So this week, I decided to give you a little snippet from my not so secret project. This is the story I work on when all else fails and I need to clear my head. Written in first person, it challenges me and makes me think outside of the box. It also helps when I have writer's block. Anyhow, here are 300 ish words written from Anthony's point of view (my reclusive photographer/dominant.) Enjoy!
300 Word Snippet:
As I paced the secluded cabin I’d used for my last session with Samantha Rollings, I called myself a fucking fool. What the hell had possessed me? I’d given up on innocents long ago. They were nothing but trouble for a Dom such as me. It wasn’t that I was a heartless bastard – well okay more than one sub had accused me of that, but I never once led any of them on. I loved to play. To explore their limits, to give them what they needed – at least physically. But I didn’t do relationships. And they knew that up front or we didn’t play.
I’d learned from painful experience that in my line of work, relationships just weren’t a good idea. At first, my girl-friend would claim my taking pictures of naked women didn’t bother her, then she’d drop hints about wanting to watch, then find ways to butt in – all under the guise of helping me. Then I would end up calling the relationship quits, because, god help me, either you trusted me or you didn’t. Now I settled for spending a night or two with a willing sub at the club. I never brought them home – even though I had my own dungeon in my basement. They knew the score and never expected more than a good hard lashing from my whip or an hour or two in my ropes.“So, what fuck am I doing?” I raked my hands through my hair.The sound of a car coming up the graveled drive had my cock stirring. I scowled down at the traitorous piece of flesh. It wasn’t unusual for me to get woody during a shoot – I was human after all, but I was a Dom as well. I controlled my cock, not the other way around. I was forty-eight, not fucking eighteen.