my eyes, I feel a pinch in my neck. My lips part as I wince and raise my hand to feel what caused the sting, but it falls lifeless to my side. I vaguely make out a dark figure rounding the bed to approach me.
“Sleep, kitten.” I hear his voice. But I can’t respond as darkness overwhelms me.
Catherine
My shoulders are so sore. I roll onto my back against the cold, hard concrete and wince. After taking a moment to adjust to the discomfort, I push off the floor and into a sitting position. My eyes open and try to adapt to the darkness. I can barely see anything. My heart pounds in my chest, beating faster than it ever has before. I have no idea where I am or how I got here, but this shit isn’t good. A cold sweat pricks my skin as I think back to last night. I remember lying down in my bed. I was tired, and then I fell asleep.
I have no clue how I’ve ended up here, in the middle of what looks like a small basement cellar. It’s nearly pitch black. The only light is streaming through three small windows high up on the ceiling of the far wall. Each window is only about the size of a cinder block, and all three are blocked by something, but a small bit of light is still shining through. Terror runs through me and seems to freeze my blood.
I open my mouth to scream, but I’m too scared. They’ll hear me.
I’ve been taken. They found me, and they took me. I know exactly who it is. The Cassanos. Fuck! I never want to go back to him, to Lorenzo. I won’t let him touch me ever again.
Tears threaten to reveal themselves. But it’s useless to cry. Some small part of me always knew it would come to this. You can’t escape your death. I didn’t really think I’d ever be able to run. I swallow the lump growing in my throat. My eyes fall to the ground. I have no idea why they would keep me alive, since I’m no use to them. I’m certain they’ll kill me soon. Or worse.