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I met a bloke on DA because he sent me a note after reading my Crotch Wasp story. He wanted to talk to me about the erotic fantasy power in suffering genital discomfort when it was inflicted maliciously by someone else. Yeah I know, there are some peculiar people out there but he seemed quite comfortable with chatting to me! My note back was all about me role playing challenges to my will to be obedient and how lovely feeling precarious was for someone whose kinky little brain had somehow confused the conflicting emotions involved in fear and sex.

We were quite philosophical at first and he said he’d like to explore the idea that he found a damsel in distress something of a turn on, but more so if he distressed her himself, in very particular circumstances. Of course I asked what those might be and he told me he’d like to hunt her, out in the wilderness, as in give her a head start and then try to track her down as she attempted escape. To make that hard for her he fancied stripping her so that her soft feminine body would be progressively torn to shreds by her rugged environment in her panic to flee. He imagined her clambering over brambles and barbed wire fences and being bitten and stung by the wildlife she disturbed, where she’d feel it most, predictably!

Within a few messages I’d formed the impression he was one of those survivalists, people who dress up in military fashion and keep three years worth of tinned food in a dugout in the woods, hoping that they’ll be humanity’s last chance after the apocalypse. It turns out he was something of the gun freak such a bleak prophecy demands and he offered to shoot me between the legs if I wanted him to. That’s just stupid isn’t it? Just for a laugh though we talked about the practicalities of doing it for the sake of enjoying the fantasy and I have to admit I found the idea deliciously wicked.

Because I’m so scandalously irresponsible he didn’t want anything to do with me in real life and joked that if I really wanted him to shoot me he’d have to do it from some distance away and under cover. He’d need to be camouflaged so I’d never see him and know who he was. For this he’d need a rifle because such a thing would be accurate. I didn’t fancy bullets in case he killed me but I suggested an air rifle might be a possibility if it wasn’t powerful enough to break through the fabric of my knickers.

It was loads of fun to blend our fantasies and we agreed I wouldn’t be wearing jeans or anything substantial as a concession to how sexy he found taking a shot at my femininity would be. For me the essential thrill was letting him take the shot. Could I still be obedient and true to the game knowing how badly I could get hurt?

We happily negotiated a compromise by discussing the parameters of range, muzzle velocity, accuracy and the likely damage the pellet would cause to my sex organs, all completely hypothetically of course. Basically the problem boiled down to a compromise between the soft BB gun option which would only do any good from 30 or 40 yards, and a real air rifle. 40 yards was far too close to preserve my friend’s anonymity. However the high powered pump action air rifle option with telescopic sights would work from well over 100 yards. He thought this would be accurate enough to enable him to hit me right on the button, hard! I’d almost certainly suffer severe bruising, crippling pain and be unlikely to want to let him shoot me again.

Pump action air rifles facilitated all sorts of options because our parameters were easily adjustable simply by how hard he pumped it up. “Do you own anything like that?” I asked. He said he didn’t but for something this much fun he’d buy one. Just for me? How sweet!

Together we invented a fantasy game and chose to have me sitting on a park bench somewhere opposite trees or bushes which would hide his firing position. We’d communicate with each other by email on our phones because identifying his voice could incriminate him later if something went wrong. I’d wear a short skirt and when he was ready I’d present myself to give him a clear shot straight up it. The killer thrill for me would be not knowing if he was there at all and if he was, how hard would he choose to hit me? I visualised waiting to get shot and the adrenaline almost made me sick with dread, apprehension and lust, just by thinking about it! I hoped I’d made him understand that all I wanted was for him to be able to shoot me, not actually pull the trigger. Oh wow, it was such an exquisite terror!

Hypothetically I went looking for a suitable bench, just to enjoy role playing the fear and found the perfect place. When I told him he said he’d Google Earth it to check it out. “You seem keen to do it!” he sent.

A week later he told me he was about to order the rifle. “A hypothetical rifle is that?” I asked. Of course it was. But then he told me no way would he shoot me without some safeguards in place and if he seriously hurt me he’d leg it because the legal implications of doing something that stupid were real life awful. “What safeguards?” I asked. He sent back “Bring a friend to look after you.” Then he sent “If she’s pretty I’ll shoot her as well! Ha Ha.”

Unfortunately Jenna, hapless heroine of the Crotch Wasp story, is the perfect accomplice for lunacy such as this, and easily pretty enough to deserve being shot at. “Oh my god!” she exclaimed, “He wouldn’t really do it would he?” I asked her to imagine the wickedness in not knowing and that’s pretty much all it took to convince her to want it. She’s not right either bless her!

Hypothetical and really sort of drifted together without any of us expecting it to. I found out my rifleman lived a couple of hundred miles away but in the same country which was scary because it made actually playing the game logistically possible. Still on planet fantasy we worked out that we could almost play the game in a halfway trial, to test each other. I told him I could give him a date on which myself and Jenna would be there, sitting on the bench at a precisely determined time because I wanted to enjoy the thrill of wondering if he was there too, in the undergrowth facing us with our knickers in his sights.

He hadn’t really bought a rifle, had he? He wouldn’t drive all that way expecting a couple of maniacs to really let him shoot their genitals, that’s ridiculous! I sent him the date, typed with shaking hands and dripping in the fear that he’d think I was serious, at the same time praying he wouldn’t be. “I just want to see what it feels like.” I sent.

As an insight into how dangerously kinky Jenna is, I’ll tell you she understood the thrill of my planned dress rehearsal immediately and was plainly wildly excited by the thought that my gunman might make it the real thing. She was sure he would in spite of my assurance all this was still hypothetical, just a perverted fantasy and the likelihood of reality was tiny. After Crotch Wasp she seemed to think it was my turn to suffer. I could tell she’d assumed he was only interested in me.

In order to present a clearly visible target we’d hypothetically agreed my usual black everything would be perfect if I chose the contrast of white knickers. My gunman suggested black stockings would enhance my visibility further. He joked that if he hit the inside of my thighs the shot wouldn’t count despite being likely to rip a significant wound in my flesh! “You better spread ‘em wide!” he sent. I realised it was in my best interests to do so. “If I am you are!” I told Jenna and made her also dress as a target. “What like moral support?” she asked. I told her I hoped he’d fancy her more than me and shoot her instead and lied “Just kidding.” so as not to dent her enthusiasm.

Judgement day dawned bright and clear and myself and Jenna took our places on the bench in the park in the lovely morning sunshine. We chose this time because our marksman would have the sun behind him making us more visible and him less so. I explained to Jenna that if this were the real shooting, he’d be in the trees and bushes of a small wood, in front of us across the park to the south east. She shielded her eyes from the glare to look and shook her head, “I can’t see anyone.” she said. Of course not, that was the point exactly. “Imagine he’s in there.” I encouraged. “Yeah, I am, god I feel exposed!” she laughed.

“How nervous are you?” I asked. She’d been speeding with anticipation since we met this morning. “Aren’t you nervous?” she said. I had to say I thought this was the worst thing I’d ever done. I felt so scared and so aroused by it the madness was almost too much to bear. Only the near certainty he wouldn’t be there allowed me to take this risk at all.

I pulled my phone out of my bag lying on the bench between us and emailled “OK, we’re here.” It took an age of correcting mistakes to finish because I couldn’t text accurately with such trembling hands, even though it was only three words.

“Yes I see you.” he sent back, but he could have sent that from his house. Then he sent “Which one are you Kate, dark or blonde?” I hadn’t given him Jenna’s colouring and knew then he must be watching. “Fuck.” I whispered to myself. Jenna asked “What is it?” “He is here!”

“No, he might have a camera.” she suggested, or a friend in his place, someone local he knows telling him about us. I sent simply “Rifle?” He sent back “Just like you wanted.” When I showed Jenna the emails she backed away looking horrified, sliding the couple of feet to the end of the bench to distance herself from his target.

“Ask her to move back please, I’d like you together.” he sent. I showed her that message too. “Fuckin’ hell.” she mumbled and did as she was told. “He’s scaring us, he hasn’t got a gun, he can’t have.” I said, trying to sound convincing. “You know that do you?” she asked, knowing I didn’t.

Then she asked for my phone and began writing a message. “We don’t believe you have a gun.” she sent and looked at me anxiously as if trying not to believe he really was armed. About ten seconds later the bench shook as a pellet cracked into the woodwork in the three inch gap between our elbows, splintering it round the hole we saw the pellet embedded in. Jenna dropped my phone and leapt to her feet to run but I grabbed her dress and hauled her back down onto the bench. “Listen, we can negotiate.” I shouted at her. “With a fuckin’ rifle!” she growled. “Yes! Trust me.”

“He can shoot soft!” I cried and explained that he’d said he’d use flat nosed pellets likely to bounce off our underwear and wouldn’t pump much pressure into his rifle. I wanted to argue that the pellet buried in the bench was a full power shot intended only to frighten us but Jenna interrupted me. “Our underwear?” she wailed, “I thought you said he wanted to shoot you!” “He does.” I answered, “But he might fancy a shot at you too.”

Any normal person would have struggled free and disappeared in a cloud of dust but this is DA’s crazy WanderShocks have here. “Think of the rush Jenna!” I said, knowing the fear would turn her on too. I let go of her and watched her think about the thrill. “He might not do it, just make us think he will.” I offered, ”We’ll trust him, we’ll gamble.” I said, hoping I’d persuade her to stay. “Doesn’t that excite you?” “I knew you’d do this you cow!” she cursed, “I’m really sorry I know you.”