This contains the three last chapters from a short story that I have published for FREE under the pen name M H Keplar. I’m publishing it here in hopes of getting some comments, positive or negative, both interest me. These chapters don’t work very well stand-alone. Minimally, 2 and 4 or 3 and 4 should be read first be read stand alone, but I think it’s better in context.
[https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1063923](https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1063923)
Thanks,
AG
REST
And, indeed, rest came quickly. When the handlers arrived, Faranger was hanging by his wrists, so one held him up with an arm around his waist while the other unshackled him. The handlers didn’t put on the arm restraints or the cape, nor did they let him sit down. Instead they brought his arms across their shoulders and made their way directly to a cage in the crescent of the three stations. It was about four feet high and set on a four foot high stand. A circle of lights was switched on around them. The cage was large enough to comfortably accommodate a man lying down on the padded surface, with a small leather pillow, and there was more space between the pillow and the end of the cave. “The door will be locked until morning, so, of course, you’ll have to spend the night here,” said the darker handler. “But it also prevents the spectators from touching you with anything but their hands. The sedative we’ll give you is strong enough that you should be able to get a few hours of good sleep anyway.”
There was a narrow urinal attached to one outside corner, appearing to be made of rose quartz. “Go ahead,” said the blond handler. “The rule against touching yourself is over.”
Faranger took advantage of the opportunity, reflecting on how the word “relieve” could be so especially appropriate in certain circumstances. He was aware that there were people in the surrounding darkness watching him. But it no longer mattered. He and the handler watched the stream swirl down the quartz and then Faranger lifted himself onto the floor of the cage and sat with his legs hanging over the edge. The dark one fetched a glass from a shelf on the end of the cage. “This drink has no stimulant,” he said. “Instead it will relax you and allow you to sleep if you wish.” Faranger drank it down. No bubbles, just a soothing herbal taste.
“Would you like me to contact your after you leave here?” asked the blond. Faranger valued the memory of his violation, but… ”No, I think not. But thank you. Thank you for everything.” Both handlers nodded and said, “Goodbye, sir.” “Goodbye”, said Faranger.” He pulled his legs into the cage and lay down on his stomach, exhausted.
The white gowned attendant arrived and climbed in, after setting down her silver tray in the space above the pillow. “There’s some bleeding on your back. This will sting a little, but it will stop the bleeding.” It stung a lot – teeth grinding, but as the sting faded so did the burning pain. It felt wonderful. But even better was when she rubbed lotion into his buttocks with a firm, kind, circular motion. He knew he was badly bruised. She applied ointment from a tube to his anus and then proceeded to rub lotion onto the bruises along his thighs and calves. The ointment was cool and warm at the same time. Her hands were wonderfully gentle. The whipping was almost worth the pleasure of this treatment.
“Could you turn over, please? I’ll do your front.” *Now I can see her,* he thought. But she was sitting sideways with her head bent. Her hair prevented his getting a good look and he was too tired to make an effort to catch a better glimpse.
He spread his legs enough for her to reach the whole length of the marks on his thighs. She applied the same treatment to his chest and legs, and as she worked her way down his body, he could only see her back. When she gently soothed his bruised penis he thought he would once again be dragged into arousal, but the drink had done its job. There was only a slight swelling. He was on the edge of sleep. He luxuriated in surrendering himself to her care. His body had been engulfed in stripes of pain since the whippings, but now he was only sore.
When she left he turned on his side, rested his head in his left hand and pulled his top leg up. It’s how he usually went to sleep. The lights had dimmed considerably. He couldn’t see any spectators just before he closed his eyes, but presently he felt hands on him here and there. He felt no inclination to look to see who they were until someone softly brushed his hair back from his forehead. He opened his eyes a little bit and looked into the face of the woman with the black glasses. *That’s OK*, was his last thought before he fell asleep.
LOVE
Some hours later he surfaced from sleep to become aware of an arm across his chest. He stirred just a little and realized that there was a body close against his own. Female. The light was very dim, but he could see clearly that it was the attendant, naked now, but more importantly, he could see her face! It wasn’t a beautiful face. It was a wonderful face! It’s planes and curves tugged on his memory. Its idiosyncrasy called to him. He leaned on his elbow and took it between his hands. Ah! He hadn’t touched anything in hours! He was overwhelmed. She opened her eyes and put her arms around him. There was a hitch in his breathing. *Is this what the mean when they say your heart turned over?*
She turned to her side and he was certainly aware of her softness pressed against the length of him, but he couldn’t really turn his attention from her face. He kissed her eyes and her cheeks and her mouth. A chaste, getting to know you kiss. He leaned back to see the whole of her face again. It was sufficient for now.
“I’m so glad to see you,” he said, a many layered comment.
“And I you,” she smiled.
“What’s your name?”
“Sandra. Sandra Fremont.”
“I guess you know mine.”
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
She moved her arm up and down his back and kissed him. He took her face in his hands and she returned the gesture. They opened their mouths and their tongues engaged in delighted exploration. His hands roved over her marvelously soft body. Her breasts filled them to overflowing. *Ah!* it was so good to have agency. To be able to initiate action! And what action! He buried his face between her breasts. He kissed his way down to her sex and found her swollen and wet.
Of course he had an erection by now, but it was not the turgid, throbbing organ of over stimulation. It was the wholly adequate means of joining with another person. He slid the tip slowly between her folds, over her swollen clitoris. Her welcoming vagina seemed to coax him inside. After his climax he rested on his arms in the quiet to hear her soft noises and feel the waves inside her embrace him. They lay together with his head on one breast and his hand on the other. She nestled her cheek against his forehead and held him in her arms.
Some time later Faranger awoke and found their positions reversed. She was sleeping with her head on his shoulder. Her hair fell across her cheek so he could hardly see her face. It was a picture of her that he treasured, but he gently drew her hair back anyway He watched her fondly until her eyes opened. “Look at you!” he said endearingly.
“Look at you,” she corrected sleepily.
They turned toward one another and wrapped their arms around each other. “I can’t believe this,” said Faranger, his face buried between her neck and shoulder.
“Believe it. I believe everyone has left. Come with me. We can take a shower. Our clothes and things are waiting for us.”
They held hands as they headed into the dark edge of the hall. The changing room was a medium sized, brightly lit space. Their clothes were hanging in a small alcove. He kissed her again lightly as they stepped into the shower and several times as they slowly soaped one another. They reveled in the feel of the other’s body under their palms and fingers.
LIFE
“Ahhh, that feels so good!” said Faranger as he pulled his snug boxer briefs up to his waist.
“Yes,” said Sandra, executing the last wiggle to get her sheer tights in place. “There’s a wonderful security about clothing.”
“Do you have to be somewhere?” he asked. “Do you have time for breakfast?”
“A short one. Coffee shop? I have a meeting at nine.”
“Where do you work?”
“I’m a financial analyst at Grimsby Hawthorne.”
“No! Me too! Well, not at Grimsby Hawthorne. I actually own my own small investment firm. But it’s nice to know we can talk about our work. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I think,” she said with a smile that almost wrinkled her nose. “Can I tie your tie for you? I love tying men’s ties.” She stood in front of him and tied the tie. When she was done she ran her hands down his crisp white shirt front. When she reached his belt she slid them around behind and down and pulled their bodies together. They embraced and kissed for a long time.
They exited the building to find a glorious spring day. Faranger thought that the leaves must be just a little bigger than they were yesterday, but he couldn’t tell. They took hands and headed down the street, grinning at each other every now and then like children playing hooky. They went into a coffee shop on the corner across from the park. Faranger went to the counter to get their croissants and coffee, and when he sat down again he said, “So… was the whole night part of your contract?”
“No, not at all. I just wanted to be with you so badly! My contract only required that I stay the night so I could show you the changing room and lock the door on the way out.”
“Ah… ah.. This is just…”
“Yes, isn’t it.” Smile.
“Would you like to have dinner tonight?”
“Oh, for sure! We have to.”
“At Chez Donald? At 6 for drinks? I think it’s about half way between where we work.”
“That sounds just right.”
They ate for a while, looking up from their food repeatedly, to savor the circumstances. Finally Faranger said, “Well, I guess it’s time to start the day. I have to go say ‘Hi’ to Stephanie and Pederson.” Sandra put her hand over his, with a consoling look. They went out of the coffee shop, shared a gentle kiss and headed off in opposite directions.
Faranger walked up the street along the park, and when he entered the building and walked up to Stephanie’s desk, he was sorry for her obvious fright. Her eyes uncontrollably went to the flat front of his pants. He smiled. “Stephanie, I wanted to thank you for your help last night. And to tell you that things will be normal. You don’t need to worry about any repercussions.” She nodded, still wordless. He knew he was doing her a favor by leaving right away.
He went up the stairs at a clip and headed straight for Pederson’s desk. Pederson was always there early. Pederson wasn’t overtly frightened, but he looked at Faranger with concern. “Hi, Ralph.” (He’d looked up the first name on his phone.) “Thanks for your help last night. You were brilliant,” he said with an ironic smile. “No need to worry about any repercussions.” Pederson nodded tentatively.
On the way to his office, Faranger savored the thought that whenever he was near Pederson or Stephanie he could expect a frisson of recollection of his night at Twelve Maxbridge Street.
At five o’clock he got out the business card that Sandra had given him and dialed her work number. “I can’t wait till six. Can you get away now?”
“Yes, I can. I’ll see you at the restaurant in 10 minutes?”
“See you then.”
When they saw each other they embraced eagerly. “I’m so glad to see you!”
“Me too!”
They took a small table in the bar, ordered drinks and started nibbling peanuts.
“So, we know what I was doing there last night, said Faranger. “How did you come to be there?”
“Once or twice a year I sign up to be a sex slave for a weekend. This time they gave me to The Association for the night. Yes, I guess I know why you were there. But how did you find out about it?”
“I called a phone number I found in a cryptic ad in a magazine. I asked them to send me information. This is what they sent me.” He leaned over and picked up his briefcase. He set it on his lap and opened it just a little way. He drew out an envelope and pulled out a stiff card bordered in black. It was about three inches by eight inches. In elegant printing it said:
The Association
We can provide a night of
pain and sexual humiliation
$3000
Confidentiality is guaranteed.
There will be no permanent injury, photography or film.
Call 1-617-555-5555 for an appointment.
He smiled at her. “So I signed up.”
She said, “Do you think you’ll ever do anything like this again?”
“I don’t know. It’s too soon. Right now I have no inclination, and I have a hard time imagining that anything wouldn’t be an anti-climax. Sic,” he added, with a nod to the double meaning. “Certainly I don’t have any other people in my life like Pederson and Stephanie.” His smile turned wry.
“And you? Will you continue your weekends?”
“Probably. But maybe not. We’ll see.” She smiled back.
He put his hand over hers. “Did you see everything?”
Softly, “Yes. I saw everything.” She placed her other hand over his.
He picked it up and kissed the back of it. “I think I’m glad.”
Dinner was delicious. It fit with the deliciousness of the whole evening. They dived into getting to know each other. “Well, I’m relieved that we agree on politics,” she said. “I can’t imagine how couples like James Carville and Mary Matalin do it. Do you think they debate every evening over supper? Or d’you think that they long ago agreed just not to talk politics? What DO they talk about? Politics are their lives.”
“Dunno. It’s a mystery.”
When they’d eaten most of their dinner Sandra said, “Why don’t you come and spend the night at my house? The stores are still open. We can get you a fresh shirt and tie and run your underwear through the wash.”
Faranger laughed a little bit. “I don’t think I’ll be up for anything for a while.”
“Of course not, silly. Who knows better than I do that you need to recover. But wouldn’t it be nice just to hold each other for a long time?”
“Yes, it would be very, very nice. Let’s go get me a shirt and tie.”
*****
“I can get good seats to the Celtics tonight,” said John. “Do you like basketball?”
“Well, sure. I can’t say I’m educated about it, but it goes fast. And I really do prefer those uniforms to football and hockey,” she said grinning.
“It’s my main sport. I like football on TV,” but that’s about it.
“I like the food and company around football. But I only really watch when there’s about to be a touchdown.”
“Well, good. I’ll get the tickets.
*****
“I found a Cape Verdean restaurant. Want to try it tonight?” he asked one morning over breakfast.
“Sure! I like trying out new kinds of restaurants. I’ve always wanted to try Ethiopian, for instance.”
“I know of one. If you like that sort of thing we could make it a kind of ritual to try a different ethnic restaurant every week or so until we’ve exhausted what Boston has to offer. Wanna?”
“Yeah! That’s a great idea. Where is Cape Verde anyway?”
“I used to think it was in the Caribbean, but it’s in Africa.”
*****
“No!,” he snorted. “No way am I taking a walk in the rain when it’s 45 degrees out. I wouldn’t take a walk in the rain if it were 75 degrees out. Don’t you have a girlfriend who likes that kind of idiocy?”
“Yeah, I do. I’ll call her. I guess I ought to stoke my friendships. I’ve been neglecting people.”
*****
They had established that they had different tastes in pop music, but they had already mutually enjoyed the symphony and a chamber music concert when she asked “Do you like jazz?”
“Well, I don’t really know much about it. But one of my fondest memories, is when I was in college and heard a jazz trio at the Carlyle in Manhattan. I don’t know if the music made it so special or just the ambience.”
“Well, let’s see if you do like it. There’s a great, small jazz club I’d like us to go to.”
“You’re on.”
*****
“So how about we don’t do anything special tonight?” she said. “We can have soup and a sandwich at my place and read and then watch some movie in bed.”
“Do you have tomato soup? And cheese for grilled cheese?”
“I do. But you don’t have a book.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve got one book at my place and a different one at yours. I read them concurrently.”
“Then we have a plan. We’ll walk, OK?”
“Sounds perfect to me.”
THE END
AFTERWARD
I hope you liked Twelve Maxbridge Street, but whether you did or not, I’m very interested in readers’ reactions. Please go to SmashWords.com and click on the title for this book, not the picture of the cover. Scroll to down and click the button for Review on the left. If you acquired it from another vendor you may have to use their website.
I’m sure this book is a one-off. I won’t be writing any more. I’d like to tell you the story of how it came about and ask you some questions.
I’m a 76 year old happily married heterosexual woman with two grown children and four incredible grandchildren. My fantasy life has always centered around masochism, but I had never taken the male point of view with the exception of a short period in elementary school when I was on a Robin Hood kick. I’ve never attempted, nor felt the desire to act out my fantasies with other real human beings.
At my age my fantasies had gotten less frequent, understandably. But in the week after Christmas of 2020 and into the first week of 2021 my consciousness, day and night was suddenly flooded with the story you’ve just read. I would experience strong erotic spasms like John Faranger does. This was a dramatic first for me in regards to the intensity, the constancy and the duration of the fantasy. I refined the details until I began to entertain the idea of writing it down. I took a lot of pleasure in the pure writing aspect of it. And I still do. I tweak it from time to time and am preparing to issue a new revision as soon as I get this Afterward tidied up. So if you are inclined to re-read it, please download a new copy.
It took some time to get over the hump of writing and publishing it with absolutely no chance of being discovered, even if I suddenly died. But I did get over the hump. Learning that I could publish an ebook very easily and “sell” it for free was a big deal. (I can’t afford to receive 1099s, no matter how small.)
One question I have for you, my readers, is has anything like this ever happened to you? Both the suddenness and the male perspective? Please answer in a review.
Another question is this. Is an interest in masochism really such a rare thing? After I published my book I, of course, spent a lot of time looking at the BDSM sections of Smashwords, Barnes and Noble, etc. They are overrun with books about the dom/sub, training culture. I’m not interested in personal relationships between the abused and abuser. Indeed, far from John calling people “Master” or “Mistress,” instead his abusers call him “Mr. Faranger.” My reading in this area was concentrated in the 70’s and 80’s, and when I found that there were really no more books of quality and perspective of The Story of O and Anne Rice’s Beauty books, I gave up and shifted to detective stories. Now that I can survey literally thousands of books under the heading of BDSM I have not found but one series that I would put in the same category as Twelve Maxbridge Street, and I’m not saying that the writing itself is comparable.
The final question is this. Did the inclusion of a straight love story enhance or spoil the book for you? I had never had fantasies about vanilla romance in my life. So to have Sandra turn into the important person in John’s life that she did was a surprise to me. She started out as a means to get him cleaned up between stations. But I was extremely satisfied with what happened in the Love and Life chapters. Did you notice the use of “perfect” in both the opening and ending paragraphs of the story? I didn’t notice it myself until it was done.
Thank you! And please write a review, pro or con, or contact me at MHKeplar@gmail.com.
M. H. Keplar
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/m72idy/twelve_maxbridge_street_parts_57_humil_romance