The blurb for my 4,200-word story:
Melanie has been tied to a chair by her Dom, Steve. She's been in the chair for a long time, and she's getting distinctly uncomfortable. As she waits for Steve to do whatever it is he's planning to do, her mind drifts to all the various possibilities. But when Steve finally reveals what he's expecting from her, she's caught completely by surprise...
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Opening paragraphs:
The heat was the worst. The heat, and the fact that she had to go to the toilet, ASAP.
It hadn't been like this the last time he had tied her up. She'd been on their bed then, which was a nice and comfy place. Moreover, he had used her quickly, so quickly that she'd been astonished at how soon it had been over. She guessed “furious” was the right word to describe it. Furious and brutal and, well, memorable.
Nor had it been like this the last time he had tied her to a chair. They'd been in Paris at the time, in a hotel where everything seemed to be at least 100 years old. The chair to which he had bound her had been a leather armchair, soft enough to be comfortable and old enough to be stylish, and some of its antique beauty had seemed to rub off on her. She'd felt elegant sitting in that chair, whose color perfectly matched the black of her corset and stockings. Yes, she'd felt elegant, despite the fact that her legs were spread wide and she was wearing a ball gag that made her drool. And although Steve had lashed her with both words and whips, she'd enjoyed the experience, because it was so very iconic and because she had always wanted to be part of such an opulent tableau.
She did not want to be part of this tableau. She did not want to be sitting here in their messy living room on this cheap and nasty IKEA chair, bound with a type of rope which she normally didn't mind but which now chafed horribly against her sweaty skin. Nor did she want to be sitting here in front of the window, bathed in sunlight on what was probably the hottest day of the year.
Sweat was running in rivulets down her naked back and between her breasts. It was pooling on the seat of the plastic IKEA chair that was her prison, and was making her skin both itchy and sticky. A few times already she'd felt a stab of discomfort as she had wriggled in her chair, only to feel her skin tear off the smooth, white plastic with a ripping sound. It hurt, and not in the way she liked.
And then there was the fact that she had to go to the loo. This was a problem she hadn't encountered before, as Steve generally had his way with her long before her bladder filled up. This time, though, he seemed hell-bent on keeping her waiting. And since the luxury Sunday morning breakfast to which he had treated her had involved a large pot of tea as well as two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, and since it was now well into the afternoon, the pressure on her bladder was getting intense.
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Want to know how this ends? Then get yourself a copy of Best Bondage Erotica 2013 here...
I should warn you, though -- 'The Longest Afternoon' wasn't just the first story I ever wrote; it's also easily the dirtiest thing I've ever written. If you're at all squeamish about bodily fluids, you may want to give this one a miss, although you should of course seek the book out for the remaining 21 stories.
Happy reading!
