Russkaya Rapunzel

Part Two

RusskayaRapunzel: Hello. I’m back in the light.

 

Danskkage: Ah, hello. I was beginning to be concerned for you. It has been more than a half hour.

 

RusskayaRapunzel: I’m sorry. I couldn’t judge the time when I was inside.

 

Danskkage: I think ten minutes to a half hour is rather, as you say in UK, ‘taking the piss’ and I think I will have to think of a suitable penance for you at some point. But perhaps you can redeem your most naughty self a little if you have pictures?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: You slave is sorry for the time, but does have pictures.

 

Danskkage: Ah, good. I assume they are not all artistically nicely composed pictures, but that the content compensates?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Your slave hopes very much that they will please you and is sorting the best ones to send to you.

 

Danskkage: Very good. And before you send them I would like to give you my promise that the pictures they will go no further than myself. I will not share them or post them anywhere, Although I suppose that one of the nice things about a hood is that you do not need to worry too much about that. I might however be inspired to some art create from them, but as before, I will not show it without your permission.

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Photos uploaded for you now. Same password as before. I’m sorry about some of the framing, but it’s hard when you can’t see what you’re doing.

 

Danskkage: My dear RusskayaRapunzel, you are indeed a woman of incredible taste and beauty. To say that you are even more lovely when covered with a hood than when you posed uncovered for our picture could be seen as rather an insult, so I will avoid that comparison so risky, and just say that I have never seen anyone looking quite so sexy and desirable. Perhaps it is more so for me as I know the beauty that lies beneath, but you and your hood are quite simply, perfect. Bravo.

 

RusskayaRapunzel: I’ve had worse insults than to be called beautiful when I’m covered up. Your slave does look super sexy doesn’t she? She certainly felt it.

 

Danskkage: And now I must ask you, did you masturbate while wearing the hood?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: I used a vibrator. I can’t normally climax with just my hands.

 

Danskkage: And you achieved your pleasure?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: More than once.

 

Danskkage: Ah, and so we find out why it was thirty minutes instead of ten. And now I have another little task for you and your hood. Do you wish to accept it?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: I don’t know. You haven’t told me what it is.

 

Danskkage: Well is it not the purpose of a slave to obey with no conditions, regardless of the task?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Then why do you ask if I accept it? Is it because I’m just an apprentice slave?

 

Danskkage: Well of course you can choose to be a slave anytime, but I do not feel I have yet earned the right to call you my slave. And so I ask.

 

RusskayaRapunzel: I accept your task. Please be gentle with me.

 

Danskkage: I am thinking that you have the makings of an excellent slave. And now for your task. You will select for yourself a conveniently placed hotel and date, and inform me of each. On that day you will travel to the hotel where you will find I have booked a room for you. You will go to the room where you will remove all of your clothes and install yourself on the bed. You will then put on your hood and tighten it fully. You will not remove the hood until at least three hours have passed. During this time you will take photographs of yourself and you may masturbate, but as a little punishment for your bad timekeeping in your previous task, you are not allowed to use anything more than your hands until after the three hours they have passed. Your task will then be complete and you may go home, or stay the night, watch a movie, order room service, anything you like. You will of course ensure that you have a knife or scissors to cut yourself free in an emergency and it is a specific instruction of the task that you remove the hood immediately if there is any danger to your breathing or health. In the meantime, with your permission, I can feel another piece of art that needs to be created.

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Your slave finds the task incredibly exciting and will make arrangements. Thank you Master. And please feel free to paint me.

 

 

oOo

 

 

And that is how I came to be spending this Friday evening here on the bed in this hotel room, naked except for my hood which is both wonderful and terrible at the same time. And if you could see inside it, you would see that I am smiling, for I feel I have scored a little victory over my master who has been too clever and tripped himself up. I am allowed to masturbate, but not to use any toys while the three hours tick by. He thinks this will punish me for my over enjoyment of my last task in the hood, by keeping me aroused but unable to reach orgasm, but then he has gone and concocted a situation that is so stimulating that my fingers alone have had no problem in giving me satisfaction. I’ve had at least four already, possibly five, it’s hard to keep count of these things, and my Hitachi is waiting in my bag for as soon as the three hours are up. So there, Mr German Smartipants. You’re slave is one up on you. Or maybe I should take each orgasm as a little victory in which case I’m four or five up. Yay.

 

I think about my Master from Germany. My daughter thinks I’m in love, but I hardly know him at all. I don’t even know what he looks like as he’s never sent me a picture. He told me he is old enough to have more grey hairs than blond, but that his pension is still some years away, so he’s probably a bit older than me, but other than that I know almost nothing, and yet I have opened my heart and soul to him. I wonder how I came to do that with a stranger I know nothing about. Except of course I know that he’s charming and sexy and knows how to arouse me and keeps his promises and does beautiful art and… Maybe I am in love with him. I should meet him, definitely. But what if I don’t fancy him? That would be heart-breaking, to be in love with someone you don’t fancy. Maybe I should meet him wearing my hood. A sexy assignation in a seedy motel where he could make love to me and I would not be able to not fancy him.

 

Fuck Nadezhda, you stupid bitch! He knows! He booked the hotel room. He knows exactly where I am. Right now. Oh God, he’s tricked me and I fell right for it. Any second now he’s coming through that door and is going to rape me or chop me into pieces. What am I trying to do, turn my daughter into an orphan? Get out of here fast you stupid woman!

 

My hands shoot up to the back of my neck and tug at the hood’s laces, but as the knot pulls free, I stop. Slow down Nadezhda. Think about this. Okay, it’s possible that he’s tricked me, but I don’t know that. I’ve been here for quite some time and he’s not showed up. Surely if it was a trick, he would have made his move by now. And if he was here, how would I feel about it? Bloody angry to be deceived for sure, but wouldn’t I also be rather happy to meet my virtual master? My lover even? What would I have done if he had said that he would be here? Would I have come? Would I have put the hood on? Would I have had sex with him?

 

Slowly I re-tie the knot and lower my hands back down onto the bed. I’m not running out. If it’s a trick and he’s here, then I’ll make love to him and I’ll give him hell afterwards. That’s an interesting concept; to make sure you can’t be raped, all you have to do is realise it’s what you want. And as far as being chopped into pieces goes, well I’ll just have to take my chances on that.

 

But maybe he’s already here in the room. Surely he couldn’t sneak in through the door without me hearing, even with the hood? But I’ve been making a fair old noise when I’ve been cumming, and the noises from inside me are very loud in the hood. He could have got in then. Maybe he’s sitting on a chair watching me now. Oh, that’s creepy, you dirty pervert. You sexy, dirty pervert. You very sexy, dirty pervert. Oh God, my fingers are down there again.

 

The time passes and divides itself into periods of intense emotion and arousal, usually accompanied by some serious finger work and an orgasm, interspersed by what seem like longer periods of intense, well boredom to be honest. During one of these boring periods, I get up to go to the loo, more for something to do than because I really need to, but it turns into something of an adventure. As I negotiate the bathroom door, a sudden moment of panic hits me as I wonder if I might have got the wrong door and just walked out into the corridor, but of course I’m safely in the bathroom. I find my way to the toilet, do my stuff and clean up afterwards. At least I didn’t have to bother finding the light-switch. As I feel my way back to the bed I think about what might really happen if I was out in the corridor and perhaps the door to the room had closed and locked itself. Maybe I could also be wearing a locked collar over the laces so the hood cannot be removed. That would be interesting for whoever eventually found me.

 

I’ve only just got comfy on the bed again when the alarm sounds. It gives me the fright of my life as I’ve heard almost nothing from outside the hood for what seems like an age. As I fumble for my phone and blindly stab at its screen to try to silence the alarm, a huge wave of pride washes over me. I have succeeded again, and with some degree of style I think. Having managed to restore quietness, I lie back down on the bed and relax with a wonderful warm and glowing feeling. The pictures I took of myself the first time I wore the hood run through my mind and I am reminded of how sexy I must look right now, at this moment. In my quest to outlast the clock, it seems like time has run backwards and I feel like I used to feel, before all the pain and the loneliness, when I was a young, glamorous and sexy spy, who could turn a man’s heart just by putting on a Russian accent. While the clock was ticking, my hood was testing me, pleasuring me too for sure, but testing my endurance. Now that the time has ended, I am starting to love my hood. I don’t want to take it off. It’s like it’s part of me and it’s making me young again. I start to think about wearing it all night. I don’t have to go home as Kristina is staying with a friend tonight. What fun it could be to sleep in my hood and wake up with no way of telling whether it is morning, or still the middle of the night. I have no morning alarm set on my phone, and no way to set one without seeing the screen. Perhaps I might sleep late and the maid will find me when she comes to do the room. I raise my hands to my head and run them over the smooth, warm surface of the hood. Mmmmm. I’ll take it off in a little while.

 

I wake up with a start and it is some time before I can work out why everything is so weird. I am of course still wearing the tightest and blackest of hoods, and have obviously fallen asleep in it. I have a little chuckle to myself for it is just as I had thought, and I have no idea what time it is. I lie quietly for a while, enjoying the feeling of the pressure on my head and my eyelashes rubbing on the inside of the hood, while I play lazily with my ponytail. But I feel it’s time to return to the world and reluctantly I release the laces and peel the hood away from me. It has stuck itself well to my face, but it comes away without making me wince too much. It’s my eyes that object most strongly to my re-joining reality. I must remember to turn the lights off next time I do this. The clock says 02:53. I’ve been in my hood for over seven hours. Wow.

 

 

oOo

 

 

Danskkage: You did seven hours? Well I suppose I did say you could do whatever you wanted when the three hours they had finished, and so I can do nothing but commend you for your enthusiasm. And of course in your pictures you look completely perfect once again. And now I must ask you, did it not occur to you that I would know exactly where and when you would be at the hotel and that I could have been there to, shall we say, surprise you?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: I did think of that.

 

Danskkage: And yet you went anyway. Was this wise of you? Do you have this much trust in me already?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Well, I didn’t think of it until I was already there and wearing the hood. It did occur to me that maybe I should leave, but then I thought that, while I hated the idea that you might trick me, I actually wanted you to be there. I wanted to make love to you, right there, in my hood. My daughter thinks I’m in love with someone. I think she might be right.

 

Danskkage: My dear Rapunzel, the thought of making love to you while you wear your hood is one of the most wonderful thoughts to have crossed this old mind in a long, long time. Perhaps it is even the most wonderful thought ever. But what would happen if we made love and then, when you remove your hood, you find that this old pervert is not of your type and you do not find me attractive?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: I’d rather find that out after, than before we made love.

 

Danskkage: An intriguing and most gratifying answer. So what if I were to propose to you that we should meet, but as a condition of that meeting, you must be wearing your hood and we will make love before it is removed and I am revealed to you? That would take an exceptional level of trust that I would have to earn, would it not?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: I think my heart might be ruling my head right now, but I’m close to that level of trust.

 

Danskkage: Then I make to you the promise that I am ready to make this happen, but only when you are completely comfortable with the whole idea. I shall not pressure you by talking of it again. It is for you to tell me when you are ready. And I hope your daughter is correct. If I had a daughter, I would hope that she would be correct too.

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Thank you Master. I will say when I’m ready.  Can I ask, do you have any children?

 

Danskkage: I do not. My dear lady and I were, shall we say, not correctly equipped for making children.

 

RusskayaRapunzel: I am sorry. And I feel I must tell you something about me. I can never give you a child. I had a miscarriage when I was young and I lost my womb. Since we’re talking about the possibility of ‘making love’, I feel it’s only fair that I tell you now.

 

Danskkage: Oh, Rapunzel, you tell me that you have suffered this, and then you have lost your lover too?  I told you that I live now in Germany, but I am originally from Denmark, and also have lived for a time in England. I speak Danish, German and English, plus a little Dutch and Swedish and I can tell you that in all those languages, I know of no words to describe the sorrow I feel for you now. So much tragedy in one life. It is too much.

 

RusskayaRapunzel: It’s OK really. It was all a long time ago. I only mention it because I’ve started relationships before only to have them collapse when this comes up, and I don’t want that again. But I suppose at my (our?) age now, it’s not so much of a problem.

 

Danskkage: It is certainly not a problem for me and I think that those who have deserted you in the past for this have lost something very special that they obviously did not deserve.

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Well thank you. And this conversation is getting rather sad and needs cheering up. Maybe if my master had another task for his slave, that might do the trick.

 

Danskkage: Indeed I do have another task. Do you wish to accept?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Absolutely. Bring it on.

 

Danskkage: I know you live in “Darkest Wales”. Please tell me, are you familiar with a town named Caernarfon and is it possible for you to go there?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Yes I know Caernarfon. It’s about an hour’s drive from where I live.

 

Danskkage: Ah good. I spent some time in Caernarfon when I lived in the UK. It was a nice place with a castle most impressive, but the local people were strange and rather obsessed with their ugly sounding language. And near the castle is a small bridge over the river, which opens to allow boats to pass. At this time of the year I would think it will always be busy with tourists. Now I have heard it said that a woman over the age of forty can never look good wearing thigh-high boots. Your task is to prove this saying to be incorrect, and you shall do it on the bridge at Caernarfon. And of course I will require photographs. I understand that this may, or may not require you to purchase certain items of footwear. If this is so, then you will allow me to reimburse you as was done with your hood. And you will gain extra credit if the tools you choose for your task are purchased from a website named arollothighboots.com. Good luck in your task, my sexy slave.

 

RusskayaRapunzel: My master is an evil sadist and I take back all I said about possibly loving him. But then I see his taste in boots and his slave loves him again, and will do his bidding even though she will nearly die from embarrassment in the process. And those people of Caernarfon who don’t pass away from heart-failure at the sight of me, will probably lynch you for being rude about their language. They are like that round there, but I find that the way to deal with them when they give you the speaking Welsh at you treatment, is just to speak back to them in Russian.

 

 

oOo

 

 

Danskkage: My dear Rapunzel, once again you have succeeded in your task in a perfect manner. You are indeed quite stunning in your photographs and I feel it rather boring of me to keep using the word ‘perfect’ all the time, but it is the only word that applies to you correctly. And the photographs I can see were not taken by yourself. You had some assistance?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Thank you. In English there is a phrase, “mutton dressed up as lamb”. I think it was a dangerous path I was treading, and treading it with care in those heels. And yes, I had some help. My daughter took the photos.

 

Danskkage: You involve your daughter in your kinky games with me? Is that a good thing for a mother to do?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Well she has a bad habit of stealing my clothes, especially my shoes, and she found the boots in my wardrobe so I had to come up with some sort of excuse for a woman of my age having such outrageous boots, especially as she could see they were new. I didn’t tell her everything of course, just the bit about your proverb and the challenge to disprove it. She sort of became my stylist after that. And it was much less frightening to do it all with some moral support from her, although I did need to prime myself with wine to get the courage to show myself on a busy Saturday afternoon, dressed like that.

 

Danskkage: Ah, so the torn off denim skirt it was her idea?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Yes. I didn’t have one short enough to show the tops of the boots, so she ripped that one in half. It’s not exactly classy or sophisticated.

 

Danskkage: Well perhaps not, but the effect is rather stimulating do you not think? There is all that lovely scenery and such an impressive castle, but I think the tourists on the bridge they have seen something rather more impressive that holds their attention.

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Well thank you again. Master. Your slave now has a request. I know that you will insist on paying me for the boots and will not allow me to refuse your money, but could we agree that you will pay me only half this time. I would be more comfortable with that.

 

Danskkage: Well I should tell you that I am fortunate in that my wealth has no difficulty accommodating the expense of our wonderful little games, and I make the, possibly wrong and even rude assumption that a single mother who has had a bad experience with cheap ebay ballet boots is perhaps not best placed to afford the delights that a pair of Arollo boots can bring, but I understand the discomfort that accepting money can bring, and so I agree to pay you only half, and some abandoned dogs here in Germany will benefit from the other half. Is that acceptable to you?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Thank you Master. And now your slave wishes to tell you something else. She is ready.

 

Danskkage: You are ready?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: Yes.

 

Danskkage: Are you sure? You remember the conditions?

 

RusskayaRapunzel: I remember the conditions and I accept them all. I am ready.

 

Danskkage: Then please choose a date and a place, and I will make the necessary arrangements. And Rapunzel. You have made me cry. Thank you.

 

 

oOo

 

 

“Kristina, what are you up to this weekend?”

 

“Nothing much. I think I might just slob around here and annoy you.”

 

“You don’t fancy going out anywhere? Maybe see a concert in Cardiff or something?”

 

“What’s up Mum? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

 

“No. I just thought you might like to treat yourself and maybe your friends.”

 

“You are trying to get rid of me. What is it then? Got a toy boy coming round? Is it Boots Man?

 

“No of course not, it’s just… Well all right, you’ve rumbled me.”

 

“Ah-ha. Is he coming here? Are you going to wear the boots for him? I can’t wait to meet Boots Man.”

 

“No he’s not coming here, and I think I’ve got something else I’m going to wear for him actually.”

 

“Oh, go on Mum. Wear the boots. You’re bound to score. Even I’d fuck you in those boots.”

 

“KRISTINA!”

 

“Well you were hot as hell Mum. So if he’s not coming here, are you going to his place, or is it a dirty knickers weekend in a hotel?”

 

“Well, since you’re obviously in a foul mouthed mood at the moment, then yes, your mother is going to a hotel to meet a man and hopefully get her brains fucked out.”

 

“Way to go Mum! You will be careful though won’t you? You know, protection and all that.”

 

“Just who is the mother and who is the daughter here?”

 

“You go and have fun Mum. And I’ll be fine here, all on my own with no lover and only my mother’s boot collection to play with while she’s away getting banged by Boots Man. It is Boots Man isn’t it? Please say it’s Boots Man.”

 

“Yes, if you must know, it’s Boots Man.”

 

“Cool.”

 

 

oOo

 

 

I feel a little guilty about the hotel I’ve selected for my first meeting with Danskkage as it is rather expensive and I know he’ll insist on paying the bill, but there are two reasons I thought this one would be right for us. First, I don’t want to meet the man I hope will become my lover in a squalid, or bland motel, and second, and much more important, the room I’ve booked here has a four poster bed. If you’re hoping for a night of kinky bondage sex, you’ve got to make sure the bed is suitable. I’ve bought some coils of nice, soft bondage rope in case he’s travelling light, and a few other toys too, just in case. But the most important accessory is now sitting on the dressing table, waiting to imprison my head again. In some ways, this is the easiest date to prepare for that I have ever had. No need to worry about what to wear, that’s already decided. No need to worry about my hairdo, it’s gonna be the ponytail for sure. No need to worry about makeup, it would be all be messed up anyway by the time he sees me. No need to worry about small talk, or any other kind of talk for that matter. In fact, maybe every date should be done this way. All I have to do is lace my hood and then hope that my master will tie me up before he makes love to me. I wonder if I should tie myself to the bed before he arrives, but I don’t think I could do my arms very well and besides, it would be presumptuous. It is for him to decide if I should be tied or not. But I’ll leave the coils of rope on the bed for him, just so there’s no doubt as to what I want.

 

The sound of the Top Gear theme tune indicates my phone has a text. I always rather liked that show, and Kristina, who has a keen interest in TV production is convinced that the producers must have what she calls a “totty wrangler” to select the prettier ladies in the audience and not-so-subtly arrange them just behind the presenters. In recent months, I rather fancy that I might now make the grade for “totty” having lifted myself from dowdy mum since I started playing Danskkage’s sexy little games. I check the text and smile at the perfect, yet slightly off-beat English he always writes in.

 

“My satellite navigator tells me it will be thirty minutes until I arrive at the hotel. I think that I would like to rest a little after the driving and take a drink in the bar before I come to meet you, and that will take maybe another half hour. So I am thinking that now would perhaps be a good time for you to place yourself in your hood so that you can get yourself into the correct mood for my arrival.”

 

“I’m putting it on now for you Master. The door will be unlocked. Please don’t send the porter ahead with your bags. Your slave is very excited.”

 

This is it. My big moment is coming. It might be a low stress date to prepare for, but my heart is pounding. I make my last minute checks. The room is tidy. Champagne in the bucket. Bladder emptied and I’m fresh down there. Ropes neatly coiled on the bed. Packet of condoms on the bedside table. I obviously don’t have to worry about getting pregnant and to be honest, I rather hope he doesn’t use one, but he might prefer one and so I’m offering, and it’ll show him my permission, not that there should be any doubt. Door unlocked, that’s a bit unsettling, but I don’t want him locked out. It’s all good Nadezhda. It’s time to enter your dark, tight prison. Oooh.

 

I lie on the bed, waiting and listening, trying to calm my nerves. “He’s my master and he loves me” I keep repeating to myself, as if I’m afraid that he’s going to harm me. But I’m not. Thoughts of the really terrible, horror film-like things that this situation seems to invite just aren’t anywhere in my head. I’m slightly afraid that this is all going to go wrong: that room service will come in, or the room will be double booked with a drunken rugby team, or that the fire alarm will go off. But what really scares me is afterwards, when my hood is removed and I see him for the first time. What if he’s ancient? Or fat with a beer belly? Or has a beard? Or I just don’t fancy him? What then? How can I love someone who doesn’t do it for me? The last few months have been wonderful. It’s like I’m young again and the bad things never happened. I can’t stand to lose that. The chant that’s running through my head changes slightly. “He’s my master and I love him.”