Let me start by saying, before I type even a single sentence that’s sure to utterly drip with anticipation and erotica; that when I write my roleplays and fantasies, I write them just as much as a lifestyle Mistress as I do a Pro Domme. Some things occasionally skirt a personal or professional line depending on who I’m playing with, but ultimately – everything is consensual.
Additionally, I have every respect for the laws of my state and county: given the grey area that BDSM can occasionally reside in, I’d be remiss to mention that everything I write is for fantasy purposes, and on some potentially boundary crossing issues; I have done privately with people who are not visiting me in a professional capacity.
He had been left alone for a while now, the deep and lovely dark of my dungeon offering him a perfect respite from the onslaught of torment, draining and temptation that had plagued him over the last 14 hours. It must have been a haze for him, long windows of silence with only the comfort of my security moniter to keep me occupied, broken by long stints hooded and tortured by the unending pulse, suction and vibration of my various toys of torture. He loved it, though often sweet and genuine please from freedom were overheard in the late evening hours.
He’d be lying if he didn’t confess to reveling in his predicament; being the very willing captive; his session ended the evening prior,  but I was finally making real on my threat to one day abduct him for myself. No calls for help, no escape – his clothes, keys and wallet all separated from him. The only promise I’d keep, would be that he’d make his flight, and that was still another 18 hours away. The sense of dread and excitement was palpable; this man who I’ve played with for over a decade, was experiencing his lifelong fantasy of being a true hostage; my hostage.
His first day went off just beautifully, he flew in for work, did his little meetings and dreamed about what would happen that evening, as men in blue and red ties droned on about spreadsheets, deadlines and synergy. He was very good at his job, perhaps that’s why he was always so bored at these mandatory check ins. They had nothing to offer him, they were reflexive – even the innovative and perfect solutions he spun were concocted off the cuff, no real effort at all. In life, in his job, he was bored…maxed out at the top of his field and no new horizons to get his pulse racing.
He’d spend the better part of these meetings writing me a list; a filthy and shameful list. I’d always hoped a peer would glance over his shoulder or ask what he was doing, but no one ever dared. It was his “Dirty Thirty”, a mandatory offering he’d place at my feet whenever he arrived at my Palace of Pleasure. He’d always have a tinge of guilt in his voice, knowing his list would derail whatever plans I may have in favor of his preferences, but this….this abduction was my exception.
After totally exhausting him with his own requests, he exited the shower to find the dungeon dark and every personal item missing. I was already upstairs, sipping wine from the comfort of my bed, laptop in place as I spoke to him over the 2 way monitor. He was shocked as I explained his situation, but an obvious smile and throbbing erection gave away any hint of genuine protest.
“I will allow you to rest for a while, my sweet’, I explained, dinner will be served to you in a couple of hours, but first you will crawl in my table cage, lock the door, sleep…. while I allow it.
Within minutes he had passed out cold within the gentle embrace of the steel bars. I’ve never seen someone come down from a scene so hard, his breathing – deep and lovely, as his soft snoring echoed through the empty dungeon. He was thousands of miles from home, no one knowing where he was, all of his professionalism, intelligence and social stature amounting to nothing in this perfect moment, and that helplessness was a freedom for him. I hoped I wouldn’t interrupt him when I brought in his meal and instructional letter; a half bottle of wine and the remains of my dinner served in a dog dish. I doubted if he’d even wake to eat this evening, but eventually – his exhaustion would lift and there he’d find my letter.
Only a small torment this evening, just something to build anticipation while I, myself slept off our playtime.
The key to the table cage was frozen in a giant bowl of ice placed just beyond his food. Having done this before, I knew for a fact that it’d take about 6 hours to thaw down to the key….but if he wanted out of the cage to use the restroom, he’d have to figure a way to accelerate the melting of the ice. Body heat should be very effective and I’m sure, depending on his level of desperation, he could get extremely clever in his tactic. I’d enjoy hearing him audibly talk out a solution, hoping for some obvious easy way out, to no avail.
My note was also kind enough to mention that as his captivity went on, I’d be coming down at my leisure to play with him. Whenever he heard a door bell chime, I intended to join him downstairs in 10 minutes, obviously he’d need to prepare for me. Hood himself, cuff hands behind his back and kneel, head down…
Last but not least, just a cautionary addition; I could see and hear everything… if I give instructions for self torture, I expect them to be completed. If I invite my friends over to play with him while I watched remotely – he would obey. Anything that came over my monitor would be taken as law….if he’d like a steady stream of food, water, sleep and release.
This would be me, at my most generous. He would otherwise be forbidden to speak outside of emergencies, eyes always lowered and fully expected to anticipate my wants and needs. I’d not be so straightforward in the coming hours and should I feel in any way unfulfilled or displeased, he’d be punished swiftly, invasively and to exhaustion.
He smiled widely in the direction of the camera, still to discover my note and predicament, as I fell into a blissful sleep.
 …to be continued