It was just my imagination.....

......runnin' away with me, once again.

As I have mentioned, I have had abduction fantasies as long as I can remember.  Early on there was nothing sexual about it.  I would be overwhelmed by a group of girls.  They'd beat me and compel me to do their will.  

Later, as I discovered sexuality, there would be one girl, maybe she'd have an accomplice. She'd drug my drink, or inject me with a sedative then mock me and laugh as I realized there was something wrong, but it was too late to escape.  I'd wake to find myself naked, gagged, bound hand and foot and blindfolded.

Back in the 80's, I read a work of fiction.  I presume it was fiction because it was in a trashy magazine, generally poorly written, fraught with grammatical errors.  I only recently had the thought that perhaps the author was making errors purposefully to torture the grammar gremlins in the crowd.  (Diabolical witch!)

So, back to the story.  Two women living together, about the age of thirty.  The Alpha is a college professor, Doctorate in psychology. Her partner in crime is an OR nurse. (I've always had a thing for nurses.) Doctor J conjures the notion to abduct a young man, hold him captive and see what they might subject him to.  Dr. J owns the home.  It is large with a full basement. They construct a dungeon therein in anticipation of the arrival of their guest.

They covertly observe and screen a few dozen twenty something year old candidates and pick one who they adjure will not be immediately missed as he has no close living relatives.  Nurse D seduces him.  At the end of the school year as summer break begins, she invites him to come and live with her.  He does. 

Shortly thereafter and at the start of a weekend, nurse D puts some sedatives into the young man's wine.  While he's asleep, they slip him quietly into the underground portion of their home. 

Early the next morning he has an abrupt awakening at the hands of Doctor J.  He finds himself in chains, completely at her mercy.  He belongs to her now.  Property to do with as she will.  

They suspend him from the ceiling by his wrists.  Ankles attached to a spreader bar, toes barely touching the floor.  Doctor J. whips him past the point of his begging for her to stop.  
When she's finished, she lowers the hoist and asks him if he would like to kiss her feet? He tries but because of the bar and attachments isnt able to bend over sufficiently to reach them. His position gives her a different idea. "That's OK, you can kiss my ass instead." She bends forward offering him access. He balks. She administers additional lashes and offers her posterior to him again. He bends to his task. "I made him keep his tongue in my ass until my back got tired from bending over."

Delusions

When I was a boy, there were a seemingly endless number of women who saw fit to comment on my hair and eyes and what a beautiful girl I would have been and what a shame that I was not. The origins of my kinks are described here: https://lovesbrightwomen.blogspot.com/2009/04/in-beginning.html Given that, I thought that one day as an adult I would encounter a woman who, when I found the courage to tell her about myself, would be receptive. Way back when I was dating I would drop a few subtle (I thought) hints or ask leading questions. Then perhaps I'd peel back a little bit of the mask. The reactions were pretty much in two categories with the first being most frequent: 1. Revulsion: WHAT?!?! You're a ceral killer and a cannibal?! You disgusting monster! Unfit to live with the rest of us. Begone, vile creature. It may be that they had expectations of me judging my appearance and general demeanor. I'm a sizeable man with an assertive and often unpleasant (if you cross me) disposition. 2. Casual indifference: Hm, yes. I can see how some women might be threatend by that. Or: I'll be out of the house until 6 tomorrow if you want to indulge yourself. Maybe my expectations weren't realistic? I had a little bit of a meltdown, or maybe more than one, as I came to grips with the reality of it. That I'd never scratch that itch, or have someone scratch it with me. Writing that just now, and anytime I think of it, I feel bit sad. A loss, sort of. I have encountered a few folks on the web who commiserate. I may have bumped into a female or two who could have been. That door closed a long time ago. I rarely break a promise, and I have several here to keep. Strange, years ago, when I encountered assertive women I generally avoided them. Was I afraid? Some were just pain in the ass kind of people. Not my type. One who sat behind me in a university class constantly poked me in the back to get my attention. Same one would accost me in the student lounge. She was loud, brash, annoying. I definately avoided women that I was attracted to. Sure I talked with them, but I'd never think to ask one on a date because I wasn't worthy. I remember another encounter like it was just yesterday. College days. There was a girl. Kathleen. I dont remember her last name. We'd had a few classes together, sometimes ended up sitting on the college green talking. Good conversations. She was planty cute, if a bit nerdy. I'm sure that she's someone's loving wife and mother today. This was a cold winter afternoon. I had my winter semester stress cold virus. I felt like a sack of shit on the way to my apartment and decided to take the elevator in the art building rather than walking down an icy Jeff hill. There in the lift was the girl I just mentioned. We made small talk on the way down. When we got off on the ground floor the conversation continued briefly. My head was killing me and I was probably hungry. I excused myself, telling her that I wasn't feeling well and really had to go. I recall that she reached out, took hold of my arm and looked me in the eyes. She said that if ever I wanted someone to talk with, about anything at all, anything...that she would be happy to be that person. I never took her up on that. Wonder what that I had.