It was a dark and stormy night…
“Do not fucking go there. Just WHAT do you think you are doing?”
“Uh, setting the scene…”
“With that line? Have you lost all sense and integrity? How do you call yourself a writer?”
“Well, I’m just setting ambience.”
“That is the worst line in the history of English literature. There is an entire fucking award—for BAD writing—dedicated to the cautionary admonishment of writers the world over to NOT USE IT.”
“Alright, then… what’s the light like?”
“Uhhh…. There is no light. It’s dark.”
“And the weather.”
“Well, there’s a storm.”
“Fuck off then, and let me get on with the tale…”
It was a dark and stormy night. There was the sliver of a waxing moon, promising of future fullness. But for tonight, a bare glimmer in the gloaming mist. The rain fell down around the Scottish castle in buckets, sheets of cascading wetness adding scene to what was an already incredible encounter.
We found ourselves in this hulking redoubt by absolute intention, just for this occasion. Not the storm. Or the phase of the moon. But the incredible experience of inhabiting a castle that dated back through time. Stone that has stood through centuries. A place of aristocracy and intrigue. Betrayal and murder. Repentance and recrimination.
Bound in chains, blindfolded and gagged, I sensed the storm more than saw it. Kneeling in the dungeon, awaiting my fate, the bolt shot home and locked on the heavy wooden door. It was an appropriate backdrop for the evening ahead. And the days beyond.
We had booked the castle for a long weekend in June. The rules were clear from the outset. Loving submission notwithstanding, from the time of our arrival to the time of our departure, I would be her slave.
An immersive role play. High protocol, tons of service and obedience. Aggressively possessive. Owned. Indulging in pain and possession and utter fulfilment of her pleasure, at the entire expense of mine. I would retain my safe-word. That would be all.
We had both been salivating about the opportunity for months, since the moment we had booked our flights and confirmed our rental. It had shaped our play ever since. As we progressively neared the date, our interactions became more intense. More demanding. Calling to the surface my inner masochist and her sadist. Exploring boundaries and pushing buttons. Testing fantasies and teasing frustration.
For the last month, we neither played nor orgasmed. A period of denial for both of us, on a scale that neither of us had experienced, and that was utterly alien to the Us of our relationship. Normally we moved freely and fluidly between affection and intimacy, service and submission, playfulness and pain. It was a quality that was uniquely ours; the ability to be crying in abasement and agony one minute, and be held and nurtured at her breast the next. To deliberately forego all of that was utterly foreign.
We arrived in early afternoon. A cerulean blue sky belied the tempest that would erupt a short while later. I unpacked while she enjoyed her tea. Bathed her, towelling her dry, moisturizing, and dressing her for the evening. We ate simply, in preparation for the evening ahead, watching the clouds build and the storm brew through the wavy, lead-bound panes of centuries old glass.
I was led to the dungeon a while ago. To kneel. To prepare. To ground myself. To ready myself to submit. Sweat beaded in the small of my back, despite the cool temperatures. My cock was as hard as the stones underneath my knees. I anchored myself in my purpose, seeking calm and centring myself. In the coming days I would be tested and tried, tortured and tormented. Devoted to her pleasure and service. Inhabiting my pain and submission. Finding a whole new level of Us.
I heard the bolt as it was drawn back. The aching protest of the hinges as the heavy door was pulled open. I sensed more than heard her presence as she entered the chamber, gazing at me presenting myself before her. I anchored myself in how much I needed this, how much I wanted this, how much I craved this.
I drew on my purpose, my centre, my submission. Breathing calmly, drawing deep, devoting myself to her in all things.
She is my Goddess always. For the next three days, I will be her complete slave. I submit myself to what is to come. And so it begins…
Prompt: “It was a dark and stormy night…” But make it sexy.