Category Archives: Short Stories

Blurb – Princess and I, The First Years

September 6, 2011.
I’m 52 years old. Father of 2 daughters.
Divorced.
Alone for too long.
I’m open for love, a special kind of love. Not searching actively though.

I have to attend a parent’s meeting at school. Every year it is the same explanation all over again.
I don’t feel like it and I don’t have to go.
It beats sitting at home alone though.

I’m early and head to the big hall where they serve drinks and grab a glass of cava.

Turning around I see this beautiful blonde woman. She looks gorgeous.
I have the impression she is standing there in a golden spotlight. The surroundings fade to black until, in my mind’s eye, she is the center of my universe. Until there is only her.
She does not notice me.

I’m breathless, engulfed with emotions.  Overwhelmed, paralyzed and speechless by the experience. My world flips over and over. Intuitively I know she is the one I have been searching for my whole life.

I walk up to her. It is something I have never dared to do before.
I say hi and we chitchat. Her daughter is a classmate of my youngest one.
Ten minutes later walk to the same class and I make sure I’m inside before she does. I sit down at a desk, she sits down next to me.
Wow. Lucky me.
I’m nervous and start fumbling in the desk before me. I pull out an agenda. To my big surprise I’m sitting at my daughter’s desk. With a smile I put a little note in it.

Later that evening I gather all my courage and ask for her number.
Another first one for me.
My throat is dry and my heart bounces like mad.
She smiles and writes her number down on a small piece of paper.
Oh boy.

September 20, 2011.
We date for the first time and we enjoy a wonderful evening.
She tells me about her situation, just to make sure I know what I’m signing up for. She has 5 kids. Her ex-husband committed suicide 7 months ago. Her eldest daughter suffers from a mental illness.
The other kids all suffer from stress and other issues. Understandably. They found their father shortly after his desperate act.

The first months are difficult. She is not sure about what is happening. She does not feel ready to give herself. She breaks up with me a few times but every time I win her back.
Somehow we make it.
She becomes my Princess and deep down in her I feel and read here submissiveness.
Could it be true?
Have I found my Grail?
That very and unique Special One?

Gradually I make our lovemaking somewhat rougher. Her reactions are more than positive. She adores the hair pulling, the pinching and the occasional slap on her luscious behind.
August 15, 2012.
The town we visit is illuminated with a zillion tea lights. In a church we are awed by a huge chandelier with several dozen of burning candles.
This is the perfect moment to tell her what I have wanted to say for quite some weeks.
For a second I hesitate as I am not sure how she will react.
She beats me to it.
Princess grabs my hand, finds my eyes.
“How I would love to lay under that chandelier. Naked, tied and blindfolded. Not knowing when the next drop of hot wax will fall,” she whispers.

Now I know, now I am sure.
My heart explodes with happiness and sheer joy.
While our relation deepens we gradually grown into BDSM.
My Princess turns out to be a perfect match. She loves what I love. We taste and enjoy the many flavors BDSM has to offer.

Her children oppose to our relationship. It is not personal. They just want to keep the family together.
Their disapproval makes our bond even stronger.

In November 2012 I start a personal blog, Princess and I. It is a very intimate diary mostly about our evolution as a couple in the world of BDSM.
When relevant I write about other stuff too.

March 2017.
I am proud to present the first volume of our story titled Princess and I, the First Years.
You can download it for free on Smashwords. You can choose between PDF, epub or mobi (Kindle)

If you wish you can also follow my blog via SirFrancoBolli.org

Front page for eBook

 

 

About blogging/writing

We did not own a television until my Father died in 1972. I was 13 by then.
One of the first things my mom did was go out and buy a TV. I guess she wanted to chase the demons of loss and loneliness away.

The store had like a zillion sets and showed a zillion athletes all doing the same thing on big screens, small screens, black and white screens.
At that time the Olympic Games in Munich were halfway. I don’t remember much of that period and cannot recall having heard or read something about the terrorist attacks.

My Father saw television as something mind-numbing. Instead he motivated me to read as much as possible. He did not like comics either because the drawings were also deadening for one’s imagination.

I was 8 or so when he took me to the nearby public library. The kid’s section was nothing more than a handful of comics and, well, books for young kids. My father told the librarian I was allowed to read any book I wanted.

I enjoyed Jules Verne and stories about Vasco da Gama and Marco Polo, daydreaming about exploring unknown territory myself.

During my military service I was, among other tasks, responsible for the library so I had access to a vast amount of books. During the day I worked for the army’s photo-department.

One of my favorite writers is Charles Bukowski. I have all his books, almost all from Black Sparrow Press.

I guess I can safely say I am an avid reader. By the way, I don’t own a television set either but I do watch quite some movies.

* * * * *

When I was younger I wanted to be a writer. Somewhere deep down I still hope I’ll be able to write more and something meaningful like a novella.
I have quite an imagination and even more when in an erotica mindset.

In the eighties I wrote a handful of short stories. After gathering enough courage, I decided to send one to a literary magazine I knew. I was very surprised when I got a letter back telling me they had liked it very much and accepted it for publication. A few weeks later I found a check in the mail. If memory serves me well the paid me about 40$.
Wow. That was one great feeling.
With the money I took my girlfriend out for dinner. I was living with her and she was my very first real relation.

A few weeks later I read a positive critique of my story in another literary magazine. Shortly after I discovered what a cheater my girlfriend really was and soon after I left her.

The next few decades I spent finding my way through life. A few shitty relations, an even shittier marriage. The world changed considerably when Internet became popular. If you knew how to search all the knowledge of the world would scroll over your screen.

During those years I did not write a single syllable. Besides, I wasted the biggest part of my marriage in a state of almost continuous dreariness and even suffered from a burn-out.

I left home and the life I knew on December 1st, 2006. When I left for my work in the morning I kissed my daughter’s bye bye said thank you and sorry to my wife. That evening I came sort of home in an empty and cold apartment.

A year and a half later I decided I was ready for a new relationship and chose to search somebody via a dating service. Also I wanted to write again and after creating a profile on a dating site I started a blog too. I wanted to tell the story of a man trying to find a companion.

I found someone soon after and I tried to post something every day. Soon I had a handful followers and that was fun. I included my 100 Photographs project in my blog. After a visit to her doctor she found out she had breast cancer.

I wrote about the battle on an almost daily basis. It was about how I experienced it, about my emotions. There was her alcohol abuse and with the chemotherapy the effect was pure rage and anger and hate. It devoured every inch of a feeling of care I had for her.

I waited till she was declared cancer free, then I left. At that time my blog received an average of about 250-300 readers a day. I killed the blog the day after I left. Did not even bother to take a backup. That blog was my past and I did not need my past as a companion.

Shortly after the Gods looked down and smiled and did their magic.
My path crossed that of Princess and Princesses’ path crossed mine. On that precise crossroad we met and fell in love.

A year later I started a new blog. I wanted it to be a very personal blog about our growth as a couple and even more about our growth as a couple in the wonderful and intense world of BDSM.

I also decided to write in English as I wanted our story to be read by everyone whom would be interested.

So am I a writer? No.

This year I wrote a Dutch article, my mother tongue, about mind fucking and mind playing for a Dutch informational website on BDSM. I also participated in an article about the male orgasm for that organization.

Yet I am still submerged in reading. A Dutch organization, EWA, promoting erotica and helping their members to excel in the genre, hold their annual Writer’s Marathon. For 2017 50% of the votes are for the public and 50% for a jury. That jury is composed of 5 members. Two of them are female and I am one of the three others. I consider it to be a huge honor to be asked.

I have started a few short stories, erotica and BDSM, but I am not sure if they are any good. Writing a blog in English is one thing, writing a story a whole different ballgame. So the only thing that holds me back is not knowing if I master the language enough.

It would be great if I could find somebody whom has some free time. To read the few pages I have written and to help me write the rest. Somebody who is willing to co-author.
Yes, that would be great.

 

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Compatibility

Sometimes I forget, as we all do, that I am blessed. Health is okay, I love my job and it pays well. My girls are doing just fine. In fact, Big A.  and her boyfriend have signed a lease to an apartment. For both it is their first big step and I wish them both all the happiness in the world.

Relation wise I have been an unfortunate traveler for the bigger part of my life. It goes without saying that I was also to blame for when things did not work out as expected.

Let bygones be bygones as I do believe that my past was merely a road leading to where I am now. Sometimes that road was in a pretty bad shape, but hell, who’s complaining? After all I finally arrived at my destination.

Princess is my destination.

Our D/s relation is not very deepened (yet) but that is okay, we don’t live together and when we are together I naturally take the lead in a consensual sort of way.

But when it comes to BDSM we are a match made in heaven and that is where I consider myself extremely blessed.

We both love (very) rough sex with face slapping (me) and hair pulling (me) and she is the perfect recipient of my Sadistic tendencies, loving the things I love to do. How cool is that? Imagine Princess being heavily into needle play… I definitively am not. That would be a whole other story.

Impact play is something I love to give and Princess cannot get enough. The harsher the merrier.

Asanawa rope, detail
Asanawa rope, detail

Rope.
I like rope but Princess adores it and she motivated me to follow a workshop together. We did, in December 2013. Yet I wasn’t convinced because I could not find my voice in this tool. Recently she motivated me again and now I am ready for it. I recognize its strength as a way to dance, a sensual play, Dominance and submission at its best. I can add Sadism and Impact Play to the scene. I’ve been doing a few basic full-suspensions and even if it is not my primary goal it does give a lot of satisfaction. For us both that is.
I am now at a stage where I am going to buy rope in bulk and prepare them for bondage myself.

Rope has become an important part in our scenes and pretty soon we’ll be following an advanced workshop.

I have dark fantasies like The Stranger for example, and Princess is curious and open to find out as I am curious and open to find out and experience her fantasies too.

I have found in the world of BDSM a partner who is by all means a 100% perfect match. Think about it? What are the odds?

I cannot wait to live with Princess and spend every weekend, every evening, every night with her. She is the one I want to travel with for eons to come.

My deepest wish is to marry her.
And have a Rose Ceremony to celebrate our union in a lifestyle I simply adore.

IMG_1335

Untitled

I’m writing another short story. Most of it exists already in my head. I know the ending too. That is the way I often work. I like to sit down and write an almost finished version.

Yet I am still struggling with my English. There is an advantage though as I need to keep it simple, almost pure without any saying or other expressions only seasoned English people are aware of.

I’ll read the first paragraphs but even with a good microphone it still sounds like I am in a small room with lots of echo.

Comments are highly appreciated.

 

An exciting encounter – short story

It is a beautiful Sunday morning.
I am awake and lay on my side and look at Princess. She is still sound asleep.
Chinks of light filter trough the curtains and envelope Princess’s face with streaks of gold.
She looks gorgeous, while dreaming dreams I’ll never know about.

A sigh, soft and sensual. Barely audible.
Princess slowly arises from a deep sleep.

“Good morning beautiful,” I whisper, gently stroking her cheek, placing a soft kiss on her lips.

She wakes up, smiles at me, still dozy.

“I’ll make us a cup of coffee while you get out of bed”, I tell her.
“No morning sex?” she pouts.

“No Princess. I have another treat in mind for you.”
“Okay Milord,” she beams and hops out of bed.
“You’ll be wearing your skinny jeans, white T-shirt. No bra.”
“Yes Milord.”
Princess is a good girl.

Later we enjoy breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast, the works.  I love pampering Princess.

“We are going for a walk in the woods, Princess,” I reveal.
“Wow, great. Thank you Milord!”
Her enthusiasm is catchy, one of the many things making her so adorable.

We finish our coffee and clear the table.

It’s eleven when I park my car on the almost deserted parking lot.
“Mmmh,” Princess smiles and inhales the organic scent of flowers, grass and leaves.
It is pleasantly cool under the green foliage.

I kiss Princess in the neck and grab her hand.
Watching Princess’s boobs wiggle under her T-shirt with each step she takes is maddening hot. I wish I could fuck her but I have other plans.

We don’t talk much, just walk, happy being together.

I lead her to an open spot in the woods.
There is a small pond with blooming water lilies, humming bees and deep blue damselflies.

“Oh, this is so romantic, Milord. Thank you for bringing me here.” She looks so joyful, so careless. Happiness can be so simple.

We sit down on a fallen tree and kiss, enjoying our private Garden of Eden. It does not take long to feel completely disconnected from our daily and busy life.

A female jogger comes in our direction.

“Hi,” she says, stopping where we sit. She opens her bottle of water and takes a sip.
She’s cute, in her mid forties. Shoulder long black hair, surprisingly green eyes and luscious lips.
Still panting she does some stretching, knowingly showing her body off. Long sun burnt legs, great ass and one cannot look past her tits.

I look at Princess, her eyes are crawling over the woman’s body with virtually imperceptible desire.

“Must be pleasurable jogging in the woods,” I start the conversation.
“Yes it is,” the woman replies with a warm and husky voice. “I jog here every day.”

“I’m Franco, and this is Princess.”
“Nice to meet you both.” She takes another sip of water, spilling some over her chin.
With a glance on Princess she licks her lips, and, with the back of her hand, wipes the droplets of water away.

“I’m Leila.” She smiles at Princess who blushes, very aware her nipples harden.
“Hello Leila,” Princess stammer’s, confused because of what this encounter is doing with her.

“You seem very pleased to see me, Princess,” Leila giggles.
“She is not wearing a bra. Did you ask her not to, Franco?”

I see disbelief in Princess’s eyes when she hears the crude remark and impertinent question. It makes me smile.

“Yes I did, Leila. I love the idea being able to simply reach under her T-shirt and touch them.”

“I guess they are magnificent.”
I grin. “Yes Leila, they are. And her nipples are so sensitive.”

I look at Princess and enjoy seeing how shocked she is. Quickly I move behind Princess and rest my hands on her shoulders in a comforting way.

Princess’s breathing increases, she is getting aroused and I can almost smell it.

“Do you want to see them, Leila?” I ask. My voice is low, inviting yet commanding.

“I would love to, Franco.”

I slide my hands down Princess’s arms, let them linger for a few seconds on her hips while my fingers search for the rim of her T-shirt.

Teasingly slow I pull the fabric up, finally revealing her breasts.
“Open your mouth girl, and hold the fabric between your teeth.”

I pull back her arms behind her back hold her wrists with a firm grip. Princess is merely a toy now and she knows it. I can hear it in her moaning, her sighing.

“Wow,” Leila chuckles, “they are indeed gorgeous. Can I touch them?”
“Of course you can. Don’t forget to play with her nipples, Princess likes that very much.”

My cock grows hard while I watch Leila caress Princess, gently squeezing her nipples.
I press my crotch against her ass to let her know how aroused I am.
“You like that, girl?” I growl.
Princess nods in affirmation.

“Enough, Leila.”
Immediately she pulls her hands back.

“You want more, girl?” I breathe in Princess’s ear.
“Please Milord. I do,” she mumbles doing her very best not to let go of the T-shirt’s rim she’s still holding between her teeth.

“You heard Princess, Leila.”
“I’m so looking forward discovering more of her, Franco.”

“Here.” I hand over the pen Princess gave me for our first anniversary, making sure she sees it. It has our names engraved and the date of our first rendezvous. Now I am using it for a groundbreaking moment in our relation.

Leila smiles, grabs the pen and writes down her phone number on Princess’s right breast.
Then gives me back the pen.

“It was a pleasure, Sir.” Leila bows her head. Plants a volatile kiss on Princess’s forehead.
Then she’s gone.

“Aren’t you going to write her number on a piece of paper, Milord? I’m sweaty and I’m afraid it will get rubbed off with my T-shirt.”

“No need for that, Princess.”
I grab my smart phone and take a photograph of Princess’s boob and the phone number.
“For our special photo album,” I smile and pull down her T-shirt.

We walk back to the car, Princess and I.
The sun is now hidden behind dark clouds.
It is still hot though. There is some far away rumbling.
I love these heavy summer thunderstorms.

We drive home.
Princess and I get naked and go to bed.
We make love.
Fuck.
And make love again.
Devour each other like famished dogs.

(c)Franco Bolli, 2015

Thoughts on writing – August 21, 2015

Yesterday evening, after reading my post “Thoughts – August 20, 2015” out loud to Princess we discussed it in-depth.

Yes, I love writing. It is something I am becoming increasingly aware of.

I consider English to be my second mother tongue.
During World War I my mother’s mother was a nurse in London. She fell in love with a wounded Belgian soldier. They married and after the war moved to Ruabon, Wales. My late mother was one of their 3 kids.

Somewhere in the 1920’s my grandfather decided to return to Belgium. My grandmother never learned Dutch. I spend a zillion weekends and school holidays with my grandparents. I remember Baba not being very talkative but Nana was so I learned the English language quite early in my life.

Nowadays I don’t have a lot of opportunities to talk English. Yet I try to do as much English reading as I can and when I watch a movie at home I try to find English subtitles.

One could argue that I am lazy. I guess to some extent I am. I live alone, have no garden to maintain and I don’t freak out and wash my windows every time a fly poops on them. Housekeeping does not take up much of my time either.

So when I come home after work there is not much that I HAVE to do.  So I read, surf, watch a movie or enjoy sitting outside on my terrace. Sometimes I enjoy simply doing nothing.
I am used to prioritize the pleasurable things of life.

Developing a film and scanning the negatives is pleasurable and fun. Certainly the scanning kill’s time but the whole process gives also gives me instant gratification.
The images become a digital file and I can work on it in Photoshop and, being very visual, I see the progress. Something is happening.

Writing is much more demanding and time-consuming. I enjoy reading what I have written but the way to get there I feel less appealing.

Almost 2 years ago I translated one of my short stories from Dutch to English. It is not an erotic short but I posted ‘The Aroma of Coffee‘ on this site.

I have a few things lying around. There is ‘Carte Blanche’, an erotic story and a very hot and intense untitled BDSM short.

I would like to translate them but then again I am not sure. Maybe I should rewrite them in English. I really haven’t a clue which is the best option.

Yet I know that because I am lazy I need to kick myself in the butt.
So here it is.
A promise.

I will start writing and post shorts as work in progress. I will even chip in a deadline and create a category with the same name. Every week, on Friday, I’ll post this work in progress.

Pens (2015) iPad Air with the photography app 'Manual'
Pens (2015)
iPad Air with the photography app ‘Manual’

 

A New Project – Help wanted

Over the past decades I have written several short stories. Some of them were even published in little known literary magazines. I also wrote a few stories just for Princess.

One of these short stories I really like a lot. It is somewhat erotic and has a very good story line and ends with a twist. “Carte Blanche” counts, in its Dutch version, some 4700 words.

I’ like to translate “Carte Blanche” but I know it is a very tiresome job. Last year I translated another short of mine, “The Aroma of Coffee” and published it on this blog.

I think it would be better a better idea to simply rewrite the story in English rather than translating it. Yet I have been postponing this task so to get things started I have set January 2015 as my deadline. The eBook will be made available on Amazon and Smashwords and maybe I’ll charge 0.99$ for it. I am not sure yet if I’ll put some photographs in it.

Help would be very much appreciated so this is what I have in mind.
It would be great to have for example 4 readers who read and edit 1 or 2 translated pages each. At the end two more readers are needed to check the whole book and file consistency as it will be made available as ePub and Mobi. Please do not apply if you feel you won’t have enough time to spare. So what’s in it for those who are willing to help me out? In the first place you’ll earn my everlasting gratitude. That must be worth something. Next you will be mentioned in the Acknowledgement part of my little book and I will even add a link to your blog/webpage. Of course each of you will receive a free copy of the eBook. Princess and I will even send you a virtual 2014 Xmas card and to top it off a virtual 2015 Happy New year card.

Carte Blanche
Had he dozed off? The day had been an endless one. It started very early with a video conference at his office. The lunch meeting with a potential supplier was uninteresting and the last one very long and even more boring. He’d been nodding most of the time. His head felt way too heavy, his neck too weak to support it and keeping his eyes open seemed an almost impossible task. With a deep sigh he finally left the cramped room and rushed to the coffee machine. Before ending the workday he checked the departure of the train he wanted to take. After purchasing a ticket on-line and printing it he finally left his office.

For the first time in almost a decade Franco Bolli was going to ​​use public transport. When he arrived at the train station he felt ignorant, a blind man in the world of the seasoned commuter, the One-Eyed Kings.

Drinking wine

The Aroma of Coffee

When I wake up I know it is going to be a bad day. Are there other ones I ask myself in disgust.
I feel dizzy, my head ready to explode and my chest hurts from smoking too much yesterday.
My bed is big and empty. I cannot remember when was the last time a woman slept next to me.
The fog in my head is getting thicker.
It is raining outside, drizzly, disconsolate. I feel so depressed.
I suppress a rising feeling of nausea and grab the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. Empty.
My mood descends way below zero.

The dizziness is getting stronger. I slip out of bed and stumble to the bathroom where disorder awaits me.
Just in time I bend over the toilet hole. The stench of stale urine rising out of that dark yellow pit hits me hard in the face. I haven’t flushed in days.
I throw up last evening’s spaghetti and it leaves an acid taste in my mouth. I dab my face with cold water and rinse my mouth.

It is cold and dirty in the kitchen too.
I make some coffee and scuffle to the living room.

Soon the aroma of coffee fills the room but it can’t reduce my bad temper. It is so cold here and I feel abandoned. Coffee is not meant to drink alone.
Why for heaven’s sake did I even take the trouble?

The scent reminds me of her and I don’t need that now.
My mind drifts away to those simple breakfasts with her when the bed was not yet to big or empty and cold.
The hot cups of black coffee were our Sunday morning tradition after the lovemaking and to greet the new day.

While she was dozing after the intense sex I jumped out of bed, plunged down the stairs into the kitchen and brewed a can of delicious and strong coffee.
In the meanwhile she had pushed up the pillows and welcomed me back by lifting up the duvet.
She took it with her when she left me and I never replaced it.

No wonder I have cold legs and feet at night, I think. For a split second I am longing more for the duvet than for her.

A specific memory springs to my mind although just the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. Fucking melancholy does that to people.

On a Sunday morning, so beautiful time should have halted at that precise moment, she asked for sugar. I was a little surprised. She always takes her coffee black.
I remember smiling.
“Sweetie,” I answered, “if you play sugar I will personally add some cream…”
“You are a man with wicked thoughts,” she chuckled and grabbed my cock.

These memories seem like fragments of a past life I never lived. I suddenly get a depressing feeling I’ve aged centuries. That I have wandered through deserts of absolute emptiness. Lost my bearings and myself at the same time.
I realize I have been chasing unreachable shadows while tapping myself on the shoulders. Encouraging myself in a no good life. Sinking in a pool of murky self-pity. Hoping for something that would never happen.
She won’t come back.

I loathe myself and my prominent lethargy and lack of resilience. In my mind, I draw a thick line under this chapter. I decide, starting tomorrow, to be a blank slate again. Alert and open for what comes. I need to look at the sky instead to the ground. Longing for what lies beyond the horizon.

This day, this Sunday, I should use to dispel of the filth in my house and in my life.

I rummage through some audiotapes and decide a piano sonata by Chopin is the only music that can endure this morning.
Chopin is a miracle I think with his twinkling fresh sadness.
I now know that I do not want to cherish my pain. In stead I want to search for blue skies and banish the grey from my life.

Chopin will accompany me.

Coffee

About writing #ASMSG #DEC #writing #short stories

Writing a blog in a language that is not one’s mother tongue does not seem difficult. But I am being biased, I know.
A big part of my childhood I spend at my grandparent’s home and my dear grandmother was a 100% English lady.
During World War I she was a nurse in London and she fell in love with a wounded Belgian soldier. They married and lived for many years in Wales until my grandfather decided to return to Belgium.

My Nana never learned the language so I learned English as a kid.
I speak English with a horrendous accent but I possess an extensive vocabulary. Does this mean my writing is flawless? Of course not.

Decades ago I wrote several short stories in Dutch and a few of them made it to literary magazines. I still remember receiving a cheque for my first story and it was an awesome feeling.
The chick I was living with left me a few years later and my muse decided to tag along with her.

For the next 25 years I didn’t feel the need or the urge to write.

With Princess finally a new and very inspirational muse moved in.

I want to write short stories again and I have several ideas. But I will quickly hit my boundaries. Okay, a huge vocabulary helps and knowledge of conjugation too. Typical expressions though are a totally different matter but there I get help from the Internet.

The Aroma Of Coffee was written some 25 years ago and the past few days I have been busy rewriting it in English. It is what it is, just a short story, imagination and not related to personal experiences.

I will do so with another of my writings very soon.

The goal is to write an erotic story that has been cooking in my mind since a week when I first told it to Princess.

I am hoping on your feedback, Reader, so I can improve myself. You can do so via comment or mail.
Thank you for helping me grow as an author.

A new horizon