Tied Down?

Stephen Davidson

Description

Surely you played bondage games in your bedroom, doesn't everyone...? asks the dominatrix of William's recently divorced wife. The answer she receives is revealing.William is an ambitious researcher with a fetish for bondage who, while awaiting his divorce, has already been seduced by Betty, a Dutch academic who 'knows the ropes'. Her life-long best friend just happens to be that same dominatrix who has been hit by love at first sight. So, things become complicated in this open-minded adult romance of alternative intimacies. Led by ambition and ignoring warning signs, William agrees to pilot a study of feminine dominance in the UK. But his fetish makes him easy prey for the dominatrices he 'interviews' and he is soon 'bound' to confront other aspects of his sexual identity. A suspense-packed who's who tale, Tied Down? invites the reader to solve the mystery as William tries to conceal his poor decisions. Inevitably, it affects Betty's feelings for him, and jeopardises his career. But when he seeks help, the cost proves frighteningly high. Meanwhile, his ex-wife still wants William to suffer for divorcing her, and an awful choice awaits. What will poor William do? Will he ever be happily tied down?

Sujets

• Contemporary romance
• Erotic literature

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 10 avril 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781838595562
• Langue: English

Extrait

Copyright © 2020 Stephen Davidson

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 9781838595562

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In real life, make sure you practise safe sex.
Contents
1 – A Seduction
2 – William’s World of Work
3 - A Women’s Weekend
4 - Intriguing Possibilities
5 - Being Commissioned
6 – A First Meeting
7 - Beginning a Journey
8 - Interview with a Dominatrix
9 - Plaything
10 - Entering the Conservatory
11 - Interviewing Mistress Dee
12 - Mistress Dee’s Domain
13 - Mistress Dee’s Aftercare
14 – A Day in the Office
15 – Mutual Regard Under Strain
16 - Consequences
17 - Meanwhile…
18 - What William Did
19 - Bad News
20 – At Betty’s Office
21 - Follow up
22 - Wine Bar Upsets
23 - Informed Consent
24 - More Revelations
25 - Taken on Transit
26 - What Betty Did Next
27 – Bad Carrier?
28 – Good Courier?
29 - The Domina
30 - Confession is Good for…
31 – Ulterior Design
32 – Guilt
33 – A Full Week
34 – Betty and Martel
35 – William’s Christmas
36 – And a New Year
37 – Aftermath
38 – Review and Revise
39 – The Forging of a Fetish
40 – Who Would Have Thought It?
41 – A Friend Indeed
Me and My Novel
Acknowledgements

William

He had status and ambition,
a pity that he wouldn’t listen
to alarms that should have warned,
before he fell and was suborned
by women guiding him unseen,
who knew full well which way he’d lean.

Their plots were secret, subtle, clever.
He did as they foretold and never,
ever had an inkling
what his mistresses were thinking.

They used his lusts, unacademic,
to lure him to the edge of panic.
Career in danger, love live too,
what will poor William choose to do?
1 – A Seduction
Good manners are rewarded
One evening in Holland, Betty invited me back to her flat, and then into her bed.
It happened after a long meeting of the editorial board on which we both sat. Betty, who had chaired the meeting, gave the first invitation as we left the building together. We had spoken only a few times before, and then only briefly. But disagreements in the meeting about the suitability of an article for publication had caused me to suggest compromises which she appreciated. Surprised and flattered by such a come-on from an attractive blonde, I accepted. Then, after a light meal, she invited me into her bed.
It all sounds so smooth and inevitable. But it certainly was not. Betty’s invitation, ostensibly to discuss our work on the editorial board, obviously implied the possibility of bed and breakfast. The problem was, with an instant decision required, I was seriously conflicted. English law requires two years apart to obtain a divorce based on separation. I was some months into the two years and, although I had suggested our divorce, I still loved Nicole.
Nevertheless, I did accept. It would have been the height of bad manners to refuse such an intimate offer without good cause. And, over the next eighteen months or so, Betty and I shared beds whenever and where ever we managed to be together. During the last six of those months, on secondment from my university, I was based in Amersfoort, a short journey from Amsterdam, working with other Dutch colleagues. My accommodation there was adequate, but too public. At Betty’s flat in east Amsterdam we could spend weekends together, and I have unforgettable memories of our first evening.
After some kissing and cuddling had moved us from being fully, to only minimally clothed, Betty sent me into the bathroom to shower. When I emerged, pristinely clean I found Betty still in her bra and panties, gently swinging a pair of handcuffs.
‘Do you mind?’ she asked.
‘Depends on your intentions,’ I replied, but I was aware of a movement down below which signalled more assent than my words.
‘Come here and turn around,’ she ordered, and fastened my wrists behind one of the high metal corner posts at the foot of her bed.
Then her doorbell rang, and we both froze.
Betty unfroze fastest. She dashed into the living room, scooped up my discarded clothing, shoes, and bag, threw them into the bedroom with me, closed the door, and then went to deal with the caller who was still ringing the bell every few seconds.
Despite the evidence of the liberties taken with the bell, I hoped it was someone Betty could turn away. I heard the buzzer sound to let the caller enter the lift on the ground floor, and Betty using the remaining time to clear the evidence of our meal into her kitchenette.
When Betty opened the flat’s front door, I could hear only women’s voices, but understood nothing. The ‘tunes’ in the exchanges indicated the visitor was definitely a female friend, and I began to wonder how long it would be before Betty could politely expect her to leave. As the minutes dragged by, the more my cock drooped into flaccid disappointment.
Suddenly, the bedroom door opened wide to admit Betty flinging a stream of Dutch behind her and her eyes upward, in a mute sign to me, before frowning at my drooping appendage. She noisily opened her wardrobe and snatched a dress, which she then changed into while standing in the partially open doorway, still conversing. Then she found a pair of shoes, which again she stood in the doorway to put on. She asked her friend a question. The answer sent her back for a different pair. This gave Betty time to snatch something off the dressing table and pick up a plastic bag, which she rustled to cover her whisper into my ear, ‘Going out, here’s the key.’
I felt her press the key into my left hand. And then she was gone, the bedroom door closed, and I heard them leave. There was no way to tell her I had dropped the key.
I fervently hoped it was within reach on the bed, but it must have bounced off. I carefully knelt down and risked injury trying to sweep the floor with my legs. Eventually I gave up. Even if I located the key, there was no way I could move it into hand’s reach. I would just have to await Betty’s return.
I carefully swivelled myself far enough round the bedpost to be able to half sit on the bed with my right leg outstretched, and my left foot flat on the floor. Her bedside clock relished showing me how regularly it was allowing minutes to escape, while I could not. It was not a comfortable wait.

Betty returned just under two hours later. I heard the door, and the loo flushing, which reminded me how desperate I was becoming, and then her calling my name in a teasing tone. When she came into the bedroom and saw I was apparently still handcuffed to the bed, she did not believe it. She moved me around to confirm the fact.
‘But I gave you the key. Where is it?’
‘I dropped it,’ I replied.
‘You certainly did,’ she said with a tipsy laugh as she raised my penis in her hand. It had started to rouse when I heard her come back, but was nowhere near as rigid as she wanted it to be.
‘Are you sure you didn’t release yourself, and wait to hear me come back before you handcuffed yourself again?’
‘No, of course not, I dropped the key when you pressed it into my hand, and it fell somewhere I couldn’t reach… and I’m dying to pee.’
During this question and answer session, Betty had stroked me almost back into full erection.
‘Promising,’ she said with a big smile on her face at the sight of my now almost fully erect member. ‘But you’re going to have to keep that up while I shower.’
Another strong memory of that night is my surprise when, after her shower, I found there was absolutely no armpit or pubic hair to tell me how truly blonde she was. Betty depilated with a thoroughness which characterised almost everything she did.
She had entered the bedroom towelling her then very short hair. Her raised arms showed off her breasts to great advantage until she playfully flicked at my unprotected privates a couple of times with the towel, giggling at the reaction she obtained. She freed me from the bedpost, and allowed me to use the toilet and have a drink, before re-fastening my wrists behind me again.
‘All the time I’ve been out I’ve been looking forward to coming back to you, and Mars’ unexpected visit wasn’t going to spoil it. I told her I had something I must deal with, so I couldn’t linger.’
‘Who’s Mars?’ I queried. ‘And what kind of a name is that?’
‘She’s really Martel – I started to call her Mars, after the red planet, when we were at school because she has red hair. Someday you’ll meet her. Just be happy she didn’t see you handcuffed and