Destined to Play, Feel, Fly Trilogy

by Indigo Bloome

  ‘You have the symbol, under your left breast.’

  Caitlin freezes in fear of his discovery of her secret, one she promised her mother she would never discuss. How could she possibly keep it covered in a position such as this, with someone so closely inspecting every intimate detail of her breasts and body?

  He lifts her left breast; she can feel him examining it carefully, without pain. Her heart thumps in her chest so hard and fast she can hear it pounding in her ears. Anticipating death, she awaits her fate in the darkness …

  ‘You are a woman of the heart, not a witch.’

  She immediately exhales but is not sure why as he continues to whisper in her ear, pushing part of the covering aside so his voice is less muffled. She can feel the warmth of his breath as he speaks to her.

  ‘My mother told me this story every night before I slept. I know it word for word as she told me time and again.’

  Caitlin remains still as she wonders how a bedtime story could possibly have anything to do with her.

  ‘Once upon a time, there was a kind woman who lived in our village. She was referred to as “the woman of the heart” and could be identified by the birthmark of a heart on her left shoulder.’

  Caitlin freezes in shock, unable to believe she is hearing the story of her mother from this man.

  ‘There are only a few women with such a gift of magic and healing; they are revered by the common folk and their magic needs to be protected. Each generation is blessed by a woman of the heart, a true healer of the sick and desolate. One day, a boy so sick he was at the door of death was touched and blessed by such a woman. He returned to full health within three days, a true miracle in the village. Her daughter, also of the heart, attended the healing which made the young boy’s recovery much faster. The young boy was given the gift of life, instead of having it taken from him. His mother told him, “If by chance you should ever meet a woman of the heart, and who is so marked, it is your duty to protect her from those who wish her harm.” The young boy would grow into a strong man who would be clear in his destiny, understanding that his life would be dedicated to protecting the women of the heart, just as they had helped him.’

  Caitlin doesn’t say anything, not knowing how to react. She knows this symbol on her body should be hidden, should never be discussed, but she also remembers her mother speaking of men who would protect her when the time came. Still untrusting, and unable to look into the young man’s eyes to see the truth, she remains silent.

  ‘I know this story is no fable,’ says the man, ‘because I am the boy, the boy you and your mother healed when I was to die. It is my duty to protect you.’

  In spite of her determination to remain unaffected, Caitlin’s eyes fill with tears and her body quivers with emotion as she hears these words.

  ‘I will need time but I will ultimately ensure your safety. That is my promise.’

  Caitlin exhales with relief and hope, even though she knows she can’t verify his words. But it has been so long since there was anyone who showed her compassion.

  ‘However, to protect and help you in the future, I must follow through on your master’s commands today and do this first. I am sorry.’

  Another hot white pain flashes and she screams louder and harder this time. The build-up of frustration, physical pain and emotional agony finds its release from her body in one last bloodcurdling scream. She slumps in her restraints, as her body adjusts to the pain in her nipples and her heart. In doing so, she experiences the strange sensation between her legs that she felt the night the priest found her, a tingling warmth that spreads from her groin to her belly. At least she knows that she can still feel — whether it is pain or pleasure makes no difference to her. None of this makes any sense, but now she has some hope, where moments before she only had despair. She believes the warmth in her body is a sign of this hope. So she temporarily relinquishes her spirit to her captivity and accepts her fate. The quiet, kind voice, the perpetrator of her pain and her surprising warmth, is literally the only hope she has left.

  Caitlin has no world outside the four walls of her prison. There is no light, for weeks no one speaks to her. In the endless darkness her mind becomes acutely aware of senses other than sight. She can’t remember the last time she heard a woman’s voice, saw another human being, smelled the rain or the touch of fresh air on her skin. Let alone be given the opportunity to look into someone’s eyes and see the depths of their soul. She misses this connection more than anything, never knowing until it was taken away just how much it was part of her being.

  Her life consists of the comings and goings of her master who saved her from execution but seems intent on dooming her to a living hell and Lyon, the man who pierced her nipples and tends to all her wounds, regularly checking to ensure they are healing.

  Her master beats Caitlin using some kind of riding crop or leather strap, not so much to cause any permanent injury or concern, but enough to ensure that the traces of witchcraft that were entering her body are kept at bay, in order to fulfil his commitment to the priest and therefore the Church. He reinforces with his words and actions that as long as he continues with frequent punishments, the magic will be unable to settle in her bones, thereby aiding her potential salvation. He explains that to protect her from herself and her evil, she shall be fitted with a chastity belt to which he alone has the key.

  Over time, Lyon inserts progressively heavier and larger rings, ensuring that she is clearly marked as per her master’s promise to the old priest. Caitlin doesn’t understand her confused feelings for Lyon, the faceless man who knows her secret, and is ashamed to admit she looks forward to him fondling and touching her nipples when he comes. She finds herself unable to hide or control her obvious arousal from him. Her master is never far away when Lyon is in her cell and the risk of them exchanging any words are too great.

  One evening, just after he has replaced the nipple ring and left, her master arrives and slides his fingers between her legs, feeling for himself the warm moisture between them.

  ‘My pet, your nipple rings arouse you, do they, now that they are fully healed?’ Caitlin freezes. He lifts her leg and grips it in his hand while his fingers penetrate her inner folds. She can feel the wetness within her clearing his path as her body spontaneously heats beneath his touch.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ he says firmly as he removes his fingers and abruptly slides them into her mouth. ‘But I agree, this time there is no need for you to respond when the answer is so obvious.’ He covers her tongue with her own juices and she has no choice but to taste the sweet saltiness of her sex.

  ‘Wouldn’t you agree? Answer me, now, so I can hear your voice.’ He deliberately leaves his fingers stuffed in her mouth.

  ‘Yes, master.’ She mumbles the muffled words and prays for mercy.

  ‘Suck them clean, you dirty pet.’

  From this point onwards Caitlin’s captivity changes. Her master rewards her for her complete submission by enabling her body to receive almost unbearable pleasure. He understands every response to her body before she knows it herself. He takes his time to locate every hidden sensitive crevice and how it responds to his touch, whether it be firm or soft, fast or slow. He recognises that she is unable to control her gasps and moans whether it be from pain or pleasure and relishes in the noises her body produces under the control of his touch.

  Caitlin comes to understand her master appreciates routine and expects perfection. His arrival in the basement is preceded by a bell, at which sound she removes her clothes, places the hood over her head — as he is forever fearful she may look at his eyes and ignite her devilish magic — and is to bend over a sloping board he has made especially for her.

  On her knees she bends her body over the raised platform, her buttocks protruding with her head lowered. She must connect her nipple rings to the attachments on the board and rest her arms by her body awaiting her master’s arrival. Sometimes he pins her arms behind her back, connecting her wrists together
, other times he stretches her arms out in front, locking them beyond her head. Occasionally he leaves her arms free. Every time, however, the nipple rings control her movements more effectively than any other restraint, ensuring her stillness and his ultimate control over her body. He has explained to her that this simple act, by trapping the most feminine part of her body, offers her the best hope of eliminating any potential witchcraft possessing her. The difference between maintaining this position with the precision he expects is the difference between a punishing beating and a rewarding orgasm, either way she is left utterly spent when he leaves.

  ‘My pet, it is time to prepare you for penetration. To accommodate man and, once and for all, to force out the devil.’

  Attached to the board, he massages her buttocks with lard, taking his time to ensure she is well lubricated before any penetration occurs. He slides his fingers along her crack before tracing circles around her anus. Her breath freezes on entry until her rectum adjusts to the plug being inserted, which settles within her.

  ‘Keep breathing, my pet.’ His large hand firms over her lower back.

  She is always conscious not to wriggle or move. Each rise and fall of her chest has the potential to either stimulate her nipples, or cause instant shooting pain should she jerk too hard, and it takes all her concentration to ensure it’s the former sensation she has to deal with.

  Once the discomfort from the plug has subsided, although it remains firmly lodged within her, the sting of the belt hits her buttocks. Always ten strokes, five on each cheek, unless something is not to his liking, then it can be any number more. This pain she learns to manage. Her main concern is managing to keep her chest steady on the board with each blow, which provides a small distraction from the blow itself.

  The best and worst part of this exercise, after the punishment for her sins has been delivered, are his questing fingers that have become expert at playing with and teasing her inner folds. She is deeply ashamed of the anticipation and arousal she feels when she longs for his touch and cannot understand how her body can experience such pleasure after the pain that has been inflicted. He has complete control of her orgasms that can either be small, releasing a few mild pants or cause great shuddering, uncontrollable spasms and reverberating screams of euphoria around her cell.

  Strangely for one so committed to routine, there is never any regularity or rhythm as to how long he takes, so she can never control her breathing enough to manage her trapped body. She both fears and longs for the feelings of ecstasy he causes that allow her to escape momentarily from this earthly world.

  Every few days Lyon appears in her cell to bathe her and tend to any wounds on her body. He brushes her long hair and scrubs and trims her nails. It is his job to ensure she is clean and acceptable to her master. He does a thorough job of looking after her and though he has never spoken again of her being a woman of the heart, she senses the kindness in his touch.

  Her master, while able to elicit almost unbearable pleasure and pain over her body with his clever fingers, never penetrates her vagina and is delighted when her anus is ready to accommodate his manhood.

  ‘My pet, congratulations on your progress. You are finally ready.’ Caitlin’s breathing quickens as she realises what is going to happen. She is stunned when she receives no lashes on this day. His mastery over her body ensures she reaches a shattering orgasm before she feels his penis penetrate her from behind. Her master’s fastidious preparation makes her first experience of sodomy more pleasurable than Caitlin would have ever believed possible and he gifts her with multiple orgasms, leaving her absolutely exhausted. That night she receives a banquet almost fit for a queen and she has an appetite to match the volume of food delivered into her cell. Just as he controls every aspect of her physical being, she senses her spirit completely surrender to her master, allowing herself the luxury of forgetting the world she had once known.

  Her master tells her that he has sent a message of gratitude to the old priest for suggesting she be marked. He proclaims the nipple rings have provided the key to the successful submission of her witchcraft, enabling her to live a more pure life and recommends their use for other offenders under the influence of the devil. He believes that surely this triumph is a clear sign from god that he did the right thing by saving his pet’s life and is grateful he did so. For reasons undisclosed to Caitlin, he now believes he can move on with his own life.

  I’m drawn away from the scene and I’m left with thoughts and emotions swirling around my psyche. For the first time in my life, I have to consider that this is where my secret fantasy stems from, rather than some psychological deficiency leading to masochistic tendencies. The intense feelings of being bound, blind, punished and pleasured that have haunted me my entire life, but never made any logical sense, have just been played out in front of me. Feelings I have felt personally, that I know mirrored Caitlin’s. A sexual fantasy I shared with Jeremy very briefly years ago that formed the basis of my thesis have just been replayed, relived by me.

  Caitlin’s fear was my fear, her shame my shame. The shame of desiring something that seems so evil and wrong, but wanting it so much because the sheer pleasure of submitting to it was undeniable. Sexually awakening my body, awakening the feelings that lay dormant for so many years, has brought me to understand that my carnal needs derive from a space and time inextricably linked to my ancestry. My feelings and desires were ignited by arousal and sexual acts that stem from centuries ago. I can’t help but wonder how much more we have to learn about our psyche, how much more we have yet to tap into. After all my years of psychological study and experience, never before would I have considered this to be a potentially viable explanation for sexual preferences. Yet, I’ve just witnessed the very source of my tendencies, my arousal. Sexual acts that challenge my personal boundaries, yet excite me beyond belief.

  I could feel the confusion in Caitlin’s feelings, the turmoil of never wanting to give up on her mother and her own destiny; almost craving the physical pain of the beatings to subdue the emotional pain and anguish in her heart. All the while, her body reacted against the absolute intrusion into her secret orifices yet greedily accepted the orgasmic highs, just as I have found myself in similar situations throughout my life. Jeremy awakened me to anal pleasures in my youth, though I desperately wanted to avoid it from fear of the unknown pain. He re-awakened my sexual being when I had believed I was past my use-by date, allowing me to explore the dark fantasies of my mind, never judging, though gently coercing, yet always right by my side. I understand intimately what Caitlin was going through, how she was desperately trying to maintain control in an environment in which she had none.

  This irreconcilable fantasy of mine, that I have to admit was a major impetus in my studying psychology in the first place and was a direct influence on my thesis, appears to be a fragment from a past life. One that Jeremy recreated during our weekend together, which has led me to experience a sequence of events I would never have believed possible.

  I could have sworn my own nipples were being pierced as Caitlin’s were, feeling the searing pain as it happened and then the erotic aftershocks she was determined to bury and ignore. The tips of my own breasts still feel swollen, aroused and tingle with the memory. Even though my physical body is weak, my mind has never been sharper. It’s as though the insights I’m receiving are being processed at higher levels in my brain.

  The vision of Caitlin in her cell is no different to how the image has played around in my dreams for years, albeit in a different time or century. A shameful fantasy that has haunted me since adolescence, preyed on my mind, teased me to attempt, to understand. I was never brave enough. In all my studies, my prescribed theories, never once did I consider that these raw emotions and feelings might derive from a real time and place.

  I’m shocked at this discovery, but desperate to understand Caitlin’s destiny and how it may link further to my own. I send myself back into the ether with these thoughts swirling around my brain.
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  One day, her master appears in her cell without sounding the bell, something that has never happened before.

  ‘Turn around and face the wall.’ She hears his booming voice as he enters. Caitlin has not seen her master’s face since the day at the monastery. She quickly follows his instructions as she has been trained to do, lest he should immediately pull out his belt. He places the hood over her head before addressing her in an abrupt tone.

  ‘I am to be married so you will be moving to the forest. Lyon will take you. Listen carefully to my rules, as they are not to be broken. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, master.’ Caitlin’s voice reflects the shock she was feeling.

  ‘You will not leave the forest.

  ‘You will not remove your nipple rings.

  ‘You will wear your chains and chastity belt on the night of the full moon.

  ‘I will attend to your punishments to keep your witchcraft at bay once a week. Lyon will prepare you.

  ‘You are forbidden to speak to anyone other than myself or Lyon.

  ‘Should you disobey any of my rules you will be tried as a witch. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Whom do you belong to pet?’

  ‘You, master.’

  ‘What part of you?’

  ‘All of me, master.’

  ‘Never forget it.’ He slaps Caitlin’s buttocks to reinforce his point and binds her wrists in front of her.

  ‘Lyon, get in here. She’s ready to go.’

  Lyon takes Caitlin to a small cottage deep in the woods on her master’s vast estate, where she will have no contact with society. As outlined, her master punishes and pleasures her once a week, to ensure her witchcraft never sets in. Lyon continues to take responsibility for Caitlin’s ongoing wellbeing, given they are the only two people who know of her existence. He ensures she is bound and blind for her master’s weekly visit and most importantly that she is hooded, fully bound and chained within the tiny house with her chastity belt firmly fixed to prevent her sinful fingers, every night of the full moon, when she is of greatest risk to herself and others.