From Behind a Mask of Ennui by Miss Irene Clearmont

Book Details

From Behind a Mask of Ennui – True ennui is not the ideal partner… ennui leads to distraction, leads to assessing one’s life. Sally is so fucking bored! Bored with her husband, bored with her life, bored with herself and bored with who she is. When her husband gets a job that will take the both of them to Brazil, she is even bored with that! But Sally is merely dormant and not dead inside, events will wake her from her slumber and take her on a journey that she could never have expected.

Hugh, Sally’s husband, is a man that desires his wife, but he feels that she has become cold to him and the trip to Rio gives him the opportunity to hitch up with Juana, a fiery and dominant Brazilian woman who works for the same company as he does. What happens next is inevitable, how could it be otherwise? A steamy affair in the sun, sex and cock-tales. For Hugh, it is a wake-up call and he begins to look at Sally in a different light. He needs to shed his bored wife and live it up in Rio!

This would merely be the tale of a married couple whose marriage was on the rocks, were it not for the kidnap insurance that Hugh’s company has to pay gives him and his Brazilian lover, Juana, an idea of how to solve two problems with a single move. Sally is an asset and perhaps not a problem after all…

Sally is kidnapped, the ransom demand duly arrives… the Brazilian police become involved as they put their best man on the job. What follows in the twists and turns of the plot is far more eventful than any of the participants ever expected. Because Sally has more resources than she ever imagined as she starts to awake from her ennui. Hugh is overconfident of his abilities more than he ever imagined and Juana is not the woman that she herself imagined!

This is a sexual dance, a kidnap that goes wrong and so right. A case of the biter bit, the victim perhaps not such a victim after all. Then there is the man that is destined to fall and a decadent setting that takes the reader to places unexpected. Enjoy it half as much as I did writing it and you will be more than satisfied. You will be kidnapped…

Setting: Brazil

Thriller, Abduction, F/f, F/m, F/fm, Modification, FM/m, Humiliation, Chastity, Corporal Punishment, BDSM, Slavery, Smoking, Revenge, Porn BDSM.

Strength 8/10 – 70,000 Words

Written 2012 Re-edit 2022

Excerpt: From Behind A mask Of Ennui

Chapter One – Smoke.

Deception and a subtle smog of deceit. A mind clouded by smoke. He managed to lift a single eyelid with an effort that belied its simplicity. The shutter to his sight allowed in light, blinding intensity without form that almost made him give up and close his eye. He was blinded by the penetrating brilliance, solid unfocussed white glare that unmercifully filled his brain with light. He could not focus. The pupil contracted but he just could not focus, his mind a snowstorm of thought that had no connections, no singular whole. There was hardness under him and white buzzing light above, but his thoughts ran sideways to a scene that he was sure had been real. It came from the time before the whole world was cold penetrating light.

Smoke, the curls of nicotine and tar that curled in the light, which had somehow been connected with his plight. Somehow? The curling smoke was all that he remembered…….

*****

Idly, Hugh Derwan ran a finger from her nipple to her chin as she lay lazily smoking her slender cigarette. The puckering skin attracted the attentions of his lips for a moment before he leaned back on his elbow and just admired his wife from close quarters. She lay on the sheets, her legs casually apart, breasts tipping and staring at the ceiling as she took another drag from the cigarette. ‘You look fucking great, darling,’ he said as he watched the smoke curl smoothly and then suddenly break into ripples as it ascended to the ceiling.

‘I am fucking great,’ she said.
Sally turned her head to look at him and smile.

‘Or maybe, I’m just great at fucking! Either way you do me some sort of justice I suppose.’ Hugh returned her smile as she turned back to her close observation of the ceiling and allowed his fingertips to trace across her tanned skin. Pools and splashes of his pleasure were strewn in liquid testimony of their passion. At thirty he could say the same that he had said as he became twenty and first started to date Sally. He hated the smoking, he hated her supercilious sarcasm, he hated her egoistical manner but, she was such a delicious whore in bed.

Sally had that instinctive knowledge of what makes provokes a man to excess and she knew how to implement it. A touch here, a stroke there, a touch of the lips now and a little movement, just so. The word ‘inhibition’ was not in her vast vocabulary of sexual conduct.

But, somehow, it seemed all just a sham, a fraud! Sally was, Hugh decided, the front company for an illegal operation. A plasterboard row of attractive street houses that the first storm would blow down. There was no depth to her, her supercilious comments and references to philosophy were really all a cover for her boredom. When all was said and done she was a great body, inhabited by a jaded slut.

Hugh and Sally had married at the age of twenty. He had been studying geology, she psychology. He graduated with honours, she got a meagre third. Now ten years later she was the model of a forlorn housewife and he was due to go to Rio to oversee the gas drilling for Conch Petroleum.

That is the way it goes, he thought to himself as he let his thoughts wander, I have never really understood her at all. Sally is a closed book, her thoughts remain hidden from me now as they were ten years ago. If she has any of course! The smoke traced a fine line from the tip of her cigarette and then scalloped as it broke and dispersed to waft in a cloud that drifted near the ceiling.

‘I hate it when you smoke after sex,’ he said. The unspoken thought had found a voice. In fact Hugh hated it when she smoked. Full stop. The smell, the ash and mess and the way that somehow, in some small way, rather than lend her the air of a femme fatale it reminded him of a street corner whore.

‘I know,’ she replied with a smile. ‘You always have!’

She smiled and leaned over to kiss him as though forcing the stale smell between his lips would change his mind. Hugh turned his head away. The mood was broken, that post sexual respite that he enjoyed so much. She smiled as he slipped from the bed and headed for the shower.

‘Some men find it attractive.’

He turned and looked at her with a cool gaze. ‘I don’t. I’m not ‘some men’!’

As he left the room she shrugged with an insouciant movement and went back to staring at the ceiling and the way that the smoke drifted like a thin ribbon for a little way and then suddenly decided to ripple and disperse. That was so Hugh, she decided. Everything has to be his way, all we ever do turns around his world. Now he is going to take me to some godforsaken dump in South America and he thinks that I will rejoice. That I will treat it all like some holiday.

Her thought wandered to how her life would be forced through this emotional upheaval like clothes through a mangle. Family, friends, all lost to the distance. Her casual affair with Mike would have to come to an end and she would be faced with a collection of eager Latin lovers. Moustaches, guitar music, tangos and flower shirts worn with sunglasses.

While Hugh went on an ego trip of rapture over his job she would be sipping Pina Coladas in some rattan decked shit hole looking over the Atlantic as she became a bored expat. Well at least I have two months before I have to follow him out, two months to decide what I need for myself, was her consoling thought.

In her heart of hearts she knew that she was just too apathetic to use that time well. No! She would follow him to the place of his triumph and adapt to life as she always had. She would continue to service his physical needs without ever moving her life towards her goals. God that’s a laugh, she thought. Goals! In my stunted life. Even the thought of breaking up with Mike filled her with nothing. No feeling at all. Sally had not yet met the man or woman who moved her to emotion. In university it had been the fashion to taste everything, but savour nothing. Smoking pot, going to bed in threes and with just women.

None of it had moved her. The others, they had been twittering about their affairs and outrageous conduct whilst Sally watched the smoke curl and move without going anywhere. She needed to find something to lift her from this boredom before she became old and died. Her husband was not, she now knew, that thing she had sought for in vain. For a while she had thought, had decided that she could graft herself to his ambition so that he would carry her to some sort of happiness. Instead she settled back to her inactivity, a sort of philosophical calm indifference to her surroundings that just led to Hugh becoming vocal in his dislike.

Blindly indifferent to the fact that she couldn’t care a shit, he would complain about her smoking. Criticise her high heels. Disapprove of her dress sense, but he would never actually tell her to change, he would simply moan like he always did and she would ignore him. With a sigh she stood and gazed out of their apartment that looked out over the centre of London. Aware that she was naked, aware that the cool drops of semen coursed their way from belly to thighs, she lit yet another cigarette.

Maybe that is the problem between us, she thought. The lifestyle is too good. The perks of living with him are just enough to keep me milking his prick and making him beg for more. He is too weak to shed me for being bored with him and I am too weak to either shake myself out of my ten year ennui or leave him so that he can find another fuck buddy of a wife.