Introspections Ch. 06

Reaching toward the table he grabbed a couple items, dangling a pair of nipple clamps over her and then showing her a thin leather strap. "Pick your poison dear, you can wear the clamps the rest of the game or during half time I get to beat your pussy. Choose quickly, or I will give you a taste of both."

She had no idea how long half time was, but she figured the shorter of the two options would be easiest to take, considering both possibilities involved very sensitive areas of her anatomy. "Fine, guess you'll miss the half time show."

"I am sure my half time show will be significantly more entertaining. Be a good girl and go get us both a drink." He gently peeled the tape back and removed the bullet vibe.

Relieved to escape further tormenting for a moment she slipped off his lap and headed to the fridge to grab a couple water bottles. She downed half of hers in two swigs, the cool water relieving her parched throat. Reluctantly she moved back to the living room to deliver the remaining bottle. He took it from her and nodded toward his lap, obviously implying she should resume her position. First time, every time she reminded herself as she obeyed.

As soon as the half time show began he settled in to begin her punishment. He started with his hand, gently smacking her pussy several times before stopping to rub away the sting. She took the first few rounds of spanking and rubbing stoically, though the strikes became increasingly harder over time. After several minutes he reached for the strap and she clenched her teeth in anticipation.

"The point of this exercise is to teach you self control. If you can take ten strikes without a sound I'll go back to my hand. If not, you get more of the strap until I decide you've had enough. That's all the control you're going to get."

The strikes were intended to sting rather than actually hurt, but she was already very tender. After the third stroke she was silently gasping for air, by the fifth she was writhing about on his lap. She was determined though, she kept her legs spread and not a sound escaped as she took the five remaining blows. As promised he dropped the strap and resumed punishing her with his hand, though there was far more stroking than spanking this time.

"Hmm, very wet I see. I bet I could make you cum again."

"No..." she whimpered.

"You doubt my ability? Or you're hoping I'll stop? You really must learn to be more specific sweetheart."

He was egging her on, but he was also watching her carefully to make sure she was still responsive to his promptings. He wanted to push her limits, not obliterate them, and since he was working without a safe word he knew the lines between just enough and too much were very thin.

"No more, please! I'm sure you can pull it off, but I don't think I can take it any longer. Mercy!"

"I love it when you beg. Grab that blanket and make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

When he returned holding her notebook he found her wrapped in the blanket in his armchair. He brushed hair out of her face gently and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Journal it, then you can rest."

"Why?" She wasn't resisting him, she was seeking clarification, unsure of what he expected her to write.

"Because you have a million thoughts going through your head right now and you need to sort through them without my interference. Besides, we're winning and I don't want to miss any more of the game."

In reality he could care less about the game. In fact, had she asked he would cheerfully have informed her that he hated football and had only used the game as a way to put some distance between them while he explored her boundaries. In a normal relationship, even one embracing dominance and submission, they would have far more space physically and emotionally to ease into their roles. With a deadline looming he'd had to find a way to artificially create some of that emotional distance.

Since she didn't ask he left the game on and faked interest, giving him the time to subtly observe the after effects of their training session. He was relieved to find a faint smile on her face, hopefully indicating her thoughts were more pleasurable in nature than distressed.

As the game ended she nodded off and he took the opportunity to slip into his bedroom to find some relief of his own before heating some soup for dinner. After eating his own portion he pulled a footstool up beside the armchair and gently coaxed her awake, holding a spoon to her lips. She made no effort to take it from him, simply opening her mouth and allowing him to care for her for the moment.

"More training now?" She sounded resigned to the fact that further training was needed, but despite the brief nap she was still exhausted.

"Not now, you've done enough for one day. You did great sweetheart, you really are amazing. Should we call it a night?"

She nodded, relieved, and he folded the blanket as she headed for the shower. He settled into his chair to flip through a magazine while he waited for her to finish. After about twenty minutes he started to get concerned, so he knocked gently on the door. When he didn't get a response his concern grew. He waned to give her space, but memories of finding his sister dead in a bathtub resulted in a sense of panic and he pushed open the door, relieved to find it unlocked.

He found her sitting in the tub, knees pulled up to her chest, the now cold water pounding against her back as she sobbed. Immediately he turned off the water and pulled her from the tub, grabbing a towel to wrap her in.

"Oh Hannah, I'm sorry. I know we're in a hurry, but I didn't mean too push you too far."

She shook her head, shivering helplessly in his arms. "The shampoo...it's lavender"

"I know. I ran all over town looking for it. I thought you said that's what you liked!"

"I do." She laughed hysterically and then burst into tears again.

"Hannah darling, the sheer inconsistency of your emotions are completely baffling. Stand up."

She did so without comment and stood there listlessly as he carefully toweled her dry from top to bottom, ran a brush gently through her hair, and even brushed her teeth. He guided her out of the bathroom and tucked her into his bed, before retrieving his phone from the locked filing cabinet and stepping out of the room to make some calls.

It was several hours before he returned, expecting to find her sound asleep. However, as he climbed carefully into bed next to her he felt her stiffen.

"Hannah?"

"What." Her reply was terse.

"You're still awake."

"I noticed."

"Can I ask you a question?" His tone was hesitant, and that alone put her on edge.

"Since when do you need permission to ask me a question? You're the dominant male, remember?" She wasn't sure what he was after, but if he was nervous about asking she was pretty sure she wasn't going to like it.

"Since I decided I wasn't going to punish you if you said no. This isn't an order, or training. I just want to know. Humor me."

What could it hurt? She threw his own words back at him, "You can ask, but I won't promise to answer."

Her sarcasm was not missed. "How old were you?"

She rolled over and looked at him seeking clarification. "What?"

"When the games started. The ones you played alone in the dark, that nobody could know about. How old were you?"

She tensed up again, pushing herself physically away from him. "Damn you!"

Once again she had left him utterly confused, "Does that mean no?" She glared at him, and he was suddenly glad he kept the knives locked away. If looks were capable of killing hers would have left him dead in his tracks.

"I think a more accurate translation would be somewhere along the lines of go fuck yourself and leave me out of it." She turned her back to him again, moving as close as she could get to the edge of the bed without falling out of it. He sighed, and closed his eyes, thinking that was the end of it. He almost missed her whispered reply.

"Eight. I was eight."

It took himself a minute to wrap his mind around her answer and he started to apologize for asking. "Hannah, I'm..."

"Shut up. You told me your story so I'll tell you mine, but if you want to hear my fucked up sob story just shut up and listen."

He wasn't sure now he wanted to hear it, but he had asked so he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"I was about three when they got me. Picked me up at a social worker's office like you'd pick up a dog from the pound. Apparently the police had come across me in a drug raid, some meth house. Nobody they picked up in the raid cared enough to lay claim to me. I'll never know who my biological parents were, or why I was in the house that day. I don't remember it, but they said for the first few months every time they touched me I'd scream. So they stopped. They provided the basics, food and shelter, but they didn't know what the hell to do with me so for the most part they just let me be."

He wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms and promise he would protect her, chase away her dragons. But he was pretty sure she wouldn't let him touch her, and all too aware that he couldn't even promise protection, let alone dragon slaying.

"Two years after me they got a baby. A normal baby, one they could hold. After him they didn't need me any more, but I figure they decided returning me would make them look bad. I started touching myself when I was five or six. It felt good, and nobody else touched me, so I kept doing it. After a couple years though it wasn't enough just to touch myself. So I started the games.

"At first they were innocent enough. Strip naked at night then hurry and dress before they woke me in the morning. Tiptoe into the hall naked and run away when I heard them coming or hide myself naked in the hallway closet. Sleep under the bed naked instead of in it. Soon the risk of getting caught wasn't enough, so I added in the pain. By eleven I was punishing myself by cutting, but that left marks. That they did notice. I spent the next few years in and out of kiddie psych wards."

At first it had seemed as if she was on the verge of tears, but now her voice was simply numb, as though she was telling some type of horrific bedtime story that was not her own.

"By fourteen I was tired of being locked up and I'd learned their rules so I decided to play along with their games. I threw myself into studying, reading everything I could get my hands on. Academics were easy for me so I did well in school. Learning to master the ability to fake social nuances was harder, but I treated it as just yet another topic of study and I guess I did well enough at that too. It got me through high school as long as I didn't get too close to anyone. I couldn't risk someone finding out I was faking everything. That's why I didn't really date, aside from a few cursory outings to keep up appearances. That's why I'm still a virgin. I'm too fucked up to let anyone get close to me.

I left for college as soon as I graduated high school. My parents were far from rich, but they paid for my schooling. I studied psychology, thought maybe if I studied hard enough I would find my answers. I did, at least I learned about attachment theories and attachment disorders, recognized I was basically a textbook case.

One day I was writing a paper for a class on human sexuality and I stumbled across a site about BDSM. It appealed to me, the idea of pain bringing pleasure, I could tell you all the physiological reasons it makes sense. The idea of letting go and giving someone else complete control was also tempting. Some days I would be so damn tired of fighting to be in control of every thought, every action. Keeping up appearances is exhausting.

But I also realized it could be very dangerous, that I could easily loose myself in it. That's why I limited it to exploring online, why I never intended for it to become reality.

Except now it is. I can feel it happening, feel myself loosing control, and I'm scared. I'm afraid I'll find out who I really am is someone nobody can love. I'm afraid I'll go back to being that three year old, alone in a meth house. Rape me, beat me, torture me, whatever it takes to get your revenge. But you must never love me James, whatever you do. That I can not stand."

He knew he couldn't comfort her, that nothing he did could ever take away her pain. But he also sensed she needed something to hold onto, and he could give her that.

"Hannah, I need you to remember one thing, that's all I ask. They are looking for you sweetheart. Your family is searching, and they've publicly declared they will never give up. That's not the action of parents who want their problem child to disappear, it's an assurance that regardless of what you've done or what you think you are they want you back. They haven't given up on you, and neither have I."

There was nothing more to be said, so he turned away from her, left her alone with her pain and self hatred. Second only to burying Sarah it was the hardest thing he had ever done.