Manknapped by Poppy

By Lauren Fisher

‘Manknapped by Poppy’ will very likely blow your mind. It’s that wonderful rarity: a sexy, deeply erotic novel that evokes a warm sympathy with the characters and takes the reader on a thrilling journey, exploring the exciting potential outer limits of sexuality. Poppy adores being a dominatrix of men and women; here’s your chance to read about what she does best!Poppy Patterson was, on the face of it, a little slip of a thing: nineteen years old, with a sexy curvy figure and a snub, slightly upturned nose, round angelic face and captivatingly beautiful blue eyes. As she needed her kitten heels to raise her to the five foot mark, people tended to assume she was sweet and super petite. But behind the girly charm she was a predatory dominatrix and was about to start putting her wildest fantasies into practice…

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Conrad Press
• Release date: Apr 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9781839786969

Book preview

Manknapped

by Poppy

Lauren Fisher

Manknapped by Poppy

Published by The Conrad Press Ltd. in the United Kingdom 2024

Tel: [phone]

www.theconradpress.com

[e-mail]

ISBN 978-1-839786-96-9

Copyright © Lauren Fisher 2024

All rights reserved.

Typesetting and cover design by Michelle Emerson michelleemerson.co.uk

The Conrad Press logo was designed by Maria Priestley

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A.

Contents

1 Poppy appeal

2 A suitable victim

3 Manknapped!

4 Totally ensnared

5 Getting her out of the way

6 The midnight special

7 Brought to heel

8 The battle of the cock cage

9 A little thing like you!

10 White flag

11 The box of delights

12 A crown of thorns

13 A final twist of the ribbons

1

Poppy appeal

Poppy Patterson was a little slip of a thing. Nineteen years old, with a sexy curvy figure and a snub, slightly upturned nose, round angelic face and captivating beautiful blue eyes. She was a brunette and sometimes tied her hair up in a bunch of pink silk ribbons; for a particular purpose. With her cutesy little girl voice, for all to see, she was the epitome of innocence and youthful femininity; and as she needed her kitten heels to raise her to the five foot mark, she was sweet and super petite.

But Poppy had a darker side as well; a wicked streak that few had even guessed at. Behind the girly charm she was a predatory dominatrix and was about to start putting her wildest fantasies into practice.

Poppy had long since been interested in the sexual domination of men, but had so far found it all a little unsatisfying. The reality never matching her wild fantasies. At uni she had had boyfriends, but most were snivelling spotty wimps, trying feebly to impress her with their adolescent talk and showing off. They were rubbish in bed, out of their depth with a girl like her, and some preferred to waste the night strumming three chords incessantly on their wanky guitar, or by showing her their social media profiles, or going through the dismal contents of their Spotify playlists.

Her last boyfriend Andy, was almost ok, but was such a pushover as to be almost not worth dominating at all. He liked the idea, but his fawning, pleading requests to be beaten and used took away the excitement. It was like a country begging a dictator to invade it. That just didn’t work for her at all.

She had even tried working for one of those domination chat lines. There, she could pitch her fantasy onto the many men who came and certainly it got her horny, in addition to bringing in a bit of money; but the effect was only to whet her appetite, not to satisfy it.

She was very good at picking up men in clubs, but alas they were often too drunk to really grasp what was going on, or react in a way that could excite her. Usually, and what was worse, they could never remember any of her exploits by the morning, which to her mind defeated the objective of the exercise.

Yet it was here that Poppy had had the most fun. She could easily lure guys to her room with her sweet charm, only to turn dominatrix on them. She enjoyed the shock and confusion on their faces as she ordered them to obey her. Most compiled willingly, but what really turned her on was the element of surprise. She would love to pin them down on the bed by trapping their biceps under her knees and then fucking them long and hard. She would order them to give head, slapping them if they didn’t obey and it was easy; but here was the rub - too easy!

This was the whole problem she had had with domination; pathetic, contemptible, weaklings begging to be enslaved. What she wanted was a real man, someone whom she would have to defeat and bring to heel against his will. Now that would be a conquest worth making!

Tom was a six-foot-three inch, deep-voiced plumber of thirty-three, with a hairy chest, short fair hair and a hunky physique honed by Rugby and occasional workouts in the gym; although he wasn’t fanatical about either pursuits. He cut an attractive figure for women, and made the acquaintance of many secretly admiring members of the opposite sex through his job. This had never come to anything in the course of his work. Nothing beyond a fleeting smile or suppressed affectionate wave had ever materialised, and he was not the type to push these hints any further. He liked women, but had never really been any sort of Lothario or stud. He lacked the killer instinct which he had observed in some other men.

He’d had a few girlfriends and was currently going out with Lara, who despite her bossiness was quite attractive and he still had the hope they would move in together. He currently rented a little flat in the cheaper end of town. Not bad, he told himself in the current bleak climate. A few of his mates had been made redundant and were reduced to the dole queue and the degrading process of the careers advisor, with the, ‘plan your job search more effectively’ circuit being reserved for the terminal cases.

No, Tom was reasonably happy for the moment. He wanted eventually to get married and settle down, but he was in no rush. He liked his job and he was largely his own boss. Not many tedious hours in an office working environment or staff development days to dull his schedule.

As far as his sex life had gone up to this point, Tom had never really found it too satisfying. His girlfriend Lara bossed him around, though not in a way that aroused him. She was impatient and dismissive of him, liked to order him about and was verging on paranoia when he spoke to another woman. If ever he was involved in a conversation with any female under about sixty, he could almost feel Lara’s angry gaze burning into him.

She would also like to play games and muck him about. This included getting him aroused and then making an excuse to leave the bedroom; whether because of non-existent washing, burning toast, or to the distant ring of her phone. She’d like to leave him frustrated. Part of the problem was that she never found sex very fulfilling or even interesting herself, so decided to mock the whole process; thus spoiling it for Tom as well. Lara liked to own him as property, but always regarded his feelings as a bit of a joke and nothing to be given serious consideration.

Yes, Lara fell short of Tom’s hopes, but he was still intent on making it work with her. Yet, he had harboured wilder fantasies from his teenage years of being kidnapped and dominated by a femme fatale figure. Twenty years back, he would entertain ridiculous fantasies of being lured away into an empty classroom by the art teacher Miss Reynolds. There, he would be tied up with his school tie and abused. He would even go so far as to tie himself up and masturbate on the toilet at home, gagging himself with a handkerchief and binding his legs or wrists with the tie. Yet those days were long gone and their scenarios ridiculous, or so he thought.

However, nobody, least of all Tom himself would imagine that before very long, they would start coming true at the hands of a naughty little girl!

Poppy was well-heeled as well as kitten-heeled. Her detractors would call her a bit of a spoilt daddy’s girl and they weren’t too far off the mark. Her father was an executive producer for a TV company that made costume dramas among other things, and her mother was a PA to someone even higher up in the Beeb.

Poppy’s mother was originally from Laos, and was the source of Poppy’s super-petite genes. Poppy herself only had a hint of an Asiatic appearance herself, but it somehow made her diminutive stature seem more commonplace than it would otherwise have appeared.

Poppy had been educated privately and in an all-girls school. This had only increased her lust for the opposite sex and it made every encounter with a man somewhat thrilling. The girls would all get excited when a painter or builder came into the school grounds and would all rush to the window and gape.

Poppy had had her first sexual experience with a tutor in the sixth form. Mr Jenkins taught social science and quickly became captivated by Poppy’s cold blue eyes staring up at him. She could just tell. It was clear that he would every so often realise he was returning her gaze intently and would hurriedly look away; effecting some great interest in what was going on out of the window, or in some boring poster on the wall. However, she knew he was fixated on her.

She enticed him further by crossing her legs and moving her hips about on the chair suggestively. This went on for a couple of weeks, until one rainy day when she was waiting for the bus, a car drew up beside her. The window wound down and Mr Jenkins looked out, smiled and said, ‘Come on in, before you get soaked through.’ She happily obliged. From then on it was easy. Her coquettish glances and cutesy smiles were getting Jenkins hard. She could just about make it out from his trousers.

Then came the inevitable: ‘Would you like to drop in, get dry? You can ask about the homework, get things sorted out.’

Jenkins was divorced. His wife had left him about eighteen months earlier for a wealthy architect, though luckily for Jenkins he’d been able to retain the house. Poppy was a chance he could not resist, even if he felt it would lead to disaster.

‘Are your clothes wet?’ asked Jenkins hopefully. ‘They are a bit,’ replied Poppy with a sultry smile and removed her blazer to reveal a little more of what Bill Jenkins wanted. ‘I think I know how to get warm and dry,’ said Poppy as she moved herself on to Bill Jenkins’ lap with a knowing smile. Bill could not believe his luck and added that maybe some of her undergarments were, ‘getting wet too.’ Poppy giggled and before very long she was moving around on his lap in a, shall we say, more energetic manner!

The affair lasted a few weeks, but Poppy soon became tired of her middle-aged Romeo. He predictably was not tired of her and began to try and force further meetings at the college. Poppy would respond by blanking him and giving curt replies that let him know in no uncertain terms that the relationship was over. In fact it took the threat of a formal complaint of harassment to put an end to Bill Jenkins’ attempts to rekindle their affair. After that, he took to drink and visits to massage parlours; none of which, needless to say, came close to those few weeks with Poppy.

After she finished at sixth form she managed to sweet-charm her way into a place at Oxford, naturally with a little parental assistance and started a degree in Media and cultural studies. This would obviously be good for following in her parents’ footsteps into a similar type of career, and would simultaneously be none too taxing.

During her time in the city of dreaming spires, Poppy further honed her skill in attraction and seduction, though always feeling a little disappointed with the upper-class emotionally and sexually repressed Hooray Henrys and spoilt uppity little milksops, or milquetoasts as the Americans would say, that she would often encounter.

Attracting men into bed was supremely easy for Poppy. She had mastered the fine art in no time. Dressing the part was essential of course. She might wear a short fluttery skirt and nice revealing crop-top, or maybe tight trousers would suffice. Nearly always she wore her kitten heels. These were much sexier than the ridiculously OTT seven inch heels some of the girls wore for going out. How desperate and hysterically silly these seemed to her. Does height really add so much to a woman’s attractiveness? Frankly, she doubted it.

The thing about her kitten heels was their sublime understatement. It was not the increased height, but the sheer femininity of their appearance and the way it subtly altered the way you stood and walked. Likewise, the short skirts were so appealing because they NEARLY revealed all. It was the trick of almost but not quite showing the forbidden fruits that was their secret.

If only more people understood this, she mused. It was more about what you couldn’t see than what you could that made it so arousing. It was leaving things to the imagination. Like in a horror film, the suggestion of danger and unease which was so much more terrifying than danger itself when seen directly.

She concluded that most people didn’t really have much of an imagination, needing everything spelled out and shown. Most men fell into this dull-witted category. They were crude and insensitive in every way. They were turned on by crass pornography, which consisted of such unsubtle posing by girls, who to her mind just seemed, well, dull and plastic, like shop window mannequins.

Pornography also held little interest for Poppy. Watching people fuck was a bore. It had to be, since she wasn’t doing it. Reading about it, well that was a different matter, but even so, it needed to be well-written or else her imagination didn’t spark. She had been to Amsterdam the previous year and had witnessed a couple engaging in the full gamete of sexual activities whilst on a slowly revolving platform: and all to the accompaniment of, ‘I like to move it, move it!’ It just left her cold. No, sex was for doing and also for fantasising about, but was not a spectator sport for her.

Poppy was now mid degree and looking forward to becoming an intern at a TV company, where, as you might expect, she was planning on using her charms to get something a little better. Currently with grants from the bank of mum and dad, she was doing very well. She had a little flat of her own and that suited her fine. She could go out with friends when she pleased