Tease Tuesday…

As I said yesterday, I am re-working my blog to have daily themes…and Tuesday is a teaser from a work in progress, be that a new story or a re-write. So on our first Tease Tuesday, I will feature an excerpt from my re-writes of Ægir’s Captive that I am planning to release as an e-book next month as Njord’s Captive.

One of the reasons that I continue to post my first drafts to Literotica is because the readers are my best editors. You always find plot holes…things that just does not make sense. With the Ægir’s, it was how easily Kirsty submitted…caved…knelt like a bitch. And you know what? You were completely right.

You see I had referred in the first chapter to her frequent emails, texts and even challenges from her guys. But without you the reader actually seeing the depth of connection that she had already established to what she thought at the time was simply Sven, you simply found it unbelievable. As a result the e-book will have at least one and possibly two chapters never seen before, that happen BEFORE she even gets on that train to Tilbury. This selection is from the all NEW Chapter 1 of Njord’s Captive…


Kirsty Dickens threw her oversized purse on her bed. Little Miss curled about her leg begging and pleading for her attention, but that was the last thing she wanted after another ninety minute work-out sessions at the local gym. She was too tired to deal with a needy pussy, even her own. The creature was a reminder of her destiny as the crazy cat woman in the basement flat.

At twenty-six it was not the most pleasant of thoughts. After wasting six years of her life, practically her whole adulthood, on a virtually sexless relationship that ended three months ago when her ex-boyfriend gave into family pressure and entered an ‘arranged’ marriage with a second cousin from India, Kirsty had decided to make drastic changes to her life.

Well, probably not drastic to most people. She had no plans to change her career, her work as an Occupational Therapist for children with autism was emotionally and financially rewarding. She was not going to move from her relatively well-to-do neighborhood in north London either. This flat that she had shared with two acquaintances since she completed university was perfect.

She had not even made drastic changes to her physical appearance, at five foot ten in bare feet she would have stood out in a crowd, even without the flaming red hair that fell half way down her back or the freckles that covered almost every single inch of her body. Of course, the break-up had motivated her to join the gym and just three months later her curvy figure was beginning to see some dramatic changes. She might not make Vogue, but she might do well moonlighting as a plus size model.

No, most people would consider the changes she made rather sedate. But they were radical to someone, who had spent the whole of her life in the same area of city, who had the same few ‘friends’ since primary school, and who wanted nothing more than to please her doctor parents in her choice of careers and men. While they might have been a tad disappointed that their only child had chosen not to follow in their footsteps by becoming consultants, her role as a therapist fell within the realm of ‘respectable’ for their upper middle class friends.

And Raj, the up and coming young pediatrician, had more than met their standards. In fact, they had been more hurt by the betrayal than Kirsty. She had been almost relieved at the turn of events. Her feelings for the man had long since cooled to professional respect and friendship, but she simply did not have the will to end their comfortable arrangement. It was not like she and Raj had ever really shared a great passion, certainly not like the attractions that she read about in her multitude of racy erotic romances on the tablet that had been his final gift to her for Valentine’s Day.

Of course, Kirsty had never really experienced that type of passion or even witnessed it firsthand. Her parents, their friends and even her own were all in relationships based upon shared values, interests and companionship. Certainly not the wild and tumultuous sexual attractions portrayed in her books about ménages and BDSM. The very idea of that level of need and surrender was both intensely attractive and petrifying to Kirsty.

But over the past couple of months since her split with Raj, her repressed desires had increasingly overtaken her sensible side. She found herself spending hundreds of pounds each month on her erotic romances, devouring them at the pace of two a day sometimes. On the weekends, she could easily read ten or more. The worst of course were Raquel Graffen’s Captive Brides, tales of women captured and ‘married’ to not one man, but two…three…or more. If her mother, the esteemed consultant Nancy Dickens, knew the content of her only child’s tablet, she would have her sectioned.

She could almost hear her mother’s voice in her head. ‘Woman are stronger than men…more intelligent. If it were not for centuries of religious subjugation we would rule the world…and it would be a better place too.’ She supposed her naturally submissive tendencies would be just another disappointment to the woman. For the daughter that was never thin enough, smart enough or ambitious enough.

She sighed, what was the use of such thoughts. She had spent a lifetime trying to be everything the woman wanted and always falling short. Tonight once more she would put all that aside and escape into fantasy. It was barely seven and summer nights in London stretched out endlessly, so she had plenty of time.

A quick shower to clean the sweat of her workout from her full-figure, another salad for dinner, then she could look forward to indulging her dark imagination in the latest of Graffen’s too naughty eBooks…My Brother’s Keeper. She was just getting to the juiciest bits. Ménage. Definitely a cold shower she thought as she succumbed and rubbed her hand slowly down her pussy from the top of her head to her tail.

Who knew maybe she would even stroke her own before falling asleep? She chuckled as the thought of the Woody Allen quote. “Don’t knock masturbation. It’s sex with someone you love.” That was more than she could say for those rare, lukewarm and awkward encounters that she and Raj had endured.

No, sex was definitely something that was highly overrated. Well, sex with men anyway. Although with only two lovers in her vast repertoire, she might not be the best judge. Still nothing had compared to what she read in books or even the orgasms that she gave herself. She sighed, if only it were half as good as the shit she read in Raquel Graffen’s erotic novels.

Who knew maybe it was if you were not a full-figured ginger with freckles and cellulite? But she was and no amount of time in the gym or tasteless salads would ever get her any smaller than a size twelve or fourteen. Her current size sixteen or eighteen certainly would never attract the attention of those types of men.

‘Enough,’ she chided herself. Her life was not that bad, she reminded herself. She loved her job and the autistic children she worked with. She had a safe, quiet and relatively nice place to live. Food to eat and some money in savings. That was far, far more than many people had. But still she craved something more…excitement, wild sex…love most of all.

She shook her head as she pulled the scrunchie from her long red tresses and shook it free. She would not cry. Not again. She would be happy. Okay, maybe content was a better choice of words, but she would be. She promised herself as she headed down the hall to the shower.

***

Kirsty savored the final bite of her Keema Naan bread with its spicy minced lamb filling. She was saving the Peshwari for later with vanilla ice cream. A dessert of sorts. After her shower, she had spent ten minutes staring with the door open into her refrigerator. The bag of lifeless green leaves just did not seem appealing after killing herself on the treadmill, the stairmaster, a stationary bike and even a whole ten minutes on the elliptical trainer. Her body wanted food, real food and not rabbit shit either.

So in the end, she had given into temptation and pulled up the app on her tablet that promised quick and tasty relief. Indian had been her first choice, it always was, though Turkish was a close second. Hmmm, Turkish? Maybe she should consider dating a Turkish guy next?

She shook her head, she was not likely to find one that would meet her mother’s approval. First of all, there were few Turkish doctors in their circle and her mother had long since decided that if her only progeny would not become a physician herself, then she must marry one. Besides her mother would stringently object to their more traditional views on the roles of women.

She sighed as she cleaned up the leftovers of her dinner and prepared to store them away in her section of the shared fridge. She would take them to work with her for lunch tomorrow, who knew maybe even manage to stretch them out to dinner as well.

What you think?
What you think?

“Darn it,” she came as close to cursing as she got. She had forgotten that this Sunday would be her monthly brunch with her parents at the upscale tea room in Chelsea. She could almost hear her mother now, “Have you put on weight, dear?” That would soon lead into the inevitable questions about her love life. Was she dating again? Then her mother would offer to set her up with one of the young consultants at the hospital where she worked or perhaps the son of a friend.

Kirsty was still not ready to date though. The whole idea turned her off. The only part of it that appealed to her at all was the idea of having a baby. And with her mother that meant she needed a husband, an acceptable one from a distinguished gene pool, the right schools and the best families. That held no appeal for her.

She stacked the boxes of food next to her bed and reached for her tablet on the night stand. No, just once she wanted to taste, even a small sample of the passion that she read about in her books. The tingles and anticipation of being dominated by a strong, protective man.

As always her body began to respond to just the idea of rough, masculine hands laced through her long hair, jerking her head back, forcing her to look deep into his eyes for a long moment before his mouth captured hers. Not some timid, wet and sloppy kiss, but taking, demanding even forcing her compliance.

She bit her lower lip as she typed her passcode into the tablet. She frowned as she tried to decide…read My Brother’s Keeper or check out the top blog posts on the too-naughty social networking site devoted to BDSM and alternative lifestyle like polyamory. She had discovered the site in the acknowledgements of Raquel Graffen’s books.

In the end, the decision was not all that hard, website then book. She never spent more that fifteen minutes or so on it anyway. After two months as a member, she had four friends. Exactly four. All other female submissives. Mostly other young newbies, except for the one older lady who had messaged last week because she too enjoyed Graffen’s books. She might have one or maybe two messages from them and probably another three or four from rude Dom types, demanding her instant submission, a blow job and that she become his cum slut for life. Those were easy, block and delete.

Then she would have a quick look over the front page to see if there were any new and interesting stories or poems out. While she had learned so much in the past couple of months about BDSM from reading the top journal entries, she never liked looking at that page for long. Too many selfies of tiny perfect bodies nude or semi-clad. For a big girl, curvy woman or whatever was the politically correct word for fat chick these days, it was enough to send you spiraling into a depression that could only be solved with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.

So get that all over with and out of the way, then she could spend a few hours with the sexy Viking brothers and their young Welsh captive. Bronwyn had already been taken by the eldest brother Eirik, who was leader of their small band of raiders. But it was his youngest brother, Balder, who had captured her heart. It was Einar, that Kirsty was pulling for. The man lived up to his name as ‘one who fights alone.’

Dark, broody and dominant, all a girl could want in her bed after a long day at work. When she finally grew tired of reading and her libido grew too strong to be denied, she was certain that she would conjure up his rustic visage with long blonde hair, thick beard that fell past his neck and piercing blue eyes. Kirsty sighed as she opened the web browser, you knew you were pathetic when the only man in your life was on the cover of an erotic e-book. Why was Little Miss never around when she needed comforting?

She smiled as she noticed that she had six messages in her inbox. The first two she did not even bother opening; simply block and delete when she saw that both avatars were photographs of their cocks. She shuddered in disgust, some things a girl wanted to unwrap herself, slowly like that big package on Christmas morning. To know that hundreds or thousands of other women and even men had seen it on a website was an instant turn-off.

The other one was a giddy one from another newbie sub, who had started messaging this guy a couple of days ago. Kirsty was a bit worried about her. Things just seemed to be moving too fast. The guy had her friend naked on cam that first night. This one was more alarming still, her friend was meeting him…tomorrow. Three days? Was this girl crazy?

Kirsty sent off a quick message, trying to discourage the other woman from doing anything foolish, but even as she typed she recognized that it was probably futile. Who was she after all to tell the girl anything? What did she know about anything? Three months since the break-up and not a single date.

She smiled wider at the next message. It was the older, experienced sub, the woman, who loved Raquel Graffen’s books as much as she did…well, almost. She gave her a quick rundown of how far she had gotten in the book and how she was hoping that Bronwyn would finally give in to her attraction to Einar. She was tempted to quiz the woman a bit about what being a sub was really like, after all her profile did say that she had lived the lifestyle 24/7 for over forty years. Kirsty could not even imagine such a thing, but she still did not know the woman enough to ask such personal questions.

Could she do such a thing? Probably not. Hell, she was still not even certain she was submissive at all really. Just because words on a screen got you all hot and bothered did not mean that you actually wanted those things, right? After all, many women had rape fantasies, that did not mean they actually wanted to be raped. She bit her lower lip as she remembered the intense scene in chapter three when Eirik took Bronwyn.

It was a fine line between ‘taking’ and rape, was it not? Certainly those types of scenes in her books got her worked up faster than anything. Maybe some part of her even liked the idea of being ‘taken,’ not the violence and fear of death associated with rape, but just rough sex, being given no real choice, coerced, but within some limits.

She shook her head as she looked at the last two messages. One looked to be a bulk one of some sort. She caught her breath when she opened it and saw some of the most beautiful looking floggers she could imagine. Dark wood handles, intricately carved with all different kinds of fells, some looked soft and wide, others stiff, thin and way too dangerous to even think about.

What would even one of those feel like against her virgin skin? She thought about the couple of videos she had watched on the site of Doms flogging their subs. She had been so envious. Honestly, those video clips got her worked up almost as much as her books did. She forced herself to close the message.

What was the point? She had quickly discovered that unless she was willing, as her new friend seemed to be, to just jump at any offer, any cock-pic Dom who sent her a naughty message, then chances were all this was destined to remain an unfulfilled fantasy. She sighed as she opened the final message.

His eyes jumped out at her. She could not tell the color, just the intensity. The man was Dom. All Dom and despite the sprinkling of grey that she noticed at his temples which proclaimed him a bit old for her taste, she was captivated. She could not say what it was, some etheral quality that spoke of confidence, power, and leadership.

Age aside, the man belonged on the cover of one of Raquel Graffen’s books. Kirsty tried to imagine him stripped to the waist in tight leather pants. Heck, she even checked his profile to see if he might not have such a pic there, but this was the only one, which was a bit disappointing. Though she was grateful at least that there were no cock pics. At least that gave her an excuse to actually open his message before using the block and delete option as usual.

But when she did open the message, she was surprised. For a man, who oozed Dom from every pixel, the message was refreshingly gentlemanly.

I enjoy reading your profile. You have put much thought into what you like and want. I like this. We share many of the same fetishes, especially rope.

I am a fisherman and work with rope as part of my job, but still I love the feel of it best rough against the soft skin of a sub. I do not pretend to the same art of this Shebari you like, but I can more than tie a sub into any positions I want. After all, I have been tying knots since almost before I walk and do it every day.

I am sorry if my English is not so good. It is not my first language. As it says on my profile, I am from Norway. The Lofoten Islands which you not heard of probably. It is beautiful but rough life. I have two younger brothers who also fish with me and my mother and uncle here too.

I would like to know more of you. Be friends. Maybe?

Yours,

Svein

Kirsty eyes were once more drawn to the profile picture. Yes, she could see this man as a fisherman. Someone rough, who worked with his hands and his muscle. Damn, for the first time she wished a man actually had a naked photo on his profile. Not a cock one, but she would love to see what was hidden beneath that dark blue jumper.

She realized then that for the first time since joining the site two months before she was actually contemplating responding to a message from a Dom. It was not just how incredibly hot this guy looked either. It was how polite he had been. No demands for instant submission. No dirty language. No ribald jokes. Not even a comment on how sexy her profile pics were.

Damn it, the man must not have seen those. Of course, that was it. No guy this hot would ever message a girl like her. Even though she had done her best to accentuate the positives with the cropped photographs of her tits in a low cut jumper and her legs and bum in a mini-skirt, it was still painfully obvious that she was a ‘big’ girl. Though he was older, his profile said thirty-nine, almost a decade older than the men she would normally date, this guy was still way out of her league hot.

She shook her head and tried to put the whole thing out of her mind as she did a quick check of the front page. There were no really interesting journal though there were a couple of nice Shebari photographs. That just got her thinking about him though. Besides all those pics had skinny girls in them. She would probably look like a pig dressed for a banquet tied up with a gag ball in her mouth instead of a red apple.

She sighed heavily as she closed the browser and opened her e-book app. Instantly the screen came alive with words exactly where she left off at lunch time.

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