The Daffy Duck principle of conflict

Being a ‘seat of the pants’ writer, my favourite part of putting stories together is conflict. Because I have no end in sight, I’m right there with my characters as the conflict is introduced and I have no idea how I’m going to solve it. With my last book, I had introduced so much conflict, I spent three weeks believing I had written myself into a corner and there was no way out. For the first time, I was seriously considering breaking my own rule of never looking back until the first draft is complete. I would have to go back and rewrite some of my earlier scenes and simplify them.

In my head, my characters were saying “No, don’t do it. We can solve this. Just give us a little time.” Another three weeks went by with barely a word written and myself in a constant daze, believing there was no way out. When the answer finally came to me, I knew what had to be done and realised why I had been avoiding it. It meant killing off one of my main characters. For any author, this is never done lightly, and when I did write that scene, I was emotionally exhausted. My daughter was visiting at the time and gave me a hug when she saw what a wreck I was. She reminded me of one of the principles I had shared with her about writing over the years. “Just like you’ve always said, Mum, the Daffy Duck principle must rule.”

Now, I know at this stage, you probably think I’ve lost my marbles, so allow me to explain. For those of us old enough to have thrived on the Bugs Bunny Show as children, Daffy Duck was always my favourite. In one cartoon, “The Scarlet Pumpernickel” Daffy, tired of being type cast, pitches to a Warner Brother’s exec about an exciting film he has written and intends to star in. We get to see his blockbuster and the exec is getting more excited by the minute. “Yes, yes… and then what happened?” Daffy is buried in the pages of his long script, getting more and more exhausted as the conflict builds. A storm comes, the dam breaks, a volcano erupts and still it is not enough for the exec. I won’t mention here the ending, but basically, as I had told my daughter, “Someone has to die.”

Daffy gives us a very basic model about how the conflict must build continually, right up until the end. As authors, I believe we need that ‘edge of the seat’ feeling within our stories, making the reader wanting to turn the page. We need tempo to give our readers a breather and relax, but not for too long. With my latest book being 260,000 words (745 pages) long, I had the challenge of keeping that up and it wasn’t easy.

Having well defined characters is essential. Each of them must be true to their nature and approach the conflict as only their character would do. A story must have one enduring conflict right through, which is what the story is about, but there needs to be many more that are stopping the protagonist from achieving their ultimate goal. If it’s getting too easy to solve, it’s time for that volcano to erupt and see what your characters are made of. 

More than just a book cover

Becoming an author has been one of the most exciting adventures I've ever embarked upon. In nearly three years of publishing my books, I've had some amazing surprises come my way, Taking a few risks has rewarded me with some unexpected windfalls. One of my most recent ones was in the preparation for the cover of my book

After the volume of work I have put into writing this story, I wanted the perfect cover. For months I've been scrolling through thousands of pictures of tattooed muscled men ( pure research of course) trying to find the perfect face of my character and never quite getting there, until one night... he was there. The face, body and sexy look that I needed. It was just a pic on someone's website and with a little detective work, I tracked this man down... only to find out that I was far from the only person who appreciated this man. Surprise, surprise.

Of course, he had already donned the front pages of magazines and had a gazillion fans. Any hope I had of having him on my front cover was looking a bit like a pipe dream, but I had nothing to lose... so I emailed him. I put a rough picture together of what I expected my cover to look like with him on it, gave him a link to my website and explained I write erotica.  Not in a million years was I expecting to even hear back from him. And that's what I love about taking risks. Sometimes you win. A few hours later, I was absolutely stunned to see a very positive reply in my inbox.

Alex Minsky would be very happy to be on my book and gave me the email of his amazing photographer to negotiate a contract. Many emails later with a very kind and helpful man, I had my image and I was on top of the world.

It was then a simple matter of sitting down with my own much loved photographer, Leah, who has been my co-artist for the covers of  The Line Trilogy, and I couldn't be happier with the result.

One of the best things about being a self-published author, is being able to be in charge of your whole book, not just the story, but how it will be presented to the world. It becomes more than a book. It's my creation, my passion and my art, I may never get to a New York Times bestselling list, or make a million dollars, but the adventures, rewards and surprises I've had on this journey, and the wonderful people who have come along for the ride, are already priceless to me.

The Monster in my Head.

When I released my last novel MASTER, I sat back and waited nervously for the response from the readers. Not because I had any doubt that I had written a story I was proud of, but I knew that it was very different from my Line Trilogy, and from most other books in the erotic genre.

For a start, it was plot heavy and delved into some dark areas. It was violent and raw, light on the sexual elements of erotica, multiple POV and set in 1995 Ukraine. One reader described it as something more suited to what her husband reads, and yes it has been appreciated by a male audience. I was prepared to receive negative reviews, and I got them and completely understood where they were coming from. We foster certain expectations from the authors we follow, and can become wary when their style seems to change. We also expect certain elements in the genres we read, I knew I would never look back. I had taken a bold step in my writing and I'm still eager to see where it will take me.

So, as I wade through and edit the 249,000 words in the first draft of my latest novel, the nerves are back again and I've had eighteen months to let all those doubts and fears become a monster in my head. As an intense sufferer of Anxiety Disorder  for twenty-five years, that comes easily for me, I've also had some personal and health issues in my life added to the equation of obstacles. There have been a few times when I've been ready to give up, but I happen to be blessed with the extraordinary love of my husband of thirty years and the most supportive family in the world. Added to that is a contingent of readers who have been patient beyond understanding, supportive and still hanging in there. Also, I have a writer's group I attend, and their input, support and encouragement has been priceless for me.

So what exactly am I afraid of? I laughed when I wrote that. Well, I can't even tell you what genre this belongs in. Let's see: an erotic who dun it, espionage romantic techno-thriller..  It's multiple POV, even from the bad guys perspective; it has a huge cast, bringing back characters from both Master and The Line Trilogy, It's a culmination of many previous events from those stories and has a very complicated plot. It is definitely not light reading. Months of research has gone into things like, cyber-crime, police procedural, Parliamentary procedures and computer technology.

It explores some very dark elements, such as suicide, alcoholism, human trafficking and sexual assault. As with all my books, it includes explicit sex scenes with a variety of kink, And somewhere, tucked away in all that, is a very deep and poignant romance. I bet you're exhausted just reading all that, so you can imagine how I've been feeling writing this story.

Will it work? I don't know. It works for me and it's been one incredible journey as a writer. I've explored breaking it up into parts and then dismissed that idea. Love it or hate it, you'll get the full story with a conclusive ending. Yes, I've been told how profitable it would be to release it in parts, that it's a too big and complicated book to hold the attention of the reader. If that last part is true, then I' haven't done my job. What I like is that the reader will be able to read a sizable portion on Amazon's "Look inside" before they purchase. By then, they'll know if this is something they want to read or not before they part with their hard earned money.

For anyone who has ever suffered from Anxiety Disorder, you'll know that we tend to get unreasonably anxious about the strangest of things. One of them, for me, has been releasing the title of my book, for fear it will be snapped up by another author before I get the chance to get my book out there. Today, I'm going to get that worry out of my mind and just do it. If someone else thinks it would be perfect for their book, good on them. Enjoy it. It's a great title.

So where am I at in this epic journey? About two thirds through my manuscript on the second to last draft. The last one will be pure polish. There's been several full rewrites so far. Still not going to give a date for release, but this year is looking pretty good.

Anyway, enough of my ravings. Let's get on with this title and cover reveal which you'll have to see on my Facebook page.. That's the very least I owe my readers, but you can find my page here: Facebook and I always love to see new followers. Just be warned. I'm the worst social interacting author there is, as my readers know.

Fifty shades of fantasy, feminism and films.

Since everyone has an opinion about Fifty Shades of Grey, both the book and the movie, I decided to weigh in on the controversy and voice my thoughts about it. My own journey in writing erotic books actually began with E. L. James' success and I think it's time that I acknowledged that and the author herself for introducing the wonderful world of kink to the mainstream.


In 2012, I was alerted to these books that were rocketing up the bestseller lists and sparking debates on TV shows and forums because of their subject, BDSM. I raced out and bought them, excited and jealous that someone else had brought this book to world. I'd been writing stories and poetry about this subject for years, to satiate my own forty year interest in kinky sex. In one day I had read all three parts of this trilogy and sighed dejectedly.

I didn't like the writing or the plot or most of the characters. I did like Christian Grey and was just sorry he met up with Anastasia Steel. That boy could have been interesting, but like Sam Taylor-Johnson did with the movie, Ana managed to neuter him. So, I raved and rambled to anyone who would listen to me about all the reasons these books were wrong.

1. Bad representation of BDSM in that it implied that a person has to have some deep seated troubled past to have an interest in domination and submission, oh, and spanking of course. Wrong! Anyone who has known people that live this lifestyle would know they are the same as anyone else, some with problems, some without who have lived incredibly happy normal lives while indulging in a some kinky antics that are part of their sexuality. 

2. The plot was pretty bad, and please don't get me started on the Inner Goddess.

Okay, so that's my main gripes, but Ms James did it and I was so jealous I was angry enough to write my own kinky book and publish it. There, take that Ms James, but actually, thank you Ms James for giving me the kick up the proverbial that I needed to do it. Now four books later, I'm living the dream writing full time and making a modest living from my books. Again, thank you Ms James.

Now we come to the whole matter of this film and its 'abusive nature toward women' Well, I agree. You did abuse us, Ms Taylor-Johnson. We wanted lots of sex, plenty of spankings and at least the casting of an actor that was something remotely like Christian Grey, not the weedy little boy next door that really does come across as just creepy.

Oh, the film. Yes definitely, the whole dubious consent, the stalker behaviour and domineering manipulation. Let's face it. If Christian Grey had been short, bald and overweight, Ana would have taken out a restraining order on him. What's that? Oh, it's a fictional film. I was beginning to think this was real the way everyone was carrying on about it. Now I'm worried. I loved the film Silence of the Lambs. Does that mean I support sick serial killers? Loved the Die Hard movies, maybe not the last one, but does that mean I support terrorism? Just on Anthony Hopkin's role as Hannibal Lector, shouldn't we have despised him and boycotted this movie that kind of made a deranged psychopath into an ante-hero.

Spoiler alert - Christian Grey eventually gets neutered by the girl and becomes a boring, politically correct man who has learnt the evils of his ways, because this is what every woman wants to fantasize about. Yeah right.

Sorry, but women's fantasies have never been politically correct and often border on abusive behaviour, that they would never condone in real life. That's why bodice rippers sell. Fifty Shades is just fantasy on screen and book and if it's going to influence your thinking and behaviour, then you're already in trouble. You girls and Johnny Depp, are you really planning to leave your loved on and run off with him? Okay, don't answer that some of you. Come on girls, we've let men tell us what to do for centuries. Are we really going to let women take over now and tell us what to think, what to watch and how we should be feeling about it? Do they really believe we are that ignorant of the very real abuse and violence that has been inflicted on women for centuries?

I remember the year I took my elderly mother to see Basic Instinct. Now if Mum was still alive she would be 99 years old this year. Greatest woman who ever lived and I just remember her roaring with laughter in the cinema when Sharon Stone did the leggy thing. Sex was just part of life. My mother ruled our home and raised me to take crap from no-one, man or woman, while she lived a lifestyle that would have made feminists throw up everywhere. She liked to bake and keep her house clean (she ironed our underwear) and she liked to be pretty and loved her man and let him believe that he was the head of the house. We knew otherwise. Dad worshiped her and when she grew sick, he cared for her day and night before he passed away. She loved the movies with a bit of bodice ripping and politically incorrect situations between the men and women. I grew up in a virtual 50's housewife lifestyle, with no car, no phone, lots of books and one of the strongest feminists I have ever known.

It seems to me that we don't need men now to tell us how to think, what to watch, how to feel about it, because we now have women who tell us all that now, in their far superior wisdom. Feminism in a nutshell: I'm a woman who cares enough about myself to make up my own mind, get educated, have an opinion and won't allow anyone to treat me badly. 

Never say never and other dilemmas

This morning I have passed the 112,000 word mark on my latest creation and can safely say I've hit the half way point. Yes, you read that right... half way. I'm expecting to reduce this considerably in the editing process, but it's still going to be a big book by the time it's finished.

I set out to write this story way back at the beginning of this year, fully intending to have an August release to coincide with my two year anniversary as a published author. Well, that never happened. I'm a bit disappointed but not beaten. Life is what it is, and as a wife, mother and grandmother we don't expect it to run smoothly all the time. There have been happy events with weddings and a new grandson, and not so happy ones with health issues. Time has definitely not been on my side and this book has become so much more than my initial idea.

Thankfully, I'm not held to a deadline, nor would I want to be. I'm loving this journey with my characters, venturing into new and unexplored territory with my writing as I did with Master. Like Master, I started off having no idea where I was going and allowed my characters to lead me on. So far, it's been quite a ride with an exciting evolution of my storytelling. The research alone has been enormous.

What seems to be emerging is as big a thriller as I've ever attempted. Thrillers remain my all time favourite genre in books and films. I especially love a good spy thriller and often imagined myself in this world of intrigue which stays hidden in the shadows. My only disappointment was that mainstream thrillers tend to build up hot, steamy scenes only to shut the bedroom door in our faces. And I understand this, but I was always one of those readers that wanted to take a peak. I certainly dreamed of writing such a story.

Master was my first attempt of an espionage thriller with the bedroom door held wide open and the reader invited in, but the scales were tipped more toward plot. This next book is a little more balanced, but the plot is far more complex with many extra characters and, I understand, might not appeal to those who like their erotic stories with a simpler plot. If I can win those readers over, I'll be delighted, but I make no apologies. This is how I want to write my story.

So my latest dilemma is a strange one. I have always ranted and raved on that I don't enjoy serials that leave you on a cliffhanger and you have to buy more to get to the end of the story. I always said I would never do that. Never say never. With the sheer size of my book, I've had people advise me to split it, for some very good reasons. Some people shy away from big books. Some people do love a cliffhanger and enjoy going on with something else while they await the next installment. My proofreaders are saying they could be editing the first half and getting that ready for release as I go on with the second half.

One thing I won't do is publish anything until the entire story is written. George R. R. Martin is the only author whose far greater wisdom I will submit to, as he makes me wait for Winds of Winter. You see, there's a good example. He keeps me waiting so I won't be distracted from writing. Good on you, George.

In doing likewise, I could then put the first half out while the second is undergoing editing. That first half would be a full length novel in itself. Hmm.... I don't know, which is why I'm happy to hear your thoughts and ideas if you'd like to comment. Remember, I'm only two years into this publishing thingy and always learning and open to advice. One promise, if I did it, I would keep each part at US$2.99 and there would only be two parts.

Now as I write this, I'm thinking of where I am in this story. My next chapter would end this first part on one pretty good cliffhanger. That's right, I could be one chapter away of sending this off to my proofreaders and getting it ready to publish. Scary. Exciting!

Well, there's my rant for today. I needed that. It's funny how you can become so emotionally caught up with your characters. Knowing what I'm about to do to them... well, it hurts. I'm horrible, but someone has to do it. Such is the lot of the author.

A Kiwi Liaison, more than just a bunch of books.



One of the highlights of my busy year was meeting Christine Leov Lealand, another New Zealand author who writes erotica. There are people you meet through your life and immediately you know that you're going to be great friends. Christine is one of those people for me. We met for dinner in Dunedin on a cold Friday night and spent the next five hours just talking about everything, but in particular about a project Christine had come up with. She wanted to make a compilation of works by four New Zealand authors. I was very proud to be one of them and was able to contribute a little more than one of my stories. Having designed my own book covers with my dear friend Leah, Christine was happy to let me have a go at one for this.

My photographer, Leah of course, asked me what I was looking for. I said that it had to be classy, erotic and very Kiwi. Leah is amazing. I give her a simple direction like that and she turns out the most incredible end results. Between us, I think we make pretty good designers. I chose the background for the cover when I came across a local graffiti artist's work on a wall at the train station. Leah knew the artist and we took time to seek his approval to use his work.

The other two people involved in the cover were the models Aaron and Maggie. Now Maggie is a long time close friend of mine who is incredibly talented in acting and modelling. She's been in movies, fashion shoots, theatre plays and she is the model on all of my Line Trilogy Books. She works tirelessly and enthusiastically every time and isn't afraid to be a little daring. I said to her that this time I wanted everyone to see her beautiful face, not just her beautiful body.

Often we forget about those wonderful people who grace the covers of our books. Most of the time they are unknown, a model that we will never meet, but whose presence on our covers is often what first attracts the readers. Well to all you wonderful people, I say thank you.

And the other authors in our compilation? Well, I haven't got to meet them yet. I spent an hour in a delightful chat with A. J. Burton and I'm yet to meet P.J. Bayliss, but we now all share a bond through our writing. To me, A Kiwi Liaison was not just a box set of books. It was the coming together of a bunch of Kiwis to produce a wonderful piece of entertainment to share with the world. Sometimes being an author is just bloody good fun. I will leave you with a link to Christine's blog to let her tell you the rest and will give you all the links where you can buy A Kiwi Liaison

Christine's Blog

A teaser from Book Five

As promised to some of my readers, I am releasing a teaser from the book I am currently writing . There is still much to be written and a lot of work to be done, before I can even think of a release date. This piece is in its raw, unedited form. A title has been chosen, but I will keep that to myself, until closer to a release date. Happy reading,

Catherine

PROLOGUE

Wellington, New Zealand, April, 1999

Thursday night always saw a large gathering of politicians at The Diamond Bar. Their week’s requirement to be in Wellington for Parliament sittings often showed on their strained faces, as they knocked back the first drinks quickly. The journalists that drank there knew better than to bother them. This was a neutral zone, where politics remained outside the doors and opposing parties could socialise together. Any infringements of that were dealt with swiftly by the bar staff, and a nosy journalist would find himself issued with a life ban from the popular watering-hole.

There was a still a lot that could be learnt through observation and eavesdropping on conversations, amplified by several rounds of drinks. Three journalists were seated in a central booth, where they had a good view of everyone and could discuss their theories among themselves. It didn't matter that they were from competing newspapers. Sometimes you had to give a little, in order to get a lot back.

Gary peered at his colleagues. “So who are you betting on for the outcome of this trial?”

“I’m tipping the government for this one,” Alex replied sullenly. “I mean it takes balls to go up against them, but you just got to know that they’ll all be closing ranks. Hell, they’re not even letting the poor bastard see the warrant.”

The youngest of the journalists shook his head in disgust. Brendan North hadn't been in his reporting career long enough to have developed the cynical attitude of the older men.

“If it happens to one man it can happen to us all. Anytime the government want to know your business then all they have to do is send in their heavies and rip your household apart. It’s not right. There are laws.”

The door to the bar opened and instinctively they looked to see who the newcomer was.

“That’s Sean Kavanagh,” Alex told them. “Poor bastard lost his wife just over a year ago to cancer, leaving him with a kid to raise.”

“No doubt he’ll play on that one, to get the sympathy vote.”

Alex shook his head. “No, from what I’ve heard he’s half a decent man. His wife was a stunner too. Can’t be easy raising a kid when you have to be away half the week, across the country for work.”

They returned to their former conversation until the next patron entered.

“Oh shit, it’s Grim Mary,” Gary smirked.

Brendan turned to see a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. The pencil skirt and business jacket she wore, hung loose on her thin frame and looked as drab as her mousy hair, caught back in a bun. Thick framed glasses were perched on a long thin nose and her mouth was turned down as if she was displeased with her surroundings.

“She’s been coming in here every Thursday, for the last four years,” Gary explained. “I think she hopes to find Mr. Right in here but, I’ve never seen her get lucky.”

“Not exactly a centrefold, is she?” Brendan observed. “What does she do?”

“Assistant to the Clerk of the House. Just about runs the Beehive. Does all the menial jobs, picks up all the other secretaries’ slack. Works fucking long hours. I feel sorry for her. She’s not that bad looking, but she’s boring as shit and I doubt she’s ever had a decent fuck.”

Brendan laughed. “You seem to know an awful lot about her.”

“Like I said, I feel sorry for her. Sometimes I yack with her, but the only thing she seems to be able to talk about is the laws around legislation. I tried once to get a bit out of her, what goes on in the Beehive, but she gave me this long lecture, and I mean long, on how and why civil servants of our Parliament must restrain from idle gossip and have a duty and legal responsibility to keep their mouths shut.”

They watched as Mary stood at the bar, being ignored by the staff until she started waving her card at them.

“She’ll get a gin and tonic and sit at that bar and try to strike up conversation with anyone who sits next to her, but everyone knows her now and tries to avoid her.”

Brendan frowned. “We should invite her over.”

“Are you mad?” Gary leaned in towards him. “Unless you want to know what the latest amendment to the Employment Act of 1975 is.”

“Actually, it’s 1992,” Brendan grinned. “But hell, she must know other things. Hell, she's a woman. You know what they say: It’s always the quiet ones.”

“Yeah right,” Gary chuckled. “Alright, I’ll go get her, but don’t say you weren’t warned.”

Brendan and Alex watched as he went across to the bar and spoke to Mary. When she looked in their direction they both smiled and waved. Mary stared back with her mouth hanging open, but nervously followed Gary back to their booth, sliding in beside him.

After introductions she sat silently, sucking on her drink through a straw.

“So have you got plans for the long weekend, Mary?” Brendan asked.

Her eyes widened. “I’ve got holidays.”

“Sweet. Are you going away anywhere?”

Mary bowed her head and kept sucking on her drink. She didn’t look at them as she answered. “Yes.”

“So where are you off to?”

She raised her head and stared at Brendan fearfully. “Why do you want to know?”

He leaned back and saw Gary pursing his lips together tightly, trying not to laugh. “I was just interested.”

“I don’t know where I’m going," she remarked sharply. "I can’t talk about it.”

“Fair enough.” He glanced at his amused companions. “We were just talking about the trial going on in the high court this week.”

Mary nodded. “The government has to act when they suspect threats to security of the country.”

“Yeah, but this guy is hardly a radical and yet the SIS smash their way into his home, take all his files and won’t even show him the warrant.”

“They must have had just cause, and that type of warrant had to be signed by the Prime Minister himself, and therefore will most certainly be valid. This is not something that should be discussed in establishments of this sort.”

Brendan smiled. “Well, what do you like to talk about, Mary?”

Again the fearful look passed over her face and she looked about at them. Her thin lips opened and closed until she finally spoke.

“Have you ever felt terrified about doing something, but you know you have to do it, because if you don’t you would never know what might have happened and it would haunt you for the rest of your life.”

She now had all their attention. Brendan frowned and peered at her. “You might need to elaborate a bit more, Mary.”

She shook her head and looked at the watch on her wrist, before fumbling about in her handbag and drawing out a ten dollar note.

“Would one of you get me another drink, please?”

Alex waved her money away and got up. “Another gin and tonic?”

Mary breathed heavily and shook her head. “No, something stronger. A whisky. Can I have a scotch on the rocks?”

“Yeah, sure.”

When she looked down at her bag again, he gave the others a quizzical glance before heading to the bar.

Gary nodded to Brendan to keep talking.

“So you were saying about doing something scary.”

Mary looked up at him anxiously. “I didn’t say that I was doing something. I posed a hypothetical question.”

“Well I suppose we all have to take risks sometime, otherwise life would get pretty, bloody boring.”

“That’s right.” Mary nodded emphatically. “And as long as it’s legal, that you’re not breaking any laws. I would never do that, you must believe that.”

“You don’t have to convince me, Mary,” Gary grinned. “Everyone has the deepest respect for you.”

She stared at him, as if he had said something terrible. “But what if I did something that wasn’t respectful, that people wouldn’t approve of?”

“Then it would be a personal choice of whether you live up to other people’s standards or live up to your own.”

“That is the choice, isn’t it, and I’ve made mine.” Mary suddenly got up and took the ten dollar note from her purse, laying it on the table. “Tell Alex, thank you for the drink. I have to go.”

Before they could respond, she was out of the booth and walking determinedly to the door, leaving the men staring after her, stunned.

“I thought you said that she was boring,” Brendan remarked.

Gary chuckled. “Well, whatever the crazy bitch is doing, I hope she does have fun for once.”

*****

“I didn’t tell them anything,” Mary stated as she hurried along the city street.

The night air was cold and the footpath void of other people, though the traffic moved steadily past her. She should have been part of it, on her way home in her car, to her safe little apartment. Instead she was headed to a building, to a car park, where she now had an hour's wait to see if anything would happen. She cursed herself for going to the pub.

Perhaps if she had gone home first, she wouldn’t have ventured out again and all this madness could have finally been done with, but as she had told those men, it would have haunted for the rest of her life.

The excitement that had gripped her for the past three months, now felt more akin to fear. She was no longer within the security of her home. It was all going to take place in an isolated setting, and she was conscious of putting her life in very real danger. The risks of what she was doing were screaming out in her mind, but through it all came that small spark of hope, that this could be a turning point in her boring and lonely life.

Turning into a narrow street, Mary stopped and looked at the bleak scenery before her. The street was dark and empty, and halfway along it was the car park. When she ventured forward her heels clicked loudly on the concrete and echoed off the dark buildings. She could barely hear the traffic in the main street behind her. This was as lonely as it could possibly be and yet she walked on.

The car park loomed in front of her, ten levels of layered concrete lying in darkness. A large wire gate sealed the entrance and a sign on it clear announced that it was closed, but upon approach she could see that the padlock was open. With trembling hands she removed it, pulling the gate back enough to get around it. Once inside, her heart picked up pace as the echo of her heels amplified her walk into the eerie space. One dirty light, surrounded by moths, revealed the ramp that she had to go up. The incline made walking difficult and she reluctantly removed her shoes.

On reaching the first level she peered out into the darkness, seeing only an empty space, and a light over a door in the distance which said ‘exit.’ It seemed to glow back at her like a warning. Staring at it, Mary suddenly heard something, like the faintest sound of extra footfalls on the concrete, after she had stopped in her tracks. She froze and listened for several minutes, her heart thumping painfully against her ribs, but only her heavy breathing was disturbing the silence. She decided firmly that she had simply heard an echo of herself.

Slowly she walked on, traversing more levels, keeping close to the wall to guide her, until she had reached the sixth level. With a deep breath, she walked to the centre towards a concrete post, with a large number ‘six’ on it. She stood next to it and waited, pressing a button on her watch to light up the time. She still had half an hour to change her mind and get out of there.

With nothing to do, she tried to imagine what he would really be like. He had described himself as tall, with black hair and blue eyes. He had tattoos which should have turned her off immediately, but it was the way he communicated with her that told her that he was not some uncultured thug.

Every night for an hour he was there, or at least his words were, appearing in the box on her computer, answering her questions, telling her things that sent shivers up her spine. At first she had ignored him as one of many internet perverts that wanted to have cybersex. Being in a public chat room, she was used to this type of harassment and would simply click their private box shut. Online she could be as aggressive as she liked, be anyone she wanted to be and certainly able to communicate boldly. It was easier to imagine herself as a sexual being and be brazen and seductive in her online character. Why was it was so much harder in real life?

She also knew that the same rule applied to anyone else in the chat room. The stats that her fellow chatters offered meant nothing and few were eager to exchange photos to back up their claims. The first time he had messaged her, she had laughed at his demanding words, “We need to talk.”

“I don’t think so,” she had laughed as she put a block on him. Anyone with the nickname ‘Master’ must have tickets on himself.

It was when he had bypassed the block and her nickname, using her real name, that she could no longer ignore him.

“How do you know my name?” she had typed furiously.

The answer that came back had chilled her. “I know a lot about you, Mary, where you live, where you work and I know how unhappy you are. I have no plans to approach you in any capacity, until you want to be approached.”

“I will never want that. I am going to report you to the police.”

“And tell them what? They will find no traces of me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I log all of my conversations.”

“And I delete them all for you.”

Her disbelief had turned to terror when she brought up her log file to find it empty.

“How is that possible? How have you done that?”

“I can do a lot with computers. I’ll give you a demo.”

Her computer had suddenly shut down. Mary had jumped up from her chair and stared at it in horror as it began to start up again. Her normal desktop appeared but with it was a private chat box, without even being in the chat room. Whimpering, she had sat back down again and ran her fingers across the keyboard.

“Stop this, please. Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re ready to give up on life. The searches you do on the internet tell me all I need to know. I just want you to know there are other options and you have nothing to fear from me.”

“Then leave me alone, please.”

“Goodnight, Mary. When you want to talk I’ll be waiting.”

The chat box had disappeared and for the next week she had avoided the chat room, and heard nothing more from this person, but he invaded her thoughts constantly. It was shameful that someone knew the terrible things she looked up on line. It had been curiosity at first, but had soon turned into a morbid study. Ending one’s life was not easy, but as each day ended, existence was losing its appeal.

No longer had she been able to dismiss the thought that she would spend her whole life alone. Her childhood had been miserable from the start, with a drug addict mother, who had overdosed when she was only four years of age. From there she had been put with an uncle and his wife and children, none who wanted her and who eventually sent her back to social services. A string of foster homes followed and she barely got to attend the same school longer than two years.

She had read the reports about herself one time, when a social worker had accidentally left her alone with her file. “A sullen child, with poor communication and social skills, constantly seeking isolation.   

At sixteen she still had fight in her and was determined to make something of her life. What life had denied her in physical charm, had been made up in her ability to learn. With a decent scholarship behind her, she had got her degree, majoring in law and politics.  She had a dream of championing the underprivileged by being their representative in government, but sadly lacked the charisma and personality that brought her any support or got her noticed.

Now her skills were relegated to administrative duties in the Office of the Clerk. Instead of being heard in the House of Representatives, she sat at that front bench, taking down every word spoken and constantly being asked to research the legislative ruling on any particular matter being debated. These days she rarely needed to research anything and could spout the article, page number and interpretation, without leaving her seat.

Her expertise was often sought after by lazy politicians, who needed to research legal matters and some of her evenings were spent doing their work for them. It left little time to improve her social skills. The few dates she had managed never went any further than dinner.

Discovering the internet chat rooms had stripped away some of the loneliness. She could be as flirtatious and witty as anyone, without having to reveal her true identity, and if she acted a little immorally what difference did it make? Wasn’t she a woman as any other, with needs and desires and longings to feel the touch of a man? Every lonely birthday seemed to herald that she was destined to die a virgin.

Whether it was madness or desperation, Mary had returned to the chat room and sought out the ominous nickname. When she couldn’t find it, she typed into the open room, “has Master been in here?” It had inspired many sarcastic replies and finally she had left.

Within a few minutes his message box had appeared on her screen and her strange sense of happiness to see it, had never departed. For an hour every night she shared her life with a stranger. When the talk had become sexual, she had not turn away, even when he had made demands of her, sick demands to do things to herself, sexual things. The more she complied, the more she wanted him to command her. Her shame was like adrenaline, pumping through her, and as the tasks grew more humiliating, so did her excitement and arousal. Her intellect was turned against her, having to describe back to him, in intimate detail, how she had obeyed him.

At work she had found herself looking around at her colleagues and smiling with her thoughts. You don’t know me, you don’t know what a bad girl I am. For the first time in her life she had an empowerment, a superiority to her peers. Their dull lives had nothing on her secrets.

That power had manifested itself when she refused to take on their work. The rumours had circulated that ‘grim Mary’ must have got herself a man. With her new found confidence, she had begun to make applications for more powerful positions in the government. If she couldn’t represent the people herself, she would certainly influence the ones who did.

Now she was about to meet this man who had made it happen and put her life into his hands.  

“I want this to be real,” she whispered, as she unbuttoned her skirt and pushed it down over her hips. She mindlessly folded it and lay it on her handbag. “I want you to be real, exactly as you told me and I will do anything you ask of me.”

Hesitating for a moment, she grabbed the sides of her panties, took a deep breath and slid them down her legs, stepping out of them and dropping them onto her skirt. Her jacket and shirt soon followed, leaving her clad in a bra, garter belt and stockings. With another deep breath she lifted her small breasts to sit on the rim of her bra, making them jut out with swollen nipples. She smiled, pleased that she had obeyed him and done all that he had asked of her. 

The cold breeze caressed her buttocks and gave her goose bumps over her entire body. Slowly she turned to face the concrete pillar and linked her hands to place on her head.

Tears rolled down her face, as she contemplated all the ways that this could go wrong. It had occurred to her that this could be an elaborate, sick office joke and any moment a bunch of her colleagues would come out to confront her, roaring with laughter over her gullibility.

Her stranger could also turn out to be a gang of rapists or a serial killer who would make her last hours violent and painful. It was strange how that scenario didn’t summon the fear that it should. Just thinking about strange men holding her down, taking turns using her body, sent unbridled adrenaline racing through her body, erupting that thumping pulse between her legs and draining the strength from her legs.

The worst she imagined was that no one would come. The fact that she had said anything to those journalists could have ruined her chances. Her stranger seemed to know everything she said or did. He had become more than a chat box full of words. He was like an omnipresent being that was always there, always watching.

Mary stiffened as she heard noises in the distance and recognized the approach of a vehicle. The desire to look around wrestled with her need to obey him and keep her eyes on the pillar. It made her nauseous, enhancing the probability that she was about to humiliate herself. Any moment she expected to hear laughter and jeering, with the flash of a camera, surrounded by cruel people reminding her how insane she had been.

Suddenly there were lights shining on her, the headlights of an unseen vehicle. Mary’s body shook with tears and fear, but she remained as she was. A door was opened and she heard the slow, solid fall of steps on the concrete.

“Why are you crying, Mary?” The voice was deeply masculine, raspy and gentle, and very close to her ear.

“I’m afraid,” she sobbed.

Mary gasped and shuddered as a large hand ran over her bottom. She could feel him closing in on her. The hand travelled slowly up her side until it was cupping her breast. A thumb caressed her nipple making her squeal and seize the intrusive hand, the sensation too foreign and startling. She was suddenly pulled back against a hard body and felt his breath at her ear.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” He whispered. “Especially when I touch you. Take your hand away from mine.”

“I’ve never been touched,” she protested. “I’m not used to it. It feels strange.”

“The next time you disobey me, Mary, I will punish you. Now take your hand away from mine.”

Trembling, she slowly linked her hands again and put them back to her head. Her legs could barely hold her as her nipple was gently captured between his fingers. She felt his breath on her shoulder and then his lips nuzzling softly against her skin, travelling up to her neck.

“Oh god, this can’t be happening.” She could sense how small she was against him. “Please, Master, please may I look at you?”

He stayed behind her and moved her around so that the headlights were shining in her face. She squinted and held her hand up against the light and then felt him step back from her.

“Turn around.”

She shuffled about slowly and her mouth fell open as she got her first look at him. He was nothing like she had imagined. Despite what he had told her, her common sense had not allowed an unrealistic version of this stranger. In her mind he would be attractive enough, possibly a little overweight, probably not as tall as he had stated. He might even be a bit balding on top. It didn’t matter. There would be something of the truth in him and that was enough.

But everything he had told her had been true. The man who stood before her was startlingly attractive, rugged with the lightest blue eyes that she had ever seen. His hair was thick and a little unkempt, falling about his face and neck. A black singlet clung to a powerfully broad chest and she could see that his arms were tattooed and bulging with muscle. He was terrifying and magnificent.

Mary shook her head and bowed her head. “No, this isn’t right.”

“What’s not right?”

“Someone like you, taking an interest in me. That just doesn’t happen. I’m ugly. I don’t understand it.”

He stepped forward and pulled her against him, lifting her chin so that she had to stare into his face.

“You’re itching for that punishment,” he told her sternly, his eyes boring into her. “You are exactly what I want. For the next three weeks your body will be mine and I intend to use it often and watch as others use it as I direct them, just as I told you, and all for my pleasure alone. Is that understood?”

She continued to stare at him in awe and he smiled.

“Now is the time to change your mind, Mary. If you come with me, I will take you to the room I told you about, where I will take your virginity and explore every part of your body with my mouth and my hands. I will also punish you, for ever wanting to take your life and it will hurt. After that, you will be able decide whether you want to spend the next three weeks with me.”

Mary trembled, searching his face for any sign of deception, but seeing only those incredible eyes boring into her.

“And you will stop if I ask?”

He shook his head slowly. “I will only stop at the utterance of one word.”

“Red,” she whispered, but doubts still gnawed at her. “What if I fail to please you? I’m not exciting and I know nothing about sexual things, apart from what you’ve taught me.”

His smile was almost sinister. “You already please and excite me, and I know enough about sexual things for both of us. I’m going to teach you to love your body, to see your beauty and to know that you belong to someone for as long as you need.”

She was still trembling but her breathing had calmed. More tears spilled down her face as she realised that this was the first time in her entire life that she no longer felt afraid.