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I See a Red Door

By: sublocked



She paced slowly, methodically, back and forth like a tigress behind bars in a too-small cage. She smoked, and he hated that, but it looked right at the moment, the smoke curling from her ruby lips, sifting through her raven black hair, like flour through a sieve. She loved black it seemed, as he had seen her in nothing else. The outer garments were not present right now though, and she strutted in her black leather corset within which her breasts resisted with their every ounce of incredible being. Her high heels forced her hips forward with every step and she hummed a vaguely familiar but indiscernible song.

He watched her breathlessly as best he could, the white of her thighs between the corset and the stockings, the incredibly long silver ear-rings trimmed with black, the black eye shadow against her white face. Probably Goth at one time, he thought, but her age now, combined with the simplicity of her clothing and make-up choices, simply made her appear stunning, with sharp menacing edges, and erotic, sensual curves and shadows.

She had read him from the start. When they met at the Art Charity Function, they had both been observing a local artist's splash of colors on a canvas named "Bouquet". The colors were intense and varied, bleak-blues, ruby-reds, grass-greens.

"I don't like it," she said rather suddenly, without taking her eyes off the painting. Her breath of mint wafted his way and had an earthy tobacco edge.

Although his tux seemed to hold him rigid, he turned enough to look at her and said, "I like the colors."

She moved her eyes, but not her head, toward his gaze and flicked her observation of him from knees to head with precise and expert nonchalance. Her lithe and aristocratic body was swathed and hugged by a clingy black dress, the classic "little black dress" that fashion magazines say never goes out of style. She stood in apparent comfort in six-inch black stilettos, her skin was white at her cleavage where his eyes rested now. She was ivory and ebony and stunning.

"Are you gay?" she said suddenly, "This artist is. Too much color."

Odd thing to say, equating gayness with color. He had not taken his eyes off her, could not. "How else do you paint flowers?" he said.

"Just don't paint flowers. I like black." Then her head turned toward him and she asked again, "Are you gay then? I assume you are because you didn't answer."

He couldn't help it. He blushed and responded, "I am not gay; I'm straight, maybe a bit crooked, but not gay. I'm sexual." Why the hell did he say that, he wondered? The blush stayed with him and he wavered in eye contact. That was when she read him. She smiled.

"I see. Interesting response. You should get me a drink, a glass of wine, an oaky Chardonnay perhaps. My name is Alena." And she reached out her long arm toward him.

He wasn't sure what she wanted to do, but he took her hand and instinctively put it to his lips, and he bowed at the hip. Again, he felt silly, and he jerked his hand away while saying, "My name's Neil, Neil Webber."

She giggled slightly then and said, "Well Neil, I need a smoke desperately. Get me a glass of wine and bring it to the outside mezzanine just over there. I'll be there with all my friends." She didn't say please.

Neil strode away with as much confidence as he could muster, stiff in his penguin suit, wanting desperately to be alone with her, not with "all of her friends". With a glass of Chardonnay in one hand and a Shiraz in the other he walked over to where she had pointed and momentarily became confused, as there appeared to be no door to the outside, and when he looked outside to the deck there was no one there. Then he spotted the glass door and ventured out, expecting to be disappointed. She would not be there; she would have attached herself to someone else more interesting already and forgotten him. His insecurity always reared its ugly head when he met a fox.

The evening was cool, but not unpleasant, and the sun had been gone for an hour. Even if she was not there, it was good to get away from the stuffiness of the function. Besides, he now had two glasses of wine, and that couldn't be a bad thing. Then he smelled smoke and saw her at the far west corner of the deck, leaning on the rail, staring at the faint outline of the mountains. She was alone. He paused in momentary fear.

"Alena, there you are. Where are your friends?" He said as he brought her the wine.

She accepted the wine and laughed, "That was just a sarcastic euphemism for the fact that I'm here alone. How about you?"

"Same," he said, sipping his wine, "I hate these things really, but it's for a good cause I guess." Neil stared west as well, as the moon was beginning to illuminate the snowy, high altitude slopes. He smelled her perfume now. No, it wasn't perfume; it was...what was it? She turned to him then and he heard a distinct creak of, what was it? Then it hit him; she was wearing leather somewhere, thick leather. That was the smell, as he put it all together.

"So, what do you do Neil?"

He stared at her face, white in the night, intriguing and a bit frightening...an enigma of sorts. "I...I...I'm a geologist," he stammered, "I find oil and gas. You know, I'm one of the bad guys polluting the earth." Jesus, he was having a hard time remaining dignified.

She smiled at him and tilted her head, suggesting she was smiling at his periodic bashfulness and finding it cute and endearing. "So, you're sexual, you say. I'm looking for someone tonight. I think you are it. You're kinky and submissive aren't you?" 

Without thinking, Neil raised his glass and took two gulps of wine, not sips, full gulps. How did this woman cause him to betray himself so easily?

He was now in full verbal retreat, "Jesus, you are direct aren't you? I, yes, well, no, not...shit! Listen, this doesn't feel right. I should go inside."

She grabbed him by the arm then and pulled him towards her, "Put your arms around me and say this doesn't feel right."

His hand timidly touched her tiny waist and then he embraced her. He felt the corset now, and her musk wafted over him. They kissed. They drank more than one glass of wine. They talked. He shared his deepest secrets with her. She shared none with him. She had no secrets; she wore hers like clothes for all to see all the time.

So here he was now, at her home, and he had allowed her certain, umm, discretions. When she paced too far to the left or the right, he had to give up staring at her. He was restrained. That was putting it mildly. He was strapped face-down to what could partly be described as a medical operating table, but the end where his feet were held was splayed outward and downward into a "Y" shape exposing him shamefully. His head was hanging over the other end of the table, and he was getting tired of holding it up to follow her beauty. He was helpless and he allowed his head to slump.

He had allowed her to completely dominate him from the moment they entered her home. He didn't know why; he just did. She was good. She was very, very good, and he did whatever she said. The sting of her crop reinforced her demands. The most embarrassing part of this whole scene was that she dressed him in a bra and panties, with a garter belt and stockings. She had painted his face and called him her whore. And he allowed it. Now, with the last click of the lock he was officially helpless. And it was too late to be manly. 

Alena slowed her pace in front of him. "Look at me, "she commanded. She laughed now, a deliberate humiliating laugh. "So you say you aren't gay, huh? You're lying there helpless with women's clothes on and make-up. So, you must be gay, or maybe you're a woman. Are you gay, huh?" And she snapped the crop on the back of his legs, just below his buttocks. The question required an answer.

"Ow! No I am not gay."

"I see. Okay, that only leaves one alternative then, doesn't it? You're a woman, and you do look it, don't you? I'm going to use you like a woman now. Say goodbye to your manhood, my little pick-up."

Alarmed now, really for the first time, Neil said, "Wait a minute Alena; I don't like the sound of that. What are you going to do?"

She was out of his sight now, and she didn't answer, at least not right away. He heard "clinks" and rustlings behind him for a few minutes and then she reappeared.

He started squirming in futility and yelling, "No! No way. That's NOT going to happen. Alena, no!"

"What? A girl that doesn't want to be fucked? You poor thing! Let me show you what you've been missing then." And she strode behind him while lubricating the strap-on.

He yelled then, angry, shamed. He was being raped, and he had allowed it to happen. "I won't let you do this; I just won't," he screamed, "Stop it! No, oh no, Jesus...stop!"

And she did. Stop, that is. Then he heard more rustling in the background, and he was relieved that she was removing the strap-on. Without warning her hand reached around from behind and pinched his nose so that his mouth stayed open to breathe. The penis shaped gag was pushed in to the back of his mouth immediately and locked in place with a strap around the back of his head.

She came around in front of him then, grabbed his hair and pulled his head up so that she stared into his muted face, "Now you will be sucking cock while I fuck you." And she disappeared again.

He tried to protest but now it was without voice and without hope. All he could muster were deep guttural grunts, as he tried to resist the pressure of the dildo on his anal muscles. She was relentless, and without a hint or prediction of release, the shaft plunged deeply into him and she stopped, allowing him to treasure the sensation of the invasion.

She knew he would like it. They all did. Once the initial pain was over, they all succumbed to pleasure. She loved that feeling, that feeling of total dominance. The return pressure of the strap-on made her wet and anxious to continue, but she waited, gloating in her power.

He waited; the shock now over, and he felt a fullness, one he had never felt before, as he lay there helpless and taken. Then she started, slowly at first, building in rhythm and intensity. She started to moan in delight. With panic he started to realize that the pounding and rubbing on his prostate was causing him pleasure as well. He was aroused again and he couldn't help himself. This could not be happening, he thought. But it was.

She came multiple times and groaned and screamed while he tried to respond within his trussed state. Then she collapsed on his back and reached down for his cock and worked it while she worked the strap-on. She went slowly. She had things to say.

"You like the cock in your mouth don't you sweetie? This feels good doesn't it girlie? Do you want to cum now? Like a girl? Hmm? Ah, yes, you like it. You can't resist me you know. Your life is about to change. Your whole perception of sex is about to change baby."

He wanted to cum so badly, but in order to do so, it was in combination with being sodomized and sucking a penis shaped dildo. The conflict was complex and frightening. If he could have talked he would have said, "No, please, no, yes, oh yes, noo, oh God!"

He came with an intensity he had never felt before. It was like an intense buildup followed by a release of tension, in turn followed by a rush of euphoria screaming from his inside outward.

Then the guilt. He was crying. He was not gay, but he had been taken, dressed like a woman, like his perception of a gay man.

Alena smiled in triumph as she slipped the dildo out of him. "Ah, now that was good. I'm going to go get some more wine sweetie. Don't go away. Oh, and here's a book mark, so I don't forget where I left off." And she shoved a very large butt plug into him while his head shot up in shock. His sphincter held it firm.

She walked away singing her favorite Stones song, "I see a red door and I want it painted black, No colors anymore I want them to turn black..."

He laid there silently sucking the gag, tear tracks on his cheeks, immobile by design and waited for her to take him again. He moaned as he realized he was looking forward to it. 

She was right. This changed everything.

I See a Red Door Ch. 02



She was insatiable, and he was getting sore, both from being penetrated and from being massaged to orgasm, but he was unable to complain. Neil had become accustomed to the penis gag filling his mouth as it had for the past two hours. Yes, he still tried to scream when he came, but the resulting muted groans and grunts seemed adequate and normal to him now. His head hung over the edge of the table, unable to be held up any longer, much like his penis.

Finally, Alena sagged on his back, manipulating with futility his spent organ. Tonight was over. The fun was gone if she couldn't "force" him to cum in such a state of humiliation. But she still felt the power. It was non-sexual at the moment, but this was a woman who was always on the edge of sexual, never merely quiet or business-like. There was a heat to her that smoldered at the least of times, blazed at the best of times.

She thrust the strap-on dildo into him a few more times, listening to him grunt, and then she raised herself off of his back and withdrew quickly, resulting in another grunt from her male sex object, as he felt the pain of emptiness. She was sweating and she padded to the front of the table on which he was strapped and absently pushed her wet hair behind her ears. The dildo of the strap-on was inches from Neil's nose as she unlocked his gag and let it fall from his mouth to the floor.

For him it was an awkward moment, as he exercised his jaw to bring it back to the ability to talk once again. Minutes passed. The smell of the dildo was overpowering.

"Are you done with me?" he asked, rather sheepishly, a last shot at the "you-took-me-without-my-consent" defense.

She stared at him and then reached forward and lifted his head by the hair, putting his mouth a mere inch away from the dildo. He tried to turn away but she held him fast.

"Do you realize what I could make you do right now?" she said, "Open your mouth."

"Please Alena. No, I can't do that; I just can't. Please, I'm tired...used up I guess. My arms...they're asleep."

While he complained she reached down and retrieved the gag. "I see," she said.

"Can you...mmff?" he managed to say as he was re-fitted with the gag. He had intended to ask her to untie him.

"I will release you once you have been taught that you do not have the ability to disobey me," she said sternly, "I want to see you again. I like you." She swatted him on the back with her flogger.

She retreated out of his sight behind him as she continued, "You are going to remember me...and come back to me for more. You are easy to read. And now I am going to put some printing on your ass that you will be able to read. Every time you sit down, you will think of me. You will hate me; you will want me; you will hate yourself; you will want me."

She started slowly and lightly, Neil unable to move a muscle to resist. Eventually she was swinging the flogger with every ounce of her strength, his gluteus becoming tenderized as if for cooking. Neil initially tried to scream with every hit, but he eventually sagged into a silent state of acceptance. The endorphins had kicked in and he found himself in sub-space, a condition he had read about at one time, but could not at that time understand. She continued unabated and the red welts on his ass rose up to meet the next assault until they rose up no more, split in two by the hit, a mash of blood and fat, and perhaps muscle. He broke at this point and wept, his tears dropping in torrents to where his gag had laid only moments before.

She stopped then, tired and satisfied, not because she had drawn blood, although that was part of it. She smiled at his condition. He was hard again. Beaten to a pulp, and he was hard again. Hard.

"Well," she teased, "you, girlie, are a born masochist, aren't you baby? Let's imprint this condition a bit then too, shall we?" And she took him in her hands and brought him to orgasm one more time while he heaved with grief and ecstasy.

"I want you to clean up your mess before you leave," she instructed, "There's a sink over there. I want this floor immaculate. Is that clear?"

Neil had his eyes closed, squeezing the tears out, and he moved his head in affirmation.

"Good," she said, "Now I am going to release you and you may go until I need you again." Slowly and methodically she undid the buckles and straps that held him firm, lower body first. She had worked her way up to his shoulders when she stopped and locked a tight-linked chain, with links about a quarter inch in length around his neck. There was a long loose end to the chain with an unknown purpose dangling menacingly to the floor. The release of his restraints continued. Finally she told him to stand up and he did so, somewhat unsteadily, his buttocks pulling with agony at the broken flesh, his mouth still gagged, and as he fought for consciousness the loose end of the chain was wrapped around behind his testicles and penis and locked in place. His neck was now bound to his genitals, and with every movement of his head he felt the tug between his legs. She removed the gag but he was still speechless.

He stood there wobbling in place while Alena put a house-coat on at the far side of the room. The erotic was immediately replaced by the elegance and femininity. She walked to him with not a menacing smile this time, but a warm "I-like-you" smile. Her arms wrapped around him now, like a blanket in a cold room, and she cooed in his ear, "It's okay baby; it's okay. Go ahead and cry; it's okay."

He did. His shoulders heaved and she rubbed his back and said sweet nothings until he stopped, his arms squeezing her.

"Bend over the table and I'll put something on your wounds before you get dressed," she whispered. She pampered him then, washed him, bandaged him, gave him some pain pills and continued the sweet nothings. He could not speak. All he could do was "receive" from this woman; he could not give.

Neil got dressed and cleaned his mess, feeling utterly used up. A fantasy is much different after orgasm that before it. This was not an equal relationship, and he could never do this again, not with her, not with anyone.

She drove him home and dropped him off, kissing him sweetly on the cheek, saying, "I'll take you again next weekend sweetie."

His first words in a long while, "No, no, I don't think so. Sorry, I can't do this." And he walked into the condo lobby and pressed the up arrow. 

Alena watched him until he stepped onto the elevator. When he disappeared, she smiled, put the car in Drive and went home with a comfort born of sated hunger and the knowledge she would be sated again, like a tiger with a hidden carcass.

It wasn't until he went to bed and removed his clothes that he remembered the chain. It was durable and not readily removable. Just before he drifted off in exhaustion, he made a mental note to get some bolt cutters tomorrow and try to remove it.

The pain killer wore off before morning and he got up to pace. When he tired of walking he tried to sit down but was unable to do so. He couldn't stop trying to figure out what had really happened to him strapped on that table. This was more than physical; he couldn't stop picturing her in her corset, the wonder of the sub-space he had endured at her hand, the orgasm after sweeping orgasm.

In the morning the pain seemed worse so he removed the dressings and showered, gingerly patting the wounds and staring at them in disbelief later in the mirror. How could she have done this to him? Why did she do this to him? Did she really expect him to obey her every whim, especially that particular whim? And most of all, why was he not angry? Shame was more like it, a deep regret for being what he was. But he had a need for...what? A need for being. What he was. A disconnect here, he thought, but gravity was pulling it all together.

Oh yes, the chain, he thought, I have to cut the chain. 

The hardware store had a suite of bolt cutters to choose from so he bought one that the sales guy said would cut a chain the size that he described. At home once again, he now stood in front of his bathroom mirror and tried to position the cutter in a place that would free the most of the restraint. He chose the noose around his genitals and put one link in the cutter vice and tried to cut it. The problem was that he couldn't get the required leverage. A second person could do it easily, but as much as he tried, he could not. Not to mention the possibility of seriously damaging the twins. He gave up in despair and spent the rest of the day lying on his stomach on the bed and researching subjects on the Web related to his ordeal the previous night.

Breaking away from that, he briefly contemplated phoning Alena and pleading with her to unlock him from the chain. With horror, he realized he didn't have her phone number, and he only vaguely remembered where she lived; the alcohol dulled him going in, and the pain killers had dulled him going out. It was on the west side; that's all he knew.

Monday arrived. He made sure he wore a dark shirt and tie so the chain wasn't visible. His balls hurt, his neck was chafing and he stood all day at his desk. The office was puzzled. And she didn't phone. She had said next weekend. Shit.

He declined going to work out with his peers at noon, for obvious reasons, pleading laziness. At 3:00 he pleaded sickness and went home to replace the salve and dressings on his rear end. Alena. Jesus, what the hell was he going to do?

By 9:00 he was completely bored and went to bed, stripped to the nude and stood in front of his mirror once again, contemplating his predicament. The soreness had become intolerable at his groin, so he decided to try hand cream to lubricate the chain around his scrotum. One thing led to another and he found himself standing there masturbating fiercely, the smell of her, the look of her, the feel of her, oh god, the feel of her, the feel of the dildo, rubbing, the fullness, rubbing, oh god. His free hand reached back and he inserted a finger as far as he could and he exploded while thinking of her in her corset and heels. He fell to his knees and said, "Oh no, God, oh no, Jesus, no." In desperation he pulled on the chain but it held fast.

By Wednesday, the open wounds had healed quite well and he could sit down, albeit with a certain delicacy more typically associated with a woman of dignity. But he could sit. He had told the office he had to take the week off. All he could think about was her. She consumed him. What if she didn't phone? What if she did phone? Who was he kidding? He had to see her. But he couldn't see her; he had to stop this. He had to stop.

"I have something for you."

She hadn't said hello. He had just picked up the phone on Thursday evening and that was all she said as an introduction.

"Who is this?" he asked (why, he had no idea).

"Guess what color it is," she said.

He gave up the charade, "Black?"

"Ooo, you're learning sweetie. You're learning. Yes, it's black. And it's for you. Actually, I have several black things for you. Want to know what they are?"

"No."

"Oh yes you do. You know you do. Ask me," she commanded.

He sighed heavily, but his heart was pounding as he said, "Okay, what are they?"

"A corset for you, a very severe one, and a leather discipline helmet. I have a reservation at the Oceana Restaurant for tomorrow night at 6:30. I'll see you there, okay?"

"Look," he said in exasperation, "I need to be released from this chain. Will you have the keys?"

She laughed, "What? That chain bothering you is it? It's nothing compared to what's in store for you baby. After this weekend, I won't need the physical chain. There's a chain much stronger than that, you know."

"Alena, please. What are you talking about?"

"Just be there. Oh, and don't plan to go home this weekend." Click.

He heard the click but, just like in the movies, he called out her name, "Alena. Alena? Shit!" And he hung up the phone.

He paced a bit, and then put on an old CD that he hadn't played in awhile and calmed down with a glass of Shiraz. The deliberate "garage band" music of the Stones filled the room. God it had been a long time since he listened to them. They were indeed way ahead of their time, such raunchy music.

He reached under his shirt and pulled at his chain. The simplicity and enormity of its bondage washed over him. Okay, he said to himself, one more time. Then I can be free.



I See a Red Door Ch. 03



Neil walked to the restaurant, west on the Bow River pathway. The autumn evening was clear, clean, and cool, and the aspen and poplars were beginning to turn to golden hues. It wasn't far, and he wondered if she knew that. Had she asked him his address? Had he told her? The last weekend's meeting was a blur, a distant happening and he, at times, had wondered if he had just dreamed it. He had done some reading on BDSM since then, and he realized that he had been treated very badly, but had been lucky in that the wounds healed well. If this ever happened to him again, he would seek medical help to make sure that everything healed. No, he thought, he would demand a "safe word" so that this would never happen again. Not with anyone, especially Alena. Alena, such a sweet and gentle name, such a dominant, reckless, and evil woman. He would end it tonight. The chain would come off, and he would be free.

His thoughts raced through him as he walked, the emerald green of the mountain river running in the opposite direction. He wore black pants and a black shirt, and even a black tie tonight. He had never been so bland or bold, depending on one's viewpoint, in his life. As he thought about this, he suddenly stopped walking and said out loud, "Oh my God!"

It was her! He was wearing black. This was her doing. He started walking once again, the restaurant in sight, wondering what was happening to him. He had to get her to unlock the chain, but he suspected he was going to have to pay a price, and the thought of that excited him. God damn it, he thought; this was not healthy; this had to end.

He stood at the dais at the entrance to the restaurant, struggling to get used to the contrast of the darkness of the depths of the vast room with the light of the row of window tables to his right. The room was pleasurably divided into nooks and crannies where all patrons could achieve the feeling of privacy and intimacy. Before the hostess arrived, he spotted Alena in the far west corner at the window, staring dreamily out over the river, a glass of white wine in front of her. He walked towards her, noting once again her exquisiteness, such an absolute stunning creature.

She saw him and smiled, standing up and coming to him, embracing in the middle of the room. There was that smell of her again and his breath left him momentarily, the smell of perfume and leather, the essence of her, the look of her, dressed in black of course. In fact she looked identical to the first time he met her, the little black dress, black hose, black stilettos. Black on porcelain skin, a contrast like shadows on a moonscape, distinct and sharp, cold and hot, sudden edges, beautiful and dangerous. He felt her corset at her waist once again and his heart raced as she thrust into him, kissing his cheek and whispering, "Your outfit pleases me."

Despite his intentions tonight, Neil kissed her cheek and whispered, "I thought it might."

They sat down in awkward silence for a few moments and to avoid eye contact, he stared around the room; it was empty but for them, as it was much too early for the normal evening diners. He brought his eyes back and they locked with hers. God, even her eyes were black on white, he thought, so intense, so powerful.

"Oh God," he said out loud.

"It's Goddess," she replied, as she laughed. He blushed and laughed as well, and the clumsiness faded.

They continued to stare at each other with complete comfort then, but were interrupted by a young server who asked if they would like to have a drink before dinner.

Without consultation, Alena said, "We'll have the Fess Parker Chardonnay please."

The server seemed surprised at her quickness and glanced furtively back and forth between the two of them and then said, "Yes Ma'am." And she swished away.

The awkwardness returned.

Neil began, "So, I don't really know that much about you, you know. What do you do?"

Alena's eyes flashed; he was sure they flashed, "I play with men, sometimes women."

"That's it? That's all you do? Like toys?" he asked, enjoying the sexual play on words.

She cast her eyes playfully upward and responded, "Yes, I guess so...like toys. I play with them until I break them."

"Really. And then what do you do with them?"

She blinked and pulled her head back as if in astonishment that he didn't know the answer, "Then I throw them away and get new ones. Or I keep them in special places for nostalgia purposes."

Neil looked at her in amazement and not a small amount of fear, "I see," he said, "You're a sick woman, you know that?"

Smiling and leaning forward, she responded, "I used to think I was sick at one time. That was killing me. Now I go with it. I'm a psychopath; I don't care anymore. I just need victims. Like you."

Neil was completely mesmerized, afraid, but attracted, completely aroused, his face flushing hot.

"Look," he started, "I don't think..."

She reached out and took his hand gently and smiled saying softly, "Shh, I understand baby. Don't be afraid. Here's to a nice evening." And she lifted her glass to him, forgetting he had nothing to drink as yet.

God she was beautiful, he thought. She had him like a hand on a yo-yo, push away, pull back.

There were a few moments more of silence and then he asked once again, "Seriously, what do you do?"

"Let's just say that I'm independently wealthy, and just leave it at that, okay?"

"Okay, fine then," and he paused before he asked, "Would you please get me out of this chain tonight? It's driving me crazy."

"Bolt cutters didn't work, huh?" she replied with a wink.

"I, umm, how did you...?" Her giggle stopped him from asking the obvious, "Seriously, I need to get out of this."

"Oh Neil baby... so naïve," she said, shaking her head slowly from side to side, "THAT chain is not the problem. There is a time for removal, and it's not now. I don't have the key anyway; it's on your table."

"My table?"

"Surely you remember the table that I took your virginity on. You won't ever forget that, will you? You were so sweet and helpless." She saw the approach of the server and said slightly louder, "And you're going to look so sweet in your corset too."

The server was unwrapping the shrink cap to the wine and she looked at Alena, puzzled, and then at him as if comprehension of the situation dawned on her, and smiled, "Going to make an evening of it are you tonight? Who wants to taste the wine?"

Alena held out her glass and the server said, "I thought so," as she glanced at Neil.

He was speechless, his face red as the heavy curtains at the edge of the window. He put his hands to his temples as if he had a headache and waited for the wine to be poured. When it was and the server had left, they clinked glasses and Alena said, "To a great weekend...and a very good and understanding server," as she glanced toward the kitchen.

He did not respond verbally in kind, but he still clinked her glass and drank the wine. Clearly he was going to need a lot of wine tonight, he thought.

After the appetizers were ordered, Alena brought a bag out from under the table. "Here's your corset. Go put it on in the washroom sweetie. Just pull it through under the chain and then fasten the front busk. It's back-lacing, so tighten it as best you can. I'll tight-lace you later." She handed him the bag.

"You ARE nuts, aren't you? First of all, why the hell do you always want me dressed in women's clothes, second of all, why here?"

"Listen Neil, a person who is nuts is one who does not know he is nuts. I know who I am; obviously, you don't know who you are."

That statement hung in the air like Casablanca bar smoke in a film noire.

Neil took a gulp of wine, angered partly by her demands, and partly because he was so incredibly aroused and ashamed to be so. "Jesus," he said, and he lunged out of the chair and off to the washroom.

They were still the only ones in the restaurant, but nonetheless he checked all the stalls in the washroom to be sure he was alone. He entered the wheelchair access stall to give himself more room and pulled the corset out of the bag. It was black. It was leather. It smelled of her. Taking his shirt and tie off, he positioned the corset to slip under the chain tracing its way from his neck to his genitals. It was surprisingly smooth and supple, while the severe boning gave it strength. Fastening the busk with his untrained hands proved more difficult than he thought, but once done, he had no idea how to tighten and tie the laces at the back. He was all thumbs. By luck he found the long loose loops and pulled, feeling instantly the compression on his upper torso. Then he found the loops which tightened the lower part and pulled. It was well made, and the laces, while they pulled fairly easily to tighten, gave very little back when he fumbled and let the laces go. Over a few minutes, he had tightened it as far as he could and he wrapped the laces around to the front where he tied them off. He felt silly, but his face was stilled flushed red; he could feel the burn. And like a pervert, his shorts were moist from his leaking semen.

He relived himself, and then put his shirt and tie back on and went to the sink to wash. Nothing showed, but his face was indeed red. He splashed it with cold water, finding it difficult to bend over the sink now that he was corseted.

"Okay," he said out loud, "Here we go. Shit!"

Alena spotted him immediately as he exited the washroom and smiled, as he was not carrying a bag. She noticed his strained and stiff walk, suggesting either a back problem, or, well...a man wearing a corset, and she almost laughed out loud.

As he was about to sit down, she said, "Come here."

He stood in front of her and she felt his waist. Satisfied, she said, "I know this one is too small for you. It's mine you know...the one I wore last weekend. I'll measure you for your own tomorrow. Say thank-you to your Goddess."

Neil felt like an idiot, which was the intent, but he knew that he had to play this out, "Thank-you, umm...Goddess. Jesus!" He sat down and immediately gulped some more wine. The compression of the corset caught him by surprise and the chain clinked ever so slightly on the steel boning in the busk.

Alena caught the server's eye and attention, waving her over, "Unfortunately we smoke, so would you delay the appetizers until we get back from getting our fix?"

"Certainly Ma'am. I know the feeling; I smoke as well."

To Neil, Alena said, "Come on. Keep me company."

Once outside, she guided him into a short alley between a high-rise condominium building and the restaurant and said, "I'm going to snug up your corset. Pull your shirt up and turn toward the wall, hands high on the wall. That's it." He had complied and she began relentlessly tugging on the laces, sucking the wind out of him, finally tying him off and reaching into her purse for her cigarettes.

Neil almost felt dizzy; the corset was so tight. "Jesus, does it have to be so tight?" he said as he tucked his shirt back into his pants. And then he saw her. Their server had exited the back door of the restaurant and was having a smoke not even fifty feet away. She had seen everything and just smiled, threw her cigarette on the pavement and ground it in, turning slowly and re-entering the establishment.

"Can we go? I'm not hungry any more," he asked Alena.

Ignoring his statement she said, "She's a great server, don't you think? She has a wonderful understanding of her clientele. I think I'll give her a big tip."

Another bottle of wine had to be ordered, as he was drinking much more than he normally would, a dryness in his mouth created by the fire in his cheeks. The appetizers and entree were delicious as always. When the server came to retrieve the plates, she asked him, "You haven't finished sir; is it not satisfactory?"

"Oh, no, it's fine thank-you. I just find that I'm full, that's all."

She smiled at him and leaned conspiratorially toward him, saying, "Yes, I'm not surprised. The compression will do that won't it sir?"

Alena exploded with laughter. She was good; she was very good.

Neil, his face aflame, could not look at either of them as he said, "Yes, yes, tight. Very tight." He got up quickly and went to the washroom to settle himself. The restaurant was half full now, and he was sure the other servers were staring at him as he walked with as much dignity as possible. Inside a bathroom cubicle, he breathed as deep as he could to calm himself. Jesus, he thought, was he crazy? What the hell was wrong with him? The corset embraced him like a hug, the humiliation was unbearable...and he was aroused.

He realized now that this was not going to be simple. He was not fighting her any more; he now understood he never was; he was fighting himself. And she knew that all along.



I See a Red Door Ch. 04



Alena tipped the server well, as Neil waited at the door. He glanced back at them and they seemed to be sharing a good laugh and his cheeks burned red again as they both glanced at him with amused smiles. The corset kept him rigid, but despite the tightness, he found it erotically comfortable; prophetic of what he hoped awaited him tonight. In consideration of what happened to him last weekend, he was in a quandary as to how he was going to navigate this evening, but despite that he found himself aroused. Damn it, he thought; he had to end this.

After tonight.

A limo was parked outside the arched entry to the restaurant, black, shiny, and absurdly large and pompous. Neil wondered what kinds of people would be so rich as to keep a chauffeur driven car for personal use, when suddenly the driver exited and went straight to the back door, opening it and standing back to allow Alena to step in. She sat, smiled, and said to Neil, "Come on; don't look so stupid. Get in!"

He awkwardly said thank-you to the chauffeur and stepped in, sitting beside Alena, the girl in a leather corset sitting on a plush leather seat in a mobile living room. She scrunched up beside him and all he could feel was her; all he could smell was her; all he could sense was her. Pheromones misting from her face, she permeated his being like engulfment in fog.

"Ms Alena, where to tonight?" the chauffeur asked.

"C2 Paulie, C2."

"Yes ma'am. Is there a hurry tonight ma'am?"

"No, no hurry. Just drop us off and return to C1. I'll be in touch."

Neil stared at her in awe and disbelief. She had said that she was independently wealthy and she had meant it.

"I don't mean to pry, but what do you mean by C1 and C2?" he asked.

With nonchalance born of wealth, she responded, "I have several residences. C3 is where you were last week; C2 is where you will be this weekend. It's where I live most of the time. You're moving up baby."

Neil thought about this for a few moments as they headed west out of the downtown area and then asked, "What's the significance of the "C"?"

"C stands for Calgary. No big mystery."

She smiled and hugged him close while reaching for a cigarette out of a dispenser to the side of the seat.

Neil was thinking. This woman always kept him off balance. The key to his chain was at C3; they were going to C2. He stayed silent as the Lincoln floated over bumps in the road that mere mortal cars would have disappeared within. Alena rubbed his corset-taut belly and playfully massaged his upper thigh. Putty; he felt like putty.

There was no conversation; just a heat of lust and passion in the limo, and for Neil the added heat of fear. Finally he asked, "The key to my chain; what about that? You said it was on "my" table. That's at C3 then."

"What about it? You're correct; it's at C3."

"Well," he responded, "I've been wearing this all week, and frankly, it's annoying. Plus, it hurts. And what's at C1?"

Alena snuggled up against him then and mocked, "Aww, muffin. Little girl doesn't like the chain? Worse than the corset; is it? Poor baby. Surely you remember what real pain is, don't you baby? C1 is where I keep my broken toys or nostalgia items; that's all."

Neil was being humiliated again and he didn't like it. The burn in his face was starting to feel normal as he abruptly stated, "Look Alena; this is fun and all, but this seems just a bit over the top, don't you think? I'm not sure this evening shouldn't end. I feel a bit out of my league here. You're kinky; I'm not. Let's just let it go okay? Get the key and take me home."

Alena pulled away from him then. The smell of her swirled away, and he immediately missed it.

"Paulie?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"C3 first please."

Neil glanced at her and felt a pang of fear. She had that same look as when he refused to take that dildo into his mouth. She became silent and distant. The street lights blinked on as the sun set and they pulled up to the place that he only vaguely remembered from last week. Not entirely true actually; he had vivid memories of the inside, the table, the whip, the orgasms, the endless charting of new territory in an unknown land. He wished he had dropped bread crumbs to find his way back.

Abruptly she said, "So, you're not kinky? I could have sworn you put on a bra and garter belt last weekend and let me tie you down. I could have sworn that you had three or four orgasms while I humiliated you and fucked you from behind. Could have sworn you had a hard on after I beat the shit out of you."

She sighed and looked out the window at the city lights as they ascended the Sarcee Trail hill and then turned to him, saying, "You know what I think? I think you're afraid. You're not afraid of me exactly; you're afraid of yourself, what you really are under your vanilla surface. Afraid you might like it, aren't you? Well, I have news for you; it's too late; you do like it; you just haven't formally admitted it to yourself." Alena slumped a little bit in the seat and then said in a low voice, "Look, maybe I should take you home."

Neil listened and understood all that she was saying. It was true, every bit of it. But the last statement caught him by surprise.

"You know what I think?" he said as a retort, "I don't think you are a psychopath like you said earlier. A psychopath is a person who has a lack of empathy and remorse for antisocial behavior. I think you do care; you just need control. It doesn't have to be either/or, you know. And one more thing...I bet you have a red door, not a black one, like you want people to think." He lost his thought then and looked down at his lap and then out the opposite window, stammering, "I, umm, look...I don't want to go home."

If there was a trigger on their gun of lust, this was it. They glanced at each other and melded together, lips on lips, tongues on tongues, hands on secretive areas, rustling and thrusting at one another. It was passion neither of them had felt in a long time, and they reveled in it. Finally they noticed the car was not moving any longer and they peeked out of the fog.

"Ma'am?" came a cautious query from the front seat.

Alena was flustered for the first time in Neil's acquaintance with her and she responded with short breaths, "Yes Paulie?"

"We are at C3 ma'am."

"Oh...oh yes, umm, so we are. Wait here; I'll be right back."

She got out of the limo with a flushed, but stressed look, went to the door and disappeared inside. Neil's breathing returned to normal, but he was flushed as well, and certain parts of him remained engorged with heated blood. This woman was sexy, literate and intelligent. Suddenly he realized he wanted to be with her. Period. That epiphany burst upon him like orgasm as she returned to the car. He was glad to see her. 

She took his hand, and within it was the key to the chain, but she pulled it back, saying, "I'll set you free when the time is right. I decide."

"C2, Paulie."

"Yes ma'am."

"Now," she teased, "little girl with a corset on, you are in for an interesting weekend."

"I suspect I am. I do suspect I am, ma'am."

"It's Goddess."

"Oh, sorry...Goddess," he corrected with a comfortable smile.

"That's better my weak little man-girl," she said as she pulled his head to her breast, knowing full well that this was a man with strength, who relinquished it to her on demand. 

The musk of her was overpowering and he stayed there, sapped of strength, until the limo made its final stop.

Paulie opened the door for them and when Neil stepped out, he noted the elegance of the street, mostly ornate houses built with what appeared to be brown sandstone. Only a geologist like himself would notice that, he chuckled to himself. Between the houses and looking east, the city lights lay beneath them, like a discarded sequined gown, glittering in the moonlight. It was cold. There would be frost on the grass tomorrow.

Alena unlocked the door and typed the code for the beeping alarm. She turned to Neil and, with the return of the sultry woman in charge, she said, "Come in my dear; come in and relax; you're in for a long weekend."

The inside of the home was cavernous, at least what he could see. The front vestibule opened into an open-concept living room, dining room, and kitchen, that area alone larger than most homes. The fifteen foot ceiling capped a bank of windows looking east over a large deck and the city. The floors were a deep reddish-orange hardwood inlaid artfully with stone tiles in strategic places. He was left breathless.

Neil stood at the door in awe when she commanded, "Take off your clothes at the door."

"What? No way."

She stood at the widened area entering the living area with her hands on her hips, staring at him in silence. Neither moved. Her laser eyes melted him like wax and without even being totally aware of the action, he removed his shoes, socks, pants and shirt. Remaining was the corset and his boxer shorts. She pointed at his shorts and motioned downward. He did as she indicated.

Satisfied and smiling at his bashfulness and humility, Alena said, "Some more Fess Parker for you?" as she poured wine into two glasses. He took the glass from her and padded silently over to the sofa to sit down.

As she sat down she ordered him to stand, as he should not under any circumstances sit nude on her furniture.

"But you told me to strip,' he complained.

"That's right. I did. You will stand while I sit."

Well, this was awkward, he thought, standing semi-nude in front of a fully clothed woman who was seated. It felt very much like a mistress-slave arrangement and he was supremely dismayed that certain parts of his anatomy betrayed his enjoyment of it. His cock pulled at the chain imprisoning it. They were awkwardly staring at each other when suddenly Paulie entered the room saying, "Will that be all tonight ma'am?" He glanced, unconcerned, at Neil's corseted nudity.

"Umm, yes that should be all for tonight Paulie. No, wait. Grab Mr. Webber's clothes when you leave. Thank-you."

Neil thought nothing of it until a few moments later when he realized that Paulie had backed out of the driveway and left. He didn't stay here, he thought with panic.

"Wait. Does he have my clothes? Shit!"

"Why yes, as a matter of fact, he does. Pity. Come over here." She watched him walk to her, sipping on his wine, stopping in front of her. She was at eye level to his bobbing member and despite herself started to laugh. She recovered, partly angry at herself for spoiling the solemnity of the moment. Reaching out to him she unlocked the chain from around his genitals. He bowed and she unlocked the other end of the chain around his neck.

"You are free. You may leave if you wish. If you do not wish to leave, you are mine, and I have strange tastes."

Neil stood there silently for perhaps minutes. The Grandfather clock near the entry tick-tocked an unnerving rhythm as he tried to think. Things had changed and he was confused, very confused.

"If you choose to stay, turn around and put your hands behind your back." Alena sat back and crossed her legs, those beautiful legs, and sipped her wine, waiting.

"Oh God," he said out loud, as he turned around and gave her his hands, his heart racing. He felt the leather cuffs being fastened and locked on his wrists, and then the final click of the lock which bound his wrists together.

"It's Goddess," she said with disdain, as she slapped his black and blue bruised ass and spun him around to face her, "Say it."

He had allowed it to happen again. He was hers. He stared into her eyes with a fixed but glassy-eyed expression and said, "Yes Goddess."

"That's better. Now come with me."

She stood up and took him by the arm like the prisoner he was and led him to her chambers. It had been a "thrust and parry" type of evening and she had won. Now she was going to give him what he wasn't sure he wanted.



I See a Red Door Ch. 05



Neil, as usual, was feeling guilty about the enjoyment that this domination was creating within him and he tried feebly to resist, both physically and verbally. "Where are you taking me, and what are you going to do to me?" he asked while trying to shrug her hand off his arm.

Alena marched him out of the living room and down a curved elegant staircase to a walkout basement. Same view of the city carpet of lights, only framed with shrubs and trees of the back yard. She did not answer him.

"Nice view," he said, again trying to engage her, but he was beginning to learn that once she had a sexual mission, she was focused and intent upon receiving satisfaction from whatever kinks she desired.

"Enjoy it while it lasts deary," she finally responded, "You're not going to be seeing any more of it."

With that statement she grabbed a remote control off an ottoman and pressed a sequence of buttons. To Neil's astonishment, the entire wall opposite the city view parted and slid into receiving recesses to reveal a room like no other that he had ever seen. He had seen pictures and videos of BDSM rooms on the internet, but not one like this. There was everything imaginable in it, suspension devices, cages, barred cells, walls hung with various whips, paddles and floggers, tables similar to the one where he received his beating last week, queening chairs, plus numerous other pieces of paraphernalia that he hadn't a clue about. To his left the wall and floor was bare concrete with embedded attachment rings, a true dungeon setting, he thought; straight ahead was an area where the floor was covered with what appeared to be a layer of thick rubber matting, the ceiling a jungle of hanging chains. To his right the floor was carpeted and the area tastefully made to be a cozy bedroom with a king size bed, night tables, lamps, heavy curtains on the walls, and even a fully equipped en suite bathroom. The only incongruous items were the ubiquitous attachment sites for chains or whatever else she desired.

"Oh my God! This is unbelievable! Where did you get all this stuff? Jesus!" he exclaimed.

Alena guided him inside and pressed another button sequence on the remote to close the wall. He looked behind him and noted that the sliding wall was thickly padded, sound-proofed. She stood in front of the bed with her hands on her hips smiling like the Cheshire cat and said, "Come over here." He did so. 

"This is for you," she whispered as she reached out and placed a steel collar with numerous D-rings around his neck. Again, the click of a lock. The collar was heavy, Neil noted, but not uncomfortable, although cold.

"Turn around," she demanded.

Her efficiency in administering her confinement devices was concise. The lock was removed from his cuffs behind his back and then each wrist was locked to a D-ring on each side of his collar, so that his hands were helplessly extended behind his ears.

Admiring her work, Alena said, "There you go. Now just relax. I'm going to shower and change before I put you under."

"Under? Under what? Wait...please say you're not going to drug me," he said with alarm.

"Don't be silly. You're going under my spell and into sub-space; that's all. You are my slave." She tossed her head, laughed and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him to explore.

Considering his semi-nude state, he was glad the room was warm. He saw the remote in front of him on the bed and he leaned over trying to grasp it. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to see the buttons with his hands behind his head he gave up that idea. Turning, he tried to find the crack in the sliding wall where it came together. There was none that he could see. He kicked it, and it seemed as solid as a regular wall. Must be on rails, he thought.

His eyes explored the area now with more detail, and he focused on the large barred cell just to his right. It was similar to a regular jail cell, even with a toilet in one corner. The floor was concrete and there was no bed. Desolate and bleak, especially if one was inside staring outward at the luxury of Alena's "bedroom", he thought. His eyes focused next on the numerous chains hanging from the ceiling. Actually, he noticed after some study, they hung from pulleys which were in tandem with pulleys on the walls, motorized pulleys. Yikes, he thought, as his mouth started to go dry.

Both excited and afraid, he realized Alena had the will and the means to do anything she wanted with him this weekend. He wished he was able to pour some wine from the open bottle on the night table, but his hands were useless. He sat on the bed, listening to the shower stop in the bathroom. If he could have twiddled his thumbs, he would have. Then he became curious about a wall hung with masks and hoods. As he inspected them, he realized the masks were the realistic rubber or silicone ones, very thick, with openings for the eyes and mouth, and small holes for the nose. They were "smooth-skinned" and clearly meant to be female. They stared at him, vacant and dead.

The leather hoods had great variations in thickness, padding and severity of confinement. The most severe of them was very thickly padded, had no holes except a half-inch grommet at the mouth, and was outfitted with straps to pull the hood even tighter after the laces were tied off. The laces themselves could be covered with a zippered flap which could be locked closed, so removal by the victim was impossible. It would be severe and extreme sensory deprivation.

"That one has your name on it," Alena said as she came out of the bathroom entirely nude except for thigh-high leather stiletto boots. She wielded the all too familiar flogger.

"No way. You're not getting that thing on me."

"Really? When I want to, I will. You have no idea what you're dealing with here, do you?" She strode toward him like a tigress to a kill.

"Wait," Neil said, "Okay, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm sorry Goddess."

She struck him on the back with the flogger then, causing him to yelp. "Don't worry; I won't touch your bruised ass this weekend. Too much damage there. But there are so many other places, so many other ways, to make you cry."

She was in full fantasy mode now, he realized, and that could only mean he was to be a sex object for her delight. He had a faint hope that it might be for his delight too, but he was in no position to demand it. It would be given if she chose.

Deep in his subconscious however, he understood that this is what he wanted, anything she administered is what he needed. It was food for his hungry psyche. He bowed his head, avoiding eye contact, and said with absolute sincerity, "I understand Goddess."

Pleased with him, she told him to lie down on her bed face up. He waited, breathless, as she slid onto the bed beside him.

"Make me cum slave," she whispered, as she positioned herself over his mouth, facing his feet. Remotely Neil was glad she had showered because her anus was directly in front of his nose as he started to stimulate her vagina and clitoris with his tongue. She was holding his penis now and bending forward, at the same time crushing herself on his face. Trying to please her, he worked her gently but furiously as she took him into her mouth.

The rising crescendo of the evening caught up to him then and he lost control, immediately filling her mouth with his fluids. She milked him dry as much as possible in consideration of the hurry she was in. Her mouth was full as she lifted herself off him and turned around to face him, un-swallowed cum contained within. Her look made Neil nervous, and then she plunged at his mouth, kissing him deeply and spitting all his juices inside him. She pulled back and squeezed his mouth shut with her hand and shouted, "YOU swallow it bitch! Don't EVER do that again! Is that clear? Jesus, I hate that! You bitch!"

The consistency and salty taste almost made him sick, but he swallowed and briefly gagged. He was afraid of her now, and knew he would pay a much higher price than swallowing his own cum. He lay there as she went to the bathroom to gargle something in her mouth. He wished he could do the same.

She returned, saying, "Jesus, who do you think you are, cumming in my mouth? Did I say you could cum in my mouth? Did I?"

"No Goddess. But you put it in your mouth and I thought..." he pleaded.

"Never assume anything with me. Never! Is that clear?"

"Yes Goddess," he meekly answered. The silence that followed was thick, and he thought maybe he had crossed a defining line. "Maybe I should go home," he said.

"What? You are naïve, aren't you? You're in bondage, in MY dungeon. You have no say in anything, get it? You're here for the weekend and I am going to train you to be respectful. Is that clear?"

"But I thought..." he stopped and then corrected, "Yes Goddess."

"Good. Now finish what you pathetically started."

Within minutes, she was writhing on top of his face, her full weight on him, cutting off all air supply as she came again and again. His consciousness was beginning to fade and his body started to buck under, her resulting in his release. He gasped as she lifted herself off and marched to the wall of hoods, selecting the one he had been most afraid of, and bringing it back to the bed.

"Obviously, you need some breath training. Sit up," she commanded, and then in forgetfulness she said, "Oh, wait, I forgot something." She threw the hood on his corseted waist and went to a dresser drawer, pulling out a device he was unsure of. It looked like a gag of some sort, but it had wings on it and it was hollow with an eight inch tube sticking out of the end. Another smaller tube also extended outward with a squeeze bulb on it.

"I just love this thing. It silences my victims so perfectly. Put this in your mouth. It's a butterfly gag."

The gag tube was inserted, followed by its attached rubber bladder which went between his teeth and cheeks. He closed his mouth over it and found he could breathe easily through the tube which dangled down to his chest. The strap was pulled around to the back of his head and buckled. Not bad, he thought. No pain.

Then she brought the leather hood to his face and threaded the breathing tube through the half-inch breathing hole in the hood. The bulb was removed from the smaller tube and it also was threaded through the hood hole. Replacing the bulb and with everything in place, the hood was pulled back over his face and all light was gone.

He felt the bed move as Alena repositioned herself to lace up the hood. Tighter and tighter, he started to panic, but could do nothing with his hands hanging uselessly at the side of his head. He felt a final tightening tug and then the tie-off and she stopped. He was just trying to mumble something when suddenly the bladder between his cheeks inflated, as well as the tube that was over his tongue. All he could muster was a panicked guttural noise originating somewhere in his chest. His breath came in quick gasps as he imagined he was running out of air; the breathing tube was so narrow. He scratched frantically at the hood as she positioned the flap over the laces and zipped it tight, locking it in place. All he could hear was his own breathing, and his heart beat became louder and louder as she tightened up the straps over his eyes and ears and locked them shut.

In the distance, or at least some place outside his present existence he heard, "Sleep tight. Rest for tomorrow."

He scrambled his fingers over the leather hood, feeling all the locks. She watched him in amusement. This was such an evil device, one which had broken greater men than he. If that gag had not been inserted, he would be talking to himself and his demons within half an hour. With the gag, he would imagine he was talking. He would imagine a lot of things, none of which were part of his reality right now. This was sensory deprivation at its finest. He was gone now. She and she alone, would create and manipulate his reality. She would caress him; she would isolate him; she would flog him, she would give him orgasms. And she would be swept up in the power of it, a prolonged orgy of orgasmic delight for the weekend...and longer if she chose. He might be the same at the end; he might not, but right now she didn't care.

She grabbed his sightless, soundless hooded head between her hands and stared at the bumps over his eye sockets which blocked all light and said, "Remember, I AM a psychopath." He didn't hear, of course, but what he said or heard didn't matter now anyway. Her loins almost gushed with desire as she pulled him up off the bed and placed him in the barred cell for the night. He stood there, uncertain as to what he should or could do, completely isolated from his environment.

Alena went to her bed, reached into her night table drawer and pulled out her favorite vibrator, placing it on the bed. She watched Neil inch around in his cell trying to figure out what was happening and where he was. As she bent over to remove her boots, juices squeezed out of her. She laid herself out, staring at her prey while orgasmic.

In the distance she heard faint moaning and whining, eventually morphing into attempted formation of words and sentences. It had started.

She fell asleep.



I See a Red Door Ch. 06



Neil stood helplessly in the cell, corseted and in severe head bondage, his hands cuffed to his slave collar, unable to influence anything to change his state of sensory deprivation and utter despair. There was no sight, no sound except his heartbeat and breathing, no taste but rubber, no smell but leather, and no feeling except the cold concrete floor beneath his feet. Where did she put him; and for how long, he wondered?

He thought about sitting down where he was but with his hands cuffed where they were to his neck, he worried that he would then be confined to the cold concrete, unable to get up again. Absolute isolation weighed upon him and he tried to get Alena to help him. He whined; he grunted, to no avail. Cautiously he moved his feet to find the extent of his domain, inching slowly forward, fearful of stubbing his toe or banging his shins or head. His heartbeat pounded and quickened in his head.

The sounds that Neil was able to make despite the gag were only guttural grunts, but they seemed to soothe him. At least, he thought, he was throwing something out external to himself; it seemed to connect him to something, anything. Eventually, he started giving instructions to himself, "Take a step. Shuffle your feet. Find a wall. Find a chair," all in the form of grunts.

After what seemed like hours, he said, "Where is the fucking wall? There must be a fucking wall. A door. Is there a door?"

His mind was beginning to adjust inward, attempting to sort out internal stimuli, as if he had multiple personalities and they were all trying to speak with one another.

"Door. What would the door be like? Color didn't matter did it? Could be red; could be black." Then he remembered the song Alena had sung to herself after she had taken him from behind that first fateful meeting. He hummed it to himself now, "I see a red door and I want it painted black; No colors any more I want them to be black." Mick Jagger's leering face filled his mind's eye.

Time. He thought about that now. It had no meaning, other than being without measure. No external stimuli, thus no uptake of external change, thus no way to measure time.

Every few inches and thousands of eternities, he stopped his shuffle in panic and screamed out in his mind. What had she done to him? How could she do this? Was she even here? Would he die like this? She said she was a psychopath. Oh my God, he screamed silently.

His right foot hit something. Thank God...a change. Lifting his foot he quickly recognized it as a steel bar. He was in the cell. Or was he? He could be outside. No, she would put him inside the cell. That would be her style. All his thoughts now were represented by grunts and whines; he was talking to himself, and it seemed normal. Days, hours or minutes had passed, and a new normality had set in.

The toilet; he had to find the toilet. He had to pee, and he had to sit down. Several eternities later he felt the cold porcelain on his shin. Finally Mr toilet, he laughed, I found you...I found you. Cold, cold, feet cold. Sit down. Okay. Hope penis is pointed down. Ah, good. Thirsty. Feet cold. Feet cold. Good to sit.

Suddenly he heard scratching and felt vague movement on his leather hood. Finally, something touching him...from outside! He jerked his head and grunted, and then with despair, realized it was his own hands exploring the outside of the leather head prison.

Hands. Oh. Mine. Help, oh God, help me... Alena, please, please. Floor cold. Feet. What? Oh, feet cold...yes. Where? Alena, oh yes. Thirsty.

Neil started rocking back and forth on the toilet, random thoughts going through his head and every one of them expressed like a person without a tongue, grunts unintelligible to those listening, completely sensible to him. He didn't know if he slept. How would he?

Alena awoke early, way too early to get up, but she realized that she had fallen asleep early so why not get up? She was intensely thirsty, probably from the wine, and also the spicy fish dish at the restaurant. She rolled off the bed and walked quickly to the bathroom, glancing only briefly at Neil in the cell. Allowing the water to get cold first, she filled her glass and then wandered toward the cell, sipping calmly, observing.

She watched him rock back and forth on the toilet grunting and groaning with different pitches and tones. He was talking to himself. They all did that and she passively wondered what it was like to go insane. Out of the blue she felt slightly sorry for him. Where did that come from, she wondered? Had to get rid of those thoughts. Nonetheless, she unlocked the cell door and silently approached him. As she stood in front of him, she had doubts as to what she should or could do without sending him into a complete terror of surprise.

Then she chuckled to herself. When in doubt with a man, a slave, touch his penis. He recoiled strongly but settled into a continuous groan as she fondled and caressed. It grew in her hands and then she stopped, expressed by his anguished whine. She stood him up and turned him around, spending five minutes tightening the corset and tying it off. Then she took the locks off his wrists that bound him to the collar and left the cell, locking it behind her. There, now she felt better.

She watched him feel around for her, going from bar to bar of the cell in desperation. 

Finally he found the cell door, felt the locked padlock, and realized he was alone again. The internal talking started instantly, and he found his way back to the toilet and sat down again. His hands explored his corset and his locked leather hood, as well as his breathing tube, kinking it and finding that it was his only tether to life itself. He grasped his penis and masturbated, as unknown to him she watched, mesmerized, just outside the cell. His breathing became labored as he approached the limits of the breathing tube and when his climax shot cum two feet in the air he was heaving for air, his lips tingling and probably blue, in full panic.

Alena sipped on her water and then went upstairs to make some coffee and finalize plans for the day. She was not in the mood for orgasm right now, only power. She reveled in that. Ideas were already crystallizing in her head as the smell of coffee eventually drifted to the dungeon, although undetected by the slave.



I See a Red Door Ch. 07



Alena loved boiled eggs, and she had a huge collection of egg cups shaped like anything but egg cups. She cracked an egg open. She looked at the clock; it was 5:00 on Saturday morning. Lots of time. She was pensive.

Neil was a puzzle to her, intelligent, sensible, attractive, strong...but also indescribably weak. She had done a full investigation of Neil Webber in the past week. He was thirty-one, unmarried, no children, no siblings, deceased parents, worked for a small junior oil company as a senior geologist, enjoyed golf and skiing, chess and some running. There was a text on her phone from Paulie that said Neil's address was 230 - Eau Claire, Suite 1150, and the emails and phone numbers of all his work associates were all on his cell phone. In his wallet there were miscellaneous pieces of paper with odd combinations of numbers and letters that were almost certainly his various passwords and usernames. She had enough. And yet she was unsure, unsure that she should do this to him. It could be a moot point she thought, as she ate, but she was for the first time in years unsure of herself.

She liked him. If she broke him, he wouldn't be Neil; he would be someone or some thing else. Was it worth it? Yes, she needed a maid for C2, but she could afford to hire one; that was not the issue. If she broke him and fully feminized him, making him her maid, was that what she actually wanted for him? She knew she had the means and the power, but something seemed to be missing in the whole equation that was her life. She had abandoned love as an option in life long ago, but was that correct? Should she take this toy and break it like all the others? Paulie, for example; he was absurdly addicted to being an adult baby. God, she hated that, but the DVD of him in diapers had been extremely useful and lucrative. He was such a creep. She knew it, and he knew it. The blackmail was perfect.

But Neil. He didn't even know or begin to understand himself...so naïve and vulnerable...and, well, so nice. Yes, she wanted him dressed as a woman; that was her not so secret fantasy, but he was so green, a baby in the realm of fantasy. Did she really want to convert him to her reality? 

The morning had awakened with sunshine and frost. She stared eastward over the city at the pink and orange haze of sunrise. One by one the lights blinked out and day time ruled. Alena finished her coffee and descended the stairs to the dungeon. It was time to feed him.

He was sitting on the toilet again rocking back and forth, holding his head like it was a basketball. The sounds he made had changed; they were like someone with a tick, erratic, loud, and sharp, sometimes several in a row followed by long silence. He pulled at his hood and moaned.

Although she was not sure she should, she felt she had to push as the original plan had dictated. She had made a mistake freeing his hands. All external stimuli should be received from her, not from any other source, including himself. He could not be allowed to masturbate again. She entered the cell and approached him cautiously. Her hand gently cupped the side of his hooded head. He became silent and immediately put his hand over hers and pushed it against his head, whining like a puppy. Taking his hand, she positioned his wrist near the D-ring on his collar and locked it in place. She did the same with his other hand. Then she stood him up and tightened his corset yet again. His waist was impossibly thin, his stomach vacant of food and water.

For the first time in perhaps 10 hours, she tried to communicate with him verbally by yelling into his padded ears, "I am going to give you something to eat and drink now. You have to control your throat or you will cough and gag. I will start slowly with water. Are you ready slave?"

Some other world had contacted him. He stiffened. Water. Yes, water. He nodded his head.

Alena attached a funnel to the breathing tube and held it up above his mouth while she poured small amounts of water into it. Initially, he coughed, but he slowly learned to alternate between breaths of air and squirts of water. He learned fast. He drank voraciously for about five minutes. She then told him she was going to give him a protein drink. He nodded okay and she started, again the same result, a five minute splurge of intake followed by intermittent regurgitation out of his breathing tube. It was like feeding a baby. Life or death hung in the balance.

He groaned in soothing gratification. He did not know who was feeding him; he only knew he was being fed. Then hands pushed him off the toilet onto the cold concrete floor to lie on his back. Suddenly his breath was removed from him by her mouth over his breathing tube. She was sucking his air out of him and he bucked helplessly on the floor as she mounted him. Yes, he was hard, and she made good use of it. It was the first time that he had actually penetrated her. She was so warm, tight, and moist. He thrust upward to meet her, screaming into his gag for air. She controlled everything; his breathing, his orgasm, his very existence as a living human. The slow rhythm of her mount caused him to moan a continuous moan despite the lack of oxygen. He came without breathing, his head light, an anoxic orgasm, with light from the tunnel a blaze of heat diminishing toward death.

As she came, she released his breathing tube, not to keep him alive, but to allow her to scream in ecstasy. The feeling of power and control was overwhelming; he was dying beneath her, all for her pleasure.

She pulled herself off and felt his semen gush from her. Instinctively she cupped her hand over her vagina and created a puddle of him and then placed it over his breathing tube so that he had to drink himself to achieve oxygen. It was only fair that he had to share the mess, she thought, as she cupped another handful and repeated the gesture.

This was power. This was absolute power, and she shivered in the potency of it.

The moments passed as she quivered and shook. Suddenly her face developed a panicked look and she pulled herself away saying, "Oh my God! Oh my God, are you okay?"

Her journey to the other side of orgasm had ended and she needed to believe that her vessel of fantasy had survived. He did not hear her, but the gurgle of the breathing tube confirmed that he was pulling air through his cum in the tube sufficiently to stay alive.

"Thank God," she said, "Thank God."

Alena stood up and looked down at him writhing on the concrete. She had to get out of here. The feelings she was having were not habitual to her. She sought equilibrium, her type of equilibrium, one of dominance and supremacy, but this felt slippery, a slope on which she was losing her balance. She was starting to care. 

She had to get away.

Neil twisted like a dead man on a rope on the floor of the dungeon. His internal babbling had stopped. He was for all intents and purposes dead for ninety-nine percent of his existence now, if that makes any sense. The only physical feelings he received were from her; at least he assumed they were from her; that was his measurement of existence and time. He stopped twisting on the rope and lay there, waiting for the next stimulus. It didn't come. What he had initially feared had been true. He was now on the floor and he could not get up, as his hands were useless beside his head. His pulse returned to normal and he heard it in his silent world, silent but for his breathing and heartbeat.

Something different was happening to him this time however. There was a calmness, a type of silence.

Then the dam broke.

He was ten years old in the woods with friends beside the "twisted tree", a tree in the shape of a helix, a result of some trauma as a juvenile tree. They had tied him up in some sort of game.

"Leave me," he said, "just leave me here." He was enjoying the bondage and helplessness.

"Yeah sure," they said sarcastically, "it's time for supper. Here, I'll undo you."

"No!" he screamed, "Leave me; I'll be okay. Just go."

They did, and he squirmed on the ground, unable to free himself. The thrill of it was intoxicating. Minutes passed and then he was disappointed to find that they came back for him.

"Why did you come back?" he yelled.

"Are you crazy?" they asked, "You didn't think we'd leave you here to die did you?"

Disappointed, but now realizing just how insane this idea was, he kept quiet as he was freed. 

He breathed silently through the breathing tube, an as yet unclear epiphany in his head.

Now he was eleven. His father had a bad sacroiliac joint, and as a farmer he had to wear a tight-cinching sacroiliac belt in order to keep putting food on the table. The joint had healed but the belt was stored in the attic. Neil found it and wondered what it would be like to wear it, to cinch it up. He didn't have the foggiest idea why, but it felt good...very snug, like a hug. He wore it for days until his father noticed it was missing and he asked him about it. He lied and said he knew nothing.

Neil was quiet and still on the floor, memories flooding over him, memories he didn't know he had.

Now he was thirteen. His mother had been a physical wreck, with a bad back and neck, varicose veins; you name it; she had it. He was exploring the Sears catalogue before his parents came home from work (his father was now a school teacher), and suddenly he realized he could explore his mother's lingerie drawers. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He was astounded at the contents and with a fever he donned her elastic support hose attaching them to the garters on her back corset. He pulled the laces tight and that same distant delicious feeling returned, only this time it was different. His penis throbbed and got hard. He found a severe corselet and put it on as well, squishing his penis against his belly. The time passed and he was looking at himself in the mirror, strange feelings welling up inside him, when he heard the back door open.

He panicked. There was no place to run so he foolishly squeezed himself under his parents' bed and hoped for the best.

""Neil, I'm home. I have your favorite snack. Supper should be in about an hour." It was his mother.

"Neil? Yoo-hoo, Neil?"

She placed some parcels down and took off her coat. Neil looked out from under the bed. His mother's bureau drawers were open, with hose and bras fluffed and hanging over the edge. She entered the bedroom and gasped, "What the...?"

She marched over to the bureau and saw the carnage, and with very little difficulty saw Neil under the bed, "Neil?" She looked at the drawers, then at Neil, then back at the drawers, "Neil, get out from there right NOW!"

He had cum in his pants, well not HIS pants, while squirming under the bed, his first orgasm ever, and now he stood in front of her wearing her corset and support hose, wetness seeping through. His head hung low.

Moments of silence hung like mist in a cave until finally his mother lost it. She screamed, "Get those things off RIGHT now! Oh God! Oh my God!" She had no idea how to handle this, so irrationality prevailed. Once he had removed the clothing, she spanked him, a thirteen year old boy, for wearing her underwear, saying, "A boy does NOT wear girl's underwear, ever. Do you understand? Do you? You are NOT a homosexual."

Now he understood. Where had all this been? Had he been insane to forget all this, or was he insane now in remembering it? The beating, the corset, the orgasm; now it all tied together. The agony of it hit him like a bus, and he started to grunt and moan on the floor again, rolling this way and that way, gaining no traction and no sanity, perhaps losing both.

Paulie was watching him with pity and compassion, but could do little about it. Alena had asked him to babysit while she went shopping, and he knew better than to intervene in one of his owner's training sessions. His slavery was secure; his personal video made sure of that. He had no recourse but to do as she said. All his possessions were now hers, and in return she played out his fantasies, sleeping in the crib, diapered. She must have a gigabyte of video on him by now, he thought.

Absently, he put a soother in his mouth and ascended the stairs to the kitchen area where he made himself a coffee to take out on the deck. He chuckled briefly when he thought about this...a baby with diapers on having a coffee, AND he was baby-sitting. Ha.

He wondered if the newcomer had cracked yet. It sure looked like it, but he couldn't be sure; sanity was strange, arguably stranger than insanity. Both had a strength and a reality incomprehensible to the other.

Neil lay on the floor, cold and reborn. The world was different now. He waited for her touch, any touch...whip or kiss; it mattered not.