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Slave Girls, ed D L King, from Cleis Press

Slave Girls, ed D L King, from Cleis Press

Welcome to my chapter of the Slave Girls blog tour! I thought I’d give you a little peek into where my slave girl sprang from.

Many of my stories begin with an image. Not just any old image of course. There has to be a sense of story to it, of something more going on beyond the frame of the picture. Sometimes my image is an actual image, sometimes it’s a line from a song and sometimes it might be an image lifted from another story that I then craft into something of my own.

Here’s where this one started: stand here Why did this one capture my interest?

Unlike many pictures of posed submissives, she doesn’t appear to be directing her attention towards the camera, or another person. She seems very vulnerable, but she’s not tied up or restrained. She’s clearly waiting, and everything that is going on with her at that moment is going on in her head. I wanted to capture some of that for my story. To get inside her head during that time. Here’s a snippet.

…she puts the blindfold over my eyes.

I put my gloved hands behind my back and wait. The door snicks closed. I bow my head. The silence of the room washes over my bare skin, leaving it tingling. The minutes stretch out. The dark begins to play havoc with my equilibrium. I feel myself sway, my feet working to find balance on the teetering heels of my stilettos. Finally, I hear the murmur of voices from the corridor. I take a quick breath and adjust my posture. I pull back my shoulders and suck in my stomach, but I keep my head bowed and my arms relaxed. I want to make a good impression. There is the sound of the door opening.

‘Here you are, sir,’ she says. ‘Please, just ring if there’s anything more you need.’

‘Thank you.’

His voice is quiet. I hear the door close. There is a soft sound, as though he is taking off a jacket, and then more quiet noises as he moves about the room. I wonder what he’s like. There was not enough in those two words to tell me whether he is old or young, large or small. Only that he is male.

Nothing happens. I hear small sounds, as though he is fussing about the room. Is he looking at me? My heart is pounding, but I try to breathe quietly. I try to calm myself by counting, but with each second that passes, my anxiety grows. Have I done something wrong?

Of course, her entire raison d’être at that time is to be seen and appreciated, to cause an unequivocal response in the dom she is about to meet for the first time. But what happens next and where this encounter goes is not quite what she expects.

I’m very pleased to have my story in this fabulous collection by D L King, and if you’ve indulged yourself with a copy, leave me a comment to let me know what you think. I’d love to hear it! I know I’ve been enjoying making my way through this treasure trove of kink.

If you haven’t got your copy yet, pick one up here, here or here. This is the rest of the tour if you’d like to catch up, or see what Lydia Hill has waiting for us on Saturday!

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