[Whitehave] 
Rachel's Adventure 1-5/88
Rachel, a 20-year-old arts student, goes on an adventure.
+*+*+*+*+
There were three things that caused Rachel’s and my paths to cross: First, a shared love for Pre-Raphaelite art that made us frequent the same circles. Second, a predilection for damsels in distress. Here, Rachel obviously identified with the damsel while I tended more toward the mustache-twirling villain. Third, the 20-year-old art student was driven by a powerful sense of adventure that made her reach out to me after reading some of my stories. She knew what she was getting into.
Weirdly enough, some people get turned on by visions of being held captive, ravished, tortured, and abused. Rachel was one of those people. For many years, Rachel had dreamt about being a damsel in distress—starting with fairy tale princesses getting captured by evil knights and barbarians. Even true crimes like the 1977 “girl in a box” case or the chilling David Parker Ray tape made Rachel shiver with more than just horror and revulsion—a forbidden sense of carnal wishfulness, tempered by the need to avoid taking excessive risks.
When Rachel learnt that, besides writing stories that she liked, I had a girlfriend living in what the pros call a 24/7 D/s relationship, a well-stocked (and soundproof) basement, plus the opportunity and willingness to house “guests,” an idea began to germinate in her mind.
Rachel wondered what it would mean to enjoy my “hospitality,” but I could tell that she was unsure about the risk. That's why I suggested:
“Don’t just listen to me, talk to my girlfriend. She can tell you all about it.”
* * *
Over the phone, they had agreed to meet in the park at 4 PM. When Rachel saw the skimpily dressed, collared redhead approach, she immediately realized that this must be Whitehaven’s girlfriend.
Rachel motioned for the young woman to approach and sit down:
“Hi! Thanks for coming. Did I get that right? Your name is ‘Three?’”
The woman smiled and sat down:
“Nice to meet you, Rachel! Yep, 3. It's the number Sir gave me. I don’t have a name, not anymore.”
“Oh!” Rachel was astonished and temporarily speechless.
3 nodded:
“Part of my life now. Slaves don’t have names. Like running around like this—“ She waved her hand down her half-naked body.
"—although I have to say that I still find it cool that He makes me do it. I’d never have dared dress like this on my own.”
“Tell me about it,” observed Rachel drily.
“And no shoes.”
“No shoes at all. Sir doesn’t allow them. Except where it’s necessary, like when I’m grocery shopping.”
Rachel’s belly started to tingle. She could imagine how she would attract stares when walking around dressed like this. Being forced to walk barefoot on the filthy sidewalk, showing off her body—Rachel shivered excitedly.
3 started to explain:
“So, there I was, two years ago: Inga Palmer, recently moved here, looking for a job, dipping my toes in the local kinky scene. Then I met Him. Moved in, curious, first for a week, then for a month, and now I’m with Him for over two years.” She gestured excitedly.
“Gosh! It would be SO cool if you would move in, too! You wanted to know what it is like living with Him. Go ahead! Ask me anything!”
3 explained while Rachel listened with rapturous attention:
“You want to hear about the good and the bad. Alright, I’ll start with the bad, so that you don’t get any wrong ideas. People often start these things starry-eyed.” She chuckled.
“I sure did! And I had a lot of learning to do. If I can help you avoid my mistakes…”
3 started to count on her fingers:
“One: You need to know that above all Sir is a sadist. That means that he gets off by making me uncomfortable, by hurting me. I happen to like a bit of pain—“ She snorted with amusement.
“—well, actually I like it a lot, so I’m good with that, but you need to know your limits and how ‘hard’ your limits are. We had to learn that over time, and it works best if you react and don’t hold back. Scream, moan, cry—whatever you like—but don’t bottle it up if you hate it.” She sighed happily, remembering a fulfilling episode:
“If you let yourself go and really ‘live’ through what He’s doing to you, there is no stronger, better feeling. Fire burning your soul clean. I can’t describe it any better, sorry! But the point is: You need to like some nastiness.”
Rachel remembered the time when she had experimentally drizzled hot wax on her breasts, to test if she could stand it: She could, and it had felt wonderful. Just on the right edge between pain and pleasure. She also thought of how she had whipped herself with a belt, like a medieval flagellant: A thoroughly unsatisfying experience. If she wanted to know what it was like to be whipped, somebody else would have to do it. She thought of when she tied herself into a tight hogtie: The growing ache in her shoulders from being pulled backward made her feel warm in her belly, and with her hands tied she could not touch herself.
“I think I can manage that,” said Rachel matter-of-factly.
3 continued:
“Here’s some homework for you: Write down your hard limits. The ‘never do that’ stuff. Then your soft limits: What you might do but are afraid of. Where you want to push your envelope, if you know what I mean. Then what rocks your boat: Best write an essay about your favourite fantasies.”
Rachel’s belly was aflutter again. Oh, she could write pages about
that!
“Ok,” she acknowledged.
“I guess this is so that He gets to know me.”
3 shook her head:
“No, this is foremost that you know yourself: What you want and what you don’t want. So that you aren’t surprised by your own reactions. And believe me, your body can surprise you in many ways.”
Rachel nodded, waiting for the redhead to continue.
3 continued to count, raising a second finger:
“Second, learn to battle boredom! There’s one thing that you really need to understand; it almost broke our relationship in the beginning before I wizened up: It is not His job to keep you entertained. Playtime is not when you want it to be, it is when He wants it to be. Don’t be as dumb as I was when I kept pestering Sir when I got bored.”
“So, what do you do—” asked Rachel, arching her brow.
“In the house, there is always something to do. I structure my day. Lots of chores to do.” 3 giggled.
“If you find a dust bunny somewhere, I ought to be whipped! You can eat from the floor, honey.”
3 briefly crossed her wrists in front of her, indicating being tied up:
“And when I’m locked away, I just have to wait. I daydream. Exercise. Invent stories. Beats watching a talk show." She grinned.
Coping with boredom was something Rachel had not really thought about. Yes, she had spent the night in the dark bathroom, sleeping naked on the cold tiles, imagining that it was a cell, but that was different. She made a mental note to look up some techniques to keep herself occupied.
3’s face brightened:
“But now that you move in,” She gripped Rachel’s arm excitedly.
“—if you move in, that is—there’s two of us, and that is a game changer! We can be there for each other.” Bubbling with enthusiasm, she added:
“Isn’t that wonderful? And with that, let’s talk about the good stuff!”
3 tilted her head in an inquiring manner:
“I’ll let you guess, Rachel. What do you think keeps me with Sir despite all the nastiness and the drudgery, huh?”
Rachel answered confidently:
“Because He gives you the life and the thrill that you can’t get elsewhere.”
3 shook her head and smiled:
“Sure, that's important, but that isn't it. If I tell you it’s ‘freedom,’ would you think I am crazy?”
Rachel scrunched her nose in confusion, but then, suddenly half-developed thoughts and ideas she had carried for a long time fell into place. She nodded:
“Of course! Freedom from responsibilities—He is taking care of everything.”
3’s infectious smile was like the sun reappearing behind a cloud:
“You get it! You’re a natural, honey! You see: I own nothing. No clothes, no money, no place to live. What I have I get from Him. Like a child from its parents or a pet from its owner if you prefer. But that makes my life so much simpler and easier.”
“Of course, you need to trust him,” interjected Rachel cautiously.
“Of course. But after two years, we’re good. Now I don’t have any worries except keeping Him happy. Is it a good deal? For many, it won’t be. For me it is.”