Charlie Ch. 09

Chapter 9: The Fight

Leif and I walked back from Tanya's room hastily, Leif trying to catch up with me. He wanted to know that I was alright, why I had left in such a hurry, the usual questions stupid boys ask when they are completely clueless. I remember I snapped something really mean to him, really loud so everyone could hear. I never once turned around to look at him. Well, maybe I turned around momentarily, but I continuing walking at a steady fast pace. I think my fists clenched. That should have been enough to scare him off my tracks.

"Well, what is it? I thought I was doing everything right in there. I thought I was doing what you wanted!" he yelled, having stopped chasing me. I was lengthening the distance between us. I won't forget what I said.

"What I wanted? Do you think I want not having a say in what happens to me?" My voice was hoarse. I hadn't realized what I had just said.

Leif told me he'd never seen me so submissive or orgasm so powerfully, and that he'd never seen my toes curl up like that. He said that if I don't like that anymore we don't have to do it. He said, "I really like you."

I was so infuriated by how simple minded and dense he was. I yelled at him that he just would never get it. I called things off in two words: We're through. Leif dropped his head. Leif backed off. He was such a gentleman those days. When I said, "No," he'd stop. He left me there alone in the snow to realize what I had just done. I had broken it off with the most understanding, well hung man I had ever known. Then again, I thought, I had only "known" two men. There would be others, I thought to myself.

That night was unusually warm, and much of the ice on the road had turned into drive-able slush. I went to a party after the opening of a painter's thesis show that had occurred in town at the same time as the show Leif and I had attended. It was at some obnoxiously swanky bar. I could tell the lights were low to hide numerous things: food or other stains, the cheapness of the furniture, the mascara running down your partner's face. There were a lot of artists there. Tanya was among them. She had done something very wrong to me, and I hated her, but, as Leif had been my only friend, I confided in her. Tanya reassured me that I would find a 'just right Dom.' She told me I just had to "come out" as a submissive so I could draw them in and test the waters out.

So I did. During a round of shots, I announced that I was sexually submissive. I expected the news to be taken with shock, but most of my fellow students responded with an, "Oh, okay." Chadd Beacon, the boy whose senior show they were all celebrating, seemed to take special notice of my announcement. Tanya seemed to push me towards him. He was an experienced Dom, she said. He would get a good feel for my needs, she said. He's eyeing me and I should go speak with him, she said. Tanya pushed me off the couch and I walked up to Chadd. When I looked back at Tanya she was already engrossed in a conversation with other students about the meaning of the fragmentation of body parts as reliquaries in the Medieval times.

Chadd was dressed more preppy than the other students. He wore khaki slacks in a modern cut, without pleats and a blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the forearms. His hair was expertly cut in a longish style, wavy, and brushed back, as if he'd spent hours running his fingers through it. It was blond punctuated with brown streaks. His eyes were a dark navy. He smiled as I approached him, leaning with his back up against the bar, one ankle crossed over the other, holding his Old Fashioned. He wasn't like Leif. He didn't try to hide the fact that he was rich.

I said something stupid like, "Hi, I'm Charlie," and extended my hand. Chadd looked at it and took another sip of his drink.

"Do you wanna try one of these? The bartender uses fresh squeezed orange juice," he pressed.

I told him, defeatedly, "Why not?" I mentioned something about having a shit day, plopped into a stool next to him and Chadd sat down next to me. He immediately asked me about what happened. Somehow Chadd asking me what happened was okay, but not when Leif asked it. Not tonight. I told him I broke up with my Dom, that he was always either too soft or too harsh and that I was beginning to think I'll never find anyone. I know. Total bait. The drink was strong.

"As far as I know you've only been with one person since you've been on this campus and that person is not an experienced Dom," Chadd said. I asked him of he'd been following me around. He told me "word just gets around." I should have picked up on the creepy vibe right then, but I was just so eager to be with someone experienced because, as I see it more clearly now, I wanted to be experienced by association.

"And you are some super experienced Dom? Chadd?" I asked him, mockingly, still broken, confused, and heavyhearted over this evenings events and my and Leif's fight.

Chadd got notably cocky and said, "I'm fairly certain I could give you what you need." I looked him up and then down. I was saddened by what seemed an inappropriate amount of cheer in his comment. My melancholic mood kept dragging me back to thoughts of now gone Leif and I fought back tears. I was sitting with my elbows on the bar, my arms folded around my drink, and slouching, head directly over glass. I wanted to commit suicide by jumping in, head first, to that tiny little rock's glass.

"What do you say..." Chad posited, "We go back to my place and I show you some of my artwork?" I'd heard that one before. "And I give you exactly what you need," he finished, annunciating each word carefully. Something about the way his face said "exactly," reminded me of the look on the model's face at the art gallery. I wanted to stage my scenes too. I wanted to be empowered too.

We left our drinks behind. We left Chadd's party behind to run its course. He took me to his apartment and offered me another drink. We sat on his green upholstered sofa for a few minutes talking about his art. How his professors push him to paint, but his real passion is for drawing. He said he would like to draw me. I was pretty naive at that time, so I went for that line.

Chadd's apartment was decorated in vintage 1950's style, or maybe even original, furniture. At that time in my life, I wasn't of stock to know the difference. Chadd invited me back to his bedroom and I recognized it at once. It was the room in which Tanya's photograph had taken place, the one with the model I had so admired that night. The room was highly stocked with bondage and impact play gear. There was, of course, that wall with slats in it, perfect for binding someone in any position with the right straps and cuffs. There was one wall of gear which seemed to have every kind of cuff or strap imaginable, a crop, a flogger, various paddles, and a closed chest. I wondered what else could possibly be in that chest. There were still cameras, a video camera and an easel with drawing paper set up in the room. Chadd asked me if I recognized the room and I said I had.

"So you should feel comfortable here," he said, "in a familiar place." He let me stand in the middle of the room, thinking, wondering about what I wanted. I look back and forth, scheming, like a child with only two dollars in a candy shop, between the restraints and the slatted wall. I finally told Chadd the exact position I wanted to be cuffed in to the wall and by what parts of what limbs. Chadd raised his eyebrows. At the time it made me feel "hard core" for him to do that, but likely, since I told him my sob story in its entirety by that point, he could probably see through me well enough to humor me.

"Okay," he said, and got to work. He pulled out the arm and wrist restraints and fastened me to the slats on the wall, pulling my shirt and bra up which pressed down upon my breasts, pressing more blood into them, engorging them. Next Chadd wrapped the chest strap over my breasts, over my tee-shirt, over my bra, pressing my breasts even harder. He tightened the strap and placed a small lock through it. I think I may have winced. He raised me by this chest strap and affixed me to another slat on the wall. My toes dangled and I struggled to find pressure on the ground. Next Chadd locked thigh straps around both my legs and, as per my specifications, he affixed one leg spread open and one leg shut. My ankles were attached so that my knees were bent at a forty five degree angle. Chadd messed my hair to make it look more romp-in-the-hay, I guess. He stepped back, put his hand over his chin and declared there was something missing.

All the while I was telling him how much I like these things he was doing to me. As he walked away towards that chest, I looked down at myself and was pleased with how I looked. I so did hope I would be the object of a drawing. Chadd came back with another strap and a ball gag and some hooks. He placed the ball gag around my mouth, saying, "Now pucker up."

"You're not restrained enough. It takes a lot to restrain you. It takes a lot to bring you down. I have to just put some finishing touches and then we can draw." Bring me down, I thought. I didn't get it. I wanted to be elevated, to the heights of art object. But he said he would draw me, and I had a ball gag in my mouth, so I didn't say anything. I even aided him as he strapped my hips and roped them tightly to the slats on the wall. I followed all directions. Chadd patted me on the head. He hooked the back of the ball gag to the slats on the wall so my head was held in a stiff upright position, neck seriously elongated. He moved the easel and began examining me.

When I saw the drawing on display at a show a few months later I saw how he saw me. He'd looked closely at how the straps tightened around my legs, arms, breasts, and hips, how the flesh of me bulged out from underneath them. But he still drew my natural lines, the lines of my legs, my stomach, my breasts, my face and how they were all obstructed by black leather gear. I looked like a beautiful woman, cut into pieces. Like the reliquary Tanya talked about at the bar, I wanted to be worshiped even though I was cut up. And I was at that show, despite the terms upon which Chadd and I parted ways on this particular evening.

When he was drawing me, he measured me with his charcoal, one eye closed. He told me, trying hard to make it very technical, about how my legs measured up to my torso, how my torso measured up to my arms, how my head measured up to my whole body. He made large gestures on his paper, curved lines, making me think like those of my body. Chadd had a knack, it seemed, for following up with straight lines, in the style of Van Gogh's drawings. He would layer straight line upon straight line, one further up than the other until he had created the precise curve onto which he was gazing. Occasionally, Chadd would make a comment, "Your thighs curve so beautifully," or, "Your hair falls so wildly." But he would go back to drawing. We shared a long silence. Leif was in the distant past for me now. No more duct tape and saran wrap, I had leather and steel. I was completely comforted by the scenario that I had created for myself.

I fell deep into that comfort and must've fallen asleep because I awoke to Chadd stroking his cock along the delta between my legs. I panicked. I began to wriggle in my restraints. This was not what I had agreed to. I couldn't even look down to see his cock violating me because my head was restrained, all I could feel was it was wet and slippery, and sliding up and down my slit. Chadd unhooked one thigh and ankle strap and hooked them back open. He pressed himself into me, pushing on my breasts, breathing on my face. I was still drowsy, limp, languid. His every propulsion was my every impulsion. I pounded into the slats, in some of which nails stuck out. He paced himself into and out of me with a cadence that must have been aided by a metronome and this created a gentle pins and needles sensation around the periphery of my clit and a warmth inside of me. But I was uneasy and I had to stop.

"Stop. This is too much for me. We have to stop," I said, muffled by the gag.

"Stop? Stop!?" said Chadd "I thought you were submissive. Fucking in your sleep is the ultimate in submission," said Chadd, desperately defeated, lashing out. He removed the ball gag. I told him to set me free and that I needed to go. Unlatching me seemed to take an eternity. Defeated myself, I went to the only place I knew comfort. I went to Leif's. I stood there with my hand above the door as if to knock, but not knocking, for minutes. Finally the door opened on its own. It was an Indian woman holding an almost empty glass of water.