Goldie & the Three Doms

New Dawning International Bookfair

Presents

A Twisted Fairy Tale

By

Patricia Green

Copyright©2011 Patricia Green

Goldie & the Three Doms

T
hrough a smidgeon of time, in a place far, far away, lived a young woman with hair as bright as a Krugerrand and eyes like sparkling sapphires. Her name is unpronounceable, but we’ll call her Goldie for the sake of this tale. Goldie was a hip chick, with a stripper’s body and a rock star’s attitude. She was also very unhappy.

“You know, Harold, we can get a little kinky once in a while. Maybe some whipped cream? Or maybe you could smack me on the behind. What do you say?”

Harold Humdrumm looked up from his place at her feet where he was painting her toenails. “Swat your behind, dearest? What for?”

Goldie sighed. “Pretend I’ve been naughty. Pretend I’m a spoiled brat. Let’s just get past the girl-on-top position, Harold.”

It was Harold’s turn to sigh. “I don’t know, honey-bun. It seems awfully…well, risqué. How about you let me go down on you. You liked that when I did it that one time.”

She pointed. “You missed a toe, Harold.”

“Ah! So I did.” He bent to his task with more concentration.

It’s always the same. Tommy, Dicky, and Harry…all the same.
Where’s the excitement? Where’s the adventure?
The kinkiest thing she’d experienced was bright red nail polish on her toes.
I want to be spanked! I want bondage! I want to be spoken harshly to by someone I respect!

Later, she broached the subject with her friend as they sipped rum and coke at the local watering hole. “Willy,” she began, for that was the name she called her best girlfriend, “why can’t I find a dominant man? Are they all taken?”

“Yep,” said Willy, for she was a terse little creature.

Goldie hung her head.

“Except for the guys on Bear Island.”

Now Goldie’s eyes lit up. “Bear Island? Tell me more!”

“They’re strong.”

Goldie grinned. She liked strong.

“They’re rich.”

Goldie beamed. She really liked rich.

“They’re all Doms!”

Goldie thought she might faint from joy. The spark was missing from the men in Femville, and she knew there was something wrong about spending every date night having your boyfriend paint your toenails. She wanted a guy from a beer commercial. A man who did manly things—whatever that was.

“Okay, that tears it; I’m going. Wanna come, Willy?”

“And miss my pedicure? No way!”

“All right for you. I’ll send you a postcard.”

With that, Goldie gassed up her land speeder—I told you this was a faraway place—and headed for Bear Island. Willy was wonderful and wise, waving as Goldie walked away.

* * *

After a time, Goldie came to the shore of a white-capped sea. Only a few boats glided within sight, but Goldie could see the marina of Bear Island as a misty port of call not too far distant. She parked and set off to find a friendly sailor to ferry her across to the island.

“Hey!” she called to a fellow wearing a white sailor hat. “Can you ferry me to Bear Island?”

The sailor turned around and Goldie confirmed that she hadn’t escaped Femville yet: the sailor was a woman. “For a price,” the woman called back.

Goldie’s eyes narrowed, though not from the bright sunlight.

“Two kisses and your panties.”

Wow, thought Goldie.
My panties only cost a buck at Sale-Mart; this is a great deal!
“Okay,” she hollered back.

“Get your speeder and come aboard.”

The ferry was roomy, big enough for a handful of speeders, but Goldie was the only passenger that day. The captain’s voice was sincere as she introduced herself. “I’m Captain Deidre Doomee. Welcome aboard.”

Goldie smiled and held out her hand. The captain slid callused fingers over Goldie’s soft skin and then turned her hand over and placed a lingering kiss in Goldie’s palm.
Already a little kink!
“That’s one kiss,” she told Deidre Doomee. “But I’m not a slut; I draw the line at kisses.”

The captain nodded and went off to pilot the ferryboat. It didn’t take long before they reached the island. Deidre Doomee came to Goldie. “Panties, please. And, don’t turn away—part of the fee is in the show.”

Goldie bit her rosy lips, her cheeks warm, but raised her pink flippy skirt and shimmied out of her panties, exposing her private bits and their sprinkling of golden curls. Her eyes never left Diedre Doomee’s face, and as she slid the garment over her high-heeled leather pumps, she wondered idly what the captain would do with them. Maybe she had a collection. Goldie handed over the panties and, unable to resist being a tease, slowly lowered her skirt back into place. Deidre held the panties reverently in her hand for a few moments then, with a pirate’s smile, slid them into her pocket. “One more kiss,” she said.

Goldie thought about turning her face aside at the last minute, but a deal was a deal, so she allowed the captain to touch her lip-to-lip for a long moment. Goldie wasn’t into girls though, and dissatisfaction dominated Diedre Doomee’s eyes as they broke the embrace. With a smile and a flip of her golden locks, Goldie left the disappointed Diedre Doomee desperately deprived.

A
long, yellow-cobbled road led from the port toward the valley at the middle of the island, but many hills made it hard to figure out what was ahead. There was a large swath of forest to pass through, and the road branched in three different directions. Goldie stopped to consult her GPS. She typed, “Dominant Men,” into the gizmo and it lit up all three branches of the path. Sighing, she realized she’d have to find her way on her own. Bear Island was fairly small, so Goldie hoped that she’d come upon what she was looking for soon enough.

She sped down the western road, enjoying the tree-lined highway, broken up with green meadows bright with wildflowers. The island was lush. The sky began to cloud, dimming the sun as rain threatened. She passed a roadside fruit stand, a small gas station, and a decrepit diner, before it began to pour. Lightning struck nearby, and she jumped, slowing the speeder to remain safe despite the deluge. Thunder rattled the little transport’s doors and gave Goldie a feeling of dread. It seemed prudent to find somewhere to park while she waited out the storm.

A little road, barely perceptible through the downpour, led off the main highway. Wet gravel spewed from beneath the speeder, though she throttled down to a snail’s pace. Visibility was down to only a few meters. Eventually, she came upon a corral with horses standing still as the rain pelted them, and then outbuildings, a barn, and not far from it, a shingled house. Smoke rose from its brick chimney like a welcoming banner. Goldie pulled up to it and hurried to the front porch. Although it wasn’t cold, the rain running down her back from her shirt collar chilled her and she shivered. Just as she reached to rap on the sturdy wooden door, it opened. Bright light spilled out, along with soft warmth, and the smell of baking bread.

A man stood in the doorway. He was a few inches taller than Goldie, though not a tall man. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, but his mouth was a grim line across his face, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or hit someone. Goldie took a step back.

“Well, hello there, Miss,” the man said. His voice was soft but firm. “Can I help you?”

“Hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but the weather is too awful for me to continue down the highway in my speeder. Would you mind if I sit here on your porch and wait the worst of it out?”

“I would most certainly mind.”

Goldie studied his face for a moment and then he smiled, his face transformed with the happy curve of his cheeks.

“I insist that you come inside where it’s warm and dry.”

She giggled, relieved. “You had me going there.” A drip of water went down her back again. “Yes, I’d like to come inside. If you’re sure it won’t be a bother.”

He opened the door wider and gestured her inside. “No bother at all.”

Inside, the main room was comfortable and lived in. A fire burned in the stone fireplace, and comfy-looking overstuffed chairs and a sofa dotted the space. To her right was a large kitchen with a breakfast bar on which two fragrant loaves of bread cooled.

She dripped on the bright rag rug. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I got a bit wet as I ran for the porch.”

“No problem.” He hurried off toward the back of the house and then returned with a fluffy green towel. “Come in, come in. The fire is warm.”

Goldie took a few more steps inside and patted her hair and face and the back of her neck dry with the towel. Her tie-dyed crop top seemed inadequate for the day, but she watched as his eyes traveled over her, and her interest piqued. He was a pleasant looking man with a farmer’s tan and curly blond hair.

She offered her hand. “I’m Goldie. Thank you for your hospitality.”

His work-roughened hand held firm to hers. “Bob Bentley,” he said. “Please sit down.”

Smiling, she sat near the hearth.

They talked for a few minutes, mostly about the weather and its unpredictability on Bear Island. He offered tea and toast and she accepted. Finally, unable to resist, Goldie asked him a personal question. “Are you married, Bob?”

“No. No man on Bear Island is married. We move away once we find just the right woman.”

“Wow. You’re so well established on your little farm. How long have you been on the island?”

He seemed a little embarrassed as he squirmed in his plush chair. “Many years. A good woman is hard to find.”

Goldie could relate.

“What brings you to the island?”

“I came to find just the right man. All the good ones seem to be taken on the mainland.”

His eyes roamed her face and he licked his lips. “I like you,” he told her. “Wanna get it on and see if we’re compatible?”

Bob Bentley was a nice guy. They had a few things in common. And, he baked a mean loaf of bread. “Sure. But I’m no slut. I draw the line at touchie-feelie.”

“No problem. You realize, of course, that I’m a Dominant.”

“You strike me as a normal kind of guy.”

“I’m a demon in the bedroom,” he warned, then hedged. “Not literally.”

“I’m game.”

“Take off your clothes and come into the playroom with me.”

Playroom?
Goldie quickly shucked her clothes while he watched, enjoying the lascivious look in his eyes as they lingered on her full breasts and narrow waist. A bulge formed in his denim overalls, and she wondered if she’d been hasty in putting oral sex off limits. Nonetheless, she followed him into the playroom.

The room was bare except for a trapeze bar hanging from the ceiling, and a well-made wooden chest of drawers.

“Put your hands on the trapeze,” he instructed. She complied and he got a pair of fur-lined leather wrist cuffs from the chest and clipped them to the bar. Once he’d secured Goldie’s wrists, he made sure that her wrists were held firmly in place, and that the bonds were just right. “You’re remarkably pretty.” He ran his hands over her flanks, and cupped her breasts tenderly.

Goldie wondered when the good stuff was going to start. So far, there’d been a lot of hat and no cattle. “Thanks.”

He manipulated her nipples gently, then with a little more pressure, until she moaned with pleasure. “That feels good, Bob.”

Pressing his mouth to a peaked nipple, he sucked and bit lightly.

Warmth stired in her loins. Unfortunately, he picked that moment to stop and go back to the chest. Bob rummaged around a bit, returning with a blindfold.

“Do you trust me?”

She bit her lip. “Well…”

“Your safe word is ‘prestidigitation’.”

“’Prestidigitation?’ Can’t we just settle on ‘stop-you-rotten-prick’?”

“Oh now, don’t be like that. Do you want me to quit?”

“No.” She eyed him, looking for signs of corruption, but none were visible. “Okay.”