Captive Weekend - Chapter 4
Here's a fourth sample from Captive Weekend, my debut Femdom erotic novel, now available in the Kindle store.
Please enjoy this further sneak peek into my new novel, Captive weekend, which just released into the Kindle store. You can find links to the first two chapters below, as well as a link to the Amazon buy page.
Recovering from the demise of his marriage, committed submissive Gary Severson sets out to rekindle his faith in kink at a BDSM fantasy paintball weekend, where he will be hunted by dominant women. Through his inevitable capture and the recreational bondage, torture and enslavement that follow, Gary learns he may actually have been caught by love.
Links to previous chapters:
Chapter 1:
Chapter 2:
Chapter 3:
Here’s a link to it in the Kindle store.
4 – The Morning Of
He woke early again, the final toll of his jet lag a gift since he was eager to get a head start on the day. He pulled on his bathrobe and stepped out of the tent, barefoot in the cool dewy grass. The morning was absolutely beautiful, already warm and bright. The woods glowed green and gold in the rising sun. Gary guessed it would be a hot afternoon and thought that was a good thing, given he might spend it naked. Philip was directing Carmen’s boys in the assembly of an outdoor breakfast buffet. The website had promised that meals would be provided each day. It also advertised that ladies could request gruel should they desire someone eat it, and even served in a dog bowl, should that someone be unworthy of plates.
A person stirred in the tent beside him, and it spurred Gary to action. He quickly grabbed his shaving kit and hurried across the field to the house. There were two showers in the farmhouse, and Gary wanted to take a nice hot one now, before the rest of the guests started queuing up to drain the hot water. They had erected four portable shower stalls beside the barn that held the stockade, and though Gary hadn’t opted for the incarceration package, he suspected his next shower would come there.
The shower was hot, but the pressure was old-house low. It made it harder for him to shave his genitals and ass. He kept at it though, trying to work quickly, as others were already inquiring from outside the door. He’d long harbored an internal conflict about shaving his body without having been instructed to. It felt like a desperate gesture when done without a command. How presumptuous to think someone might ever want to see that part of him at all, let alone shaved, but today was not the time for such inhibitions. He had committed to this weekend, all of it, and shaving was part of that. At least for the next 48 hours, he was done living as though he needed someone else to swear the truth of that which he knew inside, that which he had known since before he could even grow pubic hair.
After the shower, he hurried back to the tent to dress in a t-shirt and shorts, both intentionally cheap and disposable, and a pair of good trail running Nikes. By the time he was done, the field was once again filled with participants. Many were lining up for the simple breakfast of toast, scrambled eggs, sausages, and beans, all waiting in large chafing dishes. Two enormous samovars of coffee beckoned, and after pouring a cup, Gary got in line and made a plate. All the while, he observed the field with growing excitement.
If the energy of the night before had been simmering anticipation, this morning it was reaching full boil, especially among the men. Their laughter had grown more nervous, their brows sweatier. None of them appeared to know what to do with their hands while they spoke. Everyone wore the kind of fragile smile that suggested a person had won a great prize which they had yet to receive.
The men were all dressed in variations on the same theme as Gary, disposable woodland athletic wear with sturdy shoes, but the women were another story. Though their clothes were all suited to outdoor walking, most wore openly fetishistic costumes. Several sported black leather coats and military style dusters. Others had t-shirts with slogans like “OBEY YOUR MISTRESS” or “KEEP CALM AND SERVE YOUR DOMME,” sometimes with silhouette graphics of men kneeling or gagged or leashed. A younger woman named Rita was dressed as Xena Warrior Princess, while an older woman, who’s name Gary couldn’t recall, was wearing the uniform of a Girl Scout troop leader, or whatever they call them in England. Charlotte wore a leather army slicker over a sheer top that revealed a strappy bra. She had on tight leggings and a pair of shiny black military boots that made Gary tingle. Penny had gone full English dressage; black riding boots, cream colored riding pants, and a fitted, black tailcoat over a vest with gold buttons. Riding pants had always been an Achilles heel of Gary’s, at least in some version of the myth where Achilles was hobbled by an intense erection.
The buffet line moved quickly, and Gary ate fast while standing up. He was too excited to really dig in, but he forced down eggs, toast, and two sausages. He could feel it all playing with the butterflies in his stomach and refusing to digest. As he dropped the paper plate in a trash can, he fingered the granola bar in his pocket, knowing it would be his lunch and hoping it would be enough. He drank the coffee and then some water from a plastic hiking bottle he had bought for this event, refilling the bottle from a nearby cooler. By then, the food had begun to settle, pressed down by his butterflies instead of bouncing on top of them.
As the last participants arrived, Gary noted another detail that was different today. The new outfits also included a dizzying array of devious props and implements. Most of the women wore one or two sets of manacles on their belts; others bore coils of rope, usually the shibari grade, flaxen-colored jute that experienced bottoms learn to recognize by feel. Many carried crops or floggers or paddles or even short whips. All these weapons were being swung and demonstrated to other Dommes, cutting the air and twirling in delicate hands.
And that was just the gear they wore on their person. They hauled large duffels out of their tents or wheeled suitcases from their cars. From these bags, they extracted a further arsenal that was even more devilish and exotic. Harnesses and muzzles and cuffs and chains. Gary saw saddles and bridles. He saw puppy paw mitts and pig snouts. He saw gags shaped like balls or phalluses or dog bones or pears, and absolutely every imaginable type of blindfold. He saw dildos and plugs, a full spectrum of insertables in shapes that sometimes defied logic and sizes that often defied sanity. All of this gave him sparkling involuntary shivers that made it difficult to hold a coherent thought as each new device captured his eye.
Just as the men had changed in mood, so too had the Dominas. Some were even louder today, more boisterous, more preening, while those at the other end of the spectrum were more aloof, more austere, more reserved. They all stood taller, and their hands were more eager to reach out and grasp at passing men. Their laughter had a steely ring of greedy cunning and jealous thirst, and yet they also seemed to be laughing inside at some shared secret joke. If last night they were Queens, this morning each had become an Empress. By tomorrow, Gary chuckled, they shall all have been deified. He’d gladly offer himself as a supplicant at any such ascendance.
As the hour drew near, Mary climbed onto a table and signaled for attention. Over white leather boots and a lacy white summer dress, she wore a long red velvet coat, collared and lined with white fur and detailed with gold accents, like a Halloween costume labeled “Sexy Henry VIII.” Atop her head sat a tall, golden plastic toy crown encrusted with plastic gemstones. The crowd quieted, and she began to speak.
“Good morning, everyone. I hope you are all very excited for today. I know that I am. Before we begin, I want to go over the rules one last time. Rule number one: Stay in the forest, or as we call it, the Queen’s Wood.” She gestured to her crown with a halfhearted flourish and that got an assortment of laughter, cheers, and applause from the crowd. “The stone wall that borders the property represents what is in bounds. If you cross that boundary, you will be immediately disqualified and asked to leave.” Her emphasis on “asked to leave” signaled it would be the recurring chorus of this particular anthem.
She continued, “Anyone asked to leave will not be let back in. There will be no warnings, my lovelies, so please do follow the rules. Moreover, we don’t want people playing even near the wall, so if you’re close enough to see the wall you’re too close. Move back into the forest. The wood is more than big enough for all your naughty little needs. Rule number two: Protective goggles must be worn by all participants at all times in the woods. That is non-negotiable. Rule three: Similarly, while in the woods, shoes must be worn at all times. No excuses. Anyone caught in the woods without goggles or shoes will be… asked to leave.”
At various points during her address, reactions would bloom and fade in the crowd, a laugh or cheer, or a theatrical boo or scoff. As with the posted signs, this speech was largely unnecessary. The attendees had been so thoroughly prepared that most could have given it from memory.
“Rule four: If you are hit three times, mind you serious hits not some splash of paint or the like, but if you are hit three times, then you are captured. You need to stop where you are and get down on your knees. If you’re hit once or twice and get away, that count resets, and you need to be shot three more times to be taken. We’re on the honor system with this. If there’s some question about whether or not a hit was your third, we will be generous, but willful disobedience on this point will also result in you being, say it with me…”
“Asked to leave!” the entire field replied in unison, and Mary flashed a Cheshire Cat grin before she resumed.
“Now for the good bit. Rule five: As a captive, you are completely under the control of the woman who shot you. You must do what she says until you are released. Anyone who does not obey will be asked to leave. Rule six: Every huntress has been given access to your prior consent authorizations, so they know what your interests and limits are. They must follow those limits. Any woman who is found to be abusing those limits will be asked to leave. Rule seven: The event safeword is ‘RED.’ At any point you may say ‘red,’ and you will be released from captivity. However, once you do, your time here will be over, and you will be asked to leave. If you are gagged, you shake your head and say, ‘No, no, no.’” Mary quickly demonstrated the gesture which would leave little question about the intent of the captive.
“Any woman who doesn’t abide by this will be immediately suspended from the event and asked to leave. If you say ‘red’ because that woman is not following your prior consent form, bring the matter to me or Mistress Carmen, and we will decide who is at fault. We will not tolerate women trying to skirt the edges of prior consent, or boys who think they can use the safeword to manipulate the rules. You are all experienced players; you know what safe, sane, and consensual play looks like, even in this game of consensual non-consent. You all know what we are trying to achieve. Do not play dumb or try to be clever. We will be understanding in our judgements, but if we find you are not staying within the spirit of these rules, you will be, one last time everyone…”
Again, in unison they cheered, “Asked to leave!”
“And just so there’s no confusion, when I say, ‘asked to leave,’ I mean more than asked. Anyone asked to leave who gets cheeky or fails to comply immediately will be forcibly ejected from the estate. We have a lot of burly young boys here that are eager to curry favor with the ladies. I would hate to see them get truly non-consensually physical with you as they non-consensually heave you into the road.” This met with another bit of laughter and a round of polite applause.
“We will hunt until 5:00 PM, at which point I will blow the horn, and the gauntlet will run for one hour to determine the winners among the boys. Boys who place highly will be given bargaining chips that can be traded for play with the women. Ladies, any chips or Get Out of Jail Free cards you collect can be included in the count. After the gauntlet, we will begin the count of all captives to determine the ladies’ scores for the day. Then we will serve dinner. At sundown, roughly 8:00, each Domina is allowed to select one of her captives, which she will keep for the night as her personal slave. All other captives will be released, at which time they will be free to engage with any Domina who will play with them. At 10:00, we will count any chips the ladies have bartered for, add them to the final tally, and announce the winners for the day. Chips not counted today can be used in the count tomorrow.”
“Boys who don’t put up a good fight will be placed in the stockade, or used as target practice, whichever they like least. Boys who just give up will simply be put in the stockade and ignored. If you don’t like that, use your card to get back in the hunt. We want a real chase here, so provide us one, and you will be rewarded with attention. Deny us, and you will experience boredom. If that’s a problem for you, the road awaits, and you are cordially invited to use it.”
Gary knew all these rules and had been obsessing over them for months, but hearing them said aloud had a powerful effect on him. The butterflies in his stomach were growing. They were starting to feel like large birds. His toes tingled. His mind raced. He felt the hungry gaze of the women sweeping over the field of men. He saw their wolfish eyes.
He felt mildly dizzy, as though he might swoon. Yet some part of him still couldn’t believe it was happening, having been conditioned by a lifetime of disappointments.
What if no one wants you? What if no one even aims at you?
He tensed up, trying to will back the wave of defeatism. He whispered, “If no one aims at me, I will win the prize, and the prize is worth it.”
But how can you be sure? You were sure about Erika, and you still don’t know why she stopped wanting you.
His spine tightened as if this thought were a knife in his back. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his hands into fists. His fingernails gouged into his palms as he tried to turn his thoughts to anything but that burning unanswered question. Then he heard the applause begin to die, and his interest in what was to come smothered his seizure of self-doubt.
Mary cleared her throat and pointed to a cart that Carmen’s boys were wheeling out of the barn, covered by a tarp. Mary said, “Very well then, here comes the fun.”
Carmen yanked back the tarp with a dignified flourish. Beneath it were 20 competition grade paintball guns, their polished black barrels glossy in the early sun. All the ladies gave an eager cheer, but the men were far less boisterous. Some made nervous laughs or breathy shouts.
A shiver ran through Gary. His throat was suddenly dry and rasping.
“There will be a refresher on gun safety for the ladies, and then we will begin in 30 minutes.” Mary pointed to a freshly deployed basket of plastic safety goggles, “Boys, get your goggles and make your final preparations.”
Agatha shouted from the crowd, “Aye, lads, be sure you fill out your wills!”
This got a huge laugh from everyone. Gary laughed too while cringing at her need for attention.
“Quite right,” Mary agreed, “Okay, boys, see you in one half hour.”
Mary climbed down and led the women to the cart. The men began to mill and chatter. They picked up the safety glasses and put them on, tightening or loosening the elastic straps to taste. Their nervous anticipation had reached critical mass, and it was nearly impossible for any of them to focus on much beyond the activity to come. Their conversations grew sputtering and incoherent as the available clock cycles inside their skulls fell to near zero. They milled around the village and the picnic tables. They stretched like runners before a track meet. They looked endlessly at watches and checked their shoelaces for the umpteenth time.
Gary just paced aimlessly, mumbling vague hellos to anyone who came close. He felt like time wasn’t passing at all, but then the gathering of women broke up and the whole field began to hum with a new sense of excitement. The shiny black weapons each woman now cradled further amplified the electric charge in the atmosphere to levels that were nigh unbearable.
Gary caught sight of a leather peaked cap on one of the women, he couldn’t tell whom. He felt a sharp twist in his stomach as the hat triggered memories of Erika, and he had to look away. Before he met Erika, he hadn’t even liked those ugly hats. It was the stereotypical depiction of leather subculture. It was just too on the nose, and weren’t they a gay thing anyway? Why would a Domme want that? Then he saw Erika wearing one, stepping on stage at a Hollywood fetish club, preparing to flog a busty demo bottom. She had passed close to Gary, and the angular crown had swept across his vision and changed his life, like a curtain falling to close one act of a play and then opening to reveal the next. The hat was so commanding, so brazenly fascistic in its seizure of power, he had trembled with want for her.
No longer able to hold these thoughts at bay, the movie of their marriage played through his mind in hyper fast forward, pulsing painfully as it blipped past their battles and casualties, lingering on all the times when he had failed her. When she stopped being his Mistress, he didn’t take it well. He became depressed and surly, and only later did he realize how this had further isolated them. He saw that his myopic petulance was making everything worse, but by then it was simply too late. The more fully he committed to fixing things, the more he felt the weight of his need stressing their bond to the breaking point. He didn’t even know what was broken, so how could he fix it?
He was seized by a sudden urge to turn toward the farmhouse and ask for a ride back into town. But then the women began to move past him toward the starting line, like a tide sweeping out to sea. It washed away his doubts, if only for a moment. He let his excitement fill him completely, pushing out everything else. Then he let the flow of the crowd carry him, driving him away from his sadness. There was no time left for that. It was time to start.
Gary’s gaze turned again to the forest, the vines and branches like tentacles and claws, ready to feed shivering prey deep into the maw of that shadowy wooded darkness. The leaves on the thinner branches seemed to wave at him, executing the regal elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist gesture of the departed Queen herself.
He pulled the goggles over his eyes and tightened the strap.
Still want More Captive Weekend? Here’s a link to a page with everything about the book. All promos, samples and images, there’s even one or two secret exclusives. Enjoy!
Dein Fuss,Socken,Stiefel und Lederballerinas sklave wäre ich gerne