A Lifestyle Enthusiast

(the serial tale of one boy’s fall into the hands of a sadist)

by: lifestylenthusiast2

© 2020

Acclaim for Consent: a Novella

 Lovely!

Highly recommend this novella!

Is it me, or is it getting hotter?

Paints a glorious picture. Erotic yet discrete, understated.

Such a well told, absorbing and provocative story. A pleasure to read in confinement, by pandemic or otherwise.

Another wonderful chapter. The imagery is wonderful and you set a teasing pace inviting the reader to anticipate what the boy is experiencing.

You have a tremendous style, so descriptive and engaging. Look forward to more!

You are outdoing yourself with every installment!!

 Another superb read.

I am so enjoying your story! It’s lovely! Can't wait to read what's next!

I am loving this series. I may be addicted. Read from the start, it sets such a teasing pace, much like the skilled Mistress of the story.

I'm captivated by your writing and by the images that are being painted in my mind as I read each chapter; I want more, please.

You have me hooked. Erotica at its best.

A good story, pleasing concept, well developed characters and nicely edited.

A very intriguing and erotic novella by a very good writer.

I’m an addict now and would pay for continued fixes!

It is a story that should go on forever.

Bravo! Just wonderful writing!

Terrific installment. You're going to torture us, aren't you?

Just a quick Bravo! It’s brilliant!!

A fantastic story! I binge-read every chapter and yesterday, I was left drooling for more!

You just made the internet hard.

~

Those of you who’ve followed the story know Consent: a Novella first appeared here on bdsmlr with a daily installment starting March 27 and concluding April 19.

I am pleased to announce Consent: a Novella is now available worldwide in the amazon Kindle Store. Print edition also available in eight major markets.

By way of thanks to those who enjoyed the adventures of Mrs. Wilton and her boys and who shared so many positive comments, Part I will always be free here on bdsmlr. Find the the full novella in the amazon Kindle Store for the price of a coffee or two and where download is always free for subscribers to Kindle Unlimited.

Don’t miss your chance to download the whole of Consent: a Novella so you can take it with you wherever you go!

United States

Canada

UK

Other: search by title or author Erin O'Keefe

Read Chapter I of Consent: a Novella below or in the amazon Kindle Store anytime!

About Consent: a Novella

Beautiful, scheming and merciless, Headmistress Marjorie Wilton of Foxglove Academy recognizes at first glance the yearning, needy look she receives in her English class from one Leslie Niven, a boy whose fate will shortly turn upon her every whim. Follow Leslie’s slide from innocence into depravity as he is gradually befriended, seduced and thoroughly subjugated by the relentless Mrs. Wilton, a woman whose passions and skills leave her uniquely positioned to bring boys like Leslie entirely to heel.

Introduction

These times we're in are strange indeed.

Taking a break from the stress now and then is so very important. Allowing one’s mind to wander and rest from the cares and responsibilities that will always be there for us.

I wondered how I might contribute somehow, given my humble talents, how I might offer something special to look forward to each day for those who might wish to briefly escape. So I wrote this novella based on thoughts and images that have long occupied me, serializing it into twenty-four chapters, one of which will appear each day starting March 27. I hope it distracts and amuses you as much as the writing did me.

I would like to thank one special person—she knows who she is—who inspired and encouraged me every step of the way - thank you, dear friend, you are a sweet soul indeed!

(note: I've re-posted this item to address annoying formatting issues that cropped up with edits to the original - thanks for your patience!)

If you have viewing issues, click here for original page.

"The Promise" from COME, THIEF: POEMS by Jane Hirshfield, copyright © 2011 by Jane Hirshfield. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.

The characters in this story are all of legal age in your jurisdiction, whatever that is. Please observe the applicable ordinance as you exercise your imagination. Any resemblance of any character to you, me, or any other kinkster you might know is purely intentional. Do not attempt any of the practices described in the text at home or at work—unless they really light your fire and you just can’t help it. The quasi-consensual nature of some scenes is intended for deliciousness only. Lastly, and above all: it’s nothing but fantasy, anything goes! ~e

Prologue

Stay, I said
to the cut flowers.
They bowed
their heads lower.

Stay, I said to the spider,
who fled.

Stay, leaf.
It reddened,
embarrassed for me and itself.

Stay, I said to my body.
It sat as a dog does,
obedient for a moment,
soon starting to tremble.

Stay, to the earth
of riverine valley meadows,
of fossiled escarpments,
of limestone and sandstone.
It looked back
with a changing expression, in silence.

Stay, I said to my loves.
Each answered,
Always.

 Jane Hirshfield, 'The Promise'

~~~ I ~~~

The letter delighted her, appearing unexpectedly as it did in the pile of correspondence she sifted through each day.

She read it twice to be sure her eyes had not deceived her; then a third time, more slowly, savouring it, squeezing her thighs together, squaring her shoulders, and smiling as the first few thoughts of how she might proceed brought images to mind. She laid it gently on the desk after that and allowed herself to steep in its significance, reclining and turning to gaze out the window with her hands together under her chin as if in prayer.

The windows were now being opened on warmer afternoons, the sun was higher in the sky each day. Birdsong coloured the mornings. Fresh green leaves fluttered on the gentle breeze, the branches supporting them retreating into shadow once again. The ice had long since melted from the fountain where the walks met at the centre of the courtyard, and the end of term was rapidly approaching. It would be exam time soon.

She picked the letter up again and read it one more time, taking care to look for any catch or subtlety she might have missed:

Dear Mrs. Wilton,

As you know, I’ve had legal custody and care of my nephew and your student Leslie Niven from an early age, since the untimely loss of his parents.

I’ve greatly appreciated your assistance and services this past school year in making his first residential placement a success. Your reports on his progress have been most encouraging.

Due in part to the freedom I’ve been enjoying (from both toil and worry, with thanks to you and your institution), I have met a man, Robert, and we are soon to be married. The reason I am writing is this: Robert’s business is such that we will be moving from this country shortly, to Singapore. This is very exciting indeed, but it also puts a problem before us.

Given your success with Leslie this past year, I am at a loss as to what would be best to do with him. I feel uprooting him to have him join me could be highly disruptive, and that his proper care and nurture may be a task I am simply not up to as he matures. Robert has grown children of his own, and while he is certainly open to Leslie’s joining us, he has made clear he has little time or interest in his rearing—this I understand and accept; he is a very busy man.

And yet, I can think of no other option at present and find myself caught between the need to care for flesh and blood and my desire to pursue our own goals and happiness while we are able.

I wonder if you might have any thoughts or suggestions for Leslie’s care and nurture, even if only for the summer months, while we search for other options. I know he is a sensitive boy and therefore likely to require a more thoughtful and careful approach than most. We all want the best for him, I’m sure. I am therefore prepared to discuss any reasonable arrangement you might be able to propose.

I wish you the best, and thank you again for your kind and diligent service. I very much look forward to hearing back from you on this most important issue.

Yours sincerely,

Wanda Jackson

It really was too good to be true.

She’d already been grooming the boy—his soft and yearning countenance came instantly to mind the moment she’d spotted his name—but more for simple amusement than through any hope anything more serious might develop. It had been an engaging little side project these past few months and nothing more. Here, now, was a stroke of fortune the likes of which she would scarcely credit were it not right front of her.

She crossed her arms and squeezed herself, drawing a deep breath as she arched her back, exhaling slowly as she pressed her thighs together and squeezed again. A frisson of pleasure rippled through her.

Leslie! Of all the boys it might have been - how improbable!

She’d recognized his potential at once, upon the first submissive, needy look he’d given her (which she’d returned with the sort of cool, reproachful gaze she sensed would only heighten his thirst, as indeed it had), and she’d decided then and there that even if nothing more should ever come of it than the pleasure of sending him home besotted and tormented, corrupting him would be well worth the effort.

The kiss had been her sweetest triumph to date. Perhaps that little seed she’d planted would have grown enough by now to yield fruit.

She was instantly resolved to find out.

He’d scarcely been able to walk when she sent him away with that kiss still burning him. It had certainly swept away the last of her doubts about the sort of boy he was at root. It was his surface innocence that had been obscuring his true nature, though once she had realized that, there’d been little further she could do about it.

Until now.

All the better for both of them.

It had taken some time and effort to work up to where she had him at present, but her labours had been well-rewarded.

She’d begun by taking a more than routine interest in him, an easy undertaking since he was a sensitive and intelligent boy. Examining his work, cultivating his every deference with a pleased smile, working to become his closest confidant and protector while also correcting him at every misstep, however slight; acquainting him with her will and attention to detail. She began to let her hand touch his whenever she sat beside him, as if by accident at first, ever so lightly while pointing something out, then more overtly when she praised a passage of his work or a particularly clever approach to some problem; she began to let him feel her hand upon his shoulder, pleased at how he flustered and faltered, and at how readily he drank it up.

Once a week or so, she kept him after class to have him stand alone and read poetry she selected for him, at first as if class were in session, seating herself at her desk so he could see her listening from his usual place in his row; later rising as he spoke, positioning herself behind him, a little closer each time until finally she judged him ready for the warmth of her breath on his neck and the pressure of her breasts at his back.

"You read so beautifully," she told him, pressing ever so gently, allowing her hips to contact his backside as he froze. He had never tried to move away, not from the first. For the longest time she gave him nothing more, stretching these experiences over several weeks, keeping them days apart until she had him yearning for them, trying to guess whether any given day she might be in a mood for more, watching her for any slightest signal she was in the mood to see him. It was only late one dismal afternoon, having doused the lights of the classroom so that only the weak grey light of the rain-soaked quad filtered in through the windows that she took her usual position to listen and, when he finished his poem, leaned forward, careful not to touch her lips to him just yet, and planted the first little seed to grow. "Lovely, boy. Bravo! I certainly shan't have to cane you for lack of ability, shall I?"

Never since had she mentioned her favourite implement. Such was its power, she knew, that the once was enough if he was the sort of boy she sensed he was. Instead, some weeks later, having seen that first little seed was indeed taking root, and having held him back again, his classmates smirking at him as they filed out, that time after a week of anxious waiting she’d imposed so he’d be aching all the more, she gently took his wrists and brought them together behind his back while his reading was in progress, allowing his paper to flutter to the floor. She asked him to continue from memory. He made no protest, silently accepting this new level of physical closeness she’d quietly demanded, but he stumbled and stammered as well, the words tapering off as he struggled to produce them. She gently squeezed his wrists. She let him wait a moment, let him wonder in the silence if she’d resort to censure, then put her face close to his neck and breathed in, quietly whispering his name, her lips all but touching his ear.

"I know what a good boy you can be for me," she said.

The words of the poem still hung between them, one of Shakespeare’s sonnets on suffering. She let him feel her body pressing against his. "He writes so beautifully of love, don’t you think? Have you ever been kissed by a woman?"

"No, Miss...”

He whispered it submissively, thrilling her. So eager. So afraid and so pure.

He was trembling.

"I didn't think so," she said.

She closed her eyes and kissed him softly on the neck, lingering, wanting to bite him, wanting her kiss to sear like a brand, to mark him forever. There were times she wished she had fangs for boys like this, fangs with venom she could empty into them—

"There, now you have," she said softly. "And you mustn't tell a soul. Not if you would ever like another. It will be our little secret... Won’t it?" She held him a moment longer to impress her will upon him before sending him on his way, his entire being infused with desire, elation and shame.

"Yes, Miss," he’d replied.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

Part X

Part XI

Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

Part XXII

Part XXIII

Part XXIV


(comments are still available at all posted parts)

THANK YOU!