14 - The Darkness Within

This story contains characters over the age of 18

Chapter 14 The Darkness Within

Throughout my research online and chatting with various people, as well as some of my assignations, I kept remembering that first sexual relationship. I have always been intrigued and aroused by pain and thoughts of bondage, and I came to realize there was a name for that: I was a masochistic sexual submissive. And my husband had no idea what that even meant.

It took me a long time to be honest with myself about this, because of that fateful first sexual relationship as a senior in high school. Looking at it from an adult's perspective, I now know it to be abusive. Constant verbal abuse, and even some sexual abuse, but because he never hit me, I didn't see it at the time. He didn't respect me. He was jealous, controlling, and possessive. He isolated me from my family and friends, especially my male friends.

We would fight, and he would punish me with sex; using objects; or taking me to a place we were more likely to be caught, such as the kitchen, or his parents' bed; and occasionally flat out forcing me to do things I didn't want to do or have sex when I didn't want to. Sometimes I thought I was complicit; I likely could have said no if I chose to, but I didn't have the willpower and he knew it. He used that knowledge to coerce me, which is just as bad as forcing yourself on someone; he just didn't have to.

There was at least one occasion where I absolutely refused and was taken anyway. We were on a skiing trip with his family and argued about something, or many things. The tension kept building, multiple small arguments leading up to something explosive, and we were sharing a hotel suite with the whole family, so it was difficult to be alone, even for a few minutes. We were supposed to meet his family for dinner; they had already left the room. We began fighting, the only time things ever became physically violent between us. It started out feeling like the other bouts of angry sex we'd had, but I didn't want it. I had reached my breaking point. And then it changed, and I recognized him for the monster he was, had always been.

Throughout the relationship, the sex was rough and occasionally humiliating, but something in me loved it and misses it. It's hard to believe a high-schooler was capable of such acts, and not surprising that I didn't see them for what they were. I was still just a kid; too young and inexperienced.

Of course, it wasn't always like that, and I loved those times too. This caused me to develop a duality in which I enjoyed both ends of the spectrum. He could be incredibly sweet and sensual when he wanted to be. He knew how to be romantic, and at times, he was still that puppy in love. He encouraged me to be free with my sexuality, and we delighted in trying new things.

One night, we had a sleepover with a friend and his girlfriend. It was not too long after the threesome with my friend, and somehow it came into conversation that this girlfriend (whom I had met only once before) and I should put on a show for the boys. I already knew I would enjoy it, but she had never been with a woman before. We took it slow, kissing, touching, undressing each other, and I took the lead, showing her how being with an experienced woman could be even more pleasurable than a man.

Another night, I found an exquisite pleasure in the pain and fullness of a well-oiled fist slowly moving in and out, stretching where I'd never been stretched before, rubbing against my super-sensitive, overstimulated clitoris and pressure points in a new and pleasurable way, something I obviously still enjoy occasionally to this day.

Unfortunately, the bad times were much more frequent, and far outweighed the good. After that relationship, I turned away from anything that resembled the abuse I'd gone through, so much that I didn't realize there was a widespread community of people who truly live and understand a Dominant/Submissive (D/S) lifestyle. This was both good and bad for me. I found my husband, who is a wonderful man: kind, respectful, and even willing to adapt for me, trying things that are foreign to him; but I never developed this other side of myself, learning about and being confident of myself in my own darker desires. That part of me was left to sleep, but it wasn't gone.

It took me a long time to realize that just because I had been in a bad relationship didn't mean it was wrong to want some of those things. They could be had safely and consensually, with the right person. I thought there was something wrong with me. I was afraid to ask for what I needed because I was worried my husband would think I was strange. Nearly every person I've met in the lifestyle has a similar story, thinking something was wrong with them, until they find out they're not alone. I'm always surprised by how many of us there are, and yet we all have the same experience of realization. If there are that many of us, why isn't it better known? Why are we all so surprised?

Years later, during this search for identity and fulfillment, I came to realize that I was a sexual submissive, or a Sub, with a weak man who merely played on my twisted personality traits, subverting them to his own ends. It's impossible to say for sure whether his behavior made me the way I am, or simply helped shape what I already was, but I believe what I am is innate; he was simply a catalyst. I am grateful to have experienced this so early in life, though I wish I had recognized it earlier, both the desire to be dominated and the need to get out of an abusive relationship. Now in my mid-twenties, I desired that element of control and pain, but I needed it with someone who cared about my needs, who understood the dynamic of the relationship and the responsibilities of being a Dominant, a Dom. Fortunately, I have a husband who cares about me and was willing to try new things, so I approached him again. It's not that he was doing anything wrong. He was always able and willing to please me. This was just something new we could try together.

We bought a play leather riding crop, a blindfold, and some silk ties, and I tried to encourage him to use them on me. I communicated things I liked and things I didn't like. People are so different in their desires, and there are so many different ways to express this art. I particularly enjoyed having my hair pulled and being bound, gagged, strangled, spanked, flogged, and fisted. I'm not opposed to using toys or other objects, but I don't do feces or urine, and I really don't like anything involving anal, although I understand its role in dominant play. I like being treated, through words and actions, in a way that isn't socially typical or even acceptable. It allows us to tear off the veils of courtesy, humanity, and other societal norms, which for me are only ever a mask anyway. I prefer to live in this stripped reality, especially in the bedroom. I attempted to coach him into a dominant role through some bondage scenes. He even seemed to get into them, not just playing a role.

One night when he came home from work, I was lying on the bed wearing the sheer black thigh high stockings he likes so much, and a silky black thong, matching bra, and black ultra-high stiletto heels. I knelt with downcast eyes and presented to him my newest toy, a flogger with silver suede tassels. He took the flogger and walked around me, trailing the ends against my shoulders, pondering this new toy, adjusting to the feel of it and the heady sense of power that comes with my submission to him. He snapped it against my right flank, then whipped it back across the left side, watching my skin redden, seeing the different patterns it made on my skin.

He tied a silk tie over my eyes. I felt his silky steel-hard length pressing against my lips, and I took him in my mouth, getting it nice and wet. I heard his sharp intake of breath and knew I was pleasing him, although I couldn't see his face. "Suck it, bitch," he said, as he shoved it deep in my throat, fucking my mouth. He bent me over the bed, grabbed his handcuffs, and slapped them on me. They were real metal, the kind that needs a key to come off, so they were solid and not coming off anytime soon. They made me feel like his prisoner. Mmm, that thought was even more arousing.

He knelt behind me, licking my sex up and down, teasing my clitoris with his thumb. I squirmed, and he brought his hand down hard on my backside. I moaned, arching my back to allow him better access. He started to fuck me, driving deep, wielding the flogger back and forth, up and down. My skin was aflame with mingled pain and pleasure as the climax built inside me.

He wound his hand in my ponytail, the ends of the flogger trailing across my shoulders with his movements, yanking my head back so I couldn't see or breathe. He pushed me further up on the bed, ruthlessly pounding into me. He was crushing my cuffed wrists between us, my wrists bruising pleasantly under the weight. He pulled me up, grabbed his keys and ripped the cuffs off me, pushing me down on my back. He had my legs up over his shoulder, thrusting deep into me. He pressed his hand down on my throat, cutting off my moans. He shifted to let my legs down, leaning over me as he pulled the blindfold off my eyes. "Come for me, bitch," and he started grinding against me, working deeper into me, over and over again. As my orgasm came in wave after wave, I felt his build, and finally felt him throb as his load spilled into me.

I loved these times with him, so different from the pleasant, albeit occasionally mechanical, love-making we usually had. It was only somewhat mechanical when we were tired, and understandably so. My desire doesn't always diminish when I'm tired though, and he understood and obliged me, although he probably didn't always want to, and occasionally it felt like he was only fulfilling a duty. He was always in tune with my body, mixing his natural sensitivity with the pain I occasionally asked for, and we always found pleasure together. I know how lucky I am, that not many people can say that.

I also encourage my husband to see how lucky he is, being with a woman so unencumbered by shame or self-consciousness, and always so pragmatic and insightful. He is lucky I am not the typical woman, too often easily offended by the typical thoughtless things men do. I understand his limitations and his needs, and I don't bother sending him subtle messages about my needs. I know some people prefer subtleties because it feels more comfortable, but I don't think it works nearly as well.

I met another couple online. The male claimed to be dominant; the female said she was a switch, playing both dominant and submissive at times, and was interested in being with a woman for the first time. I had played this role before and was thrilled at the opportunity to do it again. Because she was more dominant than me, I ended up being a plaything to them. It was a fantastic experience on the whole, but I couldn't risk being sucked into their relationship.

Then I found a whole website dedicated to the BDSM (Bondage/Discipline, Domination/Submission, Sadism/Masochism) lifestyle, and realized there was another side to BDSM that acknowledged the D/S relationship, offering guidance and establishing parameters and personal rights, so I set about looking for an experienced Dom as a mentor to help me explore that side of myself. I did a significant amount of research into what was out there. I read blogs and material available online, both from the dominant viewpoint and the submissive. I made notes about what I like, what I wanted, and what I was afraid of. I made hard rules about what I didn't like, such as not being able to have marks left on my skin.

Through the website, I met a man who was somewhat dominant, and we had some fun over a weekend.

The first night we were together, he met me at the back door. I saw a pair of fuzzy handcuffs on a table, then nothing as he tied a blindfold over my eyes, completely obscuring my vision. He snapped the handcuffs in place, wrists behind my back, and led me inside. He ran his hand up my skirt, rubbing me through my panties. His other hand cupped my breast, squeezing and caressing. He pinched my hard nipple. He kissed me deeply, then shoved me to my knees. I felt the soft skin of his hard length against my lips, and my mouth opened for him. "Yeah slut, take it all." He slammed it to the back of my throat, my panties instantly soaked. His hands were in my hair, pulling me into him, deeper and deeper. He yanked the blindfold off, and I got a good look at his face in ecstasy.

He pulled me to my feet, unhooking one cuff so he could strip me. Clicking the cuff back in place, he bent me over the end of the bed. He slammed into me, my heeled knee-high boots adding a few inches to my height, giving me just the right angle to feel him deep inside me. He smacked my backside, then grabbed my hips to thrust hard into my dripping wetness. He pulled me upright by my hair, took the cuffs off, then threw me to the ground. He mounted my face, shoving his length all the way down my throat, the deepest I've ever felt, as his tongue flicked my clitoris, lightly teasing me. His tongue probed deeper as I began to feel weak from choking on him. He flipped me over, pulled my hips up with my knees together between his legs, his hardness stroking me intensely from the inside out. I gasped, "Please may I come?" "Yeah bitch, come for me." I slid my hand between my legs, rubbing hard as pleasure filled my body.

He bent me over the side of the bed, ran his hands down my legs to pull my boots and socks off, then pushed me to my hands and knees on the bed. He was thrusting into me faster, and I could tell he was about to climax. I knew it would turn him on, so I begged him not to come inside me. I started to pull away, and he grabbed my hair, growling in my ear that he was going to make me his little slut. I felt him pulse inside me as his thrusting slowed, becoming erratic, then he filled me, and it felt so good pumping inside me, it sent me over the edge again. He sprawled on the bed, then he urged me to my knees next to him, taking him in my mouth again, feeling him get harder and harder. When he was hitting the back of my throat again, I mounted him, riding him faster and harder, his thumb on my sex making me moan with pleasure. I turned around reverse cowgirl and lifted myself up, my backside bouncing up and down in front of him. He pulled my hair, exposing my throat, making me gasp for air, forcing me to climax again and again while I rode him. He rolled me over, trapping me under him, holding my wrists together behind me as he shuddered and filled me with his seed again.

The second night, I brought my riding crop for a slightly different experience. He pulled my dress up over my head and pushed me to my knees. "Put your hair up, slut. You like being my little slut, don't you? You just had to come back for more of this." "Mm yeah," I murmured as I gazed up at him. He came closer, and I reached up to pull his shorts down, taking him in my mouth. He held my head, forcing into my throat. I loved feeling it so deep, as my eyes began to water from lack of air.

He bent me over an armchair, rubbing and playing with me. He slid two fingers deep inside me, pushing against my G-spot, swirling his fingers against my inner walls. He pulled them out and put them in my mouth, saying, "Taste your juices, slut. See how much you want this?" He took my riding crop in his hand. "Show me how you pleasure yourself, slut." I rubbed myself as he brought the crop down on my backside. I pushed my fingers inside and felt the crop come down across my back. He pushed my face down into the chair, his forearm across the back of my neck as he slid his length into me. He was thrusting slowly, torturing me, swatting me with the crop, hard, then soft, then hard again. His hand found the steel ball necklace I wore, taking hold of it and choking me. He increased his speed as I ran out of air, and I came so hard, exploding all around him.

He sat in the chair and I sucked him hard, licking him clean. He led me to the bathroom so I could watch him in the mirror as he fucked me from behind. He bent me over the counter, thrusting into me, watching my face as I stared into his eyes, then I lost focus as I climaxed again. He pushed me to my knees and wrapped his hand in my hair, wrenching my head back to look at him as he rubbed himself over my lips. "Where do you want to fuck now, my little slut?" I couldn't even answer, quivering all over. My thoughts ran wild, what did he want? Living room, kitchen, back over that chair? Mmm. I looked up into his eyes. "I want you to fuck me baby, wherever you want me, please." We headed to the bed, where he slid himself inside me. "Beg me to come inside you, slut." "Oh my God please, come in me now! I want to feel it inside me!" I felt the rush, and we both lay exhausted and thoroughly sated. He walked me out to my car, but stopped before we left the backyard, bent me over, pulled up my dress, and fucked me again as I tried not to moan and alert his neighbors.

As much fun as he was, he was also married, and we had virtually no opportunities to be together. We texted a lot, sharing experiences and thoughts. We shared a lot of the same desires. I understood his frustration at being in a relationship where your spouse doesn't share your desires and doesn't have the insatiable drive that you do. Talking to each other helped, even during the times where I tried to minimize my exploits. It was always nice to know I wasn't alone in my struggles.

And I did try to minimize my exploits. I was like that smoker who quits every Sunday night, only to start back up every Monday morning under the stress of the grind. I knew I should quit, but I could only ever try for a while. Eventually I would give in. I felt bad about denying myself such a basic need.

I met a young man who reminded me of my abusive high school boyfriend. He was gorgeous, but he did not have the emotional control over me that the first one had. I met him one time at his house, and then one time at my house when I had him bring a girl with him. Although it was incredibly fun, I decided I didn't want to take that relationship any further. I didn't like the way he talked to me, trying to coerce me into seeing him when I didn't have time and accusing me of lying to him when I said I couldn't. He was definitely not worth the drama he was trying to create.

That coercion was entirely reminiscent of another weak boy from my past, always trying to guilt me into doing whatever he wanted, playing on my desire to please and the arousal I get from discerning a master's will. But he was no master, just like before.

I was proud of myself for learning from my mistakes, recognizing this pattern and extricating myself from it. I had truly mastered my emotions, to wrestle my submissive mind from falling under his sway or anyone else's. I had proved to myself that no one would ever control me and make me feel bad about myself again.

I met another married man on the new website. I took an afternoon off work to meet him at a hotel room. He had me get there first and get the room. I was instructed to undress, kneel with eyes closed, and leave the door unlocked. First of all, this idea terrified me, as it was one of our first sexual encounters. For as much as we had talked, it was better for both of us if there were no names. Assuming he was who and what he said he was, we'd be fine, but I had no way of knowing. He could be anyone. I shared my fears with him and he agreed to help me ease into the scene. After a few minutes, I was far more comfortable with the situation. He tied me up with one rope from my wrists to my neck and down between my legs, and another rope on each of my legs, holding them bent. He applied clamps to my nipples and stimulated me with a vibrator.