The naked house – short free fiction from Fulani

Continuing the moving-to-a-new-house saga. It’s quite short, just 1100 words or so, because it was done quickly in between finishing off some other stuff. The first two stories on this theme are here and here. There will be another couple of stories on this theme eventually, split between this blog and Fulani’s other blog.


The Naked House


The previous owners had removed everything, of course: carpets, curtains, furniture, even the light bulbs. Of course they had: they’d stripped the place and it had been empty for months, the agent had told us, because they’d emigrated. It was ready for new paint, new carpets, new furniture, new possessions. It was ready to be adapted, remodelled, to fit our own tastes, ideas, lifestyle.

That wasn’t going to happen quite yet. With the delay in the house purchase, we’d had to let our stuff go into storage and wouldn’t see it until the removal company had a truck available in five days’ time. Until then, we had a bare house. Clothes. Kettle and mugs. Sleeping bags. Our imagination. We could plan, and we could paint the walls.

No house, though, is truly empty after it’s vacated. There were still traces of the previous owners. We didn’t look in the bathroom mirror and get glimpses of them, anything like that. But we did get glimpses of them from the patterns of wear: the patches on the walls where pictures had been hung or furniture placed, scuff marks on the bare floorboards, the way the empty space moved and flowed.

Jen and I laid out our sleeping bags in the big front bedroom. Huddled in them, with a hot tea for Jen and hot coffee for me. We’d eaten dinner at a nearby restaurant, and bought an electric kettle earlier in the day. The room was cold because the central heating guy hadn’t finished fitting the new boiler. No curtains, just reflected light from the street lamps and the occasional car. We let ourselves relax: the move had been stressful, we wouldn’t see our possessions for a few more days, and the plan was to use the emptiness to get some redecoration done.

Something kept glinting at me, catching the reflection of passing headlights. A hook in the ceiling, there, by the bay window. Looked like it would be anchored on a joist.

I pointed it out. Jen arched an eyebrow.

I shrugged. ‘Who knows? One of those Sixties globe seats that hangs from a chain? Heavy flower basket?’

Jen looked around. ‘That wouldn’t explain the eyebolts in the skirting boards, though.’

Either side of the bay window, large bolts that would be sunk well into the brickwork behind the skirtings.

‘If we find a use for them, they’ll stay. If not, I’ll take them out when we redecorate.’ But my imagination notched up a gear. I could definitely find a use for them.

The twist at the corner of Jen’s lips means she already knows what use I’m thinking of. She can read my mind.

‘We’re going to need heavy light-tight curtains in here.’

Well, yes we are. Unless of course we’re going to be exhibitionists.

She puts her mug down and her head in my lap. I stroke her hair. I have my tender moments.

After a while, she tells me to look at the wall behind me.

‘There’s a shadow on the wall. I can’t see what’s casting it.’

From this angle, there’s a clear outline of an X, from floor to ceiling. I run my fingers over it. Where the X is, I can feel the wallpaper is slightly compressed. When I tell Jen this, she looks up at me wide-eyed in the darkness. A car goes past outside and the reflection of its headlights make her eyes flash wickedly.

‘Now why,’ she says with a mock innocence, ‘would the previous owners have a big cross mounted against the wall…?’

I think the answer is the obvious one. But I take her wrists, stretch them wide across the floor. She arches her back and chuckles. But then she says: ‘It’s too cold in here. You can’t expect me to strip naked.’

She has a point. On the other hand, the eyebolts are right there in the wall and I have a couple of thin webbing luggage straps around my suitcase. So it’s not long before her wrists are tied to the eyebolts with the straps, she’s lying on the sleeping bags, and her jeans and panties are bundled up and tossed into a far corner of the room. I’m considerate enough to leave the thick woollen socks on her feet. They look cute. I could easily become a sock fetishist, I suspect. There are Goosebumps on the insides of her thighs, where the tendons are hard and outlined against her flesh. I warm them against my hot tongue. Taste all the mixed emotions of the day on the lips of her pussy; sweetness with an underlying mix of tension, hope, frustration, anticipation, relief. Use my fingers to spread the lips and circle Jen’s clit. I can feel the little spasms and jumps and twitches inside, coming from midway between clit and navel.

It’s always amused and gratified me that the moment I tie her wrists, she goes into that alternate, submissive headspace.

I fuck her, slowly and deeply, watching her face in the sodium lights from outside. I see the screwed-up eyes, the way her lips part and her jaw sets as she pushes determinedly towards orgasm. I see the tension of the day slipping away from her, replaced by an altogether different and more urgent tension. She’s beautiful like this.

I feel the increasingly impatient thrust of her hips against mine.

Nine times out of ten, sex for us involves ropes, chains, whips, floggers, gags and blindfolds. And multiple partners. As far as we’re concerned, this is as close as we’ve got to vanilla sex in quite a while.

Don’t knock vanilla sex; it’s a refreshing change.

And then I feel her back arching, legs and arms tense, see the rictus of climax on her face. Eyes open wide but they’re not looking anywhere, focused inwards on the slo-mo explosion of pleasure.

Takes me another couple of minutes to get there myself, my own rictus of pleasure. Jen doesn’t care, she’s multi-orgasmic.

And eventually we sleep spooned together, stroking softly, the straps released from the eyebolts but still on her wrists. I listen to Jen’s even breaths, feel her ribs move with the inhale/exhale, and watch headlights flicking across the wall, high up, hitting the top right hand side of the X like a big tick winking at me.


In the morning, now we know what to look for, we find more evidence. The light spatter of candlewax on the lounge floor, a rough pattern suggesting the outline of a now-absent object. Half of a mail-order catalogue from a sex shop, caught among brambles in the back garden.

We know now what attracted us to the house in the first place.  

The lingering clues about, and traces of, the previous owners.



By the way, this just in: a new review of Seducing the Myth, the Lucy Felthouse collection with a Fulani story in it. It’s over at The Pen Muse.

BDSM, fetish, the financial crisis and housing

Velvet Tripp and I are in the enviable position of owning our own house. It’s not a big or grand house, but it is ours and consequently we do pretty much what we like in private. Most of our friends are, or at least were, in the same position – independent, in their own houses whether owned or rented.

However, one thing that’s just struck us is the extent to which the financial crisis has affected a lot of people’s lifestyles. One person we know has a daughter who’d left home, lived with a partner, etc., and when it broke down the daughter simply wasn’t in a position to either rent or buy independently again despite being in a reasonably-paid job – rents have rocketed and mortgages aren’t around any more. The presence of the daughter has curtailed their ability to play at home. Another friend has ended up with a lodger, not because they needed help to pay bills, but because a friend of theirs lost their house and needed somewhere to stay. Again, this means they own their home but can’t play in it any more. We have some other examples as well. It’s unlikely these are random events and more likely they’re just close-up illustrations of a trend.

And if that’s the case, it suggests that some of us into fetish/bdsm are finding that despite owning our own houses, we actually don’t have anywhere private to play because there are others around who’d be disturbed by it (in any sense of ‘disturb’ you’d like to imagine).

OK – we’ve all been there at one time or another. When we were impoverished students living in shared houses, fetish clubs were often the best option. When we were bringing up kids (or inquisitive teenagers!) the sensible thing to do was equally to play somewhere other than home, unless you could persuade someone to have the kids for a sleep-over or whatever. But those of us who are players do usually aspire to private space where we can do our own thing, perhaps quite noisily with the cracking of whips and no need to stifle screams. And for many of us who’ve achieved this desirable state – the financial crisis comes along and takes it away again.

OK again, we’ve known people who were married, into fetish but their partner wasn’t. Such situations are, to say the least, complicated and often mean elaborate arrangements to play outside the home. Maybe the rest of us will have to start relying on the same kinds of resources those people build in order to live their lifestyle?

There are several options. One is to corrupt the lodger (or conversely, corrupt the person you’re lodging with or the people you’re sharing with). We do know people who discovered their sons and daughters, when they got to their early twenties, were also into fetish and are open about it with them – but that’s probably not the norm and if the ‘lodger’ is also an adult some or daughter – or parent? – it may not be a comfortable possibility. Another is to have assignations in hotels. A third is to know others who are players, or maybe even pro dommes, and be able to borrow their playspace when it’s not in use. A fourth is go back to playing in clubs. Might the financial crisis mean a resurgence in fetish clubs, because more people need them as playspace? Or offer a new line of business in dungeon rental for some dommes?

What’s your view? What are your experiences? Enquiring minds want to know!


Seducing the Myth – nominated for award

We’ve mentioned the ‘Seducing the Myth’ anthology before since Fulani has a story in it (here’s a list of places you can get hold of a copy).

And we’ve just been told it’s up for ‘Best Anthology Published in 2011’ in the Preditors and Editors poll. P&E is part of the Critters Workshop site, an online literary workshop that specialises in science fiction, horror and fantasy (including erotica).

If you’d like to vote for the collection that would be appreciated, because it’s up against stiff competition, and not just from other erotica because obviously the site includes horror, SF, and other kinds of fantasy (and you might even find some other interesting stuff to read there at the same time!). Voting’s been running since just before Christmas and closes in a couple of days.


New free fiction on Fulani’s Limited Attention Span

The second episode of the moving house saga, ‘Sex and the homeless’, is now finished: it’s not on here though, because these stories are appearing alternately here and on Fulani’s other blog, Fulani’s Limited Attention Span. You’ll have to go there to read it (it’ll open in a new window). The first story in the sequence. ‘Memory Dump’, was a little while back on this blog. The third story , in a week or so, will be back on this blog again.

I may have mentioned our own move was delayed in the way the story depicts, by a lawyerly fuck-up, as a result of which we had a night in a motel before the transaction went through and we got the keys. Hence the inspiration for the story – 2700 words of smut, and you can have fun trying to guess how much or how little of what’s laid down there actually took place.

So, to recap: ‘Sex and the homeless’, erotic story, now up as a blog post on Fulani’s Limited Attention Span; go there, read, enjoy.

Have fun!

Congratulations, Lucy!

Well, we haven’t posted for a bit – the house move, Christmas, New Year, writing, all the usual time-of-year things plus a few more…

However, an email came through today from Xcite about the Xcite Awards 2012. The awards celebrate and recognise companies, reviewers, bloggers and sexperts who value and support the erotic fiction market. Voting is open until February 13th and winners will be announced on St Valentines Day 2012.

A friend of ours, Lucy Felthouse (you may remember her as editor and publisher of Seducing the Myth, which contains one of Fulani’s stories) is in the running for two awards – best blog/author page (as and best reviewer (as So congratulations, Lucy!

If you want to see the full list of categories and nominations – and vote – there’s a Survey Monkey web page for the Xcite Awards that has all the info and a ‘vote’ button.

Meanwhile, here’s wishing happy 2012 to everyone who’s read this blog!