Once upon an abduction… Part 2

This post is part four of a week long series entitled “Looking Back”. They are a few pages from our ‘photo albums’ that I wanted to write about as john and I celebrate 10 years of living in a kinky power exchange. We hope you enjoy, and as always, thanks so much for reading and for sharing your comments with us.

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Again…..

What.

The.

Fuck.

I’m about to tangle with a grand inquisitor and I am aroused?

And so it began. German guy wanted the numbers and I told him to go fuck himself. I heard his heavily laden sigh, and he mentioned something about feeling regret that this was my answer, but he has been prepared for such a response. There was a moment of still. Of quiet. I was left with my own anticipation, and it built to heights I didn’t know were possible.

I don’t know exactly how long the torture went on, but I do know it was many hours. Back and forth it went…..the inquisitor playing both good cop and bad cop. I resisted. For hours, I resisted. The thought of giving that bastard anything that John trusted me with broke my soul.

Others helped too. The hands that abused were many. I remember crying deeply at times….my tears and snot covering my face beneath the hood. Occasionally a straw was pushed up to my mouth where I could suck in water, which I did. Sometimes I hungrily swallowed that water, and other times I tried to spit it at them through the hood.

Other times I yelled, defiant and deeply angry.

GO FUCK YOURSELF, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!”

I would sob…..You are not getting jack shit from me!

But that is hard to maintain when your naked thighs are tied open to a wooden chair, and you are caned so often, so precisely, you start to tremble on top of your trembles.

I think it was the nipple torture that eventually did me in. It was such a small part of my body, so sensitive and sweet….and it was enduring things I had never even imagined.

I gave some of the numbers. I gave fake numbers to that account. The German would leave and check those numbers, determining quickly that I was lying.  I would be badly beaten for those lies.

And so it cycled.

Eventually, I just couldn’t do it any more.

What I remember so vividly was that my brain told me when it was enough. I felt it. My body shook from the abuse. I could both feel and tell that others were checking on me….more water, hands and feet being examined,  ropes adjusted. But it was my brain that waved a white flag. It was looking out for me. It said that I was done. My body was aching in every possible way, my mind had been distorted and tested, but in the end, it provided.

I gave the numbers. One by one, I recited those numbers. By the end of that series, I was crying with every ounce of heart. I was so broken to give those away. I felt as though I was giving away trust. I was breaking that inner circle he had let me into. I was not strong enough to protect his Swiss secret. I could no longer lift my head off my own chest, my collapse was complete.

“Good girl”, I heard in soft, tender German.

And that was that. Within seconds, all those hands untied me. The hood was left in place, but I was guided tenderly to a big bed that was very nearby, and naked, I was laid upon it. Bodies immediately were pressed against mine as a blanket covered us all.

Slowly, the hood was removed, my eyes blinking, my skin flinching. I opened my eyes as slowly as I could. In front of me was John’s beaming face….his eyes searching my own with joy and pride and pleasure.

I looked around me, and all I could see was a wall of smiling people. My abductors. My captors. My torturers. My friends.

“Happy Birthday!”, they said. “Happy, happy birthday, Chloe!”

I cried and smiled and laughed and then the abduction crew went upstairs for cocktails while John touched me, hugged me, tended to my many bruises and then fucked me beautifully. I fell asleep in his arms still hearing his German accent echo in my head “Good girl, Chloe. Good girl.”


The guy at the bar? The one who sat near us, the one I thought was checking us out? Yeah, he was in on it too. He was the one who took the parking garage pass from John in order to move and hide John’s car. I never did find out who he was.

About 9 months before this abduction took place, John and I negotiated an abduction and had me sign a release. It was a kinky release, he explained, in case a scene we were doing ever went wrong. Each abductor carried a copy of the release “just in case”. It was a consent form, basically, so that no one would get arrested. That is how long this abduction had been in the works.

Oh, and there is no Swiss bank account. He is not secretly rich. But as my birthday slowly approaches he keeps talking about his “Cayman Island” paperwork.

Once upon a slave auction

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This post is part two of a week long series entitled “Looking Back”. They are a few pages from our ‘photo albums’ that I wanted to write about as john and I celebrate 10 years of living in a kinky power exchange. We hope you enjoy, and as always, thanks so much for reading and for sharing your comments with us.

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One of my favorite memories that my pup and I share was the time that I put him up for sale at a slave auction.

We had heard about this event, and it intrigued us both, deeply. My pup indicated that he wanted to participate, which delighted me. We were still in the earlier years of taking our play on the road and including other people and other places, so those things alone had us a bit elevated. From what we gathered, it was a Romanesque type event, with Caesar himself presiding over the bidding.

What I recall most was my pup’s beautiful nervousness. I had brought everything I needed to dress him and prep him for his sale. I carefully draped him in clean, cream colored muslin. His toga was secured with gold roping. I was feeling very proud of my slave and wanted him to catch the attention of several of the buyers. I loved so much the way he looked. His flawless, tan skin glowed against his robes, his muscles ripping beneath his oiled sheath. As I fastened a rope around his neck and started leading him down the path towards the auction house, I could feel his hesitation as I pulled upon his leash.

We could see the lighted pavilion through the darkness, lit up with festive lights and many tiki torches. It was like an oasis of beauty against a wooded backdrop during a hot summer night. As we approached, we could see a line of slaves gathering outside of the structure. They were arranged in an orderly row, their ankles shackled to one another, prohibiting them from running away. The guards that stood watch are one of the other things I remember most….intimidating, fierce, enormous….whips and extra rope dangling close to their hips, in case they needed either.

I brought my pup to his place in the line, and with the assistance of a guard, began to shackle him to the slave before him. I could hear my property’s meek whimpering, meant for my ears alone, and could see the wide-eyed look upon his face. I felt compassion and delight in him in those moments before I left him standing there, alone.  It was really happening…..he really was about to be auctioned off for his services. This was no longer something that we were talking about but instead it was something we were doing.

For a last few moments, we stood together, looking into the open-air structure at all of the people gathered beneath it. It was spectacular. There is no other word for it. I don’t know that I can remember seeing such a sight as this one. It was magical. Sparkling. It was a movie set to me, the air crackling with the building energy. Everyone looked amazing. So many beautiful woman, donned in white, silky, sheer layers, their skin dusted in fine gold powder that shimmered beneath the light of the torches. The men looked just as amazing, they too dressed to impress. There were slaves lined up for every palate, and many perspective buyers walked the slave line, admiring, inspecting….and building a ravenous appetite.

I took my place among the other buyers. I was served a summer cocktail by a naked beauty, and stood watching with the others. A dashing man came to me, pressing into my hand a fistful of round, wooden tokens for me to do my own bidding, and soon, more were offered to me.

The bidding began, and one at a time, slaves were brought up flanked on either side by frightening looking guards, preventing any attempts at escape. The array of slaves was fascinating to me.

Some were sultry and sassy…..nearly dancing their way to the front of the stage where Caesar stood waiting. He read off a scroll their list of talents…cock sucking, foot worshiping, massage. He revealed their limits, and mentioned their owners.

Other slaves had to be dragged quite reluctantly to face the crowds by guards who were more than happy to wrestle them forward. Not a single slave was able to evade their grasp. One by one, slaves were presented. Many were stripped of their garments and stood naked as they were inspected. Some remained in robes. It had been determined by their Mistresses and Masters how they would be presented.  Slaves of all ages, orientations, shapes, colors were offered. The audience whooped and hollered for every single one of them.

My boy was placed somewhere in the middle of the procession.  I watched his chained ankles slowly shuffle their way closer to the front of the line. Often, I could see him when he could not see me, for I blended easily with all of those around me. I could see him searching for me, his face full of wonder and fear, his hard cock making statements of unquestionable pleasure.  I was happy to see him engaging with the other slaves, and as time when on, I could see his edges relaxing laughing as he mingled with his shackled peers.

They say that misery loves company, and this was certainly no exception.

But that laughing stopped when my boy was about 3rd in line to be brought forth. I slipped out of the crowd and went to see him one last time before he was marched to the front. His eyes pleased with me to release him, but his cock told another story entirely. When I cupped his face, and told him that I would not be releasing him, but instead he would be paraded to face Caesar and the hungry crowds, his cock throbbed as I squeezed it in my hand. My delight felt so complete in that moment… I felt so enormously lucky to be doing such a pleasurable thing with such lovely people.

It was that moment when you pause, and realize that fantasy and reality had tangled beneath the bed sheets, and you were bequeathed their successor.

I left my boy there. I could feel, but not see, him reaching for me as I disappeared back into the crowds from where I had come.

The two guards secured each of my pups’ arms, and a third unshackled him. They started to walk him to the ramp that lead to the front of the auction block. I could see my slaves’ composure wilting. I had instructed him to make me proud, and I could see him struggling with this. He began to resist and push against the guard, but he was no match for the three of them. His attempts to back away made people in the crowd lean forward; they were an audience that loved an overwhelming.

My pup was presented. He was inspected. His list of sexual and service oriented talents were read along side his limits and restrictions. My boy was being offered to anyone who wanted him… man, woman or group. I had placed no restrictions on that.  When the bidding concluded, it was a woman who came forward to claim him, and she lead him into the audience. I could see them talking, and soon after, he was released to me. It has been arranged that my pup would fulfill his slave duties for her the following day, as most slave owners did not wish to leave the confines of such a starry night too soon and retreat to their cabins.

After all, this was a hedonistic environment of sorts. Sex was everywhere, play was 24/7 constant, and no one was in a hurry to depart from it’s sexy folds.

I cannot and will not write about what happened the following day as my pup headed off to another cabin to fulfill his slave duties. That is not what this story is about. This story is about all that lead up to that moment. It is a story that reminds me that kinky people are wonderful people because we can and will make fantasies come true. It reminds me how exciting it can be to play with edges and to play with sexy fears. If D/s is a consensual power exchange… and it is… then to me, this beautiful night was the best in show.

The “Looking Back” Series

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For the next week, starting tomorrow, I will be posting entries that take a look back over the past decade. This week marks the 10 year anniversary of when I placed my very first Craigslist ad, seeking to talk with someone who knew something about kink.

I didn’t know much about kink, except that I really, really wanted it, but I had no idea where to begin.

I found John when I cast that line, and I have never looked back.

I have more favorite moments than I can fit in a few days, so I picked stories that speak to me for a variety of reasons.

I started as a submissive, as most of my fantasies as a young person had to do with being powerless in a sexual situation. That is what I initially thought being submissive was all about. Little did I know, but that was why I was here…..to find out.  John was my first dominant, my first experience, my first kinky partner.  Soon after our play began, he asked me to try switching, to see how we both liked it.

I liked it. A lot.

He liked it. A lot.

And that “liking” took us through miles of trial and error to the place we are now….in a Female lead relationship that has as much full time status as we can muster. Which is pretty much 23.7 hours a day.

We still switch. I love the versatility of switching. John and I are…..at a minimum…..4 people in one relationship. We each have our top and bottom side. That makes four. And truly, things stay very interesting with four people in one bed.

But overall, I am the boss. I run the show. I call the shots. John is my partner, and what he thinks and feels matters to me completely. For us, it is real, our FLR status. But in that realness, we have a lot of fun. Some hard moments too, but overall, a ton of fun.

Me being a dominant is a natural fit for me. My personality is Dominant. And for john, his fits him perfectly, too. Switching into a bottom roll for me (and note that I did not say submissive roll) is akin to getting an itch scratched. “Scratch, scratch, scratch, stop!”.

I love to bottom sometimes because I think it’s fun. I like it. And….it has therapeutic value for me, too. I sometimes want to put myself through the paces I am going to put someone else through. For me, it is important to keep connected to that empathetic thread that helps connect me. I am a sadist, and this continues to grow in me. So, yes….bottoming is fun, but it helps me too.

So….this week…..five different stories about five very different things, involving 4 different people who are really 2 people in total. Got that??

I hope you read. I hope you enjoy. I hope you have favorite moments of your own that you take joy in, or that you are on your way to creating a cache of your own beloved kink.

Power exchange for us is a beautiful, wonderful, sexy, productive, twisted, exhilarating, versatile, expressive thing. Simply put, we don’t leave home without it.

Thank you for reading. Please come back again soon!

 

:-)