Captive Weekend - Chapter 1

Here's a sample of my new Femdom ertotic novel. Coming soon to the Kindle store and beyond!

Here is a first look at the opening chapter of my new novel, Captive Weekend. It’s about a man trying to find himself while being hunted by beautiful Dommes. I’m incredibly proud of this work and beyond excited to share it with people.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please check back often for updates on its imminent publication. And now, Captive Weekend, Chapter 1.

Chapter 1 - Consent

Gary looked dead into the camera and said, "I, Gary Severson, do hereby consent to take part in the Captive Weekend event being held on August 12th and 13th at Hill Farm, 155a Market Place Road, Rampling, Bloomshire, BS23 1CH. England. UK.”

He let it sit there for a second, waiting for a response. Then he glanced at Mary, the stern-faced woman standing behind the camera.

"How was that?"

She smiled generously, "Lovely, now have a go at this."

She stepped out from behind the camera, creaking the floorboards of the bare, farmhouse bedroom. The bed, chair, and bureau, had all been pushed against the wall to make space for the camera, tripod and interviewee chair in which he now sat. She handed him a sheet of paper, the text on it printed in large type. He tried to read, but his jet lag was throbbing through him, and the words wouldn’t resolve.

He was still recovering from LAX to Heathrow the day before. The eight-hour time change and his excitement for the adventure ahead had overwhelmed his spartan London hotel bed. He had awoken that morning at 4:00 AM GMT and couldn’t fall back to sleep. He thought he was more or less okay with it until his breakfast coffee wore off in the van on the way to the farm. Now he was starting to drift as the numbing buzz of sleep deprivation edged into his senses. It felt like taking a strong painkiller, the way his nerves became distant and granular. A hazy, dreamy sensation of transition, as if all of his molecules had not yet landed, and some of them were still floating above the ground. It lent the whole affair an air of fairytale wonder, and a sort of indie movie magical realism, like he had crossed over into some new plane of being where the old rules could no longer be counted on to hold true. He squinted to force his eyes to work, and the letters on the card wriggled into focus.

He read aloud, "I understand that I am participating in a Female Domination experience involving bondage, domination and submission, and sadomasochism, and that I will be in the role of submissive prey. As such, a number of potentially unpleasant things may happen to me, including but not limited to, being made to undress and be naked in front of strangers, being hit with paintballs, tied up, touched sexually or in private areas, made to perform for others, made to perform with others, made to urinate or defecate in public, made to eat like an animal..."

He trailed off and looked up at her again, "Do I need to say all of this?"

Mary’s lips had a seemingly permanent downward curl that looked like a frown even when she smiled, but when she talked, she was happy and charming. Stout and over fifty-five, she appeared perfectly normal and unassuming, especially with her long, strawberry blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail. She wore little makeup, a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that said, “The beatings will continue until morale improves.” From what he understood, she was a sort of den mother to the group that hosted the weekend, as well as a professional Dominatrix with decades of experience. Her eyes had the practiced hardness of someone who puts men in their place for money, but otherwise she was nothing if not warm and inviting.

"Our solicitor says we do. I know it seems excessive, love," and here she gave a little wink, "But then aren’t we all?"

He made a knowing nod in return. He too looked so normal you’d struggle to recall any detail about him if you passed him on the street. Forty-five years old and five foot ten, he had hazel eyes, a round face with a soft chin and dull brown hair combed straight back to conceal that it was going thin on top. He felt the best features on his face were his big, bee-stung lips and had been told the best features on his body were his broad shoulders and muscular legs, but neither would win him any contests. He exercised regularly, more since becoming single again, but was still far from his goal weight. If he had a six pack, it was six yogurt pouches. Dressed in jeans, a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt and a black nylon jacket, he looked more casual than usual, but nondescript none the less. Yet, if you were searching for something that set him apart, you needn’t look further than the fact that he had flown half way around the world to take part in whatever the hell this “Captive Weekend” was going to be. Few people would even want to take that risk, far fewer still would actually do it.

He hoped the only real risk was the money he’d spent. This wasn’t supposed to be dangerous per se. He'd researched it as extensively as he could, going so far as asking friends in the fetish community for someone who could personally attest to the sanity of Mary and her crew, and she had checked out (highly recommended from a London friend of a friend Gary trusted a lot). But all of the people here were strangers to him, in another country on another continent, and when the bullets start to fly, anything can happen. No matter how many times the lioness swears she won't bite, putting your head between her jaws is always a leap of faith. When he thought about that, he felt a tingle in his toes, like he was teetering over the edge of a perilous cliff, unsure if he could keep himself from falling.

He looked back at the page, "Do you need me to start over?"

"Oh no, if this ever went to the law, they would judge your consent from the totality of the recording. Clarification like this actually improves its bona fides."

"Oh, ok. Where was I, uh, here... made to eat like an animal, made to wear humiliating clothing, made to perform sexual acts, forced to run or perform strenuous exercise, beaten with striking implements, and denied sleep or other basic comforts. Additionally, I may be subject to any number of potential abuses and hardships, be they sundry or significant, not specifically enumerated here. At no time during the weekend will I be asked to consent to these events individually, and instead have given a blanket consent to them now. At all times during the weekend, I will be free to leave and decline to participate further, unless my condition prevents this because I am bound, gagged or otherwise restrained. I am acknowledging here that I know this is a potential risk, and I will not hold the organizers responsible for such a delay in recognizing and acting on my withdrawn consent. Once my consent is withdrawn, I will cease participation in the event and leave immediately."

Again, upon finishing he let the statements linger in the air a moment, this time more for a sense of finality, staring right into the camera before looking to Mary. She clicked a button to stop recording and gave him that friendly frowning smile once more.

A bit of real excitement entered her voice as she said, "Great! That about does it, thanks!"

“Thank you.”

He stood up awkwardly, unsure what to do next. He had a million questions, but also understood that some things work better the less you know. Moreover, his relatively recent return to singledom combined with the travel and the exciting strangeness of the event itself made him feel off balance, both wired and woozy. He kept thinking he was standing in the wrong place. He had seen men unloading beers outside, and the thought of relaxing in the sun while he drank one suddenly became very appealing.

"You all right, love?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, just a little discombobulated. Jet lag."

“Go outside and have a sit. It’ll pass.”

“Thanks.”

He moved for the door, but Mary suddenly remembered something and interrupted him. “Hold on, almost forgot this. Here, you’re number 25.”

She took out a playing card printed in black ink and purple foil. The back bore a drawing of a dancing court jester dressed in motley. He was naked from the waist down, exposing his erection, vulgar and curving upward, c shaped and cartoonish. His neck, wrists and ankles were cuffed and collared in leather, and he was placed against a forest background, the shapes of trees made by the negative space of the black shadows between them. The face of the card was a more conventional image of the Queen of Hearts, albeit an incarnation of the Queen that had enormous breasts. The Queen wore a mischievous grin and held up a long-barreled pistol, James Bond style. The corners that didn’t show a heart carried the number 25.

Under the Queen’s sumptuous cleavage, the card read “2024 Captive Weekend. Get Out Of Jail Free Card.”

Gary turned the card over and over in his hand, entranced by its lurid magnetism. To him, it was primal and gravitational. He felt it put his heart on edge, a totem that left him changed.

“Wow, this is really cool.”

“Didn’t they turn out great?”

“Amazing,” he said, his voice etched with real awe.

“Well, keep it safe until you want to play it.”

“Will I get it back after I do?”

“Yes, love, it’s meant as a memento for the weekend.”

“Amazing.”

She seemed genuinely complimented by his sudden fixation on the card. Her gaze settled on him more intently, as if just then seeing him for the first time. She said, “Can I ask how you got started in all this?”

“You mean, being hunted for sport? Or being a deviant?” She didn’t laugh, and he regretted making the joke, cursing his gift for making things needlessly awkward.

“The latter.”

“I just knew, very early, I knew. When I was really young, like too young to know about girls, I saw this trashy stewardess comedy movie on cable. There was a ten second shot of a woman dominating a bound and gagged man… and I just knew. I felt like the top of my head was going to fly off, that’s how hard I knew.”

“Good, very good. I’m sure you’re going to have a brilliant time. You said in your interview that you have experience, but recently not so much?"

"I fell in love with my kinky girlfriend, but it turned into a painful vanilla divorce. So yeah, I'm getting my footing again."

She sucked air through her teeth like the words themselves stung her. "Oh, you poor thing. So you've come here to get back on the horse... or maybe under the rider as it were?"

They both laughed at that, her much more than him.

He said, "I told one of my friends, I needed a kink bender for the fucking ages to wash away the last five years of broken dreams. This sounded like it fit the bill."

"As the founder of this hunt, I take that as a sincere compliment. Thank you very much."

"No, no, thank you. I've always wanted to be hunted down and captured by a powerful woman."

"Then you have certainly come to the right place.”

"There's a meet and greet tonight?"

"Yes."

"Excellent, I would love to get to talk to my potential tormentors. Maybe choose one that I have a connection with."

"Well, dear, you must remember, hunters choose their prey, not the other way around."

---

Captive Weekend, coming soon from DF Blair!

Recovering from the demise of his marriage, committed BDSM submissive Gary Severson sets out to rekindle his faith in kink at a fantasy weekend in the UK where he will be hunted by dominant women with paintball guns. But through his inevitable capture and the recreational bondage, torture and enslavement that follow, Gary learns he may actually have been caught by love.

Captive Weekend is a 60,000-word, debut novel of unapologetic fetish, as well as a work of literary fiction that explores far more than just pain and pleasure. Captive weekend seeks to provide a hyper realistic, white-hot look into the practice of kink, but it also aims to reveal that most shunned of modern male archetypes, the masculine submissive. Written by a member of the kink community with decades of experience, Captive Weekend is based on several real events around the world and strives to present a three-dimensional view of fetish practice and play that is often absent among the one note Masters and slaves of so many representations of BDSM. Instead, Captive Weekend invites the reader to experience not just the toys and torments, but the feelings of an almost ordinary guy who boldly explores some very extraordinary pleasures.