Friday, August 30, 2013

The Power of Obsession

It seems to me that sexual obsessions are at the heart of the BDSM lifestyle. For me, kink begins with obsession, with thoughts that just won't let go, that hang on regardless of how I try to ignore them, or will them away. Denial breeds obsession rather than absolves it; the desire just keeps building. In my mind, there's no better way to let an obsession play out than to have my Dom open the door, take me through and allow me the thrill of that exhilarating ride.

I've recently been thinking of slave harnesses, a private obsession that played out in my novel An Innocent Obsession. Just how far does a submissive go to realize her private kick? And what if her Dom or Master doesn't act on her obsession? Does it mean as much when she acts on her own behalf, rather than waiting for her Master to oblige her? What's a sub to do? 

In this novel, Clarise is a young sexy female with an insatiable libido and plenty of kinky lovers to keep her happy – that is until she discovers that her friend Henry has a secret life, making slave harnesses for Masters wanting custom fitted restraints for their submissives. However, when Clarise asks Henry to make her a harness, he refuses. He doesn’t take orders from subs and she has no Master. However, his refusal won’t stop her desire; the frustrated Clarise only wants it even more and she has no intention of being denied. 


Excerpt from my novel: An Innocent Obsession


I’m fixated on Henry and his harnesses and I need to know more.

    Since Rico knows everything in the neighborhood, I start there, in his nightclub late on a Friday night, dressed in my short, leather miniskirt and a fresh white tee shirt.

    “Clarise, what breasts!” I hear his exclamation and turn to see the sexy moving on me. Plopping himself in a chair in front of me, his big broad grin is plastered on his handsome Italian features, while his eyes look ravenous enough to eat me. “So, have you seen Tony?”

    “No, have you?”

    He shakes his head. “He was in love with you, hon. Shouldn’t have let that one go.”

    “Well, you could have fooled me. Liked my cunt, I’m sure.”

    In the back of my mind, I’m dwelling on the idea of Tony loving me. Just to think of that hunk is quite a rush. But I really can’t believe anything Rico says, no matter how good it sounds. More than likely, he wants to set us up again. I remember the sandwich fuck the three of us had, knowing Rico would do it again without so much as a minute’s mental quandary. And I think I’d do it, too, if he offered. I haven’t had a good quick fuck since Alan. Apparently Joseph’s out of the country—and Henry, well, we’re at a standoff with his refusal to a make me a custom harness.

    “What do you know about Henry at the tobacco shop?” I ask once the blaring music dies away so he can hear me speak.

    “Not much. Rumors, maybe.”

    “What kind of rumors?”

    He looks a little flustered, as though he can’t remember what he’s heard. But he does remember a tidbit of information that could be useful.

    “Is it him you want?” he asks before he reveals anything.

    “Something wrong with him?”

    “Just not your type.”

    “Maybe not, but what do you know?”

    He shrugs thinking this is a waste of time, but he’ll do anything I want. “He came in here once a couple of years ago looking for one of my waitresses. Real gentleman. Sat for a while, ordered a drink and watched the dancers. He was real cool, but Janine almost wet her pants just seeing him here. I suppose she was his girlfriend though they were as odd a couple as the two of you would be. I thought she was going to die to have to face him. She blushed as though she’d just been stripped naked. Never seen her eyes so wide with fear. She was afraid.” He shook his head, apparently still baffled by the incident. “Took him two minutes to have her off the floor and on her way home.”

    “Did you see her again?”

    “Just to turn in her uniform.”

    “That’s all, no explanations?”

    “She said she owed him more than she owed me. Almost made me wonder if he were her pimp. But that’s not Henry. No, it was something else. One of my girls said it was a different kind of sexual arrangement. But no one understood what that meant. There was talk about a contract and rules she needed to follow. But I sure as hell couldn’t figure it out.”

    Rico looks at me suspiciously, though I’m silent for a while.

    “You think she’s still his girlfriend?” I finally ask.

    “I’m sure she’s not. Kelly—works second shift—knows her pretty well. Janine’s almost married to some other guy who’s apparently as controlling as Henry.” I see Rico’s expression change as though the truth is suddenly becoming clear to him. “You don’t mean you’re after that?” he asks.

    “After what?” I answer innocently.

    “Whips, chains …”

    “I’m after leather,” I say teasingly, leaning forward so I can stroke his smooth jaw. “Wrap your belt around my wrists and screw me.”

    “I’d be more than happy.”

    I think he would, the way he’s trying to peer inside my low cut tee. The pretty lace push-up bra has my tits right at the apex, wriggling merrily, so that the more I move, the more his eyes follow every jiggle and twist.

    “You know where he lives?” I ask.

    “You mean Henry? Damn, Clarise, are you obsessed?”

    “I suppose I am. Do you know?”

    “Flat on Sixth Street, if he’s still there. I only know that because it’s where I sent Janine’s last check.”

    That’s all I want. And at that point, I’m ready to leave the nightclub. Not to hurt Rico’s feelings, I wait until he’s otherwise preoccupied, then slip out the door and into the night.

    Henry’s apartment is just four blocks away. I don’t know the address, but Rico named the cross streets, so I figure I can do the rest on my own.

    I start with the even numbered apartments on the left side of the street. Getting as far as the mailboxes is all that’s necessary. At the second building, I find what I want. This is too damned easy, as though someone is leading me right to everything I want. I squeal happily seeing Henry Thornton’s name etched on mail-slot number seven. Second floor apartment on the front. This is sly and detestable, and thoroughly invigorating.

    While I’m scouting out my info, I don’t even think about what I’d say if I suddenly ran into him. I listen at his door, wondering if I’m crazy, but anxious for some sign of life on the other side. Hearing nothing, and waiting nearly five minutes in the empty hallway, I finally retreat, taking the stairs quickly, now worried that I might be caught.

    Considering that it’s a warm night, I decide to stay for a while and wait in the shadows of the building next door. This is too good a feeling to let go as my body pulses with the pleasure it seeks, seeking him. I’m unsure what I’m waiting for, but know that something will happen very soon.

    I trust my instincts and I trust my passions—especially now, since I have this one figured out and I can act on it. I want to know his women, I want to know him. I want most to understand everything I’m feeling and why.

    At midnight, a taxi drops off a woman in front of Henry’s apartment house. I stick to the shadows, but can make out enough of her face to distinguish it in the daylight. White, distinct features and sensuous, but not especially pretty. Her blonde hair is a recognizable giveaway should I see her by day, plaited in a French braid, which runs down her back to the arch of her spine as it dips toward her ass. As she gracefully ascends the stairs, I admire the birdlike quality of her bearing, and the demure expression. Thinking submissively, I wonder if her acquiescent manner isn’t the sort of thing that Henry seeks, or seeks to train into the women he masters. I don’t even consider that she might be headed somewhere besides Henry’s flat; and find it no surprise when I see the lights go on in the front room of #7. Moments later, I see the silhouette of the same birdlike creature move against the pulled shade.

    I am startled when the shades go up and her glorious figure appears as though she were an apparition rising out of the dim light behind her. I can just barely see her outline as she looks into the street. Is she expecting someone? Henry perhaps? Where would he be at this hour I wonder with her?

    Minutes pass, and I watch her as she starts to undress right there in front of the windows. Perhaps she thinks there’s no one around to watch; or that she can’t be seen; or, perhaps, she wants to be seen and knows that someone is spying on her right now. Certainly, she can’t see me; it’s too dark where I crouch beside a low bush and gaze up at her exquisite form.

    Removing her satin blouse, she tosses it behind her, and continues quickly removing her skirt. She’s naked. Though all of her features seem to blur into one palette of grey, there are the delicate lines of her body to admire, and the way she moves. For a moment she disappears, but then returns to the open shade and begins to dress in something else.

    Squinting, I see the contrast of black and grey appear. She’s putting on a harness. Immediately I think of it as mine—the one Henry refused me. Jealousy burns sour in the pit of my stomach and my crotch begins to ache again. There are two black straps rising from her pussy, connecting with a band at her waist, and then two more that rise above the band, splitting at her breasts to ride at either side of them. I imagine she buckled the thing at her neck though it’s difficult to see. I can make out the collar around her neck, and decide that it makes her look haughtier than she already does.

    She stands and waits. I wonder how it would feel to be in her place, vulnerably displayed for the nighttime world, as though she is an offering given by her master to the gods of darkness

    I jerk back when a figure appears behind her. Knowing the identity of her assailant, she doesn’t need to look back, but leans lovingly into his chest. I’m sure it’s Henry, though I can’t see his face. I do observe the power in his surrounding arms, thinking of them surrounding me. They once did. But then, I was unconscious and unaware how they might stimulate me. They stimulate me even now, though it is only a vicarious stimulation. As his hands move on his lover, she writhes erotically against him. As he slips a hand to her crotch, I sense him playing with her wet cunt. He’s getting her off.

    Her head drops back, drowsily. Her lips part. I imagine her sensuous whimpers, and the way she strains at the moment of release when a flood of energy pours down through her shuddering body.

    I could swear that Henry’s forcing her to her knees. Though it’s such a quick and simple movement, I might be reading far too much into that gesture. Does that matter? Is this not my fantasy? A play enacted for my benefit? I feel it with my body, hear it with my mind, and touch and taste and smell it with my others senses. The effect blooms so wildly within, I could lay here on this exposed grass and cum. I should. My behavior is reprehensible and I should be forced to expose my depravity. But there is no one here to censure me, and I’ll go unpunished for having too much lust.

    Though I feel as depleted as the lady in the window must feel, my obsession has not vanished, only having become more pressing after this exhibition. Boldly moving toward Henry’s flat, I creep into the lobby, gaze longing at his mail-slot, and try the door leading upstairs. I should be surprised that it opens; by this hour, most are locked for the night. Maybe someone’s waiting for me.

    I sit for a while on the stairs just below the door to #7 and once again listen for sounds inside the apartment. This time, I’m rewarded by the stunning, though muffled noise of something slicing through the air, something leather, I think—something that strikes flesh, for I hear the animated cry of a woman after the blows are landed. She’s being punished. I wonder what for. Certainly I’d be punished for the crimes I’ve committed tonight. Are hers as grievous as mine?

    I float for a while on the energy of these sounds, letting them move like waves through my chest and belly, and then down to my ticklish vulva where this obsession breeds. The implications of the scene beyond the door are many and frightening. But how they arouse!

    When Henry’s apartment falls silent, I’m slumped against the wall, one hand clutched unknowingly between my thighs. As the stillness reigns I almost doze, until I’m jarred loose from my precarious post by the sudden sound of a door opening—at the other end of the hall.

    I’m in a panic now to race from the dwelling, moving so speedily that I stumble clumsily at the bottom of the stairs, and make a thumping thud against the wall, which must shake half the building. Moving quickly into the night, I disappear around the corner of the block in seconds, unsure whether I’ve been seen by anyone inside Henry’s building. Once I’m free from detection, I stop to catch my breath, only to have the truth about my last hour hit me squarely in the face.

    What am I doing!

    You’re crazy, Clarise, I tell myself all the way home. That truth repeats, clipped and rhythmically, beating in time to the repetitious cadence of my footfalls on the pavement.

    I’m glad for a warm bed under my body when I finally arrive home, where I huddle down as though I expect the police to come bursting through my door and arrest me.

    Despite my personal embarrassment, I cannot keep my hands from grabbing at my hungering crotch. Before I can stop myself, I’m reaching for the dildo in my night-stand and stuffing it vigorously into my vagina, while my hands play at the over-ripe folds of labia, skin and clitoris, which now burst needing the painful pressure of desire to go away. The climax comes swiftly when my body erupts upon my fingers, as I twist wildly against them and the fat fake prick.

    Henry in my brain cells, at my crotch and standing over me—whip in hand, no less. He’s with me, inside me, haunting me. It’s his prick driving arduously to the end of me and beyond that end to places I’m not used to finding in myself. But finding them, writhing inside them, a degree of happiness spreads through me as the cum finally subsides and the shame of my behavior makes everything in me wince. I have to watch myself more closely. This could get dangerous.







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The novel An Innocent Obsession can be purchased in ebook or paperback from Pink Flamingo Publications. Or through ebook retailers throughout the Internet