windar
Teller of Tales
Hi, All: I haven’t posted a story here on CF in quite a while, mostly because I haven’t written any. Well, with the following exception which I completed about a year ago.
It started with a conversation on another site where I had placed a couple of my stories (yes, other sites do exist, though none are quite like CF). I started chatting with Carole about writing stories. She confessed that she was feeling blocked from completing the stories she was working on. Her exact words are in italics in the chapter below. Being a true gentleman, I imagined a scenario where I went to her house and “helped” her break through her block. It’s a fantasy, of course, but one that , in other circumstances, could possibly have happened…
Chapter 1: Carole Issues an Invitation
‘Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike’ he hummed the old song to himself. Not that one could, though it might be an interesting distraction from the road hypnosis.
But, ahead was the Delaware Memorial Bridge, then the tunnel through Baltimore and the Beltway around DC and then into Virginia where he’d meet Carole, in the flesh, as it were.
They’d been corresponding for some time now, having met on an erotic story site where they both posted their stories. Mostly they were stories about women undergoing punishments for various misdeeds that they had committed or had been wrongly convicted of committing.
She’d admired a story of his and he’d admired one of hers and they had gotten to chatting off site by email-mostly about their stories and the craft of writing, but some flirting as well. After all, when you expose your deepest, darkest fantasies, that sort of comes with the territory.
But the idea of actually meeting in person was both exciting and a bit scary. He had to give Carole points for bravery. Most women wouldn’t meet in person with someone they had chatted with online, and that was probably wise. But Carole wasn’t most women, he supposed.
Even for him it was a bit of a risk. Sure, there was the possibility that she was part of some ring where she’d lure him in and some guy or guys would jump him, rob him and beat the crap out of him. He’d read stories where that had happened. Hell, he’d even written one.
But that was far-fetched. Gangs of thieves were looking for a quick score; they didn’t usually spend months chatting to set up a small time robbery. And, besides, Carole would be easily traceable by any cop with two brain cells to rub together and he was carrying less than $ 100 in cash.
No, the bigger risk was that after driving for hours, they would find each other a big disappointment and he’d have to make the long trek home, his tail between his legs, beating up on himself for what an idiot he’d been to make this trip.
She looked quite attractive in the picture she’d sent him-a thirtyish woman with a light brown pony tail and a winning smile. No, it wasn’t a nudie pic-she was fully clothed, in a park somewhere near her house, he surmised, wearing a red top with white flowers of some sort and a knee-length blue skirt and sandals. But was that really her?
He glanced at his phone which displayed the picture and began imagining what was underneath that flowered top. He felt himself getting aroused. ‘Better pay attention to the road,’ he thought.
After all, there were millions of pictures on the internet that one could grab and send to a foolish horny guy. Carole could be a 300 lb lesbian. Hell, she could be a he-he remembered that site for guys who wanted to cheat on their wives with all those profiles of hot babes that all turned out to be guys. But his sixth sense told him Carole was more or less who she said she was.
Of course, it was also entirely possible that she would be disappointed by him. He’d sent her a picture-it was him for real, but it was from a few years back. He didn’t think he’d really aged that much since it had been taken, but maybe Carole would feel differently.
Well, the only way to find out was to get there.
He thought back on how this adventure had come about. Recently, he’d noticed that Carole hadn’t posted any stories for a while, which was somewhat unusual, so he’d asked her if everything was alright.
The reply had come back a couple of days later: All is ok. I can’t seem to concentrate on my writing and that is getting me down. I’ve got three stories that I have started which is unusual as I normally fixate on just one.
I think I need to find someone who will fuck me. I’m lonely and horny and it’s keeping me from writing.
Now, how does any red-blooded man leave a lady in such distress?
It was early enough, as he crossed the Potomac, that the traffic was still fairly light. He was about half an hour ahead of schedule. He had to look twice at the sign at the end of the bridge because his first read was ‘Welcome to Vagina’. Of course, that was ‘Welcome to Virginia’.
‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ he thought
They had arranged to meet at a Starbucks near Carole’s house. A sensible precaution-she was taking a risk but at least she’d minimize it by seeing if he came off as a raving psycho killer before letting him into her home.
He pulled off at the first exit to text her that he was not too far away.
“OK,” she had replied. “I’ll head over there now. I’ll be wearing what I wore in the picture.”
“I’m really looking forward to meeting you,” he’d typed back, hoping that didn’t come off as overeager.
“Me too,” she’d replied.
About thirty minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot. He got out and stretched, getting the blood flowing again in his legs, then opened the trunk to extract his laptop from the suitcase that sat next to the whipping bench he had brought, along with the duffel bag that contained a selection of whips, canes, clamps, handcuffs, gags and other equipment.
As soon as he entered the café, he noticed the flowered top at a table towards the back. She was looking down at her phone, her coffee cup on the table beside it, and didn’t see him until he was almost at her table. Then, noticing his presence, she looked up and smiled.
She looked just like her picture! He could feel a tingle in his groin imagining the fun they would have.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Carole,” he said.
“It’s nice to meet you, too, James,” she replied. “Have a seat,” she said, indicating the chair opposite her.
“Let me freshen up and get something to drink. It’s been a long trip.”
“So I would imagine,” she repeated, smiling again. “And all to help out a damsel in distress,” she added.
“Do you want another?” he asked, glancing at her coffee cup. “Something to eat?”
“I’m good,” she replied.
“Not too good, I hope,” he said.
She laughed. ‘That was promising,’ he thought. She didn’t seem put off by him, at least not yet.
He headed for the bathroom to take care of business. On the way out, he glanced at himself in the mirror and straightened his hair. This was crazy, he knew, on both their parts, but Carole looked fantastic.
He looked over at her table as he left the bathroom, half expecting her to have fled in horror, but she was there, watching him as he went to the counter and ordered a tall cappuccino and returned to his seat
“Did you look over the agreement?” he asked. They had both agreed that memorializing the terms of their relationship in writing was a sound idea to protect both of them and he had prepared one and emailed it to her before leaving home. She reached into her bag and extracted a printed copy.
Basically, Carole was agreeing to surrender herself to James’ control until her writer’s block was cured and she produced at least one story up to her usual standards. During her treatment, she would follow every order without question. Failure to do so would be punished at James’ sole discretion.
“What sort of punishments did you have in mind?” she asked.
James smiled. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. I have a good deal of equipment in the trunk of my car so we can experiment until we find what works best.”
Carole’s eyes narrowed. “This sounds like it could be unpleasant.”
“I guarantee it will be. But I will do my absolute best not to do any permanent damage to any vital organs.”
“Tits and ass aren’t vital organs, I suppose?”
He shook his head.
“Can you add that in writing?” she asked. “No permanent damage to vital organs.”
James looked around the café. No one was paying them any special attention; they looked to a casual observer, he supposed, like two business associates negotiating a deal, which, in a way, they were. He nodded and began typing into his laptop. “This OK?” he asked after a few minutes turning the screen to face Carole.
She read it. “I suppose so,” she said. “And no safe words?”
“That would defeat the purpose. You would be sorely tempted, pun intended, to quit early. Then you’d stay blocked and all those hours on the road would be for naught. The only way out is through, as the saying goes.”
“I hadn’t heard that one,” she said.
“It’s from a poem by Robert Frost.”
“I didn’t know he was into BDSM.”
“He probably wasn’t, but who knows?”
“I must be crazy to do this,” Carole said.
“You want to be a writer?” he asked.
“Very much.”
“Then sometimes you have to suffer for your art.”
“I see,” she said. “What about, you know, sex?”
“Rumor has it that you’re horny and want someone to fuck you.”
“Very much.”
“Well, you’ll have to earn it. Write crap and you’ll be punished. Write something good and you’ll be fucked.”
“Which one are you hoping for?” she asked.
“Both,” he replied. “And I think you are, too, if we’re to be honest.”
Carole smiled and didn’t argue the point.
“If you’re in, sign here,” he said indicating a box at the bottom of the agreement. Carole scrawled something with her finger and James added his before hitting ‘Save’.
“All done,” he said. “Now where is your place?”
“It’s about a five minute drive away,” she said. “You wanna follow me in your car?”
“Sure,” he replied, standing. He followed her out of the café, his eyes fixed on her ass. ‘It looked like it would take plenty of punishment and come back for more,’ he thought.
It started with a conversation on another site where I had placed a couple of my stories (yes, other sites do exist, though none are quite like CF). I started chatting with Carole about writing stories. She confessed that she was feeling blocked from completing the stories she was working on. Her exact words are in italics in the chapter below. Being a true gentleman, I imagined a scenario where I went to her house and “helped” her break through her block. It’s a fantasy, of course, but one that , in other circumstances, could possibly have happened…
Chapter 1: Carole Issues an Invitation
‘Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike’ he hummed the old song to himself. Not that one could, though it might be an interesting distraction from the road hypnosis.
But, ahead was the Delaware Memorial Bridge, then the tunnel through Baltimore and the Beltway around DC and then into Virginia where he’d meet Carole, in the flesh, as it were.
They’d been corresponding for some time now, having met on an erotic story site where they both posted their stories. Mostly they were stories about women undergoing punishments for various misdeeds that they had committed or had been wrongly convicted of committing.
She’d admired a story of his and he’d admired one of hers and they had gotten to chatting off site by email-mostly about their stories and the craft of writing, but some flirting as well. After all, when you expose your deepest, darkest fantasies, that sort of comes with the territory.
But the idea of actually meeting in person was both exciting and a bit scary. He had to give Carole points for bravery. Most women wouldn’t meet in person with someone they had chatted with online, and that was probably wise. But Carole wasn’t most women, he supposed.
Even for him it was a bit of a risk. Sure, there was the possibility that she was part of some ring where she’d lure him in and some guy or guys would jump him, rob him and beat the crap out of him. He’d read stories where that had happened. Hell, he’d even written one.
But that was far-fetched. Gangs of thieves were looking for a quick score; they didn’t usually spend months chatting to set up a small time robbery. And, besides, Carole would be easily traceable by any cop with two brain cells to rub together and he was carrying less than $ 100 in cash.
No, the bigger risk was that after driving for hours, they would find each other a big disappointment and he’d have to make the long trek home, his tail between his legs, beating up on himself for what an idiot he’d been to make this trip.
She looked quite attractive in the picture she’d sent him-a thirtyish woman with a light brown pony tail and a winning smile. No, it wasn’t a nudie pic-she was fully clothed, in a park somewhere near her house, he surmised, wearing a red top with white flowers of some sort and a knee-length blue skirt and sandals. But was that really her?
He glanced at his phone which displayed the picture and began imagining what was underneath that flowered top. He felt himself getting aroused. ‘Better pay attention to the road,’ he thought.
After all, there were millions of pictures on the internet that one could grab and send to a foolish horny guy. Carole could be a 300 lb lesbian. Hell, she could be a he-he remembered that site for guys who wanted to cheat on their wives with all those profiles of hot babes that all turned out to be guys. But his sixth sense told him Carole was more or less who she said she was.
Of course, it was also entirely possible that she would be disappointed by him. He’d sent her a picture-it was him for real, but it was from a few years back. He didn’t think he’d really aged that much since it had been taken, but maybe Carole would feel differently.
Well, the only way to find out was to get there.
He thought back on how this adventure had come about. Recently, he’d noticed that Carole hadn’t posted any stories for a while, which was somewhat unusual, so he’d asked her if everything was alright.
The reply had come back a couple of days later: All is ok. I can’t seem to concentrate on my writing and that is getting me down. I’ve got three stories that I have started which is unusual as I normally fixate on just one.
I think I need to find someone who will fuck me. I’m lonely and horny and it’s keeping me from writing.
Now, how does any red-blooded man leave a lady in such distress?
***
It was early enough, as he crossed the Potomac, that the traffic was still fairly light. He was about half an hour ahead of schedule. He had to look twice at the sign at the end of the bridge because his first read was ‘Welcome to Vagina’. Of course, that was ‘Welcome to Virginia’.
‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ he thought
They had arranged to meet at a Starbucks near Carole’s house. A sensible precaution-she was taking a risk but at least she’d minimize it by seeing if he came off as a raving psycho killer before letting him into her home.
He pulled off at the first exit to text her that he was not too far away.
“OK,” she had replied. “I’ll head over there now. I’ll be wearing what I wore in the picture.”
“I’m really looking forward to meeting you,” he’d typed back, hoping that didn’t come off as overeager.
“Me too,” she’d replied.
***
About thirty minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot. He got out and stretched, getting the blood flowing again in his legs, then opened the trunk to extract his laptop from the suitcase that sat next to the whipping bench he had brought, along with the duffel bag that contained a selection of whips, canes, clamps, handcuffs, gags and other equipment.
As soon as he entered the café, he noticed the flowered top at a table towards the back. She was looking down at her phone, her coffee cup on the table beside it, and didn’t see him until he was almost at her table. Then, noticing his presence, she looked up and smiled.
She looked just like her picture! He could feel a tingle in his groin imagining the fun they would have.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Carole,” he said.
“It’s nice to meet you, too, James,” she replied. “Have a seat,” she said, indicating the chair opposite her.
“Let me freshen up and get something to drink. It’s been a long trip.”
“So I would imagine,” she repeated, smiling again. “And all to help out a damsel in distress,” she added.
“Do you want another?” he asked, glancing at her coffee cup. “Something to eat?”
“I’m good,” she replied.
“Not too good, I hope,” he said.
She laughed. ‘That was promising,’ he thought. She didn’t seem put off by him, at least not yet.
He headed for the bathroom to take care of business. On the way out, he glanced at himself in the mirror and straightened his hair. This was crazy, he knew, on both their parts, but Carole looked fantastic.
He looked over at her table as he left the bathroom, half expecting her to have fled in horror, but she was there, watching him as he went to the counter and ordered a tall cappuccino and returned to his seat
“Did you look over the agreement?” he asked. They had both agreed that memorializing the terms of their relationship in writing was a sound idea to protect both of them and he had prepared one and emailed it to her before leaving home. She reached into her bag and extracted a printed copy.
Basically, Carole was agreeing to surrender herself to James’ control until her writer’s block was cured and she produced at least one story up to her usual standards. During her treatment, she would follow every order without question. Failure to do so would be punished at James’ sole discretion.
“What sort of punishments did you have in mind?” she asked.
James smiled. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. I have a good deal of equipment in the trunk of my car so we can experiment until we find what works best.”
Carole’s eyes narrowed. “This sounds like it could be unpleasant.”
“I guarantee it will be. But I will do my absolute best not to do any permanent damage to any vital organs.”
“Tits and ass aren’t vital organs, I suppose?”
He shook his head.
“Can you add that in writing?” she asked. “No permanent damage to vital organs.”
James looked around the café. No one was paying them any special attention; they looked to a casual observer, he supposed, like two business associates negotiating a deal, which, in a way, they were. He nodded and began typing into his laptop. “This OK?” he asked after a few minutes turning the screen to face Carole.
She read it. “I suppose so,” she said. “And no safe words?”
“That would defeat the purpose. You would be sorely tempted, pun intended, to quit early. Then you’d stay blocked and all those hours on the road would be for naught. The only way out is through, as the saying goes.”
“I hadn’t heard that one,” she said.
“It’s from a poem by Robert Frost.”
“I didn’t know he was into BDSM.”
“He probably wasn’t, but who knows?”
“I must be crazy to do this,” Carole said.
“You want to be a writer?” he asked.
“Very much.”
“Then sometimes you have to suffer for your art.”
“I see,” she said. “What about, you know, sex?”
“Rumor has it that you’re horny and want someone to fuck you.”
“Very much.”
“Well, you’ll have to earn it. Write crap and you’ll be punished. Write something good and you’ll be fucked.”
“Which one are you hoping for?” she asked.
“Both,” he replied. “And I think you are, too, if we’re to be honest.”
Carole smiled and didn’t argue the point.
“If you’re in, sign here,” he said indicating a box at the bottom of the agreement. Carole scrawled something with her finger and James added his before hitting ‘Save’.
“All done,” he said. “Now where is your place?”
“It’s about a five minute drive away,” she said. “You wanna follow me in your car?”
“Sure,” he replied, standing. He followed her out of the café, his eyes fixed on her ass. ‘It looked like it would take plenty of punishment and come back for more,’ he thought.
