Inspirati Scientia

For a second, I felt heartbroken that Rachel had endured this, but then I reminded myself what I was seeing didn't happen involuntarily; instead, she'd allowed it had even seemed to want it.

Tearing my eyes away from her mauled flesh, I continued. "From what I heard, you willingly allowed him to do all this, and in fact, encouraged him to continue, is that correct?"

I had to give her credit, Dr. Berrigan made no excuses. "Yes, Trevor knows that I sometimes... enjoy pain and humiliation. I know I shouldn't, and certainly not with him anymore, but it was just so familiar, and I fell into my old pattern of submission."

Then she lifted her head up and put her hands on mine, as if imploring me to understand her innocence. "When he wanted me to take off the necklace, I just couldn't, Patrick, and it was because of you!"

"You didn't suck his cock? It sure sounded like you were going to," I scoffed.

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "No, I didn't, I swear! It's true I had my hands on it, but I didn't take it into my mouth, I swear!"

The image of her beautiful fingers wrapped around another man's erection was hardly a comfort to me. Quite the opposite, in fact; despite the fact that the Rachel I loved had always made a point of being truthful, my own jealousy made me even more suspicious about what really happened. For all I knew that cock could have been in every one of her holes that night.

I felt myself getting choked with anger. I'd asked for total transparency, and boy, was I getting it. I managed to croak out, "Dr. Berrigan, after our dinner up on Sandia Peak, I really thought I we meant something to each other. But now, I see I was delusional. It was all one-sided between us, wasn't it?"

Tears were coursing down her cheeks now. "Patrick, NO! That hasn't changed, I swear! I DO love you!"

It hit me like a punch to the gut that this was the first time Rachel had ever admitted loving me, but it was under the worst possible circumstances. The irony cut through me like a laser.

Rachel went on, "It's hard to describe, but when I get dominated that way, I lose control. It kind of feels like being outside myself, observing everything from a distance, like I'm watching a movie. It sort of happened the Sunday morning when I came to tell you I wanted us together and you carried me to bed, remember?"

It was a brief moment, but I did recall that time. "I remember it," I grudgingly admitted, "all of a sudden you were slightly catatonic, but a kiss brought you out of it."

In college I'd taken psychology as an elective, and I remembered reading about how a state of disassociation could be an emotional lifeboat for some people in situations outside their control

"SEE?," she cried out, "That's exactly what happened with Trevor! I unzipped him and took his cock out, but he hated my necklace! He said it would tickle his balls, and told me to take it off. That's what shocked me back into reality. It's a symbol of our connection, Patrick! I couldn't do it!"

She paused, looking at me expectantly as I pondered the meaning of this. Then it dawned on me that despite her psychological state, Dr. Berrigan had enough of a connection to me to snap out of it! That didn't totally palliate the pain of hearing Nichols mauling her tits without objection, but it softened it somewhat.

As if she was now somehow ashamed, Dr. Berrigan picked up her blouse and clutched it to her chest, in a vain attempt to reclaim what little of her modesty remained. She continued her explanation, "You spent months proving that you loved me, hoping I'd love you back. That night, I realized if I took the necklace off it would have meant you'd failed, and that's not true. I do love you, Patrick. You've taken the time to learn my preferences, doing things with me that I like to do, being a tender lover, and always being kind to me no matter what. Even when I was being a total bitch to you because of my anxiety about meeting up with Trevor, you didn't stop caring, did you?"

Dr. Berrigan had me. Now it was my turn under the microscope. "No," I whispered, "that's why it hurt so much to hear you allow him to treat you that way, and to hear all the terrible things he said. I hated he was touching you, but hated it even more that he was trying to crush your self-esteem. You hurt me terribly, but you still didn't deserve how he treated you."

"Maybe I do deserve to be treated that way," Rachel said sadly. "After all, look how I've hurt you."

Unable to stop myself, I gently caressed her partially-exposed left breast, my finger tracing the edge of her areola, causing her to shiver. I felt myself harden at the feel of her skin under my fingertips again, remembering for a moment how good it felt to feel her ample flesh moving underneath me as we made love.

I got a sudden urge to kneel in front of her and take the pale pink nipple in my mouth, but then I saw the bruises and bite marks where Nichols had marked his territory and resisted the urge. Instead,

another surge of anger swept over me. Reaching down, I picked up her bra and handed it to her.

"Get dressed," I ordered, "it sickens me to see the marks he left on your skin. He's soiled you."

Rachel reached over and stroked the growing lump in my trousers, as if aroused by the denigration, but I slapped her hand away. She was still beautiful, and I was a man, after all. I'd have to be dead before seeing her half-naked wouldn't give me an erection.

As Dr. Berrigan dressed, she begged me, "Patrick please, you did love me, and I know how badly I hurt you. I'm not asking you to take me back, but can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?"

I sat for a minute thinking, then responded, but probably not giving the answer she was hoping for. "This is an excellent question, Dr. Berrigan, one I don't know the answer to yet. I'm going to need a little time to process the things you said. Will you allow me that?"

She stood up and surprised me by taking my face in her hands and kissing me. With her lips on mine, my headache now vanished completely. Then, she surprised me even more by pressing the necklace I gave her into my hand, whispering, "Take whatever time you need - days, weeks, months, or years - I'll be waiting. I love you, Patrick Dawson. Keep this necklace until you feel I deserve it, or you, again. If that ever happens." She left quickly, and my headache promptly returned.

There was no question that until last weekend, I'd been head over heels for Dr. Berrigan, enamored to the point where I wanted to propose. I'd taken a slow, methodical approach to win her, and right up until Friday night, felt like I'd been successful.

In the course of a few hours, that shithead Nichols had demolished a relationship it had taken me months to build, taking what he wanted with zero regard for my love's emotional well-being. What really stung was how he'd done it so easily, thanks to how well he manipulated her masochistic tendencies.

I realized that while I loved Dr. Berrigan and wanted her all to myself, as long as there was some kind of a mental curtain separating her normal persona from her submissive persona, men like Nichols could use her as they pleased.

That night, I stood at the balcony window of my bedroom, looking out at the stars in the desert night sky as I pondered what to do next. The easiest thing to do would be to completely give up on Dr. Berrigan and move away, never seeing her again.

Hell, I could just move to Santa Fe and get a job with the competition, Produits Chimiques. After losing a scientist like Dr. Berrigan, they'd probably offer me a job as soon as I walked in the door. Of course, that would mean I'd be working for the same company as that English bastard Nichols, and the irony of that would certainly be bitter to swallow.

Or I could simply choose to take Dr. Berrigan back again, living in fear that any dominant male like Nichols could take her at any moment, making me a pathetic cuckold.

The final option would be, since Dr. Berrigan claimed she loved me, to somehow modify and redirect her submissive side to my benefit. The other options not being nearly as palatable, this was the course I decided to pursue.

~~~~~~~~~~

PART 3: The Heavy Bells

The heavy bells, the heavy bells are tolling out a tune

The heavy bells, the heavy bells, I felt that metal move

You're gonna wake up, gonna wake up, gonna wake up,

Find the heavy bells will toll their tune for you too...

- J. Roddy Watson and the Business

~~~~~~~~~~

As a research scientist I always loved experiments, but let's be honest, I was not a psychologist or behaviorist by a long shot. Forget Sigmund Freud, Ivan Pavlov, or B.F. Skinner, I wasn't trained for this at all. However, I was trained as a scientist, so perhaps that's how I could fix this. Dr. Berrigan swore she loved me, so I took that as a constant. However, my hypotheses was that her love for me wasn't pure; instead, it was contaminated by an unfulfilled need for pain and dominance.

In the lab there are multiple ways to purify contaminated chemicals. On the molecular level, there's affinity purification; there's also chromatography, which involves mixture of dissolved materials via a solvent into a column packed with an appropriate adsorbent; purifying via an electric current, electrolysis, is yet another method. None of these were appropriate for my purposes.

However, there was one that was: fractionation. The fractionation process refers to a strategy where an inefficient purification method (in this case, it would have to be masochistic stimulation) is repeatedly applied to isolate the desired substance (her connection to me) in progressively greater purity. I reasoned that using this methodology, it might redirect Rachel's masochistic desires to me, eliminating any connection to Nichols.

A prolonged web search that evening provided the basic nomenclature I would need to learn about to make my plan fully efficacious: bondage, dominance, submission, masochism, degradation, and after-care among others.

After spending most of the night deep-diving into these subjects until my eyes were blurry, I realized I needed a professional to teach me the basics if I wanted to become at least mildly proficient at my endeavor.

After a few hours' sleep, I put in a call to my boss, requesting a week off starting immediately. As I had plenty of vacation time accrued and seldom took any time off, this was granted. I then ate my breakfast, after which I spent the morning doing on-line shopping for items that assuredly changed a few of my web shopping algorithms.

Armed now with some base knowledge, and with the necessary accoutrement being shipped to my home, after lunch I put in a call to one of the premier fetish clubs in Albuquerque, The Sanctum Submissa.

I spoke to the owner, Lucas Voronin, explaining to him that I needed some basic lessons on being a Dominant, and why I needed them. Taking pity on my tale of heartbreak and betrayal, he immediately agreed to take me on as in intern in his 'dungeon' for a modest fee; after all, it was for love, wasn't it?

I began my immersion training Tuesday night, 8pm sharp, entering through the ominous black door simply as shy and nervous Patrick Dawson. By Sunday morning when I exited The Sanctum Submissa, I walked out as my Dom persona, the unflappable 'Saint Patrick' Dawson, on a mission to reclaim the woman whose love had been stolen from me.

Time was not on my side; to be successful, I had much to do. I spent the rest of Sunday configuring the second upstairs bedroom, installing the specialized equipment I'd ordered. My house had been built in 1901, so the 100+ year-old ceiling beams were plenty strong enough to support the additional loads I'd be putting on them via the new hardware I'd installed.

When I walked into work on Monday, several people asked me about my vacation, and I simply responded that it was fine, you know, the standard small talk. When I saw Rachel in the breakroom -- after my week at The Sanctum Submissa, I was back to addressing her by her first name - my heart gave a leap of joy, but I maintained my aloofness.

"Good morning, Dr. Berrigan" was about as far as it went. She looked no different than the first time I'd seen her, still the same: very focused, long wavy brown hair tied back in a ponytail, no makeup, and deep brown eyes, freckled nose and naturally pouty lips, a beautiful package all snugly wrapped up in that lab coat.

We continued about our normal course of business until late in the afternoon. Around 4:30pm, I asked her to help me in the supply room.

Surprised, she responded, "Of course, Dr. Dawson, I'll be happy to." Fly, meet spider!

She followed me into what constituted a rather large supply closet vs. a room, filled with the tools of our trade: beakers, test tubes, centrifuge replacement parts, and so on. Flipping on the lights, I locked and bolted the door.

"What are you..." Before she could say anything else, I took her in my arms and kissed her, forcing my tongue in her mouth. She was beginning to return the kiss when I deftly spun her around and tied her wrists together using the zip-ties I was carrying hidden in the pocket of my lab coat.

"Patrick, what is this about? We're at work! How can you..." Spinning her around again to face me, I put my hand over her mouth.

"Not another word, do you hear me?" I, then slipped a rubber glove on my right hand. Already, I saw in her eyes the beginnings of her disassociation reaction to my aggression. I suspected Nichols took advantage of this peculiarity of Rachel's, doing whatever he wanted while she was docile. I wasn't him, though.

"Damn it, Rachel, stay with me," I barked, lightly slapping her cheeks. "You said you loved me, I want you consciously with me now." I slowly took my hand away from her mouth, and saw her eyes beginning to return to normal.

I leaned down, kissed her, and murmured, "That's better. Are you going to be a good girl for me?"

"Yes," she meekly whispered in response. Unbuckling her belt, I slipped my hand down the front of her khakis, finding her finely trimmed pubic hair before my fingers went further south; she gasped as I split her labia.

"The last time we were together, you asked if I could ever find it in my heart to forgive you. Do you remember?"

"Yessss," she hissed, as my fingers now danced around her clit.

"You hurt me very badly, Rachel, you do realize that don't you?" I slipped two of my now-wet gloved fingers into her vaginal entrance, and slowly began to finger-bang her.

She moaned, "I'm so sorry, Patrick, please... let me... "

I scolded her, "Hush now, Rachel. I need you to listen. Can you do that for me?"

"Oooooh, yes, anything Patrick, pleaaaase...." No excuses, I was being an asshole for stimulating her, but I wanted her to need me as much as I needed her.

"To me, you were perfection, to the point I wanted to marry you. I even bought a ring for you, and had planned on taking you back up to Sandia Peak on Saturday and proposing. But I never got the chance, did I?"

I pulled my hand out and took off the rubber glove. Rachel's face had turned from ecstasy to sadness; her tears had started flowing down her cheeks.

She pleaded, "Patrick, I'm sorry, I had no idea!"

"It wouldn't have mattered, though. Even if we were already engaged, it wouldn't have changed what Trevor did; he would have had you cheating on me as your fiancé, instead of as your boyfriend." Non-exclusive boyfriend, I thought to myself bitterly.

"I know I'm a terrible person, Patrick, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," she repeated. Wiping away her tears, I kissed her again.

"I know you're sorry," I said soothingly. "You were a truly wonderful woman, but Nichols polluted you." Rachel now seemed drained of hope. She hung her head in defeat, but perked up slightly when I gently and lovingly stroked her chin, moving her hair away from her face.

"I'll forgive you, if you can prove to me you're genuinely sorry."

She raised her head and made eye contact again. "What does that mean?"

Taking out my pocketknife, I cut away the zip-ties restraining her wrists. "It means you need to prove yourself to me. If you're as regretful as you claim, request the rest of the week off, then come to my house tomorrow night at 8:00pm. Bring an overnight bag with your toiletries. The only clothes you'll need will be your lab coat, nothing under it, and I want you barefoot."

I hoped a taste of humiliation would activate her masochistic side, all the better to reshape those tendencies towards my fractionation objectives.

I went on, "If you make the decision not to show up, our reconciliation will be nullified. I'll be out of your life and resigning from ChemMolecular, and move to a different city."

"Patrick, please, no," she pleaded. "You can't leave!"

"Oh, I can, and I will. I was dead serious when I told you how much I loved you, Rachel. Damn me for a fool, but I still do love you, even after you allowed another man to defile what we had. If you're unwilling to demonstrate how your love for me is pure and absolute, there's nothing for me here any longer. Seeing you at work every day as if there were nothing between us would be more than I can endure."

Taking her in my arms for what might possibly be the last time, I kissed Rachel tenderly, then unlocked the storage room and walked out. In about 3 hours I'd find out if there really was a chance of reconciliation, or if I'd lost the love of my life for good.

At 7:59, my doorbell rang. When I answered the door in my finest navy blue pinstriped designer suit, Rachel stood there, overnight bag in hand, dressed in a lab coat and barefoot, exactly as I'd requested.

Opening the door halfway, I gave her instructions. "Before you come inside, I want to make things clear. Outside my home, you're a brilliant research scientist. Once you cross this threshold, you're mine to command, and will simply address me as "Sir". Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir." I was impressed and encouraged by her quick willingness to adhere to my rules. This boded well for the measures I'd be initiating.

"The things we do here must be with your full consent," I explained, "if you wish to stop at any time, simply tell me. I want you to choose a safe word as well. Do you have a word you'd like to use?" Mr. Voronin had cautioned me that when a sub gets into the right head space, she may not be able to speak, let alone remember a safe-word. So, regardless of whether Rachel said anything, it was always my job to make sure I didn't do any real damage, I couldn't depend on her to set appropriate limits.

Rachel shook her head, answering my question, "No, Sir."

"Then, I suggest 'wavelength'. Does that work for you?" The word didn't matter, almost no one could remember what the right word was when they wanted to use it, Mr. Voronin had warned. What mattered right now was showing Rachel that I intended to respect her limits. Communication was the most important thing.

Rachel nodded.

"I need to hear the words, Rachel."

"Yes, Sir."

Hearing that, I opened the door and gestured inside. "Welcome, my angel." Rachel's fractionation had officially begun.

She stepped into the foyer; closing the door, I gave her my first instruction: "Drop your bag and take off your lab coat."

She obeyed, and I took a moment to savor the sight of her. Her bare shoulders, those large, dimpled ass cheeks, and that lovely mound of belly between her navel and mons all looked delicious. She gasped as I hefted her ample breasts. They were glorious, each one easily over two pounds, and I held them gently while examining them for any remaining marks from her encounter with her English ex. Aside from one lightly-faded purple bruise, they were pristine once again, a great relief to me.