So, I have written a few pieces up inside the head of a dominant character. This one, “Red Suede” is an example of that.
Where I am going to take the reader in “Abandon” is a very different place. I see that title has been taken by somebody on my own writer’s list. Oh well. Titles can get easily changed.
So, what I am writing is a psychological profile of a dominant breaking a submissive. Those of us in the literary end of the writing spectrum had Story of O as introduction to the world of BDSM ages ago. What is funny about it is that it was written on a dare, you know? It was. And if you read it there are some very sexy parts in it, but a hideous ending. Consider also that it was banned. So, for me the opener is the sexy part. Think of this novel I am writing as what happened after a car dropped an O type off at a lighthouse.
There are two sides to every coin.
In this case, the dominant is very shy and very wealthy. He has no idea how to even approach a woman. Period.
I have spoken about the wounded masculine in terms of the film “Equus” forward and I think that is a theme we could also trace in contemporary culture. So basically in this image Helmut is showing you what the dominant wants:
In the tale I am writing, he is going to entice her to become what you see?
Which is a blank canvas.
If you look at her eyes in the image she isn’t even there. Where is she?
That is the place I am taking you.
You can look at this image, in order to see a picture of my character “Jacques” in the tale.
He has literally stuffed the lighthouse with lingerie. More than she has ever seen. Part of his excitement is to dress her.
Part of her excitement is to let him.
Here is an excerpt from the first chapter:
Suddenly a speaker came on, from out of nowhere. A man’s voice exclaimed, “You may touch your lips, but only from behind, and only on the surface. Feel how swollen and wet they are, just as the mare. Only the surface Jules. You will only touch yourself as I tell you, when I tell you, and in the manner I tell you.”
Somehow a flickering film was being projected on the wall just above her. It was silent. All Jules could see was a man’s hand and his tie. He was dressed in a suit and a woman lay before him on a bed that looked like a hotel. She was dressed in a black lace bra and panties with a garter belt and black stockings. Jules could only focus on her face. Her lips were gasping at something. Some kind of feeling that Jules also wanted. It was abandon.
She had no idea if the man was Jacques. Certainly the hand looked very much the same as the photograph she had seen earlier. The film skittered over and over in a loop. His hand was between her thighs stroking the woman over and over and over again, endlessly. It was as if the woman was not allowed to move at all. Her legs were bent at the knees and she was wearing a black leather collar with a tiny chain that the man held like a leash. He pulled on it every so often as her mouth gasped in excited silence, on the film. Over and over and over and Jules was so wet she could hardly stand it. It was as if the man on the film were doing that to her. She hadn’t dared to touch herself. Only stare at the eroticism of the image playing out. The woman was gasping with desire as the hand stroked her.
Suddenly the voice came on over the speaker again.
“Can you imagine how swollen she is, Jules?”
My thanks as a writer to the Twitter peeps with visuals!
Onwards into chapter two “Breath”