Discussion: dr_mabeuse

[KillerMuffin]

I've got a story I'd like to submit to the discussion circle.

It's called "A Lady of Thorns" and here's a link

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=92080

If you've got any questions or anything, just PM me.

Thanks. KM


---dr.M.

Next willing victim!

 

[Singularity]

A Real Story

I thorughly enjoyed reading A Lady of Thorns. It was first and foremost a story, with believable characters and the ring of truth about the tentativeness and the sometimes awkward way that we stumble into relationships and in communicating our true feelings.

The delay in the actual skin-on-skin (or as I first mistyped it, but kind of like "sin-on-skin") is in keeping with the emotional buildup and the overall tone and pacing of the story. I am sure it cost you some votes, though, for the turgidly impatient readers out there.

The one thing that I got stuck on was the package. If he lived around the corner, how come Virginia got the package delivered to the flowershop? Especially if he had forgotten all about it. I can accept that, at their level of friendship, that he might have a package delivered to her for daytime delivery, but given the absence up to that point of anything overt between them, it seems out of place that he would take the risk of having something that could be so embarrassing delivered to Virginia.

I know that having it delivered there is the key device to cross the threshhold into the second half of the story, but I think it needs a bit more explanation about how come he had it sent to her. Did he know that the return address would be safely innocuous and that he would not be embarrassed by having her see it (prior to knowing about her past)?

Overall, this is a niggly point, I think. It would only take a few sentences to help the reader over this bridge.

Other than that minor complaint, an excellent story. Bravo.


Singularity

 

[the_bragis]

Yo Doc,

This is a great little story! It’s a good and intriguing title too, it suits the story well. You know I appreciate a good bdsm story, and this is very good.

I agree with Singularity some readers may get impatient to get to the sex faster, but personally I didn’t’ mind the slow introduction. (sin and skin - ha ha... good one!) I guess if you wanted to try to keep the masses happy you could have gone into detail about exactly how you had upset Mandy. A good whipping scene right at the start could have had many readers salivating sooner.

I agree to it’s a very realistic story. Its quite possible something like this could really happen isn’t it? Oh, don’t you just wish Doc?

A few things I noted as I reader were:

I was shocked and horrified to spot two minor typos. Very, very minor, and if the first one hadn’t been in the first paragraph I would have skimmed right over it, but they’re there just the same.

Now I know exactly what D/s stands for but it’s possible some readers might not, so perhaps you could have used the full words. Sure it’s not difficult to work it out if you aren’t familiar with bdsm, but its never good for a reader to have to stop and think is it?

There was the hot, humid atmosphere of a green house and the overpowering smell of flowers.

This sentence read oddly to me. Could it be just me?

A number of your sentences began with ‘she’, four in a row in one paragraph. Yes, I know it’s very nit picky, and you’re probably thinking about now, “What the hell does Alex know anyway?” Well not much, and maybe it is ok, it’s just something I noticed as I read.

Overall - hot stuff Doc!

I wish you well with your future writing.

Have a great day.

Alex (fem).

 

[hiddenself]

In my view, not one of your best efforts, dr.M. The story lacks the fire that Morzhay Cosmetics, your other BDSM work, certainly has.

This one does indeed feel real -- too real for an erotic fantasy, I'm afraid. It is too subdued, not exciting enough. And quite sad at times. You could excise all the sex parts and beef up some of the other psychological aspects and you'd probably have a much stronger story. Not a sex story. Perhaps a love story. Perhaps a male mid-life crisis story. Perhaps a story on life itself. Not quite sure what, but certainly not a sex story.

Anyway, the narrator's character seems a little raw. Sometimes (eg, the Mandy incident), I got the impression that he was undergoing some sort of male mid-life crisis and that the D/s curiosity had become a minor obsession. But then, his later behavior seemed inconsistent. Could he possibly give up so easily? And why would he keep buying toys and such if he had put that desire aside? Or had he? Was he still experimenting with other women all the time he was developing his friendship with Virginia? And how long did this phase last anyway?

Virginia's character felt more genuine. There were still details that did not mesh well, however. If her husband was not into D/s, how come she had all the bondage and discipline implements? And since her husband was never really into it, did she get her D/s experience before the marriage? Oh, and I'm not sure what the point of her husband's death is. What is the role of that event in the story?

The picture I formed of Virginia was one of quietness and inherent sadness, someone with depth but of few words, introverted and reserved, yet thoughtful and sensitive. That had nothing to do with her husband's death, or her submissive sexual nature. Even at the height of passion (in the sex scene you describe), she seems soft-spoken and pensive. Yes, she has a "gleam in her eyes" but she "whispers" and "murmurs."

So, to me, statements like

There seemed to be no connection. The calm, placid Virginia from the front, this submissive whore in the back.

and

she is now more passionate than any woman I've ever known, so passionate it can sometimes be frightening.

simply don't make sense. You tell me one thing, but you've shown me another. I simply don't see the different Virginias whose pictures you seem to be trying to paint.

Also, some little mysteries puzzled me. For example, what does the following mean -- what is its role in the story?

I'd bring some bagels or croissants on occasion, just to do my part, and though Virginia hardly ate them, she humored me and acted pleased.


The writing is also sloppier than your better work.

I don't go into florist's very often...
A florist's? The florist's? Florists'?
But what you have doesn't seem right.
I don't go into flower shops very often...?

It was tucked between an empty storefront and another shop that repaired windows and mirrors, part of a string of little stores that had been carved out of the basements of a row of apartment buildings on Clark Street a long time ago.
I think it would read better as:
Tucked between..., it was part of a...

The front door was below street level, so t you had to walk down a half-dozen steps or so to get to it.
I presumed that this ("it") was referring to the door of the particular flower shop.

The "or so" business is awkward (you use it again later, in "for the past year or so"). Is it necessary?

I never saw anyone coming in or out, so I didn't pay them any attention at all. They were invisible to me, a part of the street.
But now, what do "them" and "they" refer to? All the doors, the little stores? Wery wery confusing sructure.

Outside it was grey and cold, but it was very nice in here.
"Nice"? Ugh.

it was grey and cold
a gray florist's smock
Any particular reason why you use two different spellings?

she was the owner and sole proprietor...
Yes, there is a fine difference, but isn't this overkill? One or the other would do fine, no?

she was very placid
Doesn't "placid" usually carry a negative connotation?

paid the nut
?

She took off her florists' smock
Florist's?
This word seems to be giving you trouble throughout.

There are repetitions of words or sentence structures (she/I..., "feel(ings)"), with some instances more obvious than others.


Well, I'll end here.
I think your best strength is your ability to capture various shades of human psyche and connections. Sometimes, that gets diluted when you add the sex part.

 

[champagne1982]

Thankyou for the interesting take on one man's foray into the Dominant/submissive lifestyle. I'm very curious though, aren't whips and pain more parts of a sadomasochistic sexuality? It just seems to me that although the elements of these two styles aren't mutually exclusive, they're consistantly grouped together. Is it easier to call him a Dominant than it is to say he's a sadist?

I'm sorry, I'm letting my personal aversion to these practices colour my discussion.

I won't go into the details about your typos, sentence structures and credibility, others have done so, precluding anything I may have to say.

I liked the story enough that I'm sure I'll be scampering off to read your other offerings.

Carrie (xxxotica, champagne1982)

"The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was." Jelalludin Rumi.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

From the Author

Rather than list a series of specific questions I have about the story, I thought it might be helpful if I gave my own critique of the story and told you what I thought of it and where I thought it was strong and weak, where the problems were, what I was trying to do, and things like that. I often think that we can't really criticize a story unless we know just what the author was trying to accomplish in it. That way we can better tell if he succeeded or not.

First of all, I do most abjectly apologize for the numerous typos and proofreading gaffes in the story. I won't make excuses: it was my responsibility, and I screwed up badly. Very bad.

Now: In this story I was trying to expand beyond my usual sex stories, which tend to be basically strokers centering around one or two highly detailed sexual encounters between stock Lit character types. The germ of the story was my seeing a shop similar to the one in the story, a tiny florist's shop tucked into the basment of a building. I joined that idea with an SM whipping scene I wanted to try and write and they seemed to go together pretty well. From then on it just kind of wrote itself. The plot developed as I wrote it. No outline, nothing like that. I knew where it would start, and I knew where I wanted it to go and I just had to figure out how to get there.

The character of Virginia existed before I began writing. Basically I wanted someone who was more than a stock fuck object, and I'm personally attracted to that kind of woman, one who is deep but very passionate. They always seem to be a little sad too when I write them. I guess I feel that people who love deeply are always a little sad. I put no work into making the narrator any much different than I would be in his place.

What I wanted was to create a place with a heavy and unusual erotic atmosphere, a place that would be beautiful and sensual and yet contrast with the rather perverse desires of the people involved. I liked the idea of this steamy, fertile and fragrant flower shop contrasted with this horrible raw weather outside, and all that contasted with the weird and passionate sex the characters experience. I think the establishment of that kind of place came off only okay: it would have been better if I'd sustained the imagery throughout their developing relationship so that the reader was always aware of being surrounded by this lushness of flowers.

Originally I had the sex hapening in the shop. I later changed it to her aprtment in the back because I just couldn;t convince myself that they'd drop to the floor and start screwing right there, or that she would keep her gear in her shop. Besides, I knew a guy who lived in a basement apartment behind a dry cleaner and his place stuck in my mind. I lost a lot of the flower shoip ambiance when I took them back to her apartment, I think.

I also wanted to have the sex stop with her orgasm and with him stunned by what he'd done: how he'd brought her pleasure in this rather unpleasant way. It was clear though that I couldn;t leave him there all hot and aroused, so I had to have him take her as well, but by then the actual climax of the story had occurred and so it's all going downhill.

As far as the writing goes, on rereading it now I am very troubled by the way the backstory is handled, especially since we were discussing it in another thread here. I do just about everything I don't like in telling his history, and it reads very stiff and list-like to me. I don't like it at all.

I also don't like how I have him constantly wondering what the hell is going on during the run up to the sex scene. It seems to me like I keep on telling the reader how confused he is and how befuddled, and I think I would have done more with a lot less in that regard. I should have paid more attention to what was going on outside him and less to what was happening inside him.

The whipping itself did not come off as I wanted. Being in the narrator's place, with a woman eager to be treated this way, who literally hands him the whip, is a very intense emotional experience, and there are a million things that go through your mind. I knew I didn't have a chance of explaining all his feelings, but I had hoped to intensify the scene by concentrating on a few of the emotions I think he'd feel: there is a great feeling of power, a great fear of that power, and what I'd call almost a resentment of being given that power by the very person he was to use it against. It 's intoxicating and sobering at the same time, and I don't think that comes across very well at all.

There's that sudden distraction when he starts musing about the treatment of retreating armies that I still don't know about. I put it in and took it out several times, and finally decided to leave it in. I still don't know how well it works.

I also feel the ending is unusually awkward. I don't know if I really had to drive in the symbolism of the thorns on the roses. I think it should be pretty damned obvious. But I think the real awkwardness comes from the abruptness: the way you go from a hot and sweaty sex scene to a long, long shot with the narrator waxing all philosophical. I think maybe I should have shown more of what transpired between them after the sex was over before I pulled back for that ending. The fact that I didn;t allow them to interact after the sex is what gives the story such a sad or bittersweet feel. We don't know if they really connect or not.

I wanted the story to end inconclusively. I certainly didn't want them living happily ever after, nor did I want them both getting up and saying what a swell time they had and exchanging phone numbers. I think his musing about never knowing about people was kind of nice. He just said it as I was writing and I left it in. I couldn't argue with him.

So I guess I see it as a middling effort. I think it was an exercise for me in incorporating non-explicitly erotic material into an erotic story. It could have been written better.

---dr.M.

I have to make one PS on champagne's comment on D/s vs S&M because it's a topic of some interest to me. Basically I would say that you can call it whatever you like, it doesn't really matter to the people involved in it. There's been a debate going on in the BDSM forum about just when BD becomes SM or if it ever really does, and it really seems to be to be no more than a matter of arbitrary labels. I hope that in the story it was clear that, while his motives in whipping her were not entirely clear, hurting her was not really his object.

 

[Alex756]

OK to begin, the ending.

I liked the ending in that it clearly signalsed this is the ending. I know most poeple figure that out when there aren't more words, but sometimes I like a bit more. The thing I can't figure out is if I liked the definate ending becaue I had already been faked out. I know few people get faked into thinking something ended, the additional words afterwards tend to indicate its not the end. However, upoin reading your comments about having ended it earlier ... maybe the fact it could have ended earlier faked me a bit so the clear cut ending was good. Oh and it also tied into the title very well.

****
You can't tell about people. You really can't. The most remarkable people turn out to be surprisingly shallow, only obsessed by one little thing that sets them apart from everyone else. Then the person you pass every day, the woman you meet in the shop, turns out to have secrets so deep you can never make out the bottom.

The invisible barrier that had been between us was gone. That insulating cocoon she'd carried around was just burned away in the fire of what we did, and she is now more passionate than any woman I've ever known, so passionate it can sometimes be frightening.

***

This I think is where the contrast between shopkeeper Virginia and Sexual Virginia is truly brought to us, and the reason I don't think you can end the story earlier.

The entire beginning of the story she is distant, kept away. The drab mousy haired girl in a Tshirt that morphs in the sexuakl situation to become vibrant.

And the 'it can sometimes be frightening' seems to confirm a feeling I had though the reading that she was MUCH more into it than him. maybe he's willing to take the trip to what she needs, but I'm not sure. And maybe it will work even if he can't go as far as her, after all she held things together with her husband.


As for her husband being dead, I think it has to be that way. She couldn't have left him or that would have been a hit to her loyalness.

She is obedient. Being a widow doesn't mean she broke any promises, and at her age never having been married would seem odd, possible yes, but odd, and that would leave the question of long term boyfriends and such. People develope kinks sometimes that have nothing to do with their currant relationship. and sometimes partners try their best to do something the other likes, maybe something they personally don't like. Thet her husband would have tried to humor her makes sense, maybe spank her a bit and it grows from there.

The package getting delivered to her store, first obviously its in a generic box, with some company name that looks perfectly respectable on your credit card statement and the address lable. And she has never opened his boxes ever, she has just signed for them. Better that then have to go and rescue your sex toys from thre post office. Nothing better on a Saturday then going to the post office to get you sex toys from some old lady at the counter, better to have a discrete box shipped to you, just tell people its some thing for your computer and no one ever asks more than that.

Wow this wasn't very useful was it.

I think my only problem with the story was something seemed off in the pacing, I know there is a detailed opinion -- not. it felt like alot of time passed, but it always felt like dreary spring too. Like the weather should have started colder, you know winter bitterly cold, much colder than it started, and gotten warmer slowly. It -felt- like 4-6 months had passed relationship wise but only a month or so weather wise.

I think a longer time flow would have helped the character developement, They seemed to change a little fast.

PS I am very glad I read this story, and I really did enjoy it, even though it is in a catagory I normally don't read, it was very enjoyable.

YAA
yet another Alex
Alex756

 

[Pure]

There's some good writing, there, dr m.
Good atmosphere.

Your intentions to actually tell a story are appreciated.

Best,

pure.

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Good story, Doc. Most of the overall complaints I might have made have already been covered by you and the other critiquers. I'll second the idea the Bragis had about giving an account of the botchec whipping scene with the narrator and Mandy, even a short one, early in the story.

I'd also suggest you give the narrator a name and add some more physical description of Virginia. While I admire your attempt to avoid the usual "tits and ass" sex doll stereotype, it might help some readers to identify with her if they knew more about things such as the color of her hair and eyes plus something about her height and build.

All my input is in CAPS and strictly given as suggestions, not admonishments. If you decide some of it is useful, great. If it's all rubbish, well, at least the price was right.

Congratulations on a good story that, with a little work, has the potential to become excellent.

Rumple Foreskin

--

I don't go into florist's very often, so I never paid any attention to the one that was around the corner from my place. It was tucked between an empty storefront and another shop that repaired windows and mirrors, part of a string of little stores that had been carved out of the basements of a row of apartment buildings on Clark Street a long time ago. The front door was below street level, so you had to walk down a half-dozen steps or so to get to it. I never saw anyone coming in or out, so I didn't pay them any attention at all. They were invisible to me, a part of the street. (LOGIC ISSUE. IF HE NEVER SAW ANYONE COMING IN OR OUT, WHO WAS “THEM” HE DIDN’T PAY ANY ATTENTION TO?)

Then one morning waiting for the bus I happened to notice the shop and it occurred to me that this might be a great way to apologize to Mandy, who was still pretty upset about our last play session, where I had tried the crop on her for the first time. She hadn't liked it at all, and it looked like my attempts to turn her into a D/s partner were about to hit the same old brick wall as all my others. I'd apologized, but flowers wouldn't hurt. Besides, it was so convenient. I could just stop by the florist after work, order her some roses and have them sent over. It couldn't be easier.

It's pretty rare that I remember anything of what I was thinking in the morning by the time I get home, but this time I did, and as soon as I got off the bus I trotted down the stairs to the florist and walked in. (IMHO, THE SENTENCE IS A TAD LONG AND AWKWARD.)

There was the hot, humid atmosphere of a green house and the overpowering smell of flowers. The scent was so thick that (UNLESS KM SAYS DIFFERENTLY , OMIT “THAT”) the air actually seemed viscous, but it was delicious for all that. It was a tiny place, and so crammed with flowers and plants that (OMIT “THAT”) it took me a minute to find the counter. There was no one there that I could see, but I could hear a canary singing in the back. (HERE ARE SOME QUIBBLES. “ALL THAT” REFERS TO ONLY ONE THING, THE AIR BEING SO THICK IT SEEMED VISCOUS. “THERE WAS NO ONE THERE THAT I COULD SEE” INVITES THE QUESTION, WAS THERE SOMEONE THERE HE COULDN’T SEE? AND FOR ME AT LEAST, THE THERE-THERE COMBINATION INTERRUPTED THE STORY’S FLOW.)

"Hello?" I called.

A woman's voice called out from the back. "Be right with you!"

I stuck my face in a bunch of flowers, inhaling deeply. Outside it was grey and cold, but it was very nice in here.

She was about the same age as me, a woman just losing the bloom of youth and settling into a handsome maturity, with just enough lines to give her face some character. She had mousy brown hair gathered into a ponytail and wore jeans and a tee-shirt with a gray florist's smock thrown over that. Her pockets were filled with shears, pruners, string and other florist stuff, and as she entered the shop she was absorbed in applying a band aid (THAT’S A REG TRADEMARK) to her finger. There were several band aids (MAYBE "OTHER ONES"?) already on both hands..

"Hi," she said without looking up. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to buy some flowers." I said. (PROBABLY A TYPO, BUT “WANT” NOT “WANTED”)

"Sure."

She finished with the band aid (THAT’S THE THIRD REF TO “BAND AID”) and looked at me for the first time. Her eyes were dark, clear brown. She waved her bandaged hand in the air. "Sorry," she said. "I was cutting roses. The thorns always get me."

"You should wear gloves." I said.

"Gloves?" She raised her eyebrows, as if that were a novel idea. She smiled. "Yes. I suppose I should. Now what did you say about flowers?"

I bought a dozen red roses and told her where to have them sent, and she got them from the cooler: beautiful, long-stemmed flowers, with a scent that would be overpowering if it came from anything but a rose.

But the real story here wasn't the flowers I sent to Mandy. It was meeting Virginia for the first time. That was her name and she was the owner and sole proprietor. She'd been working around the corner from my apartment for five years without my knowing it at all. (JUST MY OPINION, BUT “AT ALL” SOUNDS LIKE AN EMPTY CLICHÉ DESIGNED TO KEEP THE SENTENCE FROM ENDING IN “IT.”)

She wasn't very busy that day--she was never really busy—and I was so amazed at having stumbled into this tropical hothouse in the slush of March in Chicago that I just stuck around a little bit. She didn't seem to mind, and was happy to stand at the counter and chat.

There was something about her that I liked immediately. She was very calm, very placid and self-possessed, but she wasn't at all cold or remote. She seemed like someone who had come through a very rough time and had discovered that she could survive on her own. She was pretty, and she could have been beautiful if she'd wanted to take the trouble. She was nicely built with visible curves that were visible beneath the smock; athletic. She had a way of holding herself that was wonderfully feminine, a natural grace. (THIS IS JUST A “FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH” - THE LAST FIVE SENTENCES IN THAT PARA BEGIN WITH “SHE.”)

--

So when I met Virginia I was just about ready to forget the whole thing. And without the curiosity about D/s to motivate me, I really wasn't very interested in finding a woman for female companionship. The pain of the failed marriage was still too sharp. So no bells started ringing, no rockets went off when I met her. It was nice to meet someone new in the neighborhood, and I liked her immediately. (MIGHT WANT TO RE-WORD. THE FOLLOWING LINE WAS USED A FEW PARAGRAPHS AGO, “There was something about her that I liked immediately.”)

Nothing might have come of it had it not been raining one morning a week or two later. It was a good, solid rain, partly frozen, and it was falling on the remains of the winter's snow, coating everything with sleet and turning the streets and sidewalks into swamps of freezing slush. A nasty, nasty day. (BEEN THERE-SUFFERED THROUGH THAT. NICE DESCRIPTION.)

I was standing under my umbrella waiting for the bus when I heard someone call. I turned around and there was Virginia, waving out of the door of her shop. "Nice weather, huh?"

"Yeah. Beautiful." I said, smiling bitterly..

"Come on," she said. "You want to wait inside?"

"Christ yes!" I said, and I (OMIT “I”) hurried over..

--

I let one bus go by, then another. It was a nasty day, everyone would be late for work, and it was nice in there with her, sitting in the tropical warmth and looking through the steamy window at the frozen misery outside. Virginia seemed happy for the company as she puttered around with her flowers, drink (DRANK) coffee, and took an occasional call..

--

It turned out that she lived right in the back of the store. That's how old the place was; it was built in the days when shopkeepers lived on the premises. (IN THE FIRST PARA, THE STORE WAS DESCRIBED AS HAVING, “…been carved out of the basements of a row of apartment buildings.”) She was a widow. Her husband had died a year or so before she opened the store; that's where she got the money. She never seemed to do much business, though she said most of her money came from supplying some of the local restaurants with fresh flowers and that's what paid the nut. Still a lot of it went unsold. When I left at night I could see piles of dead flowers out in the dumpster behind her place. That always made me sad.

--

I watched the wild light outside the shop windows, the shadows running down the frigid street. She turned off the neon sign in the window and locked the front door. Somewhere outside I could hear a loose piece of metal was (OMIT “WAS”) banging against the building in the wind.

She walked past me without a word and led me into the back, where I’d never been. There was in a small apartment there (OMIT “THERE”) with the same hot and humid atmosphere as the shop out front, the smell of flowers. We entered the living room: a television, a daybed, a table, some lamps, and flowers in vases everywhere.

--

She turned to me in her bra and panties and her socks., She didn't look at me. She had made her decision and had put herself in my hands. She was focused on her own feelings. (ANOTHER, FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH NOTE: THE LAST SEVEN SENTENCES BEGAN WITH, “SHE.”)

--

It was a tense and strangely subdued struggle, no screaming, no cursing or crying. I held her there as she twisted and tugged, and all the time she was getting more and more aroused. Her hair fell into her face and her breasts began to slip out of her bra. (“HER” WAS USED FOUR TIMES IN THAT LAST SENTENCE.) Still she persisted, grimacing and grunting a little with the effort, arching her body off the wall, until finally she was exhausted and I felt her relax.

We stood like that while she caught her breath. I leaned my head against the wall next to hers, still holding her wrists. I was panting myself but it was not all from exertion. (MAYBE “BUT NOT JUST FROM THE EXERTION.”). She lifted her face to me, her lips open, and I kissed her. There was surrender in her kiss. There was something beseeching in the way she accepted my tongue, a kind of willingness that intoxicated me. I'm ashamed to say it, but I felt powerful and masculine. I felt virile.

--

I pulled down my zipper and opened my pants. I pushed them and my shorts together down over my hips, then I stood there with my legs spread (IN MY EXPERIENCE, NOT IF THE PANTS AND SHORTS ARE BUNCHED AROUND HIS ANKLES) and my cock standing up.

Virginia looked up at me from under her brows and her eyes were intense, focused. Her mouth was open slightly and she seemed to have the faintest smile on her lips, but I couldn't be sure. That sense of composure and equanimity she had always shown in the shop was definitely gone. She was a totally different person now, waiting at my feet.

The words just came out of my mouth. "Suck me."

I was almost shuddering with excitement as she raised her face and opened her mouth. She rose up on her knees (OMIT “ON HER KNEES” IT’S ALREADY BEEN ESTABLISHED THAT SHE’S KNEELING.) to capture me between her lips, then I pushed my hips forward and she let me slide inside. I closed my eyes at the exquisite wetness and heat of her mouth, and then I felt her start to draw on me, draw me into her mouth.

I groaned and put my hands on her head, tangled my hands (FINGERS?) in her hair, and that seemed to set her off. She suddenly gulped me down, swallowing, forcing me into her throat as if she couldn’t get enough. She took me down as far as she could, then held me.(TYPO) there, her breath loud through her flared nostrils. The head of my cock his the back of her throat and she forced herself to swallow so that her throat closed on me, giving me the most intense sensations. Then she drew her head back slowly, letting my pole emerge, shiny and covered with saliva and mucus. She waited for a moment, catching her breath, then she swallowed me again, impaling herself on my tool. (POSSIBLY A COUPLE SLIGHT POV SHIFT PROBLEMS. YOU’VE DONE A REMARKABLE JOB UP TILL NOW OF AVOIDING THESE, BUT HOW DOES HE KNOW “SHE TOOK ME DOWN AS FAR AS SHE COULD…” OR THAT “…SHE FORCED HERSELF TO SWALLOW…”?)

All the while her head was turning, twisting, as is she were trying to scratch the back of her throat with me. Her hands tugged and pulled against the bonds. (SAME POV PROBLEM AS IN THE LAST PARA. MIGHT BEGIN WITH, “I COULD TELL…”) She was not trying to get free: she was feeling how much she was bound and defenseless, and the hotter I became, the harder she worked at the cuffs.

--

I realized that with her arms bound behind her she couldn't get up off her knees, (I’M NO EXPERT AT THIS, BUT HER GETTING UP MIGHT BE TOUGH, BUT IT SHOULDN’T BE IMPOSSIBLE.) so (OMIT “SO” BEGIN NEW SENTENCE) I took her arm and pulled her over to the bed and she threw her upper body on it, her knees still on the floor. (AWKWARD)

--

I pulled back but I didn't stop fucking her, driving my prick into her and squeezing her ass. I’d never seen (KNOWN?) a woman go (OMIT “GO”) so delirious for (OMIT “FOR” ADD “DURING”?) sex, and (OMIT “AND” BEGIN NEW SENTENCE.) just when I felt my orgasm start she suddenly snapped tight, going rigid beneath me, and she made the most unearthly groan, a deep, shuddering sound that started in her chest and rose to the top of her head; a sound of total, primal satisfaction.

--

In all the time I've known her now, (OMIT “NOW”) Virginia has offered no explanation or rationale for the way she is, and after trying to draw her out on my own, after trying to analyze her behavior in some way that makes sense to me, I've given up trying to explain it or understand it at all.

She wears gloves now when she handles roses. She finds her thorns some place else.

 

[SexyChele]

Hey Dr. M!

Overall, I liked the story. Having been in a situation where I've either introduced a partner to BDSM or had slightly more experience, I could relate to Virginia on many levels. I was confused when she stated her late husband hadn't been very into it at all and yet she seemed very comfortable with being bound and whipped. It somehow didn't fit, and in my mind I had to plug in that she'd probably had one or two lovers previous to her husband who had been into BDSM and had introduced her to it. Not sure if this is how you pictured it.

I think there is a sense of realism in the fact that the main character kept questioning himself and kept wondering what he should do. Dominance doesn't always come as second nature to a lot people and there is frequent questioning. Having been put in the position of dominating some one before, these very questions were ones I had.

I would agree with you regarding the part of the retreating army. It seemed distracting and a little out of place. Almost an item that, unless you were a soldier in that situation, it didn't quite make sense. I think it would have been best left out.

The ending was okay, but you are right - it was a bit awkward. Ending at Virginia's orgasm would have done well as far as telling the story, and I like the idea. However, I think very few readers would have appreciated that. I think that there should have been a smoother transition between the protagonist's climax and his thoughts. It seemed to me his thoughts were more of the here and now, and he had been thinking back on the beginning of the event. It doesn't really flow like that and causes the reader to have to think and go, "Huh?" Maybe a transition such as, "That was almost a year ago, and ..." Not sure.

I really liked the last line. It tied in well with the beginning. I think what might have hurt the impact of it was the uneven transition between act and reflection.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Thank you all very much.

I can't disagree with any of your points, all of which were helpful, so I won't.

Alex, it was a pleasure to read your take on the story from within the story itself. That made me feel good. And I hear what you and Chele's say about her prior experience with her husband. Singularity pointed out the same thing, and to be honest, I never really gave it much thought, why she would have had this big box of gear when her husband wasn't that into it, or how she would have learned what she liked.

Chele, I'm very glad it had the feel of realism to it, because I've never gone that far and so the encounter was only imaginary.


And Rumple, what can I say? You are a suberb editor, and I really appreciate the time it took to give me your critique. I definitely am in your debt.

And everyone else's too. Thanks again.

---dr.M.