By Charlotte Gatto (Guest Blogger)
The
Gentleman’s Plaything
started as an online game. It was fun, but not enough. I needed a
place to explore my character’s personality, her thoughts, and
emotions, and to go into more detail about what happens to her as a
captive at The Gentleman’s Retreat. I wanted to invent completely
new scenes with different characters. So I started an online diary.
But
that wasn’t enough either!
After
my first book, Party
Games (now
re-released as Pleasure
Party Games)
was published I was thirsting for that “just published author
thrill” once again. I absolutely love writing as Clara Woodford, so
I decided to turn her online diary into a novel. It took forever! You
would think that writing a book that was already about a third
completed would be quick and easy. But, I guess I just don’t do
things the quick and easy way!
I
re-wrote every single post from my website and added many more
completely new diary entries. I wanted the reader to really get to
know Clara and to understand her, so I wrote all about her childhood,
her parents, and her friends, as well as her emotions, hopes, and
dreams. Clara is a captive at the Gentleman’s Retreat, but she
wasn’t kidnapped so, how did she get there? I had to figure out a
logical way for her to arrive and yet be unable or unwilling to
leave. That wasn’t easy! I also had to think about how she remains
so sweet and innocent despite the awful things that often happen to
her. There had to be a reason for her naïveté.
Even
once the book was finished, I didn’t feel it was quite ready for
publishing. I kept editing and polishing it, tweaking things here and
there, making changes following feedback from friends. I wanted it to
be amazing. It took a while before I was completely happy with the
final edit, but it was definitely worth the extra time and effort.
Although
I haven’t played Clara online for over a year now and there has
been no real ending to that game, I obviously needed a satisfactory
conclusion for the book. The way a story ends is extremely important
to me, and I wanted something unexpected and original that would
leave the reader feeling pleasantly surprised and happy. I don’t
like predictable or sad endings! Of course, I’m not going to say
whether she does get out or not, but there are no cliffhangers. I’m
itching to write a sequel, but I have other projects in the works
that I’m excited about completing first so, I’m sorry, my sweet
Clara, you’ll have to wait your turn!
The
Gentleman’s Plaything
is the personal diary of Clara Woodford,
held against her will at the Gentleman’s Retreat, used by the men
there in any way they please. Sometimes they are gentle and almost
romantic; other times, they play cruel games with her body and mind,
and she’s left hurt, crying, scared, and confused. Clara dreams of
escape, but sometimes, just sometimes, she can see a tiny light
shining through the darkness. Reading Clara’s diary, we learn about
her childhood, how she arrived at the Gentleman’s Retreat, what
happens to her while she’s there, and… if she ever gets free!
Please
be advised that this is a dark and twisted erotic fantasy. The men in
this book do what they please with the women they meet and, while
some of those women are willing and eager participants, most are not.
Blurb
All
she wanted was to find love.
All
she wanted was a little adventure.
All
she wanted was to cool off in his swimming pool.
But
now he had her and he would never let her go. Her swim had been
short; her adventure would be long.
And
love?
Sometimes,
in nightmares, we find a dream we never knew we had.
Excerpt
My
first diary entry! So, I’ll tell you about the man who won me in a
raffle on my first day here at the Gentleman’s Retreat.
Terrified
of what was about to happen, I waited in the lobby for the monster
who obviously thought that full use of my body was a perfectly normal
prize to win. I focused on the parquet floor, then on my bare feet,
then on my toenails and their chipped pink nail polish as I tried to
block out what was going on around me. But it didn’t work. My other
senses filled in all the horrible, frightening details as whimpers,
moans, and screams pierced through the heavy stench of cigars,
alcohol, and sex.
I
saw his shoes first. They stopped in front of me, shiny, black, no
doubt expensive, and definitely arrogant.
“Follow
me,” the shoes’ owner said.
I
didn’t want to look up. After all, why should I care what he looked
like? He was just taking me to my rapist.
“Your
cheeks match the pink flowers over there. You’re as pretty as they
are.”
We
were outside now, in one of the little gardens, and I saw his face
clearly for the first time. And I blushed. I was so annoyed with
myself! This evil excuse for a human being happened to be
good-looking, and I was blushing instead of telling him exactly what
I thought of him. Which obviously amused him greatly. He laughed.
“Stop
it!”
“Okay.
I promise not to compliment you again.”
I
narrowed my eyes at him. “No. I meant stop laughing at me!”
“Ah,
I see. Do you blush like that all the time? It’s adorable.”
“No,
only when I’m waiting to meet a man who thinks he can have sex with
me just because he paid a lot of money and won some stupid raffle.”
I almost spat the words at him, but as soon as I’d finished, I held
my breath, scared I’d said too much. If he thought me rude, would
he tell Mr. Acheron? Had I just made things much worse? But I’d
promised myself that I would fight and that’s exactly what I would
do!
Waiting
for the man’s reaction was terrifying. His eyes sparkled, but I
couldn’t tell if it was because he was amused or angry. He cocked
an eyebrow and tilted his head to one side while he continued to look
at me. He seemed to be thinking. Then he smiled, and the kindness in
his eyes caught me completely off guard.
“Come.
Sit.”
I
didn’t want to sit. I wanted to run fast and far away, but it
clearly wasn’t a request, so I followed the man over to a wooden
bench and sat next to him. Besides, he was actually being nice now.
Maybe my confidence had worked after all!
He
turned his body so that he was facing me.
“Look
at me, Clara.”
I
didn’t want to, but I obeyed. I wasn’t sure how much I could get
away with or what would happen if I didn’t do as I was told, but I
figured I should probably save the disobedience for later when I was
sure, he would want to try and do far more than just make me look at
him.
So
I turned to face him and had the sudden, irrational desire to touch
his face. He really was very handsome. I even thought for just a tiny
split second that I wished it could be him who was going to take me
against my will, but I quickly and angrily banished that thought. I
didn’t even know him! It didn’t matter that his voice was silky
soft, and his dark blond hair was cut in my favorite style. Or that
his perfectly tailored suit matched his hazy, pale brown eyes. I
didn’t know him, and he didn’t know me, so I most definitely
didn’t want to even kiss him, let alone have sex with him!
I
suddenly felt warm, flustered, embarrassed, and even more angry than
before.
“Stop
looking at me like that!” I shouted. “Where’s your boss or
whoever you’re making me wait for? Is he too busy with another girl
he won in a raffle, so you have to get me all ready for him to…”
I couldn’t finish my sentence. I had started to imagine things I
didn’t want to imagine.
He
laughed again, and I dug my nails into the palms of hands. I hate
being laughed at.
“Would
you like me to get you all ready for him to…?”
He
grinned as he mocked me, and I bit down hard on my lip and refused to
speak, too scared to give anything else away.
“I
won the raffle, Clara. I’m the man you’re meeting today.”
About
Me
Charlotte
Gatto is my pen name. I am very secretive about my real-life identity
because what I write in my books, on social media, and for my website
is extremely personal. I explore my sexuality, desires, fantasies, as
well as mental health struggles and chaotic emotions. I reveal parts
of me that I just wouldn’t want to show to everyone.
I’m
not embarrassed or ashamed of liking the things I like or of being
who I am; I just want to have a little control over who knows me that
deeply. It’s one thing to tell a friend that I enjoy being tied up
during sex, for example, but I don’t want to be in the supermarket
wondering if the guy staring at me with a weird look on his face is
utterly disgusted by my presence or turned on by his image of me
handcuffed naked to his bed.
I
hope that one day I’ll feel it’s okay to tell a few more people
about my writing because I’m really proud of it. It’s frustrating
not being able to say, “Hey, guess what, I published another book
today!” Maybe when I’m older, and I care less about what people
think of me!
