Friday, 4 April 2008

Captured


Fantasies tend to move in certain directions and come back to certain favourite events and themes. At least mine do. So, here is another take on one of those favourite themes. This doesn't mean I have yet covered all my ideas and have to go back to the old one. Far from it. There are still strange imaginations left.


I dreamed a strange dream tonight, I dreamed I was a captive, that I was captured.


I woke up on a great, green, endless stretch of undulating low hills. The sky was blue, the air was mild and I was alone. Besides the sky and the green grass it was only me, still clad in my nightgown.


I rose to my feet and looked around. I was scared of being alone in this vast land. It was a beautiful land but I was lonely, miserable and lonely.


Then the man on the horse appeared. He suddenly appeared from behind a hill. He was dark, his clothes were dark and grey and his horse was black. His hair was dark and his eyes were dark. He carried a sword by his side. It was, indeed, a strange dream. And as he approached me I felt naked and helpless. I had no sword, I had no protection and my nightgown was my only cover.


He spoke to me and asked me questions and I replied truthfully. We spoke in a strange tongue, a language of the dreams. He nodded his head and looked at me. Then he shrugged his shoulders and turned to ride away.


Fear filled my heart, I had thought he would help me but he was to leave me alone among the hills. He was a stranger but he was alive and I didn't want to be alone. I knew I would perish if I was alone.


I ran after him and begged him to take me with him. He looked at me and sighed and said he was going to make camp anyway. I saw that the sun was sinking and the sky had already turned red.


We made camp in the shade of a big boulder and a dry bush gave us enough wood for a small fire. He cooked some beans and some strange leaves and gave to me.


I asked him what he would do in the morning and he told me he would ride on. I asked him to take me with him but he shook his head. He had no use for a girl like me. I couldn't come with him and my heart sank. I pleaded with him.


He sat in silence for a while and then he turned to me and said he had no use for me, I would be a hindrance. I couldn't come with him...unless...


'Unless what?' I asked ready to agree to any terms or conditions.

'Unless you become my captive,' he said.

'Your captive?'

'Yes,' he said and looked at me.


I sat in silence but I knew already that I had no choice. I had only to accept it. I turned to him and nodded.

'I am your captive.'


He told me then to take off my nightgown and trembling I did so. I slipped it over my head and sat there by the fire as naked as I was when I was born. He told me to throw it on the fire and I did. We sat in silence and watched my nightgown burn.

I knew then that I had accepted his terms, I had burned my freedom. He looked at me with his dark eyes.


He was not old, nor young. He had a face that was not bitter but had seen much, done much. His eyes had seen the world. He was stern but did not seem cruel. I wondered about those things as I sat there, naked, by the fire, his captive. I knew I would find out.


He tied me hand and foot and put a blanket over me and I fell asleep. It was strange to fall asleep in a dream but I thought nothing of it then.


We woke up and I was stiff and sore after having slept bound like that and the morning was chilly. He released me and told me to make our meagre breakfast. I did as I was told and he showed me how he wanted it. I shivered in the cold morning and I looked with envy at him as he pulled his coat around his shoulders. I was still naked and I was cold.


Thus began my captivity. We travelled far. He was always moving, riding somewhere. He was not a warrior and not a merchant. I think, perhaps, he was a magician. I followed him wherever we went, over plains, through thick and lush woods, over mountains with cold and biting wind. I walked naked by his horse, sweaty in the hot sun and freezing in the cold wind.


The first time he tied my hands behind my back and a rope around my neck and led me like an animal. He tied me hand and foot in the evening. He wasn't afraid of me running away. I think he wanted to show me I was his captive.


He was a hard man, a survivor, a man strong enough to cope with whatever fate throw in his wake. But he was also gentle and kind. He laughed with me and sang by the camp fire. He told me stories and taught me songs.


I never ever doubted I was his captive. He had a whip hanging by his saddle. He didn't hesitate to take that whip to my body when I displeased him. Many an evening did I sit and tended to that whip, keeping its strands smooth and clean. I shivered as I sat, naked by the fire and worked on the whip that was to be used on my body.


I did never forget I was naked and I became even more aware when we entered a village or a town and we where greeted by the towns people and the children ran beside us and cheered and laughed and pointed. Then I knew I was a captive.


We travelled far and although I saw many strange lands my world became smaller. The stern man, my captor, was the centre of my world and I grew accustomed to him. I was miserable when he was angry and my heart sang when he laughed. I was proud when I could please him and I felt worthless when I got it wrong. When I displeased him I longed for him to whip me, to get rid of the guilt. And when he smiled at me I felt as if the sun came out again.


Still I was his captive, I was not free. I knew in my heart that I was me and that he was a stranger. He had taken me and although I wanted to please him I was not free.


He did not use me as a man may use a woman. He looked at me sometimes as I emerged from the river having bathed in the clear water or when I stretched my body and yawned by the fire. Then he looked at me in a way that made me feel less like a servant and more like a woman.


He told me at times how pleasing it was to have a woman to look at and I blushed. I started to think, in my simple mind, why he did not touch me if he was pleased with me. I thought that a man would want to do something like that with a captive woman, especially a naked, captive woman.


One evening I realised he had only been biding his time. In the night, by the fire and under the full moon he called me to him. He commanded me to my knees and then he approached me from behind. My heart was racing because I knew, in my heart, I knew, what was going to happen.


He put his hands on my body and he entered me from behind. I was astonished how strange it was. How much I had longed for it and how much I had dreaded it. I had no choice, no say in this but still I had longed for it. I hated myself for my weakness but welcomed his intrusion.


His sex in my sex and I was lost. I knew then how much I had become his captive, how much I wanted to be his captive. His presence broke down my last defence and there and then I became his.


I woke up in my bed and sat up, startled. My heart was beating hard as I looked around and saw my bed, my room. I felt my body and felt my nightgown, the one I had burned so long time ago. I felt my body and there were no marks of the whip. It was a dream, just a dream.


I laid back on my pillow, heart still beating, gathering my senses. I knew I was back in reality but I feared I had lost my heart in that dream.

4 comments:

Paul said...

Janice, interesting, I wonder how many women dream about captivity.
BTW, third paragraph down, I'm sure you meant vast land, not wast land.
Let it flow, I don't want to force it.
Warm hugs,
Paul.

Anonymous said...

What an interesting light is shed on what it means to be "captive." But your story -- how like you, my dear Janice! -- offers a discrete,even eloquent silence on the "why." The elusive word "captive," like submission, like love, retains its mystery and its intrigue.

Cheers,

Wystan E.

wilhelmina said...

It does show an interesting side of captivity, especially since she was not captured as such. A captive by choice in this case but he captures her in many other ways as she gets to know him. The burning of her nightie, removal of freedom, you often use was much more absolute as a symbol than just discarding the clothing; if it is burnt you cannot get it back.

Dreaming is wonderful.

Hugs
Mina

Janice said...

Dear Paul, I think it is this old theme about the knight in white shining armour, really, in a kinkier form.

Dear Wystan, the captor captures the captive. You are a poet, 'discrete...eloquent silence on the "why."' Thanks.

Dear Mina, yes, some symbolism there, I admit to that. Taking off of clothes is not just exciting but also symbolic...chuckles. And yes, she made a choice, really. I like that, that it wasn't brutally forced on her.

Hugs

Janice