What She Seeks

She tends to bruise easily and heal quickly.

The men she fucks love to see the bruises bloom on her pale skin after a play session. But when they fade quickly, it means more suffering for her.

It's fine, though. She craves it. She finds peace in the pain... clarity, purification. She becomes more than the pain... more than herself.

But she's looking for a special man. The ones she finds are just temporary toys. They don't fulfill all of her needs. How could they?

She gets bored with the vanilla boys too quickly. She can fake it for them, moaning, telling them how big they are, but the voice in the back of her mind sneers as they ask permission to touch her, to kiss her. They lick her softly, asking if they hurt her, checking to see if she's ok every few minutes. It's pathetic - their need to please. She hates it.

The ones who claim to be kinky never end up knowing what kink is. She lets them smack her ass, pull her hair, blindfold her, bind her, call her a slut. She plays along - "oh, Daddy, your making me so wet. I've been a bad girl. Punish me Daddy" - knowing she won't find full release.

She's learned to hide her frustrations. She even gave up for a while, avoiding sex for more than seven years. She filled her time with mediocre responsibilities and masturbation. Sad that it's easier to repress her needs than to fulfill them.

How many men has she tried in her 40 years? Dozens. Some better than others. But only three came close to fully claiming her.

##

First, there was Steve.

She was 19, a freshman in college. She was tip toeing into the kink world. Still practically a virgin, she had only been with two men. She knew there had to be something better out there. Something better than fumbling boys in backseats, better than sweaty palms, awkward sex, regret.

She found Steve in a chat room. As a 19-year-old who looked much younger with such innocent, big, dark eyes, she was bombarded by invitations to play.

She doesn't know why she chose Steve. He was twice her age, nearing 50. But he said he could teach her what she wanted.

Their first encounter took place in a local hotel. He greeted her at the door, invited her in and they sat on the bed. She was clearly nervous, but excited.

After some small talk, he stood up and said "I'm going to use the restroom. When I come back out, I want you to be naked. Do you understand?"

With wide eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth, she nodded her head and watched him enter the bathroom, closing the door.

She sat there, unmoving. What the hell was she thinking? Why the fuck was she there? What was wrong with her? This was not safe. It was not what normal people did. But she loved the sense of danger, the unknown.

She heard the toilet flush. She knew she had two options: strip or get the fuck out of there.

The bathroom sink turned on and she could hear him washing his hands. Her eyes darted to the exit.. should she run?

The sink turned off and she quickly made a decision, ripping her clothes off and sliding beneath the comforter.

He stepped out of the bathroom and made his way to the bed, smiling as he glanced at the pile of clothing on the floor. He sat beside her and whispered "good girl" as he placed a possessive hand on her ass.

She was young, still new to this and started giggling. He eyed her questioningly, "What's funny?"

She hid her face with the comforter, embarrassed, and whispered, "I left my socks on."

##

She spent many hours in that hotel room over the next several months. She learned a lot -- about herself, about sex, about BDSM.

He made it a game. If she tried something she had never done or something she was afraid to do, he rewarded her with a gold star. After 10 stars, he gave her a gift. It was an easy, familiar reward system that she took to quickly and eagerly.

Steve pushed her limits and played on her fears often. He tied her to the mattress one night, naked and exposed. He lavished attention on her, licking her nipples, sucking her clit, getting her close to orgasm. He slid a thick vibrator into her pussy, smiling as she gripped it, her thighs quivering. Then he suddenly stood up and called for a pizza. He told her that he was going to offer her as a tip to the delivery driver. He sat in a chair across the room, crossed his legs and watched her.

Mortified and angry, she struggled against the bonds, having a mild anxiety attack, the rope cutting into her flesh. The vibrator slowly making its way out of her. She cried, begged him not to share her, to let her go. She was terrified.

He let her worry and thrash until she was exhausted. Tears streaked her face as she started to realize she was stuck, helpless. She couldn't even brush the hair from her eyes.

After 30 minutes had passed and there was no pizza delivery, she glared at him. He smiled, "You have to trust me, little one. I wouldn't do that to you. I know your limits. Maybe one day we'll get there. But consider this a test."

He fucked her then, slow and deep.

##

One of the hardest things Steve taught her about herself was her need for release through pain.

She was the kind of a girl who could trap herself in melancholy. She could easily sink into a dark funk that she struggled to free herself from. She tended to hide her feelings - maybe hide from them is more accurate - until they overwhelmed her, buried her in darkness, made her overly anxious, angry, moody, depressed.

She expressed a desire to hurt herself, to release the demons that were holding her back. She didn't want to see a therapist and talk about it.. she wasn't sure she could even explain what was bothering her. She was sad, angry, angsty, restless. She asked Steve to use his belt on her. She didn't even want sex, just pain.

He beat her, lightly at first, as she bent over the bed. The lashes increasing in intensity slowly. She fought the tears at first. She bit her lip until it bled before she let the first shriek out. That opened her. The tears flowed freely then as he struck her, building momentum, a rhythm. Her ass and back on fire, she screamed into the bed, clutching the comforter.

It felt like an eternity, but was probably only 15 or 20 minutes. It was over instantly when she sobbed their safe word. The belt dropped. She climbed up onto the mattress, naked, battered. Her body shaking with the force of her sobs. She drew her knees to her chest and let it out, let everything out. Every hurt, every dark thought. She channeled it through the pain.

She felt Steve apply a cool, damp cloth to her enflamed skin. Felt him stroke her hair. He didn't speak. He was just there for her as she rode it out. He allowed her to wail, to sob, until she exhausted herself. Then he let her sleep, unmolested.

Afterward, she felt calm... serene... peaceful... content.

##

She stopped seeing Steve the day she found out Steve wasn't his real name.

When she confronted him, screaming about how he had taught her that BDSM was about trust, that the sub had to trust the Dom, his reply was, "I didn't want you to have a way to track me down if anything went wrong."

She wanted to know what could have gone wrong. He shrugged. She screamed about violations, breaking trust, lies. He just stood there, watching her. She slammed the door on her way out. She felt betrayed.

##

The second man - she can't remember his name. She only called him Sir. She was around 21 years old then, a senior in college.

Many of her creative writing assignments revolved around sex, need, trust, denial, betrayal and pain. Her professors worried about her. She was mostly oblivious, trapped in an angry world.

She discovered a local group of people with similar interests. They met at a diner, a safe zone, to find playmates, share secrets, learn about the community, etc. they called it a Munch.

She went alone, terrified. They could tell she was new. They were not what she expected. Truthfully, she expected a lot of leather, collars, leashes. But these people looked like regular people she might pass in the supermarket.

They made her show her ID as proof that she was over 18. One man said she looked 16... and innocent. That made several of them laugh.

A woman called her to an empty seat and she made her way to it, feeling them watch her as she walked.

Once seated, she ordered hot tea and a slice of cake. She looked around the long table, taking everything in, trying to determine what roles everyone played.

As her glance moved to the head of the table, she locked eyes with an older red-headed man.

To this day it's hard to describe what happened. It was as if everything around her disappeared except for his gaze. She felt flushed, and turned her eyes away, gazing at her hands in her lap as he smiled slowly.

After the munch, as everyone was walking to their vehicles, he stepped beside her, placing a hand on her elbow. He leaned close and said, "Friday. 7 pm." He slipped a napkin into her hand and walked to his truck. He didn't look back.

She realized she was holding her breath and she leaned against her car, trembling as she exhaled.

She looked around, afraid that everyone could see the wetness in her panties, smell her need. She hurried into her vehicle. She turned the car on and unfolded the napkin. It was an address.

##

On Friday, she cut classes. She took her time picking out an outfit. She didn't usually worry about how she looked, but she wanted to look nice for him. She put on her best matching bra and panties, a pair of jeans that she thought made her ass look good and her favorite blouse.

She arrived at the address at 6:45. She was always early, just in case. Now she had time to kill. She examined the ranch home. It looked like the others in the neighborhood. The curtains were all drawn. There were flowers in front. The mailbox was red.

She shifted in her seat, her nerves getting to her. She gripped the steering wheel, a thousand scenes running through her mind. What if he wasn't home? What if it wasn't even his house? What if he was a murderer? Did he ever tell her his name? He must have. They did introductions at the Munch. Why couldn't she remember?

She looked at the clock, 6:58. Taking a deep breath, she opened the car door and stood on shaking legs. She straightened her shirt, brushed invisible hair from her jeans and walked to the front door.

She rang the bell.

She waited.

He finally answered. "You came," he smiled, motioning her in. He shut and locked the door behind her.

She stood still in the dim room, uncertain. He took her elbow and led her to the couch. As she went to sit, he said, "No. Kneel." He sat on the couch in front of her, watching her with his piercing gaze.

She couldn't meet his eyes. Her gaze averted she sunk to her knees before him.

The silence frightened her. She couldn't look at him. She wondered what he was thinking.

He reached out a long finger and turned her face to him. She kept her gaze turned away, but she could hear his smile. "You're pretty," he said. He trailed his finger from her chin, down her throat to the top button of her blouse.

He toyed with the button, feeling the heat of her skin, her breasts rising and falling rapidly with each breath.

"Nervous?" He asked.

She nodded.

He laughed. "Use your words, pretty one," he said as his finger trailed over her breast, flicking at her nipple through the fabric.

"Yes," she whispered.

He suddenly pinched her nipple hard, causing her to arch her back and whimper. "Yes, what?" He asked.

Her mind raced. She could not remember his name. He pinched harder, waiting.

She said the only thing she could think of, "Yes, Sir."

He released her nipple. "Good girl," he said as he tore her blouse open.

##

Sir was demanding. Controlling. He expected a lot from her. He disapproved of any hesitation or reluctance. She found him overwhelming, intoxicating.

But he was more than she was ready for. He demanded more than she was capable of giving at that time.

It broke her heart to stop seeing Sir. But she couldn't fulfill his needs. She was still young, still learning, still a bit fresh and frightened. And he lost patience quickly.

She remembers Sir fondly today. She wishes she could remember his name, look him up... perhaps give it another chance now that she's learned herself better, experienced more of the world. She wonders if his gaze would still affect her in such a deep way.

##

The last man who nearly claimed her was not a Dom in the traditional sense. His name was Joe. He was a farmhand on a local ranch. A farrier, he took care of the horses and part of his salary was the use of the old farmhouse as his home.

He wasn't much to look at, fairly average. But he had kind eyes and strong hands. He made her feel sweet and small, safe.

Joe smelled like grass, hay, horses and sunshine. Like everything that is good and pure in the world. He was simple, strong, patient. He treated her kindly, gently, but firmly.

She was in her late twenties. Just floating through life, content. He was just what she needed then.

Joe took his time learning her, discovering her body. He knew how to read her, to decipher the meanings of her moans, whimpers, sighs. She wanted to please him, to see his soft smile, to make him feel good. She would have done anything for that man.

He was the first to take her anally. He treated her like a frightened animal that needed gentle coaxing. Stroking her, whispering encouragement as he slowly stretched her open to take him.

She loved him deeply. When he left the state, and couldn't take her with him, it broke her.

##

And now.. well, now she seeks a man who embodies the best of the three who nearly claimed her.

She's ready. She's searched long enough. She's waited long enough.

She wants a teacher, like Steve. A strong man who can guide her. One who can provide the pain she occasionally craves. A man who will test her, push her limits, reward her.

She wants a man who overwhelms her like Sir. Whose simple gaze can make her wet. Someone who expects a lot from her. Who demands her submission, who makes her head swim just by standing near her. A man who makes her forget his name sometimes. A man who intoxicates her with his dominance.

And she wants a gentle man, like Joe. A lover. One who knows when to be patient, coaxing, encouraging. One with a pure soul and a firm hand. One she can love with her whole being.

Is he out there? Is he reading this now? Could he be you?