Chapter 1

It had taken all his courage to send out copies of his lurid tales to a site on the internet. Though he had had a lifelong healthy respect for assertive women, he had not before applied his imagination to type and though glad he'd done so, was also apprehensive about the situation. He was middle-aged, redundant and living in a small flat which he owned outright in a small satellite town 15 or 20 miles outside London. The damp and often grim weather had helped to fuel his keenness to compile his book of short stories which all had the central theme of women in control, but varied from romantic and intimate one-on-one tales to outright torture and snuff by supremely dominant and sadistic females. He felt little shame about his work, as he could identify with the feelings of the captive/victim, and was happy to believe that the tales would only be read by those of a like nature who had gone to the trouble of seeking out certain sites. He sent out the compilation to his favourite site, and wondered if anyone would have the slightest interest and bother sending any feedback.

As the days went by, he clicked on to the site and viewed the internal reviews page; nothing. He checked his given mail site; nothing. He left and strolled to the local supermarket for provisions. As he walked the aisles he eyed various women of all ages, shapes and sizes; he wondered how many of them had a darker secret side to their lives and would return home to, say- a male tied to a ring just inside the front door, on his knees and dressed as a maid awaiting the return of his mistress –another tied face down on a bed, a whip laid out across his back, ready for the return of Madame- a male naked except for a pair of his owner's panties, busily performing the entire household chores in the allocated time to avoid yet another caning from a stern and assertive woman...

'Can I help you sir?' said a buxom 40-ish woman with jet black hair, in her green supermarket uniform – she had noticed him staring into space and thought maybe he was actually looking for something; he thought, half in fantasy as usual, as he worked something into the woman's character; oh if only you could help me!.

'Errr ... no, I'm ok thanks, I was just thinking' she smiled and went back to what she had been doing and he imagined her bottom wiggling excessively as she went. Then back to mundane reality and the payment for food from what meagre resources he had.

He plodded back through the dull rows of Victorian and Edwardian houses that lined the suburban streets; a fine rain now blowing through with the wind, helping to arrest the dust and vagrant newspaper sheets which accompanied his steps. He arrived at his flat, went in and put some coffee on, then fired up his PC. On opening his mail he squinted at the 'Inbox'; 4 new messages. One was about his house insurance renewal. One was about deals at a computer outlet. One was everyone's old friend; 'Get your Viagra cheap here'- 'if only I had the luck to need it' he thought as he pressed 'delete', he was about to do the same with the fourth, when the script hit him like a sledgehammer ; ' ... would certainly consider publishing you book for a percentage... ' He read it over and over again. Even if it were a sales scam of some sort, at least there was a response of some sort from someone out there.

The mail was written in a very human tone and left a phone number with a US code, offering to pay the charge if he would please give them a call. The address was started with a house number which was ridiculously long by English standards; it was four numbers – the streets go on for ever over there he mused –he then went right back to his childhood ; '1313 Mockingbird Heights' he smiled to himself- we hope no 'monsters' are at the address he now had in front of him! The number was on 'Collins Avenue, Dade County, Miami Beach Florida'.

'This has got to be a joke or scam' he said out loud to the empty flat. He was very reluctant to call the number, mindful of receiving some horrendous phone bill for a million calls to unknown places, but something compelled him to brave the consequences. "Dolores Beecham at Ariadne Publishing" beckoned; a woman. He was a little sheepish about coming clean and talking turkey to a female when the content of his book will have been apparent to her. But he then thought, how hypocritical- I am what I am, it's no shock to her; she's in business ... and he thought discussing it might even give him a slight erotic 'kick'; as it was a bit like a confession. He dialled the number.

The phone connection clunked and murmured for about 15 seconds. 'Great' he thought; 'it's a duff number.' Then, the purring of a call being received began: 'Click-

'Hi- good morning. Ariadne Publishing, how may I help you?' A sweet American accent sang out- it threw him at first as it was mid-afternoon where he was.

'Oh good morning, can I speak with Dolores Beecham please?' -

'Oh, I think she's a little busy at the moment; who shall say is calling if you wouldn't mind?' He gave his name. There seemed to be a commotion at the other end; the sound from the receiver changed as though someone had put their hand over the mouthpiece, he could here muffled comments; the voice came back:

' Oh she'll speak to you right now sir; please don't hang up' Said the voice almost pleadingly.

'Hello, Dolores here, thank you so much for calling me' said a smooth feminine voice with the barest hint of an American accent- 'I've read every word of your work and I'm enthralled with it; I have so many ideas about the format in which it should be published' He was nothing short of astounded, but his pessimism kicked in; now hit me with some figures about how much you want me to pay upfront he thought to himself, but he continued ;

'I'm really flattered; do you think there's a possibility people will buy it?' -

'Oh, I'm 100% certain it will sell rapidly – there is a big market for erotic literature over here; I'd so like to meet with you and discuss it'. He laughed audibly; the nearest he could get to Florida was to view the 'Green Giant' vegetables at the Supermarket.

'Oh he said casually, I'd SO like to meet with you too, but it's completely beyond my budget; I'm not Dan Brown you know!' he said almost sarcastically.

'That's no problem, I'll send you the tickets; I really need to get you before someone else does, and we need to talk at length about the format, possible illustrations to enhance sales etc.' He was speechless. He rattled off his home address several times to ensure no mistake.